"Keeping busy, pestering Phoebe with food on trays until I imagine she wants to knock me over the head with them. I finished a project and made half a dozen lists I don't need."

Little tickled his interest more than the word project. Duncan stretched out his legs, prepared for a cozy chat. "What's the project?"

"Oh, I do needlework." Essie waved a hand toward the foyer, where the shipping box waited for pickup. "Finished up a bedspread-wedding gift-last night."

"Who's getting married?"

"Oh, a sometime customer of mine's goddaughter. I sell some of my pieces locally and over the Internet here and there."

"No kidding?" Enterprising projects doubled the interest. "You've got a cottage industry?"

"More like a sitting-room interest," she said with a laugh. "It's just a way to pay for my hobby, earn a little pin money."

While he sat, at ease, his mind calculated: handmade. Customized. One of a kind. "What kind of needlework?"

"I crochet. My mother taught me, her mother taught her. It was a keen disappointment I could never get Phoebe to sit still long enough to teach her. But Carly's getting a hand at it."

He scanned the room, homed in on the deep blue throw with its pattern of showy pink cabbage roses. Rising, he moved over to pick up an edge, study it.

Oh yeah, add in intricate and unique. "Is this your work?"

"It is."

"It's nice. It's really nice. Looks like something maybe your grandma made over lots of quiet nights, then passed down to you."

Pleasure shone like sunshine on Essie's face. "Why, isn't that the best of compliments?"

"So, what, do you make specific pieces from, like, what, patterns, or tailor to clients?"

"Oh, it depends. Why don't I get you that coffee?"

"I've got to head out in a minute. Have you ever thought of… Hey." It was the way his face lit up that had Essie pursing her lips, even before she turned and saw Phoebe in the parlor doorway.

"Now, what are you doing up and coming downstairs by yourself?" In full scold, Essie hurried over to her daughter's side. "Didn't I put that bell right on your nightstand so you could ring if you wanted anything?"

"I needed to get out of that bed. I'm not going to lie there Cousin Bessing it all damn day."

Duncan saw the look, the quick flash of maternal disapproval before Essie turned back to him. "You'll have to excuse her, Duncan. Feeling poorly brings out the sass in her. I'll go make us that coffee."

"Mama." Phoebe brushed a hand over Essie's arm. "Sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you."

"You get a pass on that, due to being hurt. Talk to Duncan awhile. He's come out on this rainy day just to see how you're feeling." Phoebe only frowned at him as her mother left the room. "Yes, I know I look worse than I did yesterday."

"Then I don't have to mention it. Do you feel worse?"

"Some parts of me do. Including my temper." She glanced back toward the foyer, sighed. "Being fussed over makes me irritable."

"I'll try to restrain myself, then. And I should probably take these back." He picked up the shopping bag he'd brought in. "As it hits on two points-not wanting to lie around, and being fussed over. I assume bringing by a gift is fussing."

"Depends on the gift. Oh, sit down, Duncan. I'm irritating myself with my bad mood."

"I really have to go. I have a couple of things." He held up the bag, shook it lightly. "You want?"

"How do I know when I don't know what's in it?" She limped her way over, peered into the bag. "DVDs? God, there must be two dozen."

"I like to read or watch movies when I'm laid up. And I thought reading might be tough with the bum wing, so I went for movies.

Chick flicks. I lean toward the oeuvre of The Three Stooges, but figured it would be wasted around here."

"You figured correctly."

"I don't know if you go for that type or if you like slasher films or watching stuff blow up, but I figured in a household of four women, this was the best bet."

"I like chick flicks, and slasher films and watching things blow up." Intrigued, she poked in the bag. "Since when is The Blues Brothers a chick flick?"

"It's not, I just happen to like it. It's the only one I picked out, actually. Marcie at the video store handled the rest. She assured me that they're all appropriate for a kid Carly's age, unless her mother's a real tight-ass. She didn't say tight-ass," he added, when Phoebe narrowed her eyes at him. "I inferred."

"It's very thoughtful of you. And Marcie. And when these help stave off screaming boredom, I'll think of you."

"That's the plan. I have to go. Tell your mother I said goodbye." He touched his lips to her forehead beside the bandages. "Take a dose of Jake and Elwood and call me in the morning."

"If I don't walk you to the door, I'll have to lie to my mother and say I did." She set the bag down to lead him out. "I appreciate the movies, and everything else you did-and didn't do. Such as comment on my bed hair and foul disposition."

"Good. Then when you're feeling up to it, you can pay me back and have dinner with me again."

"Are you bribing me with DVDs?"

"Sure. But I think my discretion over hair and mood earns even more points." Since it pleased him to see her lips curve up in a quick smile, he lowered his for a little taste. "I'll see you later."

He opened the door just as a woman jogged up the steps. "Hey," he said.

"Hey back. Lieutenant."

"Detective. Detective Liz Alberta, Duncan Swift."

"Oh yeah, we spoke on the phone." He held out a hand. "Nice to meet you, and I'll get out of your way. Talk to you later, Phoebe." Liz turned, studied Duncan as he dashed out and through the rain.

As she lowered her umbrella she raised her eyebrows at Phoebe. "Nice." The tone, the look, told Phoebe that Liz referred to the exit view. "Oh yeah, it certainly is. Come in out of the wet."

"Thanks. I didn't think I'd find you up and around today."

"If I don't get back to work soon, I'm going to go straight out of my mind." She took Liz's umbrella, slid it into the porcelain umbrella stand.

"Bad patient?"

"The worst. Are you here for a follow-up?"

"If you can handle it."

"I can." Phoebe gestured toward the parlor. "Anything I should know?"

"Your weapon hasn't been recovered, but I did bring you this." She pulled an evidence bag out of her satchel. Inside was Phoebe's badge. "It was found at the base of the stairs, where we assume your attacker tossed it. No prints but yours."

"He wore gloves," Phoebe murmured. "Yes, so you said."

Her badge would have been hooked to the waistband of her skirt, Phoebe thought. He'd cut her skirt to pieces, shoved his hand up under what he'd left of it to… She shook her head. No point, none, in putting herself back there. "Sorry. Please, sit down."

"How's the shoulder?"

"I tell myself it could be worse. It could. It could all be worse." "Lieutenant-"

"Just make it Phoebe. This may be an official follow-up, but we're not in the house."

"Okay, Phoebe. You and I both know that sometimes the emotional injuries take a lot longer to heal than the physical ones."

Knowing and experiencing were two different things. "I'm working on that."

"All right."

"He set me up. Arnie Meeks set me up and he took me down." Before Liz could respond, Essie wheeled in a cart. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realize you had other company. Duncan?"

"He had to go. Mama, this is Detective Alberta. My mother, Essie MacNamara."

"You took care of my daughter when she was hurt yesterday. Thank you."

"You're welcome. It's good to meet you, Mrs. MacNamara."

"I hope you'll have coffee, and some of this cake." Essie set cups, saucers, plates on the coffee table as she spoke. "I just have a few things to see to in the kitchen." She lifted the tray holding the pot, the creamer, the sugar. "Y'all just let me know if you need anything else."