by Curry, Edna
“Rather an odd thing to take,” he mused. “Was the picture valuable, by any chance? Perhaps an original rather than a print copy?”
“No, I’m sure it was just a cheap copy. I rescued it from my mother’s garage sale a couple of years ago. It had only sentimental value, really. My uncle especially liked that painting. He had a collection of different lithograph print copies of it, and he’d given that copy to my mother.”
“He gave it to your mother, yet it had sentimental value for you, but not for your mother?”
“Yes. I liked it, but she didn’t,” she said coldly, refusing to elaborate. The guy was sharp. But she was not about to explain the family quarrels to this stranger. Her mother and Uncle Henry’s estrangement could have nothing to do with this anyway.
Back in her apartment she sat on her sofa to think, unable to summon the energy to start cleaning up the mess.
She remembered the day she’d seen that The Lone Wolf print on the table with odd bits of dishes, clothes, toys, and old lamps her mother had put out in the garage, to get rid of before moving to Florida.
She’d picked up the old print with its scrolled metal frame, and exclaimed in astonishment, “Mother. You’re not getting rid of this? It was one of Uncle Henry’s best copies.”
“You know I’ve never liked that lonely winter landscape. Henry collects the oddest things. I can’t take all this old stuff to Carl’s elegant house in Florida. It won’t fit in with his lovely things.” Her mother’s lips pursed stubbornly. Lacey knew that look said, ‘Don’t argue with me.’
“May I have it?”
“Help yourself. I told you and your brother before to keep anything you wanted,” Kate said with a shrug.
So Lacey had carried it out to her car, wanting it badly enough to spite Kate’s displeasure with her action. She knew Kate’s feelings in the matter had more to do with her quarrel with her brother Henry than with her dislike of the picture.
Sighing, Lacey glanced at the clock. Almost one a.m., and she had to be at work at eight in the morning. There never seemed to be enough time. She really ought to stay here and work on her apartment instead of going out to Uncle Henry’s tomorrow night. She could call him and go out Saturday afternoon instead. That would give her tomorrow night and Saturday morning to put this place back in order.
Yes, that’s what she’d do. Whatever the hurry was, Henry would understand, and his customer would just have to wait another day for his information. What little she’d found certainly wasn’t that important anyway.
The next morning she almost missed the last bus that would get her to work on time. Several times during her work day, she found the image of Mark’s blue eyes and black hair replacing the images on her screen and her fingers would stop typing.
Once she caught herself with fingers on her lips, reliving his kiss, and shook herself to quiet her rapidly beating heart. “You’re dreaming worse than a teenager,” she scolded herself. But she couldn’t help wondering what he was doing, and whether she would ever see him again.
Of course, she mused, when she saw Uncle Henry tomorrow night, she could steer the conversation around to him. She smiled to herself at the comforting thought. Mark had accused Uncle Henry of planning their meeting once, hadn’t he? Well, next time it would be the truth if she hinted to Henry that she liked Mark. Henry was a born matchmaker.
Not that she wanted a match, mind you. Just to get to know him a little better. She’d never met anyone whose kiss could throw her like that. He seemed very warmhearted, nice and interesting, besides. Most men weren’t nice or interesting. Interested, of course. But that turned her off.
She jumped as the phone rang, calling her back to work.
It was noon before she remembered she hadn’t told Henry about her changed plans. She dialed several times during her lunch hour. But there was no answer at either his shop or cabin.
Perhaps he was out attending an auction, or having coffee with a friend. Half of his business seemed to be conducted over coffee or a card game, she reminded herself, disappointed. She tried several more times throughout the afternoon, with the same results. I’ll call him tonight. Or when I don’t arrive, he’ll call me.
When she returned home at six, she found the lock still broken. Honestly, that manager. Her apartment had been unlocked all day. Some security in this building.
She walked in and groaned anew at the sight of the mess. But as far as she could tell, everything was as she had left it that morning. Wishing she had time to wash them first, she changed into a comfortable pair of slacks and blouse, wondering with a shudder if the burglar’s hands had touched them. Exchanging her high heels for slippers, she went back to the kitchen to put on the coffee.
Although the cupboard doors and drawers had been left open as though searched, the kitchen had been left relatively neat. At least here there was some semblance of normality left.
She decided to fix something to eat before beginning on the cleaning. Something quick and easy. She broke a couple of eggs into a bowl and found some cheese and a slice of ham to make an omelet.
The doorbell jangled. Sighing, she went to open the door, fully expecting Mrs. Johnson or one of her other neighbors with lots of questions.
Instead Mark Lantro stood there.
“Mark.” She stared at him open-mouthed, not even aware that she had used his first name in the familiar way she had grown used to thinking of him.
He grinned and drawled, “Are you that surprised, Lacey?”
She snapped her mouth closed and gasped, “Yes, I mean, what are you doing here? And how did you get in? I didn’t press the outside buzzer.”
“I came in behind someone else, with a smile and a hello. Works every time. I got your apartment number from the mailbox downstairs. What happened to your door?” he frowned down at the broken lock.
“Someone broke in before I got home last night,” she explained, closing the door after him.
