Chapter 17

If a room lacks a focal point, add a console table and a piece of artwork or mirror above it.

Throughout the night, I found myself thinking about my conversation with Sister Madeleine. Her words had stung. Could she be right? My feelings about Monica had been with me for so long I couldn’t remember a time when I hadn’t felt that way about her. I might have eventually gotten over her school days’ taunting if I hadn’t later suspected her of being involved with Derrick.

And then there was my resentment toward Derrick. Does a wife ever get over being married to someone as unfaithful—or as selfish and controlling—as Derrick had been? Derrick, with his handsome looks and charming manner, had easily attracted women willing to become involved with a married man. Was Sister Madeleine right and my feelings about him were dragging me down? Could they also be feeding my aversion to handsome men?

Sister Madeleine’s words filled my head. It was as though she had invaded my thoughts like the spirit of the dead soldier that invaded Inspector Ian Rutledge’s mind in Charles Todd’s series featuring the inspector.

It was with those thoughts in mind that I found myself that morning standing in front of the steps leading to the police station to see if I could get in to visit Monica. Sister Madeleine would never know how much my actions were costing me.

I squared my shoulders and started to climb the wide granite steps. When I reached the top step, I abruptly found myself falling toward the steps I’d just climbed. A set of arms caught me before I hit the granite, but not before we both lost our balance and ended up on the steps. Fortunately, my rescuer had twisted his body in the fall so that I landed on top of him. It took me a few seconds to catch my breath and wonder if I had broken something. It was only then that I looked up and realized that I was sitting in Detective Spangler’s lap.

If I hadn’t been so shaken, I would have sprung up and stomped away with as much hauteur as I could muster. As it was, I could only stare at him, his face just inches from mine.

“Ah, Ms. Bishop, could you move over a bit so I can get up?” A flash of pain crossed his face, and I wondered if he’d been injured in the fall.

Of all the people, in all the world, I had to end up on top of him. I rolled over onto my hands and knees and slowly pushed myself to my feet, accepting the hand he extended to help me.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Bishop. Are you okay?”

He was apologizing? I honestly couldn’t say if I was okay or not. It would probably take a few minutes for me to recover from the shock of the tumble to know for sure. When I didn’t respond, the detective opened the door to the station lobby and led me to a row of benches.

“I think I’m okay.” I sat down as gently as I could. “What happened?”

“We collided. It was my fault. I came out a side door on the landing and dashed around the corner too quickly, apparently just as you reached there.” He looked me over from head to toe as though to detect any injuries. “Are you okay?” he asked again.

“I think so. Just let me sit here for a few minutes.” I wiped my hands together and then ran them down my skirt to brush any dust away. I did it more out of nervousness than because of any actual dust. Tomorrow I’d probably be covered in bruises.

“What brings you here today?” His dark eyes with those lovely thick lashes studied me with suspicion.

“I hoped to visit Monica Heller. Sister Madeleine asked me to see how she was doing and find out if she needed anything.” I was stretching the truth a bit, but he didn’t need to know the purpose of my visit.

“Ah, Sister Madeleine—the spiritual advisor.”

So he had also been suspicious of the purpose of her visit.

“You know we only allow family members and legal representatives to visit at this point, and if the prisoner agrees.” He peered at me intently, probably hoping I would hop up and walk away briskly to show that I changed my mind about seeing Monica. When I didn’t, he got up from his seat. “Let me see what I can do.”

I was relieved and hoped his guilty conscience about knocking me over was prompting him to help me. If it took a tumble to get in, I’d do it again.

A few minutes later, he returned. “Okay, I’ve cleared it, and she agrees to see you. If you are feeling okay, go through the doors over there. They’ll sign you in and take you back to the visiting area.”

He paused and turned back to me. “You aren’t going to get involved with this investigation, are you?”

That wasn’t my plan.

I gave him an underhanded wave to go away, hoping he would take the hint. As he walked away, I remembered my manners and called out to him. “Detective? Thank you for not knocking me all the way to the bottom of the steps.”

He grinned at me and walked through the doorway, limping a bit.