As soon as I returned from feeding Thursday evening, I got my clothes from the dryer, took them upstairs, and put them away. The slacks could have used ironing but I didn’t have one, so it wasn’t happening.
I was halfway down the stairs to the living room when I heard ::You did a good job of it, Lucas.::
I was tempted to ask sarcastically if he meant folding my laundry but thought better of it. Instead I replied dryly, “Thanks, I think. I’m glad it met with your approval.” I looked around even though I knew I wouldn’t see him, or even sense where he was—unless he wanted me too. Crossing to the sofa, I curled into one corner, wrapping my arms around my knees.
::It did. You’re quite clever for one so young.:: He snickered. ::It wouldn’t do for the police to come calling. In spite of your
