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The unpaid back taxes and the lack of liquid assets had forced Skye to take out a home-equity loan for the renovations, and a bumpy start with a bad-boy contractor had delayed the restorations, so it had taken her quite a while to get the place fixed up. But she was finally done—at least with the first and second floors. The third story was still completely untouched.

Thank goodness Wally had agreed to live there after their wedding. With everything she’d been through refurbishing the house, Skye wanted to enjoy the fruits of her labor.

It had helped that once they were officially married, the resident apparition had backed off. Prior to making their relationship legal, Mrs. Griggs, who evidently had never gone toward the light, had done everything in her ghostly power to prevent Skye and Wally from making love. If that had persisted, there was no way in heck they could they have continued to live there. However, Skye took it as a good sign that they hadn’t had a visit from the resident spook since returning from their honeymoon.

Unlocking the door and stepping into the foyer, Skye found her path blocked by a large black cat. Bingo sat on the throw rug, narrowed his big golden green eyes, and stared at her accusingly. He had belonged to her grandmother, who had explained that since she could never win the actual game, she had named her cat Bingo so that she could at least shout out the word when she was calling for her pet.

After Grandma Leofanti’s death, Skye had rescued the beautiful kitty from her uncle’s evil clutches. Dante had been sure the animal was valuable and had wanted to sell
him, but Skye knew that an older cat with no pedigree would more likely be abandoned than cause a bidding war.

Evidently, forgiving Skye for whatever real or imagined transgressions had upset his feline feelings, Bingo twined around Skye’s ankles, meowing and purring simultaneously. She dropped her stuff on the hall bench and scooped him up, burying her face in his velvetlike fur. He revved his motor and purred louder, kneading her shoulder with his front paws.

A few seconds later, apparently deciding he’d had enough affection, Bingo extended his back claws to indicate his sudden displeasure. Once he got Skye’s attention, he leaped from her arms. Landing with a soft
thud
, he strolled away, his tail sticking straight up into the air.

Strangely soothed by the cat’s customary welcome-home ritual, Skye picked up her duffel and the pharmacy bag and headed toward the staircase. Stopping in midstride, she sniffed. What was that delicious smell?

It took her a few seconds to remember that Dorothy Snyder made supper for them on Mondays and Thursdays. Along with his gun collection, treadmill, and awesome sports car, Wally had brought something, or she really should say some
one
, else into the marriage—a part-time housekeeper. Skye had been reluctant to have somebody cook and clean for her, but when Wally had pointed out that if she refused, she was putting the woman out of a job, she’d relented.

Skye was still uneasy with having Dorothy work for them. While the woman was an amazing chef and kept the place spotless, she was also one of May’s oldest friends. Although Wally had assured Skye that he’d spoken to her about confidentiality and warned her that any leaks to her BFF would result in her immediate dismissal, Skye continued to be a bit uncomfortable with the situation.

Then again, Skye took another whiff of the enticing aroma; she was getting used to coming home to a
wonderful meal she didn’t have to prepare. What was worse—a lack of privacy or having to cook every night?

Exasperated at her own indecision, she ran upstairs to change clothes. She couldn’t wait to get out of the outfit she’d worn for school. When she’d packed it, she hadn’t realized that the waistband of the khaki slacks had become uncomfortably tight and the buttons on the blouse now pulled open across her chest. Wally might be thrilled with her larger breasts, but an increase in cup size meant that nothing fit right anymore.

After tucking her vitamins into the master bath’s medicine cabinet, she took the last pill from the previous bottle and tossed the container in the trash. Then, finally, Skye took a much-needed shower. Once she was clean, she put on sweatpants and a T-shirt and hurried down the steps. Dashing into the kitchen, she skidded to a stop, letting out a tiny squeak of alarm.

What was Dorothy still doing here? Normally the housekeeper left before Skye got home from work, and on the days she didn’t, the cranberry red Cadillac Catera sitting in the driveway gave Skye a heads-up that she was in the house.

Dorothy turned from the stove and said, “Are you early or am I late?”

She was a tall, solidly built woman in her early sixties. She and May had been classmates, and her deceased husband had been in the navy with Jed. The two couples had been close friends, and as a child, Skye had spent a lot of time with the Snyder family.

