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forgiving of an early death. Except she was nice to animals, and that wouldn’t do. Cress turned left on the landing and grabbed her iPod, determined to wear shorts and a tank top just to scorch the old girl.
    *
    The first thing Alex spotted as he rolled up Norma’s drive was the same figure he’d noted that morning. Still fine. Real fine. Just the right amount of curve, left to right.
    He heaved a sigh, unheard.
    What a shame it came attached to Cress Dietrich.
    As he rolled to a stop, the hips began to move, rolling and rhythmic. Then her shoulders followed suit. It took a few seconds for him to realize she was dancing to some private drummer, the cadenced movements synchronized but downright silly in the middle of a thriving vegetable garden.
    Until she stood, still dancing, looking incredibly sure-footed despite her bad leg. All of a sudden she didn’t look silly. She looked smooth, her curves making the most of something with a thumping, solid back-beat. Head nodding, she picked up the timing, light-stepping her way among the vines, shoulders rocking, hips… Well, they had a mind of their own which put his mind right smack dab where it had been that morning. Definitely not a place he cared to go. Not now. Not ever. Not with her.
    But the view was sweet, and way more up close and personal than network reality dance shows could ever be.
    Drawing near he recognized the song she was rocking, an old favorite of his, the movements reflecting the lyrics before she went into an even more vibrant hip rock during the percussion bridge. She spun into the guitar movement, her leg faltering while she narrowly avoided plants, and caught him watching.
    Color flooded her face, bright spots of pink flashing embarrassment, then anger. “You pig.” She charged his way, not nearly as mindful of the vines as she’d been short seconds before. Gone was the young woman dancing with abandon, in time with three-decades-plus music. In her place was the Cress he knew. Tough. Jaded. Antagonistic.
    Total cop. And Alex Westmore hated cops.
    He stepped back, evading contact, hands up in surrender. “Nice dance.” Ignoring the baleful look she shot him, he nodded to her earpiece. “CCR or Marvin Gaye?”
    She stared as if weighing her options. The click of the back screen door meant her grandmother spotted Alex, so she softened her response out of respect for the old gal, he was sure. It certainly didn’t stem from concern for him. “CCR.”
    He nodded. “Thought so.” When she frowned, he flashed her hips a grin. “The drum beat. Nice, long bridge that allows lengthy interpretive expression.”
    Her cheek tone deepened, but she shrugged him off. “I like both.”
    So did he . Great music was great music. “Me too. One has more soul, one has more rock. From what I witnessed, I expect you do all right with both, Detective.”
    “I like to rock and the last thing I worry about is my soul,” she retorted.
    That struck him as sad, but he kept his gaze impassive because Cress wouldn’t take kindly to his sympathy. “I’m sorry to hear that. Maybe a few months at home will change things up.”
    “Right, Preacher Dan. You go right on believing that.”
    She kept her voice low as her grandmother drew close. Alex appreciated her efforts. Norma had enough stress without Cress making a mountain out of every molehill she stumbled across. He smiled and leaned in, then dropped her a wink. “Thanks. I will.”
     

 
    Chapter Four
     
     
    “A foolish waste of money,” Gran grumbled as Cress pulled into the parking lot of the swanky restaurant a few days later. “When we’ve got perfectly good food at home.”
    “We owe ourselves, Gran.” Cress tested her leg before easing onto the paved surface, then breathed relief when the numbness didn’t come. Better. A little, anyway. Day by day. “The tomatoes are canned, attic’s done, the house is clean, and we only have two more closets to pillage.”
    “Don’t forget the barn.”
    “As