Murder Deja Vu

sleep on it, make up his mind later.
    In the meantime, he’d check out all the unsolved missing women reports, starting when Daughtry turned up in North Carolina. Men like Reece Daughtry don’t change. Robert had known enough of them, put a few behind bars. Give them a get-out-of-prison card, and they’d kill again. They couldn’t help themselves. Violence was built into their DNA. Robert knew.

Chapter Four
From Lunch to More

    D ana listened as Reece’s flatbed chugged up the driveway at seven thirty, weighed down by its contents of rocks and stones and slabs of slate. Through the trees, the morning sun dappled the yard in light and dark ever-evolving shapes. A hummingbird fluttered around the feeder hung from the eaves of the house. Dana assumed there’d be many more mornings, more piles of rocks. He told her the job would last at least a month, since she wanted the entire wall designed around the fireplace opening.
    She had to admit to an uneasy night’s sleep. She was afraid of Reece Daughtry. Not because some articles she’d read insisted he savagely murdered a woman. Dana couldn’t believe the man preparing to work in her unfinished great room murdered anyone. Something about him had burrowed into a place deep within her, and he was all she thought about. It was that intensity that scared her.
    He walked up from the driveway. “Morning.”
    “Morning.” Like the day before, he dressed in layers. She supposed he shed clothing as the day warmed, maybe down to a tank top like he wore the first day on the dock. “There’s coffee in the kitchen. Since you’re going to be here for a while, make yourself at home. I’ll be in my study working, so you won’t have any distractions from me.” She crooked her finger. “Come, I’ll show you where everything is. There are muffins for breakfast, and I put some sandwiches in the fridge for lunch.”
    “You didn’t have to, but thanks.” He poured himself a cup of coffee. “I’d better get to work.”
    He spread a tarp in front of the fireplace wall, then brought in a wheelbarrow load of rocks already separated by size and color. She assumed he’d bring more in, but she didn’t want to stand around and watch, so she went into her office. In spite of telling him to help himself, when lunch time came she brought the food outside—a plate of sandwiches, chips, cookies, and a large pitcher of iced tea. The still-cool breeze brushed her face, scenting the air with mountain laurel and honeysuckle. The sun’s heat warmed her shoulders.
    He picked up a sandwich. “This is nice. Thanks. I’m not used to being waited on. I usually eat meals alone.”
    “Don’t you have friends here?”
    “The vet.” He glanced her way and shrugged. “I made sure he understood business was business when I saw we were becoming friends. We’ve had dinner a few times. I’m a pretty good cook.”
    “Are you?”
    “Yeah. I make a mean curry.”
    “I love curry. You have to go to Asheville for good Indian or Thai food.”
    “I know.”
    Reece wasn’t much for talking, and Dana didn’t want to make him uncomfortable with banal chatter. But she realized he was making an effort.
    “Back to work,” he said. “Thanks for lunch. Your chicken salad is better than mine. The pecans and cranberries added flavor.” He smiled and picked up his dish to carry inside.
    “I’ll take care of them. I need a break. I’ve run into a block with my story.”
    “I’d like to hear about it. I mean, that’s if you talk about what you’re writing before you finish. Maybe if you do, it might jiggle something. I’m a good listener.”
    “Thanks.” She put the dishes in the dishwasher and came out to watch him work while she told him about her story. He was right about being a good listener, but then he’d ask a question like why something happened or how a character felt about this or that, and it opened her thought processes and helped her over the hump into the next scene.
    “You’re what I needed,” she said.
    He turned.
    Heat bloomed on her face. What was it about this man that triggered such a visceral reaction? “Thanks for the feedback. I’ll leave you to your work now.”
    “Come back any time. I like your story.”
    “You must like to read. You were reading the first day I went to your house.”
    “I read a lot.” He stopped to fit a rock into the fireplace wall, stepped back to see what he’d done, and made an approving motion of his head. “It’s what saved