“I think it must be you, because I even stopped at the drugstore on my way home.” Skye hugged the older woman. “Where’s your car?”

“Tammy’s SUV was in the garage. She needed to run to Laurel to get food for my granddog, so she borrowed the Caddy and dropped me off.”

Skye hid a smile. Dorothy’s daughter had stated that the only grandchild she was producing for her mom would have four feet. Dorothy had accepted Tammy’s
declaration much better than Skye’s mother would have taken similar news.

Dorothy glanced at the wall clock and frowned. “She should have been here to pick me up over half an hour ago. I hope she’s okay.”

“Maybe you should call her cell.” Skye lifted the lid on one of the pans. Italian sausage simmered in a spicy tomato sauce.

“Yeah.” Dorothy reached into the pocket of her jeans and dug out her phone. “I have to get home and get spiffed up. Tonight’s my bowling league, and there’s a new guy who’s a real cutie patootie.” She winked and slid her free hand down her hips. “Rumor has it he’s a widower.”

Skye gave Dorothy a thumbs-up, then noticed that Bingo had magically appeared at her feet. He thumped her leg with his paw and purred loudly.
Aw, yes.
It was cat chowtime. As the housekeeper talked to her daughter, Skye prepared Bingo’s supper. She popped open the tin of Fancy Feast, scooped the contents into his bowl, and set it and fresh water next to the untouched bowl of dry food on a mat that read,
KITTY CAT CAFÉ. FEED ME AND I WILL LOVE YOU FOREVER.

Bingo sniffed delicately, lifted his head, and glared at Skye.

“Come on, don’t be silly. You’ve been eating the same stuff for over five years now.”

He looked up at her out of slitted eyes, sat back, and stared.

“We’ve had this discussion before. Grandma may have prepared home-cooked meals for you, but that isn’t going to happen in this house.” Skye pointed to the back door. “If you’re not happy here, feel free to leave.” Bingo continued to gaze at her, and Skye added, “You’re lucky that I buy you the name-brand cat food.”

Bingo blinked as if thinking it over, then took a tentative lick.

“That’s more like it.” Skye patted the cat’s head, turned,
and walked to the refrigerator. She grabbed a can of caffeine-free Diet Coke and a container of spinach and artichoke hummus, then took a bag of toasted garlic pita chips from the cupboard and carried her snack to the table.

On a good day, Wally didn’t get home until after five, usually closer to five thirty. And since he liked to work out and shower before sitting down at the table, they rarely ate dinner before six thirty or seven. She wasn’t fond of eating that late—it felt as if she had just finished supper and it was time for bed—but she was slowly adjusting to her new husband’s schedule.

One method of coping was to have a little something a bit earlier to tide her over and then eat less with Wally later on in the evening.

“Tammy’ll be here in ten minutes. Walmart was really crowded, and they only had two cash registers open.” Dorothy tucked away her cell and said, “I’ll put the sausage in the fridge next to the polenta. When you’re ready for supper, the salad is in the green Tupperware bowl and the garlic bread is on top of that container wrapped in foil. Put the bread in the oven for fifteen minutes while you reheat the sausage and polenta.”

“At three fifty, right?” Skye asked, and when Dorothy nodded, she said, “Thanks. It sounds yummy. But then, all your food is.”

“You’re very welcome.” Dorothy finished tidying the kitchen and started to wash the pan that the sausage had been in. “How’s everything with you?”

“Just fine.” Skye dipped a pita chip into the hummus. “I can’t wait for this week to be over. I’m so ready for spring break.”

“It’ll be nice for you to have some time at home.” Dorothy dried the pan. “You had to go to work the day after you got back from your honeymoon, didn’t you? That had to be exhausting.”

“A little.” Skye took a sip of her soda. “But since you did all the laundry for us, it wasn’t too bad.” She smiled. “I’m getting spoiled.”

“Like May didn’t spoil both you and Vince?” Dorothy snickered, then sobered and asked, “Have you been feeling okay?”

“Uh-huh.” Skye stuffed a chip into her mouth so she couldn’t talk.
Shoot!
Had Dorothy noticed something? Had she told May?

