The Heat of the Moon: A Rachel Goddard Mystery (Rachel Goddard Mysteries) by Sandra Parshall Page B

was always his first question of visitors to his Georgetown home. Parked cars lined the narrow streets, and finding a space near your destination was a wildly unlikely stroke of luck. “Not too far,” I told him. “Over on N Street.”
    “Oh, excellent, excellent. Your young legs can handle that quite nicely.”
    He shifted toward his door, the pain of the movement producing a wince. Theo’s barrel-chested body didn’t look frail, but the brisk stride I remembered from years ago had given way to a slow shuffle. I didn’t ask about the state of his knee and hip joints because I knew he considered his arthritis the single most boring topic under the sun.
    When he pushed open the bright red front door, two Siamese cats jumped back with a duet of unholy screeches. “Oh, now, now,” Theo chided. “Here she is, just as I promised.”
    When I leaned to pet them, Helen leapt onto my shoulder, where she dug in her claws for purchase and ecstatically rubbed her chocolate-brown face in my hair. Sophia shrieked and started climbing my slacks. 
    “Good grief.” Laughing, I tried to extract Helen’s claws from my skin and the silk fabric of my blouse without doing further damage. “I think it’s time I gave these girls another pedicure.”
    “I’d be grateful, if you wouldn’t mind.” Theo waved a gnarled hand, scowling at it in disgust. He couldn’t manage the nail clippers anymore.
    “No problem.” I hoisted Sophia onto my free shoulder, and with Helen balanced on the other I followed Theo into the living room.
    I plopped, cats and all, onto an overstuffed green velvet sofa with shredded arms. The antique wedding ring quilt thrown over the seat cushions also had a few rips, I noticed. It was one of many quilts Theo’s late wife Renee had collected, and it still carried a faint scent of the lavender sachet that always called up her smiling image.
    Theo stood his cane to one side of a deep plump chair, then grasped the chair arms and lowered himself slowly to a sitting position.
    “You let these animals run wild,” I said, fingering a rent in the quilt’s delicate old cotton. Helen stood on the sofa back and licked my hair while Sophia circled in my lap preparatory to settling.
    “Oh, I know, I know,” Theo said. We’d had this exchange before. “But aren’t they charming little anarchists?”
    Sophia answered with an ear-splitting yowl. Theo and I laughed.
    “Now,” he said, “tell me how things are with you.”
    For nearly an hour, as I made coffee for us, trimmed the cats’ claws and brushed their creamy fur, I answered his questions. Theo—Dr. Theodore Antanopoulos, professor emeritus at George Washington University, semi-retired private practice psychiatrist—had known me since I was five and was acquainted with all the surface details of my life. I hoped he knew more, and would be willing to tell me. But before I could work back to the past, I had to satisfy his curiosity about the present.
    Eventually, as I knew he would, as he always did, he asked, “And do you have a man in your life these days?”
    Usually I gave him a quick no, or shrugged and said I’d seen some guy a few times but it didn’t amount to anything. This time I hesitated, grinning in spite of my effort not to.
    Theo’s eyes widened. “There is someone,” he said. “At last! Who is he? He must be special to put that sparkle in your eyes.”
    “I’m not sure what’s going to happen. It’s just—” I stroked Sophia, curled on my lap, then gave equal treatment to Helen, whose hot little body pressed against my right leg. “It’s too soon to talk about it. I doubt anything will come of it.” I glanced up. “Don’t mention it to Mother, okay?”
    “Of course not. A true relationship takes time, you know. You mustn’t rush and make a mistake. But do give it a chance to grow. Promise me that?”
    I nodded. “I’ll try.” Luke and Theo, I thought, would be crazy about each other. Maybe I’d introduce them