by Alison Stone
Conner pressed his lips together and shrugged. This wasn’t exactly the type of conversation he cared to have.
“How’s Grace Miller?” And there it was, the subject Kevin was angling to talk about.
Conner jerked his head back, unsure if Kevin knew about the incident in the basement library, or if he was simply making idle conversation regarding the new woman in town, who happened to be the daughter of the murdered Amish woman.
Conner decided to broach the subject directly. “You heard about the library?”
“Yes, a couple deputies were at the diner. Is Grace okay?”
“She’s fine. She escaped without injury.” Conner forced an even tone to his voice, trying not to think about how seriously Grace could have been injured.
“Do you know what happened?” It wasn’t unusual for retired law enforcement officers to insert themselves into the thick of an active investigation, especially in a small town. Conner supposed it was more exciting than watching The Price is Right or whatever Kevin did in his spare time.
“We’re still trying to figure that out.”
“Do you think it has to do with the incident at the gas station? Because she’s investigating Jason’s death?” Kevin peppered him with questions, not taking a breath to wait for the answers. “What’s in the library basement?” The retired officer straightened and ran his hand along the handle of the shopping cart. “Must be her mom’s case, right? She was looking for those old articles your dad was telling her about?”
“We’re still trying to figure that out, too.” Conner took a few steps to his right and selected a cucumber for his salad.
“You need to be careful.” Kevin pushed his cart closer to him, unwilling to take the subtle clues that Conner wanted to get his dinner and go home.
Conner tossed the cucumber into his basket and angled his head to give Kevin a curious look.
“Grace is a pretty girl. It’s easy to look into those brown eyes and forget she’s a reporter.”
Conner bit back his annoyance. “I’m not really sure what you’re getting at.”
“Your dad told you how that reporter interfered during Sarah Miller’s murder investigation.”
“That was a long time ago.”
“You’re young. You’re optimistic. Personally, I wouldn’t trust Grace. If she finds something on Jason’s accident and it comes out that you should have uncovered it first and missed it due to blind loyalty to family...” Kevin grimaced, suggesting loyalty to a fault would be a very bad thing indeed.
Anger simmered below the surface. Conner glanced around to make sure no one was listening. “I’m not covering up anything. Jason’s mom has been through enough. She doesn’t need more news coverage on her son’s death.” He blinked away the image of Jason’s bloody face from where it had impacted the steering wheel.
Kevin held up his hands and backed away from his cart. “Easy, man. I know, I know. Remember, Sheriff Flatt’s retiring next year. If you have any hopes of running for sheriff, you don’t want any stink attached to your name.”
“Listen, I don’t go about doing my job wondering what’s in it for me. I do my job the best I can.” Conner glanced around. An older woman gave him a curious look and continued past. He had raised his voice louder than he’d intended.
“You’re great at your job. It’s just—” Kevin shrugged “—your dad’s worried about you. He knows firsthand what it’s like to be burned by a reporter. I’m trying to help. Your dad won’t say anything himself.”
His father hadn’t mentioned anything to him, but that wouldn’t be unlike his old man. He was forever trying to protect his son—the best he knew how—from everything from the blow of losing his mom to his day-to-day frustrations. Instead of easing Conner’s mind, the secrecy only served to make him worry more. What else was his father hiding in an effort to protect his son?
Conner lifted his shopping basket as if to say, “Well, I gotta go,” and forced a smile. “Don’t worry about me or my career. I’ve got it handled.”
“That’s what your father used to say, until the unsolved murder and the relentless bad press made him realize he’d never be reelected.”
Conner shook his head in confusion and immediately realized his mistake.
“You didn’t know that, did you? You thought he rode off into retirement.” Kevin shook his head with a smug expression on his face. “Your father had no intentions of retiring until that reporter ruined his career.”
“That was a long time ago, Kevin.”
The older man tipped his head. “Time doesn’t heal all wounds.”
* * *
An unfamiliar sound broke through Grace’s restless sleep. She rolled over and tried to get comfortable before she heard it again. She froze and held her breath, straining to listen, to understand what had woken her up.
Since she had come here a few weeks back to recover from her appendectomy, she had grown accustomed to the sounds of the bed & breakfast, even in the dead of night. The tree branches scraping against the side of the house on the windiest of nights, the battery-operated clock ticking away the longest stretch of the night and the occasional drip from the faucet when she forgot to turn the handle just a little bit tighter to the right.
But this was something different.
Scratch-scratch-scratch.
There it was again. Her sleepy mind finally registered, and relief flooded her system. Boots! The cat she had let in. She must have come upstairs looking for her in the middle of the night.
Thankful that it wasn’t some intruder creepily dragging a nail across her closed—and thankfully locked—bedroom door, she pushed back the covers and climbed out of bed. The hardwood floor was cold on her bare feet. She slid on her slippers and shuffled to the door. She didn’t want to let Boots into the room where she slept because she was mildly allergic. She could deal with the cat taking refuge in the main living quarters of the bed & breakfast. That shouldn’t aggravate her eyes too much.