“You don’t want to get run down.” Dorothy slid the clean pan into the cupboard shelf and walked over to Skye. “The whole putting on a wedding and then starting a new life can be tough.” She patted Skye’s shoulder. “Now that there’s more than just you to consider, you need to take better care of yourself.” She opened her mouth to continue, but the sound of a honking horn interrupted her. Grabbing her purse from the counter, she said, “Don’t forget to take your vitamins.”

Oh. My. Gosh!
Skye choked on the chip she’d been chewing. She closed her eyes. Was there any evidence of her pregnancy?
No.
She certainly hadn’t bought any maternity clothes or baby items.

Unless Dorothy had noticed the unusually rapid consumption of soda crackers, Skye hadn’t left any trace of her morning sickness. She’d even been careful to hide her copy of
What to Expect When You’re Expecting
—it had been a pain to stick it in a shoe box at the back of her closet every time she was through reading, but she’d done it.

Skye shook her head. She was being paranoid. No one knew about the baby. Not Dorothy. Not May. Not anyone. And no one would know until she and Wally made the announcement. Reaching for another chip, she relaxed against the back of the chair, then stiffened.

Crap!
Had Dorothy opened up the medicine chest and seen the prenatal vitamin bottle or noticed an empty one in the trash can? That would certainly explain her farewell remark. Best-case scenario, she just meant that now that Skye had a husband, she wasn’t on her own anymore, and anything that affected her would affect him, too.

Yep.
That had to be it. Skye took a sip of soda, then
stood and fetched the stack of folders from the hall bench. Until Wally got home, she’d work on the report that Trixie’s early-morning visit had prevented her from completing. Feeling virtuous, she spread the papers across the kitchen table, arranged her yellow legal pad at the proper angle, and picked up her favorite pen.
Heck!
Maybe she could even get a head start on the next day’s cases.

An hour later, Skye was pondering the meaning of the pattern of subtest scatter on the Wechsler Intelligence Scale for Children—Fourth Edition, affectionately known as the WISC-IV, when she heard a car pulling up in front of the house. Shoving the protocol into the folder, she organized the files that were strewn across the table into a pile, got to her feet, and dashed into the hallway.

Wally had just stepped inside, and when he spotted her, he met her halfway down the corridor, wordlessly gathering her to his chest. He gently cupped her chin and claimed her lips. His kiss was hungry, and she returned it with a reckless abandon that surprised her. They’d been apart for only twelve hours, yet it felt as if she hadn’t been in his arms for days.

At the same time that he roused her passion, it was clear that his own was growing stronger, too. He pulled her tighter, her soft curves molding to the contours of his muscular body. Blood pounded in her brain and her knees trembled. Something about her pregnancy had put her hormones, and apparently Wally’s as well, into overdrive. They’d been going at it like oversexed rabbits, and she wondered if that was natural. She needed to check with someone about that.

As Skye’s world spun out of control, the radio attached to Wally’s epaulette crackled and the dispatcher’s voice said, “Officer Martinez, there’s a ten-ninety-one at the St. Francis parish hall. Please be advised that the ladies are afraid to go to their cars.”

Skye jerked out of his arms. Nothing like her mother’s voice coming from her husband’s shoulder to throw a bucket of cold water over Skye’s lust.

May was the afternoon dispatcher for the Scumble River Police Department, and as such, Wally was her superior. The role of boss and son-in-law was a delicate balance—one Skye was trying not to influence. But it was tough with Skye also working for the PD as a psych consultant. That was the bad part of small-town living: There was no way to keep a clear demarcation between professional and personal worlds.

With a sheepish grin, Wally unclipped the radio from his shirt and said, “Sorry about that.” He set the receiver on the bench. “I need to remember to turn that thing off once I’m home.”

He tried to take her back into his arms, but Skye headed for the kitchen, asking over her shoulder, “What’s a ten-ninety-one?” She’d memorized the more common ten-codes, but the meaning of that particular one eluded her.

“A stray animal.” Wally followed Skye and took a beer from the fridge. “If it’s vicious, I hope Martinez doesn’t try to capture it all by herself. Too bad animal control only works nine to five.”

Zelda Martinez was the newest police officer and the only woman on the Scumble River force. Zelda had joined the department eighteen months ago. She’d been hired fresh out of college and was still inexperienced in dealing with everyday issues not covered in the curriculum.