4
The glow of the sunlit, pastel curtains in my room became too much for me at around eight a.m., so I stumbled downstairs. The police—sheriff’s department, whatever—had worked pretty quickly, but they hadn’t left until five a.m. I hated to start a day that promised to be so challenging with so little sleep.
Lisa was up, but she was still wearing the same Nick Charles-style pajamas she’d worn the night before (although the dapper detective would have been hard-pressed to pull off pale pink with white piping). She stood over the stove, making the kitchen smell good, spatula in one hand and a mug in the other. I admired her ability to multi-kitchen-task, especially given the events of the night before. We’d end up with a coffee omelet if I tried to do the same.
“Morning,” she said. “I kno
