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PAST TENSE

• Kate's Mystery Books Newsletter

Excerpted from PAST TENSE:

When we got back to the cottage, I poured us each a snifter of brandy. I handed one to Evie and said, "How about that hot tub?"

She shook her head. "I'm not in the mood anymore."

"We can't let Larry spoil our time."

"It's not Larry," she said. "It's you."

I took my brandy out onto the deck, and after a few minutes Evie came out. We leaned our elbows on the rail and looked out over the marsh. The fog had evaporated, and the moon reflected off the glassy water.

"Pretty, huh?" I said.

"Yes," said Evie softly. "It's pretty."

"You going to be mad for a while?"

"I think so."

"What do you want me to say?"

"Nothing."

I put my arm around her. She stiffened for a moment, then allowed me to hug her against me.

"I'm sorry for deceiving you," I said. "It'll never happen again."

She hesitated, then chuckled. "It probably will. Don't worry about it. It's no big deal, and it's stupid of me to hold it against you. Compared to every other man I've known, you are positively saintly."

I snapped my fingers. "Saintly. Something Larry said. He said he had something to tell you about your saint. What was that all about?"

"Can we please forget about Larry?"

"None of my business, you mean."

"I mean exactly what I said. I don't want to talk about Larry. I don't want to think about Larry. Okay?"

"Sure," I said. "Okay."

Before we went to bed, I retrieved the key from under the doormat and locked the doors and the glass sliders.

Evie was at the sink putting together the coffee for the morning. "What are you doing?" she said.

"Locking up."

She shook her head. "God damn him. I refuse to let him ruin our weekend."

"No harm in locking the doors."

"And what?" she said. "No more wandering around the house naked? No playing footsie in the hot tub? The hell with that. Larry is harmless, and I'm going to pretend he doesn't exist."

"Good," I said. "Me, too." But I didn't mean it.

* * *

When I woke up the next morning, the light was gray through the windows. Somewhere out there a pair of bobwhites were whistling to each other.

Evie was sitting on the edge of the bed.

"What time is it?" I said.

"Little after five. Go back to sleep."

"What're you doing?"

"I can't sleep. I'm going running." She came around to my side of the bed, bent over, kissed my forehead, then turned for the door. Evie was tall and slim and curvy, and she had long auburn hair. This morning she'd pulled it back into a ponytail, and it hung halfway down her back. She was wearing a white T- shirt and pink running shorts cut high on her hips. She looked trim and athletic and incredibly sexy.

I gave her a bobwhite whistle.

She paused in the doorway, put one hand on her hip and the other behind her head, thrust out her pelvis, licked her lips, and flashed a parody of a half-lidded Marilyn Monroe smile. "I'll be back," she said. "Don't you move, big guy."

"Wait," I said. "What about . . .?"

She held up her hand. It held a cylinder about the size of a shotgun shell. "Pepper spray," she said. "I carry it for dogs. All species of dogs. Don't you worry about me. Go back to sleep."

"Yes, ma'am." I bunched a pillow under my head, listened to the bobwhites for a few minutes, and eventually I drifted back to sleep.

Sometime later I woke up from a disturbing dream in which people were screaming, and it took me a moment to realize I was awake and I was still hearing the screaming. It came from somewhere outside the cottage, and it was Evie, and she was yelling for help.