Newburgh Heights, Virginia

Maggie O’Dell slid a pan of stuffed mushroom caps into the oven then stopped to watch out her kitchen window. In the backyard Harvey entertained their guests, leaping into the air to catch his Frisbee. The white Labrador retriever was showing off. And her guests were humoring the big dog, laughing and chasing him through the fallen leaves. Three adult professionals acting like kids. Maggie smiled. Nothing like a dog to bring out the inner child in everyone.

“This is all quite an accomplishment,” her friend, Gwen Patterson said, trying to point with her chin while her hands stayed busy chopping onion.

At first Maggie thought her friend meant the spread of munchies the two of them had prepared. It was a feast that looked more like a cocktail reception than a college football big-screen marathon. But Gwen wasn’t talking about the food.

“I mean getting us all here together,” Gwen explained. “All of us in one place without a crime scene…or a corpse.”

“Yes, but there’s free food and beer,” Maggie said.

“That’s usually enough.”

“True.” Gwen smiled. “You never did tell me why your brother couldn’t make it.”

“Guess he got a better offer,” Maggie said, relieved that her back was to her friend. She didn’t want Gwen to see the disappointment. It was best to keep things light. No big deal. Her psychologist friend would poke and probe if Maggie wasn’t careful. “Hey, I can’t expect to drop into his life and have an instant relationship.”

She risked a glance over her shoulder only to see that her instinct was right. Gwen had stopped chopping and was watching her.

“There’s always Christmas,” Maggie added, trying to sound positive when she knew it was a long shot. She hadn’t even brought up the subject with him. One rejection per phone call seemed sufficient.

“Do you think we have enough food?” Maggie wanted off the subject. This was supposed to be a day for relaxation. No stress. Just watching college football with friends, sharing a beer and some killer salsa.

“This is plenty,” Gwen reassured her and went back to chopping.

Maggie stood with hands on her hips, assessing the island countertop that showed off trays and platters of finger foods. She had never thrown a party before. She didn’t attend many either. In fact, she rarely invited guests to her house. Funny how getting an extended warranty on life had a way of making a person do things she thought she’d never do. Less than two months ago Maggie and her boss, FBI assistant director Kyle Cunningham had been exposed to the Ebola virus. Maggie had survived. Cunningham hadn’t been so lucky.

“I don’t know if we have enough. I’ve done a couple of road trips with Racine,” Maggie said, trying to ward off the memories of being confined to an isolation ward and the helplessness of watching her boss go from a vibrant leader and mentor to a skeletal invalid sprouting tubes and life-lines. She closed her eyes, again keeping her back to Gwen as she grabbed onto the counter, pretending to survey their spread.

Keep it light, she reminded herself. Relax. Breathe. Enjoy.

“You’d never guess by looking at Racine but she can put away a pile of food.”

As if summoned, Julia Racine came in the back door, her short spiky blond hair tousled, her sweatshirt sporting a few dry leaves, a smudge of dirt on the knee of her blue jeans. The scent of fall trailed in with her. She looked more like a punk rock star than a D.C. homicide detective.

“Your dog cheats,” Racine announced, running her fingers through her hair as her eyes took in the kitchen activities. “He knows all the shortcuts,” she said but the carefree frolic in her voice disappeared as she glanced from Maggie rinsing celery at the sink to Gwen chopping onion at the island counter.

Maggie could tell in an instant Racine wasn’t comfortable, not just in Maggie’s kitchen, but in any kitchen. The tall, lean detective crossed her arms and stayed pressed in a corner. She’d probably rather be back outside with Harvey, Ben and Tully. Racine wasn’t a woman used to the company of other women. Maggie understood that. Too many hours spent with male colleagues. In many ways Julia Racine reminded Maggie of a younger version of herself.

“Back behind you,” Maggie said, pointing to the cabinet Racine leaned against. “There’re some white square appetizer plates. Could you pull out a stack and put them on the counter. Some glasses, too.”

Racine seemed startled by the request but Maggie moved on to her next task without further instruction. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Racine recover and nonchalantly get the plates and glasses.

Maggie plopped down the freshly washed bunch of celery on a paper towel next to Gwen’s cutting board. She pulled out a couple of stalks, handing one to Racine as she munched on her own. This time when the detective leaned against the counter she didn’t look quite as rigid and out of place.

“So,” Racine said, taking a bite of the celery and letting the word hang there. Obviously she was more comfortable.

“What’s the deal with you and Benjamin Platt?”

Maggie glanced at Gwen.

“That’s actually a good question,” Gwen said then shrugged in defense for joining in.

Maggie realized she might regret making Racine feel comfortable in her kitchen.

“He’s quite a hottie,” Racine continued without prompting. “I mean if you’re into that soldier of fortune type.”

“He’s a doctor,” Maggie found herself countering. “An army doctor,” Gwen added.

Maggie stopped what she was doing, ignoring Gwen but getting a good look at Racine, making eye contact briefly before the detective felt it necessary to straighten the plates and glasses she had put on the counter minutes ago. Maggie’s first impulse was to wonder if the young, tough-as-nails detective was jealous…of Platt, that is. Not Maggie. Several years ago when Racine and Maggie first met, Racine admitted she was attracted to Maggie. She had even made a pass at her. Somehow the two had gotten past it all and became friends. Just friends. Though in times like this, Maggie wondered if Racine still hoped for more.

Maybe it was due to a temporary setback in Racine’s own love life. Racine hadn’t even mentioned her most recent lover, though Maggie had told her to bring a guest. Instead of asking about the elusive lover, who, if Maggie remembered correctly, was an army sergeant and soldier of fortune herself, Maggie simply said, “Ben’s good company.”

Maggie’s cell phone interrupted any further discussion. She found herself relieved.

“This is Maggie O’Dell.”

As soon as Maggie heard her new boss’s voice, the muscles in her neck went tight. Her holiday weekend off was about to end.