Frank made a sound that was neither confirmation nor denial and took his seat at the table.
Morgan refilled her mug and sat across from him. The silence between them was easy, one of preference, not because there was nothing to say. He’d told her he wouldn’t ask, and so far, he hadn’t. But he deserved some explanation.
“I was put on administrative leave because I refused to sign off on a case that I didn’t feel was complete.”
Frank turned his mug in his hands, unimpressed. “Figured it was something like that.”
“They didn't see it that way.”
“They usually don't.” He took a sip. “Doesn't mean they’re right.”
“They’re not.”
She thought of the books on the shelves. The clippings. The stories of people who'd been right and ignored and eventually, sometimes, vindicated. But not always. Sometimes, the truthremained buried, and the people who tried to bring it to life got buried with it.
The front door opened, and a woman appeared in the doorway carrying a reusable grocery bag, a folded copy of the Ridge Courier, and an air of absolute competence about her.
This had to be Donna. Morgan placed her somewhere in her sixties, with a short, practical hairstyle and a lean, athletic build.
Donna set the paper in front of Frank, who grunted an acknowledgement that Morgan assumed was also a greeting, and immediately began unpacking the groceries with the efficiency of someone who knew exactly where everything went, because she'd put it there. While she did, her gaze moved across the kitchen in assessing sweeps.
Morgan wondered if she’d read some of the books on Frank’s shelf too.
“You must be Morgan,” she said, not pausing in her unpacking. “I'm Donna. Frank mentioned you were coming.” She glanced accusingly at Frank. “Yesterday.”
“I told you in time,” Frank said, behind the paper.
“Barely.” She moved past Morgan to put something in the cabinet overhead. “Sit down. I'll make breakfast.”
“Would you like help?”
“No, I would not,” Donna said firmly, almost offended that Morgan had offered.
The kitchen seemed to grow smaller, and Morgan opted to head back out to the porch. She sat on the back step, watching Shadow do a thorough perimeter check. Inside, she could hear Donnamoving about, and before long, the delicious aromas of fried potatoes and bacon reached her. If Donna and Frank talked to each other at all, Morgan didn’t hear it.
It was a strange dynamic, but she supposed it worked for them.
“Breakfast is ready,” Donna called out after a short while, and Shadow came barreling out of the bushes, getting to the door before Morgan.
She took a seat at the table, noting that Donna hadn’t set a place for herself. In fact, Donna wasn’t even in the kitchen.
Despite the gruffness, Morgan liked her. There was something in her directness and in the way she assumed control unapologetically that made her seem trustworthy. The fact that Frank allowed it without question or comment only made her seem even more so.
“You trust her,” Morgan said, biting into a piece of crispy bacon.
Frank made a slight grunting sound of agreement.
“Have you known each other long?”
“Long enough.”
Message received: Further discussion of the subject was not welcome.
They ate in relative silence, the click of forks and the hum of the vacuum in another room providing background noise. When they finished, Morgan cleared the table, earning a censuring look from Frank.
Morgan ignored it. Donna had been kind enough to make her breakfast. The least Morgan could do was clean up after. Still,Morgan did the dishes quickly and then made herself scarce before Donna returned.
She opted to go for a walk.