Lila was one of the first residents who’d “lost” a piece of jewelry and, though Sophie’d heard about it at the time, she hadn’t really paid attention to the particulars. If she was going to get to the bottom of this, she’d need those facts along with a description of the item. Since gossip traveled faster than anything around here, discretion was key. The last thing she wanted to do was to tip off the thief and, considering all three burglaries had happened in the resident’s home, then it was fair to assume the he or she lived on-site. Only someone with regular access could have pulled this off.
The idea made her a little sick at her stomach.
Lila settled into a wingback chair. “It was my mother’s recipe,” she said, smiling. “She made it every year for my birthday, even after I was grown. Said no matter how old I was, I was always going to be her baby.”
“How lovely,” Sophie said, flattening a moist crumb against her fork. It always made her uncomfortable when people talked about their mothers because she couldn’t relate to any of their stories. Her mother had only ever had eyes for her father and her brother—the boys, as it were. She’d hated other women, other girls and always had to be the center of attention. She’d never had any use for Sophie and had made sure that the rest of them hadn’t either. That was the thing about bullies, she thought. A lone bully was bad enough, but when a group of them lived together, they brought out the absolute worst in each other, a pack mentality.
Being their prime target had been sheer hell. Sophie released a slow breath, pushing the memories back. The very best thing her father had ever done for her was dumping her at the end of her grandmother’s driveway. She’d been six at the time. Bruised from head to toe, with a cut down the inside of her arm that had ultimately required twenty-four stitches to close.
“Get out,” he’d said, glancing dispassionately at the bloody shirt wrapped around her arm. “I don’t like you, but I don’t want her to kill you either.” Terrified, but strangely relieved, she’d scrambled from the car, then had stood barefoot in the freezing December night and watched him drive away, back to Kentucky. After that night, her grandmother had completely cut him off, which had painted the ultimate target on her back.
Because, in their twisted minds, everything had become Sophie’s fault.
“Can I get you a second slice, dear?” Lila asked. Sophie blinked. “I’d better not,” she said. “I’ve got to take some hand cream by Evelyn Hunter’s when I leave here and she’s sure to have a little something for me to try.” Her stomach twinged. God help her.
Lila’s eyes twinkled. “I’m sure she will. Just last week Evie made some sweet potato cookies for us to snack on during our bridge game.”
Sophie hesitated. “That sounds relatively harmless.” Lila was known for her rather unorthodox experimentation with flavor combinations. Sophie had recently bitten into a brownie the older woman had made, only to find a hidden layer of anchovies in the center. She squelched a gag, remembering.
“Oh, it would have been,” Lila said, “had she not iced them with a salmon-flavored cream cheese frosting.”
Sophie grinned and shook her head, then glanced at Lila. “She’s really been on a fish kick lately, hasn’t she?”
“Yes. I’d be wary of anything the size of a cake or pie if I was you.” She hid her smile behind her teacup. “She could hide a catfish in one of those.”
Chuckling, Sophie set her plate on the coffee table. “I’ll be vigilant, I assure you.” She paused. Time to get down to business. “Lila, did you ever find that necklace of yours that went missing awhile back?” she asked lightly.
The older lady blinked behind her glasses, evidently surprised at the subject change. She frowned, her face falling a bit with regret. “No, I didn’t.”
“Rose-Marie’s brooch made me think of it,” Sophie told her, which was true, of course, but not precisely why she was asking about the missing necklace.
Lila was thoughtful for a moment, her long elegant hands wrapped around her tea cup. She’d been a concert pianist in her younger days, traveling the world with various orchestras. Arthritis made playing difficult for her now, but she still sat down at her piano every morning, like clockwork, at seven. She’d once told Sophie that the music still itched in her fingers, desperate for the outlet.
