Artistic License by Julie Hyzy

Author:Julie Hyzy
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: mystery, cozy, women sleuths, Chicago
Published: 2010-11-04T05:00:00+00:00

He did indeed have extra rooms.

“I bought this place years ago,” he explained as they walked through the attached garage and small hallway to the kitchen. “Thinking that maybe we’d live up here for the summer and take our winters back in Georgia. But, Nancy wouldn’t hear of it.”

“It’s beautiful,” Annie said. Though not opulent like the DeChristopher home, this house also had room to spare. But while their home boasted knick-knacks galore, Sam’s could be considered utilitarian. A flowery sofa took up the back wall of the family room, a matching loveseat sat at an angle, opposite. The sofa was flanked by two pink wing chairs and the three seats faced a television and VCR on a shaky-looking stand.

“I didn’t pick the fabric,” Sam said, indicating the sofa. “Nancy got tired of it in our Georgia house, so we had it shipped here. Said she was sick of all the bright colors.”

Annie’s gaze swept over the kitchen as Sam moved toward the sink. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I haven’t done dishes in a few days . . .”

From the look of it, he hadn’t done dishes in longer than just a few days. Filled with coffee mugs, drinking glasses, and crusted plates, the sink overflowed with proof that no maid had been hired for this house. The surrounding counter, as it rounded into a peninsula toward the eating area, was covered with stacks of old mail, some opened, some not. Sam’s ever-present white dress shirts draped the backs of all four wooden kitchen chairs. Two or three shirts each.

“Sam . . .”

“And I’ve been meaning to get to the cleaners,” he said, grabbing at the shirts and bunching them into his arms. “Let me clear this up for you to sit. I’m so sorry. This place is a wreck.”

“Sam.”

He stopped, his arms full, his face pink with embarrassment. “Yeah?”

“You live here, right?”

He shrugged the affirmative.

“So, stop worrying. Homes are supposed to be comfortable. And this is . . .” Annie gave a contented sigh, taking in the mess, the lovely imperfection of it all, “very comfortable.”

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