It All Falls Down (Rose Gardner Investigations #7) - Denise Grover Swank Page 0,3
and into the small sunroom off my bedroom, which I’d turned into an office so I could be close to Hope while she slept. Being in there made me happy, because so many of the people I loved had worked together to make it special. Joe had made me a desk from an old wooden door he’d found at an auction, and Neely Kate had found a pretty blue rug that popped against the crisp white walls. Bruce Wayne had brought me an ergonomic office chair, and Maeve, who’d been managing the nursery since Violet’s death, had brought in several decor pieces from the shop. We’d hung some curtains and added a chair, and other than the nursery, it had become my favorite part of the house.
The sun began to rise, and the trees behind the barn at the back of my property were suffused with a soft pink glow. It was a beautiful sunrise, but I struggled to enjoy it. My vision of Joe haunted me, and I had a bad feeling the crime scene he was investigating might be the start of something ominous.
I tried to work on a backyard redesign based on the measurements and photos Bruce Wayne had taken during his consultation with the clients, but I was too distracted to focus. I needed to know what was going on, and I knew someone who might be able to tell me.
I got up and peered through the open door to my room to check on Hope. She was still sleeping, and Muffy had resumed her place on the bed. Then I sat in my office chair and tapped out a text to Tim Dermot.
Would you like a home-cooked breakfast and a chance to see your goddaughter?
It was around six, so I didn’t expect an answer for at least another hour or so, but he responded right away.
Will there be three at breakfast or four?
He was asking if Joe would be there.
I wasn’t surprised. Dermot was a big player in the criminal world, although I was still unsure exactly what he did, and I preferred to keep it that way. Plausible deniability and all. But Dermot had helped me out of more than one difficult situation, including delivering Hope under extremely harrowing conditions. I owed the man my life. Joe recognized that fact, but he was still the chief deputy sheriff, so I tried not to put him in awkward situations.
Two until Hope wakes up, which will likely be sooner than later.
Give me an hour. I’m dealing with a situation.
A situation. Did it involve whatever crime had driven Joe out of the house before dawn?
Okay. See you then.
Work was impossible, so I headed into Hope’s room to grab her laundry basket. Although we’d moved the monitor set up to her bedroom, I wasn’t concerned about hearing her once she woke up. She had a set of lungs on her that could be heard throughout the house. I carted her laundry downstairs to the basement and put a load in the washing machine. Just as I was heading back upstairs, I paused. Something didn’t feel right, but I couldn’t pinpoint what it was. It was like something was out of place.
I glanced around the unfinished space, trying to figure out what was making me uneasy, and I realized that some of the boxes along the far wall looked like they’d been moved around. When I’d inherited the house, I’d also inherited boxes of photos and keepsakes that had been stored in the house for decades. Joe and I had been going through them, trying to determine what to keep and what to toss out. It must have been from the last time he was down here.
Feeling more at ease, I headed back upstairs to figure out what to make for breakfast. I got the impression Dermot didn’t cook for himself, so I tried to spoil him on the rare occasions when he ate with me. I decided on waffles, bacon, and fried eggs, and of course, a pot of coffee. I’d started the bacon frying, made the waffle fixings, and set the iron to heating when I heard a soft knock at the back door.
I hurried over and opened the door when I saw Dermot on the stoop. “Something smells good,” he said as he walked inside.
“It’s the bacon. Coffee’s in the pot.”
Dark semi-circles hung under his eyes, and he gave me a weary smile. “I could drink a gallon.”