Lila’s gaze found hers and she released a small sigh. “To tell you the truth, I think my daughter might have taken it. Oh, she’d never admit to it, of course. But I have my suspicions. She was forever hounding me about putting it away in the safety deposit box with all my other jewelry, but that piece was so special I couldn’t bear to part with it.” A sad smile turned her lips. “It was a gift from my father, you see. My mother, too, to be fair, but my dad is the one who picked it out for me. It was a present for my coming-out party.” She gestured toward the fireplace. “There’s a picture of us over there.”
Sophie stood and made her way across the room. Several photographs—some old, some new—lined the mantle, but the one Lila referred to was easy enough to spot. It was the one closest to her wedding photo. Black and white, and in a silver filigree frame, a sixteen-year-old Lila clung happily to the arm of her father. He’d been a handsome man, her father, and the proud smile on his face made an inexplicable lump form in Sophie’s throat.
Standing at the foot of a grand double staircase, Lila was dressed in a white organza dress and white satin gloves extended to her elbows. She’d had dark hair then, black as a raven’s wing, and it had been upswept into a sleek bun. She was radiant with happiness, her smile the epitome of youthful joy. The necklace circled her throat, a stunning sapphire and diamond choker. A pair of matching earrings glittered from her lobes.
Sophie turned and arched a brow. “Where are the earrings?”
“In the safety deposit box now,” she said.
A jolt of surprise caught her. “They were with the necklace then?”
“Yes, I’ve always kept the set in the original box. Odd, isn’t it?” she asked, looking baffled. “That the necklace went missing, but the earrings didn’t.” Sophie felt a frown move across her face, then turned back to look at the picture once more. The necklace was memorable and she felt certain she’d recognize it if she ever saw it again. And, yes, it was most definitely odd that the thief hadn’t taken the set, particularly when the earrings would have been worth a small fortune as well. Perhaps a set would have been more easily traced? Or was there another reason? Regardless, it was a terrible thing to do to someone. Lila had clearly treasured the jewelry.
“Monica was livid,” Lila went on, referring to her daughter, “but she was only concerned about the reduction in her inheritance, which was foolish because the necklace was insured. She didn’t lose anything, ultimately.” Lila met her gaze, the older woman’s suddenly sad. “But I did. An heirloom tied to a memory,” she sighed. “To me, it was priceless.” Sophie swallowed. “I’m so sorry, Lila.” “Whatever for, dear? It’s not your fault.” She purposely brightened. “Aw, well. It’s all water under the bridge now. I’ve accepted that I’ll probably never know what happened to it.”
Not if she had anything to do with it, Sophie thought, firming her resolve. “If you don’t mind my asking, what makes you think that Monica is the one who took it?”
“Because, other than Marjorie, she was the only person who knew the combination to my safe. Marjorie’s a tyrant, I’ll grant you,” she said with a dark chuckle. “But I don’t think she’s a thief.”
Truthfully, Sophie didn’t either. Marjorie ate, lived and breathed Twilight Acres and was a strict rule-follower. She was notorious for sending out her “Please don’t” letters—please don’t drive your power chairs on the lawn, please don’t allow your dogs off a leash, please don’t sunbathe naked by the pool. (Sophie had most heartily approved of that particular edict.) Overall Marjorie made sure that everything was strictly up to code and kept a close supervisory watch on everyone associated with the village. Though many of the residents complained about her rigid
disposition and had even at one point considered taking up a collection to have the proverbial stick up her ass surgically removed, ultimately they knew Marjorie genuinely cared for their well-being.
As for the safes, much like those featured in hotels, they’d been part of the standard installation when the complex was built. Sophie was relatively certain every unit featured one. A thought struck.
“Did you set your combination or was it already coded?”
“It was coded, though I was assured when I moved in that the old code had been zeroed out and my new one set in its place.”
Sophie supposed it was possible that someone could have broken into Marjorie’s office and obtained the combinations to the safes, but if that was the case, why hadn’t everyone been a victim? She knew for a fact that Arnold Hammerfield had an extremely valuable coin collection—he never failed to tell her about while he was on her table—and that several of the other residents liked to keep sizable amounts of cash on hand for emergencies. One resident was notorious for burying her stash in Mason jars around her lawn. The baffled groundskeeper had suspected a mole problem until the truth was revealed. Why not steal from them? Why was jewelry the only item taken?
