But something was off. Something that kept her feeling like there was a barrier between her and everyone else, and she was the only one aware of it.

Finally off the highway and making inroads to the Garden District, Sam met her gaze in the rearview mirror. “Same schedule tomorrow, Miss McClintock?”

“It’s Cassie. Miss McClintock makes me feel weird. But yes, I won’t work the later shift until Saturday and Sunday when I’m on set.”

“I bet that’s cool,” Patrick said from the front passenger’s seat. “I saw a story one time where they explained how the weathermen use a green wall for the maps. Is it really like that?”

“Pretty much. If you want, maybe on a weekend, you guys could come and watch one of the newscasts.”

“They’d let you do that?” Sam said.

“Sure. Lots of people bring family and friends in.”

Sam glanced at Patrick then focused on the road ahead. “Maybe after things calm down. I noticed your boss checking us out in the front parking lot tonight before you came out. Probably better to keep things low key for now.”

Great. Dodging questions from her cameramen was one thing. Skirting questions from her editor would be a whole different terrain riddled with land mines.

Sam pulled into the drive, and Patrick hopped out and opened her back door out as soon as the gearshift was in park. “Any plans for you or your aunt tonight?”

“Definitely not for me. I got enough of humanity covering the Caribbean Festival this afternoon in near 100-degree heat.” Cassie spied her aunt sitting sideways in the wingback on the other side of the carriage house’s front picture window, her legs thrown over the arm and every scrap of her attention lasered on Cassie’s arrival. She motioned toward her aunt. “Now, for her—there’s no telling. She’s known far and wide for her spontaneity, so you’ll just have to be prepared to wing it.”

Patrick chuckled at that, as if he’d already learned as much about Frieda. “We’ll handle whatever she throws at us.” His steps slowed to give her distance as she neared the carriage house. “Have a good night, Miss McClintock.”

“It’s Cassie,” she fired back the same way she always did, but added a friendly smile along with it as she opened the door. “And you, too.”

Settled in Frieda’s lap was a clear Tupperware bowl full of red grapes. She popped one into her mouth, not bothering to take her eyes off Sam and Patrick strolling toward the patio behind the main house. “Where in the world does Kir find these guys?”

“Is that all you do all day while I’m gone? Ogle the guys?”

“Hey, I’ve got loads of vacation time coming to me and a prime, smorgasbord view. Don’t deprive an old woman of her pleasures.” Her gaze shifted again, and she nabbed another grape.

“I know twenty-year-olds that act older than you.” Free of her briefcase and purse, Cassie meandered over to study the view from Frieda’s perspective. “Hmm. Maxwell. Kir said he’s newer to the crew, but I’ll admit—he is a hottie.”