“I’ll be happy to meet with you there.”

Her eyes narrowed as she tried to shake off the disorientation from her nap. “Did my mother know you, Mr. Hobbs?”

“No, she didn’t, Ms. Bodine.”

“Then I don’t think we have anything to discuss. Now please, excuse me.”

“I have information which I have been authorized, by my clients, to discuss with Mrs. Amanda Dougherty Bodine.” Hobbs simply kept his hand on the door, taking Shannon’s measure as he held it open.

“Clients?” Despite herself, Shannon was intrigued. “Does this concern my father?”

Hobbs’s hesitation was brief, but she caught it. And her heart began to drum. “It concerns your family, yes. If we could make an appointment to meet, I’ll inform my clients of Mrs. Bodine’s death.”

“Who are your clients, Mr. Hobbs? No, don’t tell me it’s confidential,” she snapped. “You come to my door on the day of my mother’s funeral looking for her to discuss something that concerns my family. I’m my only family now, Mr. Hobbs, so your information obviously concerns me. Who are your clients?”

“I need to make a phone call—from my car. Would you mind waiting a few moments?”

“All right,” she agreed, more on impulse than with a sense of patience. “I’ll wait.”

But she closed the door when he walked toward the dark sedan at the curb. She had a feeling she was going to need that coffee.

It didn’t take him long. The bell rang again when she was taking her first sip. Carrying the mug with her, she went back to answer.

“Ms. Bodine, my client has authorized me to handle this matter at my own discretion.” Reaching into his pocket, he took out a business card, offered it.

“Doubleday Investigations,” she read. “New York.” Shannon lifted a brow. “You’re a long way from home, Mr. Hobbs.”

“My business keeps me on the road quite a bit. This particular case has kept me there. I’d like to come in, Ms. Bodine. Or if you’d be more comfortable, I could meet you wherever you like.”

She had an urge to close the door in his face. Not that she was afraid of him physically. The cowardice came from something deeper, and because she recognized it, she ignored it.

“Come in. I’ve just made coffee.”

“I appreciate it.” As was his habit, long ingrained, Hobbs scanned the house as he followed Shannon, took in the subtle wealth, the quiet good taste. Everything he’d learned about the Bodines in the last few months was reflected in the house. They were—had been—a nice, closely knit upper-income family without pretensions.

“This is a difficult time for you, Ms. Bodine,” Hobbs began when he took the chair at the table Shannon gestured toward. “I hope I won’t add to it.”

“My mother died two days ago, Mr. Hobbs. I don’t think you can make it more difficult than it already is. Cream, sugar?”

“Just black, thanks.” He studied her as she prepared his coffee. Self-possessed, he mused. That would make his job easier. “Was your mother ill, Ms. Bodine?”