It was just after 7:30 when Kirstin walked through the front door of her townhouse. Steiner was sitting in the parlor, listening to the radio – the news program he seemed to favor. He looked toward the door as it opened, and then rose from his chair and approached her.
“What happened?” he asked. “I was worried about you.”
“I left your dinner on a plate in the refrigerator,” she said. “Didn’t you heat it up?”
“Yes, I did, but that was almost two hours ago. Where have you been?”
“I told you I might wait in line,” she said. “And I saw a friend from the publishing company so we stopped for a glass of wine and something to eat.”
“You had dinner?” he asked, seeming to relax.
“Yes, I did,” she replied. She then fished through her pocketbook, retrieving cosmetics that had been there for week