The lock snapped when she twisted the knob, the sound echoing in the quiet house. She opened the door a crack. Boots darted into the room and disappeared under the bed. Narrowing her gaze at the shadows in the hallway, Grace wondered what had spooked the cat.
Instinctively, she leaned out and glanced down the stairs, unable to make out much in the black of night. Was someone down there? No, she wouldn’t let her imagination get the best of her, despite the fluttery whisper of dread upsetting her stomach.
She wandered over to the bed and got down on her knees. Groaning, she lay flat on her belly on the hardwood floor. She was ready to be done with the post-surgery aches and pains. “Come on, scaredy-cat, you can stay warm and cozy downstairs. You can’t sleep under my bed.”
In the blackness, Grace couldn’t make out any discernible shapes under the bed skirt. She pushed up on all fours and reached to pick up her cell phone from the bedside table. Turning on the flashlight app, she shined it under the bed. Cat eyes glowed back at her, taunting her. With one hand, she reached out and, remarkably, Boots moved toward her.
For her reward, Grace sat cross-legged, rested her back against the bed and petted the cat, itchy eyes or not. After a few minutes, Grace got to her feet with the cat in her arms. She set the phone down on the nightstand. “Let’s take you downstairs to your cozy bed, okay? You’ll be nice and warm next to the stove.” Grace laughed at herself. She wondered if someday, after living alone for years, she’d become the crazy cat lady who had full-on conversations with cats. “Don’t start talking back,” she muttered, running her hand over the cat’s head.
Grace’s slippers made a soft flip-flop sound as she crossed her bedroom to the hallway and made her way down the darkened stairs. She skimmed the cold railing with her free hand. When she reached the bottom stair, she put the wriggling cat down on the floor.
Boots shot across the room and darted behind
Heather’s rolltop desk. What in the world? Goosebumps blanketed Grace’s cool skin, which made her realize it was freezing down here. Had the wood-burning stove gone out?
Then something fluttered at the corner of her eye, followed by a loud clack. The roller shade beat against the window frame. Holding her breath, she took a step closer, and terror sent a wave of prickles across her scalp. Behind the askew shade, the window yawned wide.
Frozen with indecision for the briefest of moments, Grace weighed her options. With a confidence she didn’t feel, she ran to the window, reached behind the shade, and slammed it down, twisting the lock at the top.
Why hadn’t the alarm gone off? She raced to the panel and noticed the light was green. It wasn’t activated. Had she been too distracted when talking to her sister to forget to reset it after she let Boots in?
She strained her brain to remember. She couldn’t.
What if the intruder was still inside? She glanced toward the shadows where Boots had disappeared. The cat would be fine. She, on the other hand, was exposed.
She ran to the staircase, taking them two at a time, and reached her room. She slammed the door and locked it, then raced to her bedside table and turned on the light, casting away all the spooky shadows.
She swiped her cell phone from her bedside table. Clutching it to her chest, she kicked off her slippers—they’d slow her down if she had to run—and crept to her bathroom. She reached around the corner and flipped on the light. With her jagged breath in her ears, she moved forward and snatched back the shower curtain, then heaved a sigh.
Empty.
She pressed her cold hand to her neck. She was alone. At least up here.
For now.
For all her bravado, when push came to shove, she hated being afraid. Being unsure. Being vulnerable.
Someone had opened the window downstairs, and it wasn’t the cat.
Grace slammed the bathroom door and locked it. With her back pressed against the door, she dialed Conner’s number.
Dear Lord, help him get here in time.
SIX
“I’m pulling up the driveway now,” Conner spoke to Grace on the phone, his words clipped. He canvassed the desolate landscape around the bed & breakfast. “Nothing visible out here. Everything okay on your end?”
He couldn’t figure out why the alarm system hadn’t gone off.
“Still safely locked in my bathroom.” He didn’t miss the trace of humor in her tone. It was a pleasant shift from the frantic call that had awoken him out of a sound sleep.
“I’m going to walk the perimeter.” He climbed out of his truck and cringed when the cold air hit his exposed neck. “I’ll see what’s going on. Come downstairs in five minutes and open the back door.” He didn’t want to be distracted with the phone if someone was still out here.
When she didn’t answer immediately, he added, “Okay?”
“Yes, thanks.” The strain in her voice had been replaced by relief. For someone who claimed she didn’t need anyone, it surprised him.
Conner slid the phone into the pocket of his bulky coat and lifted his flashlight. Out in the country on a cloudy night, it was dark like the bottom of a well. The beam of the flashlight bounced off the white snow. Footsteps dotted the driveway and the pathways to the house. He directed the light toward the barn and the other outbuildings. Footsteps led out to both. Nothing out of the ordinary, considering the horses had to be cared for by a young Amish man. According to Grace, he also did a few odd jobs around the bed & breakfast.
Conner walked toward the house, the beam from his flashlight leading the way. Grace had said a window in the sitting room had been opened. He made a wide berth around the house in an attempt to preserve evidence. The snow underneath the corner window had definitely been trampled. He slid out his phone, took off his gloves, and took a few snapshots of the boot prints. From first glance, the prints looked like they could be from any number of boots worn by half the men he knew, including him. The images would have to be enlarged and studied more closely.
