Page 22 of The Lonely Hearts Book Club

“The one who watched Arthur before you did,” I said. Since the girl seemed to be struggling with the second takeout bag, I grabbed that one, too. I’d put a casserole to warm in the oven in case she came back hungry, but I could always reheat it for tomorrow. Whatever was in these bags smelled heavenly. “I offered him some snacks, but he doesn’t seem to like my cooking as much as you do. Do you have forks and stuff, or do you want me to grab some?”

“Oh. Um. I’m not sure.” She blinked at me through those red-rimmed eyes, looking so much like a lost puppy that I had half a mind to call up that gorgeous man in the Tesla and demand he come collect her.

Only half a mind, though. That one had foe vibes all over him. The car practically reeked of them.

“If this food is for Arthur, we’d better take forks.” I nudged her toward my front door with my knee. “From the little I saw of his kitchen this morning, you couldn’t pay me to eat off of anything in there. I’ll get my first aid kit, too, in case he needs a dressing change.”

The girl’s face fell. “Uh-oh. Does that mean he didn’t get a replacement nurse?”

“Nope. I mentioned it to the other guy, hoping he might be able to call someone, but all he did was stare at me before driving off at full speed.” I set the food down on my table and started gathering everything I thought the girl would need if she planned on spending the evening with Arthur McLachlan.

Plates. Forks. Napkins. Steel-plated armor and a defensive weapon.

Ha-ha.I was kidding about those last two. Mostly.

“Red wine, do you think?” My hand hovered over the IKEA wine rack mounted on the wall. My house was so tiny that almost everything I owned was stored vertically. “Or something stronger? I have a bottle of Grey Goose in the freezer for emergencies, but…”

She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t think he’s supposed to drink with his medication.”

“Of course. I should’ve thought of that.” Since I had no idea what medication Arthur was taking, or even what had caused that fleet of ambulances to come by the other night, I added, “And, uh, what’s wrong with him, exactly?”

To my surprise, the girl laughed. It took a second for me to realize that she was inviting me to join her—which was a good thing, because her laugh was one of the infectious kinds. Light and soft, but sorealyou just knew she’d never hurt anyone with it.

“Medically, the best I’ve been able to come up with is a pulmonary edema. As for the rest of him?” She shrugged. “Loneliness, probably.”

I nodded, struggling to find a response that struck the right balance of wisdom and sympathy. For all her fragile, skittish air, this girl didn’t lack intelligence. Arthur McLachlan didn’t either, which was probably why he was willing to let her into his house. Before he retired, he used to be an English professor at the college.

I, unfortunately, had never been accused of being too smart. Too inquisitive? Yes. Too pushy? Obviously. Too much?

Always.

“I’ve lived on this street for almost a decade, and I’ve never seen a visitor at his house,” I said. I knew how this made me sound—a sad, slightly crazed woman who spied on her neighbors—but this spade had never been anything but. “Not once, not even during the holidays. I’ve tried reaching out, but…”

“He doesn’t reach back?” she guessed.

“People aren’t meant to live alone the way he does.” I tried not to look as self-conscious as I felt. If this girl looked too closely at her current surroundings, she’d notice the telltale signs: the one coaster on the table, the single hand-washed mug sitting ready for tomorrow morning’s coffee. “The neighborhood used to pitch in—shoveling his sidewalk in winter, checking in when the power goes out, that sort of thing—but he doesn’t like it when we meddle.”

“No,” she agreed. “He wouldn’t.”

I was dying to ask more about her relationship with Arthur, but she glanced doubtfully at the door. “I’d better get these soup dumplings over to him before they get cold.” She made no move toward the exit, so I hoisted the bags and did it for her.

“Then we’d better get going,” I said. “Hunger isn’t going to improve a man like that one.”

A startled laugh escaped her. “Does it improve any of them?” She hesitated before extending a hand toward me. “I’m Sloane, by the way. Sloane Parker. I don’t think I introduced myself earlier.”

I took her hand and shook it. Her palm felt warm and clammy against mine, but I didn’t mind. If I knew Arthur McLachlan—and I did—a warm and clammy reception was a heck of a lot better than the one we were likely to receive across the street.

***

“I didn’t manage to get a picture of the guy, but I got his license plate, the make and model of his car, and a few shots of his tire tread after he sped away.”

I pulled out my phone and flipped past my selfies until I found what I was looking for. Arthur McLachlan harrumphed and refused to touch the phone, but I could tell he was secretly impressed. Either that, or he was afraid we might leave if he pushed us too far. When Sloane came in through the door bearing takeout and a determined smile, I could’ve sworn he looked almostgladto see us.

“Oh dear. Should I ask?” Sloane scrolled through the pictures in question. She shook her head and handed the phone back to me. “I don’t recognize the car, but I trust you. You seem to know a lot about what goes on around here.”

I tried not to look as ashamed as I felt. The tire tread photos might have been taking things a little too far, but I’d already been out there with the phone. And they always seemed to come in handy onCSI.

“It’s not as bad as you think,” I said. “I’m a single woman living alone in a town where sixty percent of the population owns a gun. I like to make sure I cover all my bases.”