“Michele had done it again this morning. French toast, crisp and hot with plenty of butter and warm syrup. Scrambled eggs with juicy little sausages. Chilled orange juice. She’d said it was frozen, but it had tasted like the freshly squeezed kind his mother used to make on Christmas mornings. And a pot of hot, strong black coffee. He’d never realized how much he’d hated instant coffee before. Steve felt slightly guilty about enjoying himself so much with Michele. She’d moved in with him because ...of the murders, but he’d be a fool to let her move back to her own place when the case was closed. He was pretty sure Michele felt the same way, but the time never seemed right to talk about it. He’d given her his keys, and she’d put them on her personal key ring. Wouldn’t she have kept them separate if she were intending to give them back? There was no sense in sitting here trying to outguess Michele. It would be better to come right out and ask her. Steve picked up the phone to dial her number at the clinic, but he hung up before it could ring.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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