The forecast was calling for more snow. Snow that would obscure the prints in no time at all.
He slid his phone back into his pocket and blew on his fisted hands to warm them up. On nights like this, he wondered why his dad hadn’t retired to Florida by now. That was in Conner’s twenty-year plan. Become sheriff. Retire. Move to Florida.
Conner stomped the snow from his feet on the back porch. “Come on, Grace.” He quietly rapped on the door to avoid startling her. Just then, he heard her undoing the lock.
She pulled open the door, her hair mussed from sleep. She had pulled a fleece jacket over her pajamas.
“Are you okay?” Conner stepped into the small entryway.
“I guess I’m a trouble magnet.”
Conner held up his hand. “Stay here. Let me check the house.”
Grace’s eyes flared wide. “You think he’s still here?”
“Can’t be too sure. Hold up.” Conner did a quick canvass of the house, including the upstairs rooms that were often rented out to tourists during the warmer months.
When he came downstairs, he found Grace walking around the kitchen table, picking up the newspaper articles off the floor. Her long hair fell in a curtain, hiding her face. When she straightened, she tucked her hair behind her ear. She placed an article inside the manila folder. “I’m not sure if all the articles are still here.” She flattened the paper with her hand. “Maybe this is what someone was looking for. It seems the wind from the open window blew them off the table.” She bent over and picked up another one. “I wouldn’t be able to tell you what’s here or what’s not. I haven’t had time to study all of them.”
A small piece of paper was tucked under the leg of the table. He leaned over and picked it up. The paper felt brittle. It was dated six months after Sarah Miller’s murder. The first line read: Local Amish family has yet to return after mother’s murder.
“Here’s one more.”
Grace took the piece of paper, glanced at it briefly, then tucked it into the folder with the rest she had gathered. Her hip bumped the table, and the screen on her open laptop flickered to life. A photo of a smiling Grace beamed up at him from the screen. He caught sight of the title on the page: Researching a Mother’s Murder.
His eyes met Grace’s and she frowned. “My editor thinks this will go viral.”
He furrowed his brow. “What do you think?”
Grace slowly sat down on the picnic-style bench and leaned back on the table. She threaded her hand through her hair and pressed her elbows together. “I haven’t had a chance to think. When I arrived in Quail Hollow, I was sick as a dog. For the first few weeks, I was laid up in bed recovering from complications from my surgery. Once I was on the mend, I started to investigate Jason’s accident, then my mom’s murder, and—” she started to giggle and couldn’t seem to stop “—it’s been one thing after another.”
She looked up and wiped the tears with the back of her knuckle. “Someone obviously doesn’t want me to investigate something.” She shrugged and took a calming breath to quell her giggle fit, the kind that struck when nothing was funny and you weren’t supposed to laugh. “But what don’t they want me to investigate? Jason’s accident? Or my mother’s murder?”
Conner sat on the bench next to Grace and nudged her shoulder. “We’ll figure this out.”
With a look of surprise glowing in her eyes, she opened her mouth to protest when he picked up her laptop from the table. “Nice photo.”
“They caught me on a good hair day.” She reached for the laptop.
“Wait. Can I read this?”
Her cynical expression said, “I don’t know why you’d want to.”
Conner skimmed through both the posts Grace had written and the teasers her editor had posted. It had specific details on her location as well as hints regarding he
r investigation. He tapped the screen and it flickered. “This right here makes you a sitting duck. This provides all the information someone needs if they want to hurt you.”
* * *
Heat crawled up Grace’s cheeks. She resented being treated like a teenager who had shared too much personal information on the internet. This was her job. Her job meant being visible online.
But had she foolishly put herself in jeopardy?
Normally when she was covering a story, she was staying in secure hotels, or she had long moved on to another town—another story—before her editor posted her work. Her extended stay in Quail Hollow and covering a story with a personal slant had been a game changer. Anyone with evil intent could know who she was and where she’d most likely be staying.
Annoyed and feeling more than foolish that she hadn’t realized the risk, Grace leaned over and snapped the laptop closed. She took it from Conner’s lap and placed it on the table a bit more roughly than she had intended.
“Most stories I write, I’m an anonymous reporter. I’m often done with the story and on to the next location before any information is posted online. People don’t know where I’m staying.” She pointed at the closed laptop for emphasis like Conner had. “My editor has insisted I post blogs until the bigger story is complete. I never felt like my safety was at risk.” She pressed her palm to her neck and relished her cool fingers on her hot skin. “It’s not like I can pick up and leave. I promised my sister I’d keep an eye on the bed & breakfast. It’s the least I can do for her after all she’s done for me.”
“When will Heather and Zach be back?”
“The end of next week.”
“You can’t stay out here by yourself.”
Instinctively, she bristled at his command. “I’ll make sure I set the alarm this time.” She dropped her hand and dipped her chin. “I must have forgotten to reset the alarm when I let Boots in.” The green light glowing on the alarm display on the wall mocked her. “I don’t know how I forgot. I needed to make sure Boots didn’t go upstairs. I’m allergic. I mean, I’m okay, as long as cats don’t roll around in my sheets.” She smiled sheepishly, aware that she was talking too much.