Murder on the Candlelight Tour by Ellen Elizabeth Hunter Page B

remain objective. I can't allow my judgment to be clouded by people close to me. And you, you're so important to me, Ashley, I'm afraid I'll lose all sense of objectivity. So, well, I'm afraid I go too far, push you away."
    His hands slid down my arms. Through the thin fabric of my robe, I felt their heat. My skin tingled. This was hopeless. I wanted to throw my arms around him, bury my face in his neck. Be kissed again. Tell him everything was all right. That anything he did was okay with me.
    Instead I gently removed his hands. "Come on back to the kitchen. I'll fix us some coffee."
    I brewed a gourmet decaf, one of my few accomplishments in the culinary department. Within seconds, the scent of Chocolate Cherry Kiss filled the room, the suggestive name of the flavor not eluding me. Nick slipped off his jacket, hung it over the back of a chair and sat down. He looked like he hadn't slept in days. While the coffee dripped, I massaged his shoulders. They were stiff and the muscles were in knots. I worked the tension loose.
    "What am I going to do with you?" I wondered out loud.
    "What do you want to do?"
    "You wouldn't consider resigning from the force, would you?" I asked, holding my breath.
    "I can't do that. Anymore than you could give up your restoration work."
    "We only have problems when you're working a homicide case that somehow involves me," I ventured.
    "Uhmmm, that feels good." He grabbed my hand. "I don't want you anywhere near my cases, Ashley. They're dangerous. There are psychopaths out there who will stop at nothing. I have to keep you safe, separate from that world. But, yes, the rest of the time we get along like . . ." he pulled me into his lap, ". . . like this."
    "Yes, we do," I murmured, surrendering to the pleasure of having my neck nuzzled. "Famously," I added, remembering the fun times we'd shared. His shoulder holster nudged me back to reality. "Coffee's ready," I announced, jumping clear of temptation's reach.
    Over coffee, with the table separating me from his lap, from his arms, from his lips, he explained, "Ashley, I have to follow a case where the evidence leads. And in this case, all the evidence points to Professor Higgins. He has motive, opportunity, and means. Sure I know he's a nice old guy, well-regarded in the community, but we've got a smoking gun -- the murder weapon with his prints, and only his prints, on it."
    I drew back. "Well, doesn't that tell you something? My prints should be on that poker too! The real murderer wiped the poker or wore gloves."
    He grimaced and arched an eyebrow, a sure sign we were headed for a fight. "Or, Ashley, you polished the brass handle when you were cleaning up for the house tour."
    That gave me something to think about. It was true, I had polished some brass items the week before the tour. And I hadn't built a fire so the poker hadn't been used. "Even if I did polish it, and I honestly can't remember, I would have returned it to the hearth so my fingerprints should be on it. Binkie said he tripped over it and picked it up. And I believe him." I slammed my coffee mug down. "Nick, Binkie is not a killer!"
    He sighed. "Guess I'd better be going. I don't want to fight with you. I thought we could work this out."
    "Are you looking at any other suspects?" I asked.
    "Of course I am. What kind of detective do you think I am? I'm looking at everyone. We've got a team tracing everyone who bought tour tickets by credit card, and many people did. We're questioning all of them. Most of them have returned to their home towns, so we're interviewing over the telephone."
    "And? Did anyone see anything?"
    "So far there are no witnesses to the murder."
    "Well, at least that's in Binkie's favor. What about Earl Flynn? Did you interrogate him?"
    "Interview, Ashley. We don't interrogate, we interview."
    "Interview. Interrogate. What's the difference? Sounds like something your little PR girlfriend made up. Did you talk to Earl Flynn?"
    Nick pushed back his chair, grabbed his