FROM THE DARK HORSE…

Later, when we were undressing for bed, I said impulsively, “I thought I saw Paul Hammond today.”

Dan, mid-shooting his boxers into the dirty clothes hamper, halted and turned my way. “Where?”

“On the hill behind the house.”

I knew immediately it had been a mistake to tell him. He continued to study me for a long moment, not saying anything, just assessing the situation like a good detective.

I said quickly, “I know it couldn’t have been him. It just…spooked me. It looked like him from a distance.”

“What was he doing?” I knew that neutral tone.

“Nothing. I mean, I guess he was looking out at the ocean. He waved to me.” Dan’s face changed. Before he could say anything I qualified, “I mean, I was staring his way and he waved to me, so obviously he couldn’t have been Paul Hammond. Especially since he’s dead.”

Okay. Shut up now.

Dan said, “It’s natural after a year of that bullshit that you’re still keeping an eye out for him. And it’s natural that somebody with Hammond’s build or coloring would remind you of him.”

I nodded. Was he trying to reassure me or himself?