“I suppose you’ve seen Foy’s grandson,” Lila remarked with a smile, seemingly ready for a subject change.
Sophie swallowed a sigh. “I have, at Cora’s insistence,” she added with a droll grin.
Truthfully, Foy’s grandson was a topic she was getting mightily tired of—she hadn’t talked to a single person over the past two days who didn’t have something to say about the former Ranger. It was infuriating. And to make matters worse, like a bad penny, he kept showing up everywhere she went. Granted the village was relatively small, but it seemed like no matter where she was, he managed to be close by.
She’d avoided going to the diner for lunch yesterday because she’d been certain he’d be there again, laughing and smiling and looking all brooding and mysterious and sexy. She’d packed a lunch from home and, despite the chilly weather, had opted to dine al fresco on a park bench by the lake. She’d just spooned a bite of potato soup into her mouth when she’d looked across the water and spotted him. Evidently, he’d made the same choice and, smiling, had lifted his thermos in a salute to her.
Peevishly—hell, it wasn’t his fault that she found herself wildly, inexplicably, horribly attracted to him—she pulled a book from her bag, stuck it in front of her face and pretended to read. While hiding in plain sight, she’d inadvertently dropped a glob of soup on her right breast and accidentally let her cake slide off her plate. She was so annoyed she’d abandoned the rest of her meal, gathered up her things and left in a foul mood.
And realizing that she’d let him put her in a foul mood had only angered her further. Where was this newfound control she was supposed to be exercising? What the hell had happened to it?
Just because he had the unique ability to make her body mutiny and melt like a popsicle on the
Fourth of July, and she’d caught him staring at her several times with that microscopic gaze as though she were an exotic specimen in a Petri dish didn’t mean that she was destined to fail at celibacy.
It simply meant she needed to try harder.
Honestly, for a man who was supposedly here to visit his grandfather and make notes for his memoir—that little tidbit had made its way to her this morning—he certainly didn’t spend a lot of time with Foy. If he wasn’t in the diner, then he was in the general store. If he wasn’t in the store, then he was at the pharmacy. If he wasn’t at the pharmacy, then he was at the barber shop. Or the Fitness center, or the recreation room, or simply visiting someone else. She frowned. It was odd and, combined with it being physically impossible for him to be Foy’s grandson, she suspected he wasn’t being completely honest with everyone about his purpose here.
Granted she didn’t know every branch of Foy’s family tree and if Foy said he was his grandson— which he did—then who was she to question it? Furthermore, Foy was shrewd and, of the residents here, he was the least likely to be taken advantage of.
Ultimately, though, it didn’t matter. She just knew she needed to stay the hell away from him.
“Speak of the devil,” Lila said, a smile in her voice.
Sophie blinked. “Pardon?”
A knock suddenly sounded at the front door and with a sense of impending doom, she turned and followed Lila’s gaze. The devil, indeed, Sophie thought, her mouth parching at the sight of him. He wore a black cable-knit sweater which accentuated every impressive muscle from the waist up, and a pair of faded jeans which did the same thing from the waist down. Black boots and black sunglasses completed the look. A silver watch encircled his wrist and though she couldn’t isolate a brand name on any particular item, everything he wore looked well-made and of quality.
In a word, expensive.
In her discount scrubs and worn tennis shoes, she suddenly felt like a slob. It wasn’t that she couldn’t afford nice clothes—she could—she just preferred to spend her money on other things. Like food for her animals, farm equipment and new furnishings for her house. She’d be willing to bet her tractor cost more than his, Sophie thought with an inward smile.
At any rate, his arrival combined with the sudden racing of her heart and the absurd impulse to lick him from one end to the other was her exit cue.