“Wow, I guess,” he exclaimed. He walked in and looked around. “I should have come in with you. Did you lose much?”
“No.”
“I brought you your briefcase,” he said, handing it to her. “You left it in my car last night.”
Her gaze, which had been preoccupied with drinking in the wonderfully casual look of him in navy slacks and soft blue sweater, shifted to the briefcase he was holding out to her.
“Oh, did I? I...I guess I’d forgotten all about it.” She certainly couldn’t add that she’d forgotten it because he’d had her full attention last night. She’d been incapable of remembering mundane things like briefcases.
She took it, and the action brought her back to earth.
He looked at her, frowning. “I knew you wouldn’t want to disappoint your Uncle Henry. In fact, I’m surprised you’re still here. I was afraid you’d have gone to his cabin for the weekend.”
“I am going to Uncle Henry’s, tomorrow. I have to get a bit organized here, first. Come on into the kitchen.” She turned and led the way, indicating the stools at the kitchen counter, and laying down the briefcase.
“Coffee?” she asked, trying to still the quaver in her voice. At his nod, she took out another cup and filled it, then refilled her own and sipped it, trying to act natural, while wondering why he made her feel so ill at ease.
“Tell me about last night.” He sipped the coffee, watching her over the rim of his cup.
His brows dipped thoughtfully as she told him all about it, including the missing The Lone Wolf print. “An odd coincidence, or maybe not a coincidence. There may be a connection. What did Henry say about it?”
“I haven’t been able to reach him today.”
“That’s odd.”
“I tried several times at the office. I’ll try again. I just got home a few minutes ago,” she explained.
“Give me the number. I’ll do it while you’re finishing that. Then I’ll help you clean up this mess,” he directed.
“I can’t let you do that.”
; “Why not?”
“I hardly know you.”
“You’d let a neighbor help you in Landers, wouldn’t you?”
“That’s different.”
“I’m Henry’s neighbor in Landers. Pretend we’re there instead of here in Minneapolis,” he said with a grin.
She laughed, giving in. “All right,” she said. Though his bossiness made her bristle, she was grateful for his offer of help. It would be a big job straightening up.
She wrote the number on a pad, tore off the sheet, and handed it to him. “You’ll have to use the pay phone downstairs. The burglar broke my phone. It’s part of my apartment furnishings, so my landlord promised me another but hasn’t brought it yet. I should have known he wouldn’t and just bought an extra one at noon.”
“Okay. I’ll be right back.”
“I’m making an omelet. Would you like some?”
“Sounds great,” he said over his shoulder as he headed for the phone.
She made a second omelet and turned the first. By the time she’d carefully turned the omelets out onto plates and toasted some raisin English muffins, he was back. She looked up questioningly.
“Still no answer. But of course, by this time of night, he could be at one of the other guys’ houses playing cards.”
“Yes, of course,” she said, but couldn’t keep the worry out of her voice. Too many odd things were happening too close together lately.
“Ready for more coffee?” he asked. He came up behind her and, resting his left hand on her arm, reached past her to take the server from its stand.
“Yes.” Did he notice the tremor of awareness at the touch of his long fingers on her arm?
She tried to force her mind to work, casting around for a safe conversational topic as she carried the food to the table she had set in the little breakfast nook, and then sat down across from him.
“How did you meet Henry?” Her gaze rested on his athletic frame as she voiced one of the questions she’d been wondering about.
“We were both bidding on the same lamp at an antique auction near Landers last summer. And both too stubborn to quit.”
She smiled at the mental image. “Who finally won?”
“He did. But only because he’d gone over my budget.”
Mark insisted on washing the dishes as she wiped them and put them away, then they attacked the mess in the living room.
“I’ll do the bookcase first,” he decided.
Lacey returned papers to her desk drawers, leaving the final sorting of them for another time. Then she stuffed the hamper with the washable clothes. She returned other things to the drawers and closets. He finished the books and swept up the broken glass from the lamps and knickknacks. Luckily, the overhead light from the kitchen gave them enough light to work by until she could replace the lamps. It went surprisingly fast with two of them working, although she knew she hadn’t taken time to properly fold clothes or sort things like they had been before. But at least the outward appearance of the rooms had some semblance of order again.
“Did you notice anything else missing?” Mark asked as she got them a soda.
She shook her head. “I can’t believe anyone would make such a mess here and then take only a picture that was hanging in plain sight all along,” she said.
“That’s what I was thinking. If he wasn’t after money or valuable jewelry, what was he looking for?”
They carried their drinks back to the living room and sat down on her sofa.
“Perhaps he only wanted to make a mess for me. There doesn’t seem to be much purpose to it at all.”
“Or perhaps he wanted to give the illusion of a search, when he really didn’t search for anything.”
“Like throwing out a red herring?”
“Yes. Or maybe he thought you had something you don’t. But what?”
“I don’t know,” Lacey sighed, sipping her soda. She slipped off her shoes and stretched her toes.
“You said the detective thought it might be someone you knew?” Mark pressed, watching her guardedly.
She nodded wearily. “But that’s impossible. None of my friends would think I had anything worth stealing. They all know I’m not rich.”
