Hers To Protect. Catherine Lanigan

wine.

      “Hi, Maddie.” The women hugged. “Hi, Liz. That a new wine?”

      Liz held up the bottle. “Very special pinot noir.”

      “Special?” Violet asked.

      Mrs. Beabots winked. “Violet. You’re just in time for our toast.”

      “Oh? What are we toasting?”

      Sarah beamed. “I just beat out the rock star of all Chicago design firms for a new medical complex on the east side of town.”

      “I never doubted your design abilities, Sarah,” Maddie said as she took a glass of wine from Liz.

      “I know and I love you for it, but there were days...” Sarah looked across the kitchen to the window that looked out on the adjoining yard to her house.

      “Hey,” Liz said. “That was after your mother died. Before Luke. Before the kids. You got your juice back.”

      “And then some,” Mrs. Beabots said, handing Violet a glass.

      They clinked their rims and said, “To Sarah!”

      “Congratulations, Sarah,” Violet said. “I know the relief and satisfaction that comes from winning those contracts. Whenever my mother would win a design bid, she’d make us all a nice dinner just like this.” She smiled at them all. “You should be proud.”

      “Thanks, Violet,” Sarah said.

      Maddie lowered her glass. “Gosh, Violet. Your mom wasn’t one of the other bidders, was she? Connie is so talented, I’d feel terrible if she lost.” Her eyes tracked to Sarah.

      “No. She’s working on a high-rise residential tower in Indianapolis.”

      “Oh.” Maddie’s relief was audible.

      Violet stared at the wine. Indianapolis. Where Josh Stevens lived.

      Where had that thought come from and why would she be making that connection? “Um, can I help with any of these preparations? I always made the herbed butter for the bread.”

      “Sure,” Mrs. Beabots said, handing Violet the bread knife. “I set the table earlier. This was supposed to be a think-tank dinner and a meeting for the fund-raiser for a new foster child care center I want to spearhead.”

      “Really?” Violet unwrapped the silver paper around the Italian bread. “Tell me about it.”

      “I want a privately funded and operated family center. No government funds or grants. That way we don’t fall under their jurisdiction, though we will comply with all state and federal regulations. But in the end, our arms will be open to whatever needs there are. Drop-in day care. Possibly a temporary shelter until a family gets back on their feet. I envision job-placement service. Even job training.”

      “That’s...an enormous undertaking,” Violet replied, knowing the massive amount of organization and money it would take to create such a center. But it had been done before. The Star of Hope in Houston had been doing it for over a hundred years.

      “I’ll need help, of course, getting it off the ground.”

      “Did you call Isabelle? Since she and Scott have adopted Bella and Michael, I would think she’d be all over this.”

      Smiling, Mrs. Beabots answered, “She was my first call. She’s my committee chair. But little Michael was showing signs of the flu, and she didn’t want to leave him.”

      “That flu can be bad,” Sarah said.

      “Especially for a toddler,” Liz, the mother of two-and-a-half-year-old Zeke, said. “I hope he’s okay.”

      “I didn’t talk to Isabelle today,” Violet said. “I was on a stakeout.”

      Sarah stopped grating Parmesan cheese. “Seriously? A stakeout? Isn’t that dangerous?”

      To Violet, not apprehending a criminal was dangerous to the entire community, and that motivated her more than any harm she would encounter. Her exemplary training would see her through. She would count on her skills. Bank on her instincts.

      She winced.

       Except for today.

      She could only imagine what Detective Davis was thinking about her performance today. In the morning she might have to face Chief Williams.

      Violet slid the bread into the oven and set the timer.

      Maddie helped with the angel-hair pasta, draining and rinsing it in a red plastic colander under cool water in the sink. “Olive oil?”

      “Middle of the island,” Mrs. Beabots said, adding finely chopped sun-dried tomatoes to the pesto.

      They continued prepping the food. Maddie had brought her delicious and beautifully decorated cupcakes for dessert. Violet set up two French presses with decaffeinated coffee while Sarah poured cream into a small pitcher and Maddie found the raw sugar.

      “I think we’re about ready. Liz, would you take the wine to the table?”

      The timer dinged, and Violet took out the bread and placed it in a woven basket. She followed the group to the dining room. “I see you’re setting for yet another. If I’m taking Isabelle’s place, who’s missing?” Violet asked, sitting to Mrs. Beabots’s right.

      “Katia,” Mrs. Beabots answered. “She had something come up. I’ll call her tomorrow with the details.”

      Sarah acted as the server and ladled the pesto sauce over the pasta. “So, Violet. Can you tell us about the stakeout you were on or is that top secret?”

      “Well, I can’t discuss all the details. But I was excited because, as Mrs. Beabots knows, I’ve been stuck either in a patrol car or behind a desk since I came to work for the ILPD. Handing out traffic tickets, which there aren’t that many of in Indian Lake, was a highlight of the week.”

      “Sounds boring,” Liz said.

      Maddie elbowed her. “Don’t mind her, Violet.”

      “No, she’s right. It was beyond boring. What I really want to do with my career is work my way up to detective.”

      “And you’d be really good at it.” Mrs. Beabots smiled. “I have a way of knowing these things.”

      “Thanks for your confidence in me,” Violet said.

      “So, did anything happen?” Sarah asked.

      “Uh...” She searched for the right words. “Not with the perp we’re hoping to find.”

      Maddie stared at Violet. “That was a hesitation. Something happened.”

      As Violet looked around the table, she realized that all four women had moved to the edge of their seats.

      “Are you after a murderer?” Sarah asked.

      “Drug dealer?” Liz asked, holding a forkful of pasta.

      “I’m not at liberty to say. At this juncture, we don’t know about murder, but it wouldn’t be outside the realm of possibility.”

      “It is a drug dealer,” Liz said. “Listen, Violet. After what Cate and Trent went through, and poor Mrs. Beabots being the victim of a drive-by shooting in this very house, you can’t shock us.”

      “That’s true,” Mrs. Beabots said. “You know all those security lights and cameras I have outside on the house?”

      “Yes. It was the first thing I noticed when I came to inspect the apartment. I thought you were smart to protect yourself so well.”

      Mrs. Beabots shook her head. “I didn’t do it. The cops did. Sorry. It was Trent’s idea when he was trapping that drug dealer, Le Grand. Now, I’ve inherited all this equipment.”

      “That happens. And it’s