"Momma!" Both daughters hurried from the kitchen.

"Momma, you look so nice." Patricia wiped her hands on her apron.

Paula touched the wool of Helena's suit. "That's a real fine suit on you. The color makes you look younger. No one would ever think you were a day over fifty."

"She doesn't look old enough to be our mother as it is now," Patricia bragged. "When we were little, our friends used to think Momma was a model, remember?"

For the hundredth time, Helena wished her daughters could wear the sizes in her store. They had open accounts but only charged a bag or a scarf now and then. Helena felt she had a lifetime of knowledge about clothing and no one to pass it down to.

"Mary tells me you both have been helping out at the store."

They grinned, proud of themselves.

"We think you'll be pleased, Momma. We've been trying, hoping to take some of the load off your shoulders." Paula took Helena's coat and umbrella and put them by the door. "Is it raining?"

"Not yet," Helena answered. "But you know I like to be prepared."

Paula led Helena toward the kitchen. "Mary even let us do some of the ordering. We had a great time."

Helena wanted to ask more questions, but she saw that the table was already set. She was always a little surprised at what good cooks they had both become. Paula made breads and pies better than any bakery in town. Patricia managed to set a pretty table even though the napkins were paper. Holidays were important to them and therefore Helena always tried to be on her best behavior.

She surprised herself by enjoying the dinner. Nowhere in town had a better meal than the one her daughters cooked. They were both pleased when she asked for not only seconds, but thirds.

Two hours later, as they stood side by side in the kitchen doing the dishes, Helena said almost sadly, "I've had a wonderful time, but I need to start back."

Paula leaned over the sink and stared out the window. "If it rains, it might freeze after dark, but you've got a few hours yet, Momma."

Helena pulled off her apron and laid it across one of the kitchen chairs. "You outdid yourselves today, girls. This was the best Thanksgiving dinner ever. I'm sure J.D. would enjoy a plate. I'll make him one."

Neither daughter said a word as Helena filled one of the plastic plates with food. When she finished, she kissed them both and headed toward the door.

At the tiny table in the front entrance, she set the plate down and slipped on her coat. The noise from the TV would have drowned out any goodbye she wanted to make to her sons-in-law, and all the children were watching a movie in the back of the house.

As she lifted J.D.'s plate, Paula's voice drifted from the kitchen. "Don't worry about it, Pat. She's just dealing with his loss the only way she knows how."

"She's not dealing with it at all. She hasn't removed anything that belonged to him. The other day I was in her bedroom, and his reading glasses are still on the stand beside his chair."

"I did like old Doc Hamilton suggested. I've told her several times that J.D. is dead when she starts talking about him. But she doesn't seem to hear." Paula sounded like she was about to cry. "There is nothing more we can do. Our mother is taking her dead husband a plate of food and we're all acting like that's just fine."

Helena ran out the door before she had to listen to more of such nonsense.

By the time she got home, Helena felt a little out of breath. She put J.D.'s food in the kitchen and hurried up the stairs to change out of her dress clothes and into something more comfortable.

Once in her bathroom, she pushed a full bottle of blood pressure medicine, atenolol, aside, thinking her blood pressure must be low, not high, since she felt so tired lately. Tonight, she would not bother with the captopril pill, either. She really could not remember why the doctor had suggested she take it in the first place. All she needed was a glass of wine and she would feel fine.

She went back downstairs for the warmed meal for J.D. but climbing back up the stairs, Helena moved at a slower pace than usual.

"I'm tired," she whispered. "It has been a long day."

The door to their bedroom was open and she smiled, knowing J.D. was already waiting for her.

"I'm back," she yelled, and as she entered the room she could hear the cork on the wine popping.


Thanksgiving

11:00 a.m.

Courthouse


Meredith Allen sifted through the files. Cora Lee Wilson, the county clerk, had left her plenty to do during the four days the office would be closed to the public. In most small towns like Clifton Creek, the clerk's position resembled the Pope's. Once elected, the term stretched for life. Cora Lee had started passing jobs off to Meredith when she worked summers during her last two years of high school. At first it was filing, then record keeping. Now Meredith was not sure the clerk even remembered how to do some of the reports that had to be kept.