Thankfully, she’d already packed up her massage table and bag, and was ready to go. Trying not to look like she was in a hurry, she casually crossed the room and hefted the bag onto her shoulder. “I’d better get going, Lila,” she said.
Rather than wait for an invitation into the house, to her chagrin Foy’s grandson—Jeb, she’d heard— opened the door, came in and stood in front of it. Purposely, she was sure. Panic and irritation surged through her, impossibly heightening her awareness of him.
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” he said, his voice a warm baritone with a cool, raspy finish. A shiver hit her middle, sending goosebumps over the tops of her thighs. He fastened his gaze on hers once more and, while it had been unnerving at a distance, this close it was practically debilitating. His eyes were so very blue, Sophie thought dimly. Vivid and clear. Mesmerizing. Deep. A girl could drown in them. She was drowning in them.
“Not at all,” Lila trilled, obviously happy to be included on his visitation circuit. “Sophie humored me with a home visit this morning.”
“Lucky you,” he murmured so low Sophie was certain she was the only one who heard it. Latent humor glinted in his gaze and his sulky, sexy mouth lifted in a faint grin.
She swallowed, stunned. He was flirting? With her? “I did,” Sophie said with a nod. Did that squeaky voice really belong to her? She cleared her throat. “And now I’ve got to get going. Mustn’t get behind schedule,” she continued with a brittle laugh and started toward the door.
Rather than move out of the way like anyone else would have done, he stood firm and extended his hand. “Jeb Anderson,” he said. “I’m F—”
“Foy’s grandson,” she finished, unable to keep the skepticism out of her voice. “I’ve heard.” She shook his hand for all of half a second, then snatched it back, ignoring the fire that streaked down her arm and the instant weakening of her knees at the contact.
Though she was certain he picked up on her tone, his expression didn’t change. He smiled, revealing a deep dimple in his right cheek. A dimpled badass? Really? She smothered a whimper. How unfair was that?
“I imagine word travels fast through here.”
“It does,” she agreed.
“Can I get you a cup of tea, Jeb? A slice of orange cake?” Lila asked, seemingly unaware of the tense undercurrent humming between them.
“I’d love that, thanks.” He arched a brow. “It’s Sophie, right?”
“Yes.” She didn’t elaborate because she desperately wanted to leave. He smelled really good, too. Like a loamy forest and musk. It was a rich smell, very masculine and it suited him perfectly. She could fee
l her reflexes slowing, becoming sluggish, which was odd considering she felt like her insides were about to vibrate out of her body.
“You’re the resident masseuse?”
She shifted her bag as though it were too heavy, hoping he’d get the hint. “Among other things, but yes, that’s right.”
“Excellent,” he said with a nod. “I should set up an appointment while I’m here. I could use a good working over.”
Whether the innuendo in that comment was real or imagined—probably imagined, Sophie told herself—it had a devastating effect all the same. Visions of his large, magnificent, naked body sprawled out on her table, his skin slickened with oil and glistening in the low light while she rubbed his shoulders tripped rapid-fire through her mind, eliciting an odd little noise from the back of her throat.
She suspected it was a moan.
His suddenly humorous gaze confirmed it.
If only a hole would open up beneath her feet, Sophie thought, mortified. With effort, she attempted to salvage the moment by attempting to be a professional. She cleared her throat. “You’re welcome to call and set up an appointment.”
“She works wonders,” Lila interjected. “She might be little, but she can get in there and work a knot out in nothing flat.”
His lips twitched and his gaze drifted over her from head to toe, as though confirming Lila’s description of her size. Her nipples beaded behind her bra and a flush of heat skidded over her belly. “I’ve got a few knots she could work out.”
Sophie nearly swallowed her tongue. Oh, yes. He was definitely flirting with her. As impossible as it seemed, the suggestion in his tone wasn’t open to misinterpretation. And the temptation to flirt back was almost impossible to resist. She got the impression that he was purposely trying to rattle her, that he enjoyed watching her wiggle like a worm on a hook.
Under His Skin (Ranger Security Book 1) Page 4