But instead of focusing her eyes and the requisite cutesy voice on our tiny companion, she met my gaze and thrust out a hand. “Ma—Andrea MacDonald,” she said. “I wanted to thank you for finding my father and calling the authorities this morning.”
I started to correct her and tell her we hadn’t, indeed, called anyone and wouldn’t have even known how to do so, when the weight of Beattie’s hand on my arm made me hold my tongue.
“I’m so sorry for your loss, Ms. MacDonald,” Beattie said before stepping forward to hug the surprised woman.
Ms. MacDonald extricated herself from the clearly unwanted display of sympathy and, straightening her denim vest, said, “Thank you. But we weren’t close.”
Now, I’d heard people say this on movies and TV shows before, and I’d always chalked it up to a bit of