But Meredith didn't mind. She enjoyed the silence of the work. It was so different from teaching, and it offered her the extra money she needed.

Thanksgiving passed faster at work than at home alone. The cold marble and brick of the courthouse were familiar to her. She had danced in the empty halls while her father cleaned the place years ago. When she had been five, the building was her palace with huge windows that reached the sky, and wooden railings that shone as if liquid glass had been poured over them. She knew where every light switch was, every back door, every hidden cove where a little girl could hide and pretend.

She glanced out the windows she once thought were the tallest in the world. Sheriff Farrington's car was parked next to hers on the otherwise empty lot. He arrived first, but Meredith didn't stop in to let him know she was here.

In the past five years, they had developed a pattern. Whoever came in last or left first always checked in at the other's office to let them know someone else was in the building.

Only she did not want to face him this morning. Meredith knew he was here. He was always here. Sheriff Farrington once told her that he worked holidays because both his deputies were family men. In truth, she guessed he was more like her now and did not want to be at home alone.

Meredith tried to keep busy, but she could not concentrate on filing while thinking about him, only a few doors away. She probably had not crossed his mind. One-night stands were no doubt his specialty.

Closing her eyes, Meredith decided she must be the worst lover in the world. Or at least the worst Sheriff Farrington had ever known. That was why he told her they should not see one another again. Or maybe he didn't like the way she looked, or felt, or smelled. Who knows? She had spent most of her life trying to understand Kevin. It seemed far too much trouble to start over with another man now. There wasn't enough lifetime left to make any progress.

Kevin had been big. He loved hugging and cuddling. Even when they were arguing, usually about money, he would always pull her close at night, like she was a part of him.

Granger's night with her was totally different. He touched her, but she didn't feel a part of him. He knew how to please a woman but, before and after, he did not seem to have any idea what to do with her. For him, the loving was something he did to a woman, not something they made together.

Meredith decided she would just become a monk, or whatever women are called who have no sex in their life. Feeling great for a short time was not worth the hours of worrying about him afterward.

He had probably been right to end their affair the day after it started. Where could it lead, anyway? Neither were the type to sneak around which, in this town, was nearly impossible. He obviously liked being a bachelor; he'd avoided several attempts to be matched up with single ladies in the area.

The last thing she needed in her life right now was a man. It would be a long time, maybe never, before she would be able to set herself up for the possibility of marrying and then losing another husband.

He'd been wise to end it, but that didn't make it hurt any less. She felt like the only girl dumped at the prom.

Granger paced in his office down the hall. He circled his desk for the tenth time, thinking of crossing the distance to Meredith. He was glad the dispatcher, Inez, wasn't there to watch him acting like a squirrel in a cage. Inez would have laughed at him. She'd probably stop making fun of Adam, the oldest deputy, and start picking on him.

He thought of trying to call Anna Montano again. Eventually she would have to talk to him. She couldn't just send answers care of her brother, even if Carlo seemed to consider himself some kind of guard dog over his little sister. There were still questions about the accident.

Granger glanced at the hallway. Maybe he should ask Meredith about the Montano woman. At least that would give him some way to start a conversation.

He reconsidered, realizing he was acting the fool again, thinking about Meredith as if there weren't a hundred more important things for him to concentrate on. He couldn't help wondering why she hadn't stopped by when she came in this morning. It wasn't like her not to follow the rules. Even unwritten ones. He didn't even like her all that much he reminded himself. She wasn't his type, and he was far too old to let any woman get under his skin.

She was cluttery. He required an order about everything in his life. Half the time he saw her, she looked like she'd gotten dressed in the car on the way to school.

She was too short. Her legs would never wrap around his waist. He liked a woman who could do that. And her breasts were too large. Far too large, he told himself. Any more than a handful is a waste. And she wore her hair like a little girl. A damn ribbon. She had to be in her thirties, and she still wore ribbons.