“Has he made friends? Found a girlfriend?” His pause had the same delicate quality as his earlier question. “Or is he sticking close by?”
“You’ll have to ask him about friends and women. I don’t know. I don’t keep track of him. I’ve seen him head out in the evening sometimes. Mostly to the library, I think. I often see him coming or going with an armful of books.”
“Are you aware he has no driver’s license?”
“Yes. He has a permit now and is about to take the test to get a license. He’s a good driver.”
He kept asking questions, trying, she thought, to trip her up, but since she was answering honestly, there wasn’t a thing he could do. The temptation to ask him what Cole had done to end up with such a long prison term was huge, but she wouldn’t let herself. Either Cole would tell her, or he wouldn’t.
At last the parole officer finished his coffee, thanked her for her time and asked where he could find “Mr. Meacham.” Walking him to the door, she said, “The neighbors don’t know he’s an ex-con, Mr. Ramirez. I hope you can avoid telling them.”
This glance was sharp. “You don’t think they should have known before they employed him?”
“No, I don’t. They’re quite elderly, and probably easily frightened. If I thought he was a danger to them in any way, I wouldn’t have recommended him—or at least would’ve made sure they knew. As it is, he’s something of a hero to them. Mr. Zatloka collapsed in his yard a few days ago. Cole is the one who noticed him. He ran over to see if he could provide first aid. Once the ambulance arrived, we both accompanied Mrs. Zatloka to the hospital. Her difficulty in getting around was why the idea of a ramp came up.”
“I see.” That seemed to be his go-to, noncommittal remark. “Again, thank you. I may stop by from time to time.”
“You’re welcome to leave the car here while you talk to him, if you’d like.”
“I appreciate that.”
Erin stayed on the porch longer than she should have, watching him go down her driveway and cross the street. A knot had formed in her stomach. A mere call from Mr. Ramirez had been enough to cause Cole to retreat for days. What effect would an in-person appearance have?
She hoped the parole officer understood how destructive it would be if Cole lost a job that had him so engaged.
* * *
KNEELING ON THE lawn behind the house, Cole set aside the drill and reached for the screw and his screwdriver. At this stage, he was being extracareful, measuring and then measuring again before cutting or putting anything in place.
Hearing someone behind him, he turned his head, expecting Mr. Zatloka. When he saw Ramirez, he stiffened. Son of a bitch. What if he’d already introduced himself to Mr. Zatloka? Or intended to?
“Ramirez,” he said flatly.
“Cole.” He nodded. “Ms. Parrish told me about your project. I was curious to see it.”
The back door opened, and Cole gripped the handle of the screwdriver so hard his knuckles ached. He had trouble loosening his jaw enough to speak. “Mr. Zatloka.”
“Oh, I thought it might be Erin here.” The old man peered at Cole’s parole officer.
Ramirez stepped forward and offered his hand. “Enrique Ramirez. I was just talking to, er, Erin, and she mentioned what Cole was up to over here. I hope you don’t mind. I’m being nosy.”
Zatloka beamed. “We’ve been admiring Cole’s work on Erin’s house and are real happy he could take on this job, too.” Clutching the iron railing beside the concrete stoop, he said, “My wife uses a walker now, and that with difficulty. We have to plan for the future.”
“Erin’s house looks really good,” Ramirez agreed, a hint of surprise in his voice. “I didn’t see the ‘before,’ but I gather it wasn’t in great shape.”
“No, her grandmother and my Laureen were friends. Once she was widowed, I’d have liked to help more, but I’m getting to an age when keeping up one house and yard is about all I can handle.”
Getting to an age? Under other circumstances, Cole might have been amused.
“Perfectly understandable,” Ramirez said. “Well, I just stopped by to say hello.” He smiled at Cole. “Any chance you’d take a minute and walk me back to my car?”