“Morning.” She stood, sipped her coffee again before putting it aside. “What’re you doing here?”
Not that she wasn’t happy to see him. He pulled two cans of paint from the Rover and headed up her walk.
“I came to paint,” he announced. He plopped the cans on the porch and strode back to his vehicle.
She walked over, stared down at the cans, read the label. Serene Blue.
“Blue?” She didn’t have a problem with blue, but did she want to be surrounded by it?
“It’s calming,” he announced as he returned to the porch with an armload of painting tools. Pan, brush, roller, and cover.
“You think I need calming?”
He glanced at her, gave a wink. “Don’t we all?”
He was right, she supposed. “So you’re not feeling the need for a drink?” Playing the part of fixer-upper seemed to be his primary coping mechanism when the urge grew too strong.
“Nope. Just tired of looking at this dump.”
Good point. “You want coffee?”
“Absolutely.”
“I’ll make a fresh pot.”
While Jack hauled in drop cloths and more paint, she set another pot to brew. She wandered to the porch behind him and out to the sidewalk. He grabbed two more cans of paint and headed back in.
She should change and give him a hand. The physical activity would be good. She’d already decided to start running again. When she turned back to the house, the door of her mailbox snagged her attention.
A couple of envelope corners jutted out of the partially open door. Jesus, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d checked her mail. She opened the door, and mail tumbled out. Not in a while, obviously.
She gathered the pile and went back into the house. “Give me a minute, and I’ll change so I can help.”
“It would definitely go faster that way.” He was already draping drop cloths around the living room.
She couldn’t say she would miss the grayish-white, stained walls. She and Derrick had talked about using earth tone natural colors. But blue worked.
In the kitchen she opened the trash can and started tossing junk mail. She set the utility bills aside. The hand-addressed letter stuck between two mail-order catalogs seemed out of place. She pulled it free of the junk mail, threw out the rest, and wandered back to the living room.
No name of the sender or return address on front or back. She ripped the envelope open and found a single folded page. Handwritten. She glanced down the page at the signature.
Martin Wellman.
Her gaze shot back to the top of the page. The letter was dated Wednesday, July 6. The day he died.
Her heart thumped harder as she read the words.
Finley,
I’m sorry I couldn’t find any answers for you. I hope you will move on with your life. What you believe happened is way off the mark. I have every reason to believe this awful thing had nothing to do with you and everything to do with Derrick’s past. You can’t change what happened, and maybe a better detective can find the truth you need.
Goodbye,
Martin Wellman
Finley stared at the letter, at the words. She and Wellman weren’t exactly friends. Why would he feel compelled to write her a letter before eating a bullet?
Anger and frustration tore at her. She was not wrong about who’d killed Derrick.
“Knock, knock.”
Finley looked up to find Matt standing in the open doorway, a large box from the local doughnut shop in hand.
“Jack said I should bring doughnuts.”
She tossed the letter onto the coffee table. Couldn’t think about that right now. “I see how it is. You two have been plotting against me.”
Matt grinned. “Just against your house.”
Jack grabbed the box from Matt. “I hope you got chocolate covered.”
“Course I did. Would I let you down?”
He wouldn’t. This was one answer Finley knew without a doubt. Matt would never let her or Jack or anyone else he cared about down. He wouldn’t lie either.
“I’ll take one.” She reached for the box next.
“I guess this is where we’re starting,” Matt said as he poured himself a cup of coffee.
Jack swallowed a chunk of doughnut. “I hope you’re as good with a paintbrush as you are at smooth talking reporters.”
Matt laughed. “That sounds exactly like a challenge, my man.” He reached for a brush. “I guarantee I can hang with you.”
Finley laughed. “I’ll change and grab a roller.”
The banter between two of her favorite guys followed her to the bedroom. She pulled off her tee and paused. This was the first time she’d felt like laughing in this house since that night.