Chapter Forty-Four

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

Rose’s windows had been repaired, but I still felt a chill as we got out of the car and I looked at the front window. I could still see John Haller climbing through it, his gaze on Eddie as I lunged with the knife in my hand.

Rose opened the door with a look of surprise on her face. “Oh,” she said, and I could have sworn she looked almost pleased. “It’s you two.”

“We came to thank you for the headstone,” Eddie said.

She flushed, a full-on blush that went from her forehead to her chin. She turned away to hide it. “You want some Bits and Bites? I got a bowl of it here.”

We stepped into the main room. It was strange to be here, where so much had happened. The carpet had been replaced—it had likely been too bloodstained to be cleaned. As Rose got the bowl from the kitchen, I walked to the bedroom door and looked in, noting that the plaster where the bullets had hit was fixed.

“You got rid of your picture,” Eddie said in the main room.

I followed where he was pointing. The portrait of Charles and Diana was gone from the wall. There was new plaster there, but no new portrait.

“A bullet hit it,” Rose said. “Hit Diana right in the middle of the forehead. It was upsetting. I’d have been happier if the bullet had hit Charles. I don’t care if anything happens to him. I don’t like the idea of anything happening to Diana, even just a picture of her.”

“I guess you need a new one,” I said.

“I don’t know.” Rose put the bowl on the counter. “Maybe I’ll redecorate.”

I walked to the counter, and Eddie took a seat on one of the kitchen chairs.

Rose’s gaze followed him, sharp. “Are you okay?” she asked.

“Yeah, Mrs. Jones. I’m okay.” He raised his left arm, flexed the fingers. “It aches a lot, but they say that will get better with time. And I can’t do a push-up to save my life.”

Rose sniffed. “Too bad. I need help raking leaves.”

Eddie smiled at her, one of his real smiles. And Rose almost—almost—smiled back. “Let’s go,” he said.

So the three of us went outside. In the crisp air of afternoon, we raked leaves and put them in bags. We didn’t talk, and yet we did. In our way, we thanked Rose, and she thanked us. We were even.

After an hour, Eddie went into the house to wash his hands, and I turned to Rose. “I have to tell you. I saw Robbie that day.”

Rose didn’t even flinch. “I know you did.”

“He was in the bedroom. I saw him as clear as I’m seeing you now, except he was a little transparent. He pushed me to the floor right before the first shot. He saved my life.”

Rose blinked behind her glasses, looking away. “That sounds like him.”

“Eddie saw him rounding the house into the backyard once. I’d seen him before, too. Heard him. But it wasn’t frightening. It was . . . warm, somehow. Really nice.”

A tear rolled down Rose’s cheek. “It’s wonderful, isn’t it?”

“You’ve seen him?” I asked.

She sighed. “He’s sorry about how he left me. I know that much. I tell him it wasn’t his fault, but he feels bad, so he stays.” She dashed the tear away and looked at me again. “He’ll be here until I go, too. And that’s just fine with me.”