“Much one may tell about a person,” insisted John, a bit playfully, “at the cocktail party.”
“Really?” McEvers smiled tolerantly. “And what, Holmes, do the clues tell us about the charming Ms. Aschelman, I wonder?” He pursed his lips as the redhead smirked back at him. “Please,” the professor urged the man who placidly ignored his host’s tolerantly friendly disdain, “strip her bare—oh, metaphorically, of course—” amended McEvers, blinking in innocent surprise at the pretended verbal misstep, “and grant us the wisdom of your holy discernment.”
The minister’s dark face gave a broad, slow smile, completely at ease. His deep brown eyes looked steadily at Rachel for a long moment, and the girl tried not to squirm. His gaze traveled consideringly down and then back up, searchingly, and yet,
