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Page 24.
 Jeff drove home berating himself for having crossed the line between friendship and impropriety.
Rain beat against the windshield, and leaves floated in the air, as the VW raced after the cones of its headlights.
Once home, he fed Checky (who sensed his mood and hovered whimpering around her bed), took a shower, and lay on the couch rifling through the growing pile of notes he'd been making for his book. "Checky, I ought to kick myself in the rear."
The dog lay with sympathetic eyes.
"Here I let myself get sidetracked to certain disaster. I'm here to write a book, and instead get involved in a police case. I'm working for Beering, and I get exchange felony kisses with his granddaughter. Maybe I ought to just pack you and me and the goods and leave town before it gets any worse."
Checky seemed to shake her head.
"I could get killed, you know, there is a madman out there in the rain. For all I know he's about to bust the door down and nail himself another editor."
Just then the phone rang.
It was Lexa. "Jeff?"
He lay back on the couch, phone on his chest, receiver snug between shoulder and ear. "Lexa, I want to apologize."
"Oh no," she said, "I want to apologize to you." She sighed, and it was almost as though her cheek were pressed against his, so good was the connection despite the weather. "Jeff, I do like you a great deal. If I were not... tied up, I would like to see you as more than a friend. It's just..."
"Lexa, I'm trying to understand. Myself, I mean. And your situation. I feel the same way about you, but I realize I can't just barge into your life. I really do enjoy your company, and it's too bad, I feel like we crossed a line we shouldn't have. So maybe it's for the best if..."
She interrupted: "Jeff, Jeff!" He could almost picture her tearing her hair or something. "I'm really confused. I..." She seemed to change tack suddenly. "I just wanted to call and tell you it was my fault. I'm sorry. You're right. We should not see each other anymore."
"I understand," he said, "Are you at home?"
"Yes."
"Keep your doors and windows locked. I'm going to speak with Detective McCarthy in the morning. I'm afraid when you signed that rejection, you may have set yourself up for a visit from this nut, whoever he is."
"I'll be fine."
"Don't SAY that. There are two dead people already."
"Jeff, you're sweet for caring so much."
He laughed. "You know, I was just speaking with my dog about that. She hasn't given me her answer yet, but I've been thinking of pulling out."
"You mean quit?"
"Yes."
"Why don't you just tell McCarthy to find someone else?"
"I'm kind of committed," Jeff said.
"I understand about commitment," she said meaningfully.
After they had rung off, Jeff paced up and down. Lightning and thunder interrupted his thoughts. And in the end, he could see no way out. Something about Albert Beering compelled him to looker further and deeper, and strangely he was not afraid. He went to the window and looked outside. There, under a street lamp inundated with rain, sat an unmarked police car.
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