“This is a lovely apartment in a large, new building. Maybe someone mistook your apartment for someone else’s.”
“Maybe,” she said, her voice cheering up at this possibility.
“Then why take The Lone Wolf print?”
“You’re right, of course. It has to tie in with Uncle Henry somehow. I don’t believe in coincidences. That’s too handy an explanation.”
“Maybe it will make sense when you talk to Henry tomorrow. I’d better get going. I have an early morning appointment.” He set his empty glass down on the coffee table and stood up, stretching. Her gaze slid along the rippling muscles of his back and she itched to run her fingers over them and through those black curls along his shirt collar. She swallowed and set her half-empty glass down beside his.
“On Saturday morning?”
“Yes. One of my students wants some extra help. He’s really trying hard, so I feel I should give it to him. He has an extra job too, so it’s hard to find a time to meet.”
“I see. Thanks so much for your help.” She rose, so close beside him that his warmth touched her arm, but he made no move toward her. Instead he moved to the door, picked up his deerskin jacket and shrugged into it.
“Thanks for returning my briefcase, too,” she said, following him to the door with a definite sense of disappointment.
As he was about to leave, he turned. Her breath caught as his brilliant blue gaze met hers for a long moment. The warm current which had been flowing between them all evening as they worked seemed almost alive. Would he deny it this time and turn away again?
He reached out and pulled her into his arms. His firm lips met hers, and she found herself responding to his kiss as she’d been waiting to do for hours. Heat coiled low in her body as their tongues met and teased each other. Her hands slid inside his open jacket and her arms went round him. The long vibrant sensations went on and on.
Then he gently pulled away, and with a hoarsely murmured goodnight, he was gone. With a deep sense of loss, she replaced the chain on her door and went back to the sofa.
Picking up her unfinished soda, she sipped it thoughtfully. He was quite a man. One she would definitely like to see more of.
Then she shook herself. No. She was not going to let herself get interested in another man. Relationships always ended.
Chapter 3
Lacey wondered if she would she see him again. He made her feel attractive and alive again, something no one had been able to do since Arthur. She sighed, remembering how soon that love had ended.
Swallowing, she quickly pushed away the thought of her ex-husband. She’d had enough of the painful past. That part of her life was over and done with. Period. She wouldn’t allow herself to think about it.
Purposely returning her thoughts to Mark’s kiss, she went to bed.
She awakened very late the next morning, and showered and toweled dry. Rummaging through her still-messy bureau drawers for underwear, she found a pair of panties and started to step into them, then gasped in amazement.
The panties were in shreds. Not torn, but slashed, as with a knife. Last night, because Mark had been there, she had just pushed things back into drawers without really looking at them, leaving it all to be sorted later. But now, as she held up one ruined under-thing after another, it was obvious she should have looked more carefully. Her plain, everyday underwear was fine, but every piece of fancy, lacy underclothes was slashed into shreds.
Lacey shuddered. She had the strangest feeling that each angry slash had really been meant for her. Why just her pretty underclothes?
Shivers ran down her spine. She put on a warm terrycloth robe and went to the kitchen. In a desperate attempt to warm her suddenly cold body, and not wanting to wait for coffee to perk, she heated a cup of water in the microwa
ve and found some instant cocoa mix.
As she drank it, the coldness left her, and hot anger replaced the fear.
She got dressed and found the detective’s number, then went downstairs to call him. She told him what she’d found.
He sounded bored, as though he’d heard it all many times before. Then he asked if she thought it might have been her divorced husband.
“Arthur? Of course not. He never did violent things.”
“Well, it sounds to me like something that a jealous, frustrated lover would do.”
“I’m sure it wasn’t Arthur. He was never jealous and he’s not frustrated. In fact he’s married to someone else now.”
“Hmm. Well, I’ll add it to the report. Keep your door locked.”
Wanting to remind him that her door had been locked when her apartment had been broken into and it was supposed to be a secure building, she bit back her retort and hung up. She dialed Henry, again without success.
Then she knocked on Evers’ office door and repeated her request for a new phone and door lock. She got the same assurance he’d given her the day before, that it would be done immediately.
She ate a quick brunch, noting it was already almost noon. She found an undamaged change of clothes and a nightgown, put them into a suitcase, and then tried to phone Henry one more time. Only the lonely sound of unanswered ringing met her ears.
Worried now, she hurried out to her little blue Chevy car. She could have just missed him. He could have been back to his shop or cabin while she was cleaning, then gone out again. Because she had no phone, he couldn’t call her. It was past time for them both to get cell phones.
Her instincts were seldom wrong and she felt anxious.
Lacey wound her way through the traffic, thankful that it was lighter than usual on a Saturday. Once on the freeway, she tried to relax, knowing it was an hour’s drive northeast of Minneapolis to the cabin.
She loved this part of central Minnesota. The neat houses on the small plots of the suburbs gave way to open country with only an occasional farmhouse as she drove along. Now and then some evergreens provided color around silver lakes, and she saw lilac bushes in bloom. She rolled down her car window to let in the fresh country air, reveling in the green, earthy scent of spring. How good it smelled after breathing the city’s car and truck exhaust fumes.