Cut Out Cookie by P.D. Workman

Author:P.D. Workman [Workman, P.D.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: P.D. Workman

CHAPTER 22

There wasn’t much that Erin could do to help Terry feel better about being kicked off the case. Except to do what she usually did—make him something to eat.

While she pulled a small supper together for him, she entertained him with the story of Nilla coming over to meet Orange Blossom and Marshmallow.

Blossom seemed to know that he was being talked about and wound around Erin’s legs, meowing in protest either of Nilla coming over or of the way that Erin was telling the story. Terry chuckled.

“You’re going to have to make friends with the dogs,” he told Blossom. “They’ve got you surrounded.”

“I think he’ll get along with Nilla better than K9,” Erin said. “He’s smaller and not as threatening. Blossom can bully him.”

“We’ll see. From what I’ve seen of cats and dogs, it’s not the size of the dog in the fight but the fight in the dog.”

“I’ve heard that before, you know.”

“I didn’t claim to have made it up.”

Erin removed the dish from the microwave and put it in front of Terry. There was a loud knock on the front door, making her jump. She looked at the clock on the wall. “Who would be coming at this time of night?”

Terry looked at the food, then got to his feet. “Let me check. I don’t like you answering the door this late.”

Erin thought that she should protest, remind Terry that she was a grown woman perfectly capable of answering her own door no matter what time of night it was. But she’d had late-night visitors in the past. Visitors that Terry would be much more equipped to handle than Erin was. She was happy to let him be the macho protector and ensure that there wasn’t an ax murderer at the front door.

Terry strode across the living room to the front door, not bothering to look out the living room window or check the peephole before turning the locks on the front door and pulling it open.

Stayner stood there, as straight and stiff in his uniform as if he himself had been starched, expression stony. He didn’t smile at Terry or greet him by name. He handed a folded piece of paper to Terry.

“Search warrant,” he explained. “If we could get the two of you to sit on the sofa here while we conduct the search.”

Terry stared at him, unmoving.

“You know how this is done,” Stayner said in a tough-guy voice. “Step aside, please.”

Terry reached for the burglar alarm pad, an unexpected movement that made Stayner jump and reach for his sidearm.

“Need to disarm this,” Terry advised, as the panel began to beep steadily. “If you don’t disarm it within thirty seconds of the door opening, it’s going to make a heck of a racket.”

Stayner relaxed and watched Terry punch in the security code and disarm it. “Thank you. And now, if the two of you would please sit down.”

Terry strode back toward the kitchen. “We’ll be in here. We were just sitting down to eat.”

He didn’t look back at his fellow officer.

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