Brazen Virtue by Nora Roberts

all, she made her living from it.
    Turning away, she walked down the hall. Details, she would fill her time with details until she had the strength to face emotions. For once in her life she’d be practical. That was the least she could do.
    She hadn’t expected to find Ed in the kitchen. For a man of his size, he moved quietly. It was odd, the moment of awkwardness she felt. She couldn’t remember feeling awkward with anyone before.
    He’d stayed, not just until she’d slept, but through the night. He’d stayed with her. It might have been his basic kindness that caused the awkwardness. She stood in the doorway and wondered how you thanked someone for being decent.
    His sleeves were rolled up, his feet bare as he stood in front of the stove stirring something that smelled distressingly like oatmeal. Over that, gratefully, Grace caught the scent of coffee.
    “Hi.”
    He turned and in one quick glance noted that she was rumpled and hollow-eyed but sturdier than the night before. “Hi. I thought you might be able to sleep a couple more hours.”
    “I’ve got a lot to do today. I didn’t expect you to be here.”
    Ed reached for a mug and poured her coffee. He hadn’t expected to be there either, but he hadn’t been able to leave. “You asked me to stay.”
    “I know.” Why did she feel like crying again? Grace had to swallow, then take a couple of steadying breaths. “I’m sorry. You probably didn’t get any sleep.”
    “I caught a few hours in the chair. Cops can sleep anywhere.” Because she hadn’t moved, he crossed to her and offered the coffee. “Sorry, I make lousy coffee.”
    “This morning I could drink motor oil.” She took the cup, then his hand before he could turn away. “You’re a nice man, Ed. I don’t know what I’d have done without you last night.”
    Because he was never sure he had the right words, he simply squeezed her hand. “Why don’t you sit down? You could use something to eat.”
    “I don’t think—” She jolted and slopped coffee over her hand when the phone rang.
    “Sit down. I’ll get it.”
    Ed nudged her into a chair before picking up the wallreceiver. He listened for a moment, glanced back at Grace, then turned the burner off under the pan. “Ms. McCabe has no comment at this time.” After he hung up, Ed began to spoon oatmeal into a bowl.
    “It doesn’t take them long, does it?”
    “No. Grace, you’re bound to have calls all day. The press knows you’re Kathleen’s sister and that you’re here.”
    “Mystery writer discovers sister’s body.” Grace nodded, preparing herself. “Yes, it would make an interesting lead story.” She stared at the phone. “I can handle the press, Ed.”
    “It might be better if you moved into a hotel for a few days.”
    “No.” She shook her head. She hadn’t thought about it, but her mind was instantly made up. “I need to stay here. Don’t worry, I understand reporters.” She managed to smile before he could argue. “You don’t want me to eat that, do you?”
    “Yeah.” He set the bowl in front of her, then handed her a spoon. “You’re going to need more than cold spaghetti.”
    Leaning over, she sniffed. “Smells like first grade.” Since she felt she owed him, Grace dipped in. “Do I have to come down and sign a statement?”
    “When you’re ready. Since I was here, it simplifies things.”
    She nodded and managed to swallow the first spoonful. It didn’t taste like her mother’s. He’d done something to it, honey, brown sugar, something. But oatmeal was oatmeal. Grace switched to her coffee.
    “Ed, will you give me an honest answer?”
    “If I can.”
    “Do you think, I mean going on your professional judgment, do you think that whoever … whoever did this chose this house randomly?”
    He’d already been through the room again the nightbefore, as soon as he’d been certain Grace was really asleep. There’d been little of value there, but a new electronic typewriter had been