Derek held Robin’s arm as we walked to the stairs.

“Do I have to go inside?” she asked.

“No, you wait here,” he said, “but I’d like to take a quick look before the police arrive.”

Robin handed him the key and he jogged up the stairs, then disappeared inside. Robin and I clutched each other’s hands as we sat down on the bottom steps.

It was barely seven o’clock in the morning, still cold enough for our breath to be frosty. I’d thrown on jeans, boots, a sweater, and a down vest, but I felt the chill. I’d loaned Robin a pair of ill-fitting sneakers, some sweatpants and a shirt, along with a wool scarf and another jacket, but she was still shaking. A jogger raced by; then a dog walker strolled down the walk. Both checked us out as they passed.

“Let’s get off the sidewalk, okay?” I said.

“Yeah, good idea.” She grabbed my arm and we walked up to the landing outside her door. It was spacious and filled with plant stands, two directors’ chairs, and a small table along the side rail. I steered Robin over to one of the chairs and helped her sit. I knew she often sat out here with her neighbors, drinking wine and watching the world go by. There wouldn’t be much of that going on today.

“Sorry for being such a wimp,” she said.

“You’re kidding, right?” I took the other chair and scooted closer to her. “Give yourself a break. You’ve been through hell-plus you’re covered in… you know. You’re nowhere near being a wimp. Don’t forget who you’re with. I’m the queen of the fainting couch, remember?”

“Oh, God, I forgot all about your thing with blood.” She started to reach for my hand in sympathy, then shrank back. “I’ve been touching you. You must be totally flipped out.”