by Marta Perry
Searching through the office had given her a guilty sensation. She didn’t belong here, but by her actions, Evelyn had grafted her on to the family tree.
Maybe that was an apt expression. She’d felt grafted on to another family tree when her mother had married Dennis Goldman. Dennis was a dear, of course, and he’d always done his best to treat her exactly as he did the two half brothers he and Mom had produced. She loved them all. She knew they loved her. Still, she’d always felt like the odd man out. The cuckoo in the nest, in a way.
Unfair, to feel that way, but she’d figured out a long time ago that a person couldn’t argue with her feelings. One just had to accept them and move on.
And speaking of feelings, what was she to think of the grandmother who’d appeared so suddenly, reaching out from the grave, it seemed? She’d formed an opinion of Evelyn Standish long ago—imperious, proud and strong-willed. Nothing she’d learned since she’d arrived in Laurel Ridge had changed that opinion.
But being privy to the woman’s business life had certainly added to the picture she’d formed. Evelyn had been a good businesswoman, meticulous if a bit old-fashioned in her methods.
She had been capable of surprising generosity. There was the partnership with Sarah for one thing. And apparently Evelyn had also carried the bookstore through a couple of dry periods, carefully noting the dates on which she’d been paid back. Without interest, it seemed. Generous, yes. So how did a woman who was so giving to others justify ignoring her only grandchild?
Sighing, Allison brushed her hair behind her ears and massaged the back of her neck. That was a riddle to which she’d probably never know the answer.
A glance at the window showed her that it was getting dark already. Allison checked the time and began gathering papers together. Get a bite to eat first, and then go back to the inn. By the time she’d done that, Leslie should be home from the office and ready to talk.
The building had grown dark and quiet around her while she worked. She’d been vaguely aware of the occupants of the other offices leaving, hearing the sound of voices and the clatter of heels as they went down the stairs. She ought to be alone in the building, but she could hear the distinct sound of movement.
Puzzled but not alarmed, she went to the door and opened it. For a moment all was silent. Then there was the sharp sound of a footstep, and then another.
Allison couldn’t seem to prevent the frisson of alarm that rippled along her nerves. If every office and shop in the building was closed, who was here?
The custodian, of course. She nearly laughed out loud. She’d just been looking at the building records. There was a custodian, even though she hadn’t met him yet.
Well, no time like the present. Leaving the office open and the lights on, she moved quickly down the hall toward the stairs. “Hello?” Her voice echoed as if she’d called into a canyon.
Nothing. No one answered.
“Mr. Glick? Is that you? It’s Allison Standish.”
Still nothing, but the footsteps were clearer and more hurried now, coming from the hall below. Allison hustled to the top of the stairs and looked down.
From this vantage point she could see the entire front half of the hallway that bisected the building, with the quilt shop on her left and the cabinet showroom on the right. Nothing moved there.
Annoyed now, she hurried down the steps. How rude, not to answer when she called out. Surely anyone who belonged in the building would know who she was, even if they hadn’t met yet.
Anyone who belonged. She stopped three-quarters of the way down, clinging to the bannister. Someone, maybe Nick, had said something about a prowler.
Allison reached for the pocket of her jacket and found it empty. Her cell phone was lying on the desk upstairs.
She should go back to the office and call the police. But then she’d look remarkably silly if her prowler turned out to be someone who had every right to be here.
Allison took another tentative step down, undecided, and heard a rush of footsteps followed by the bang of the back door. The noise galvanized her into action. She ran down the stairs, swung around the newel post at the bottom and raced for the back exit. She couldn’t possibly catch the person, but maybe she could get a glimpse of him.
The back door was closed but not locked. She yanked it open, charged forward and nearly ran into Nick Whiting, who grasped her by the elbows.
The tinge of fear transformed into anger. “What do you mean by sneaking around the building that way? Were you trying to alarm me?”
Nick’s open face tightened. “Is fighting mad always your first response? I wasn’t in the building. I was just coming out of the workshop when I thought I heard someone call out. I came to see what was wrong.”
That sounded logical. Besides, the person she’d heard was going out. He or she wouldn’t turn around and come back in, would they?
Only if they wanted to make you think they were just arriving on the scene, a little voice commented at the back of her mind.
Allison pulled away from Nick’s warm grasp, aware of his strength. “What are you doing here this late, anyway?”
“Working,” he said briefly. “I went home to put my son to bed, and then I came back to work for an hour or so.”
“Son?” She wasn’t sure why she was so startled. Of course someone like Nick would be married. He ought to wear a wedding ring. “I didn’t know you were married.”
His strong features tightened again. “I’m not. My son, Jamie, is six. We live with my folks.”
Allison’s mind seethed with questions, none of which she dared ask. Better stick to the point. “I heard someone in the building. Whoever it was, he didn’t answer when I called. You had mentioned something about a prowler.”
“So you decided to go after him alone?” His eyebrow rose in that gesture she was beginning to dislike.
“Certainly not. I heard him go out of the building. I was just hoping to get a look at him.” A shiver went through her. “Did you see anyone?”
“Not a glimpse, but anyone could have gone around the corner before I got to where I’d see him.” He gave her a measuring look, as if assessing how much she was to be trusted.
She did her best to ignore it. “Do you suppose he broke into any of the offices?”
“I’ll have a look,” Nick said. “You stay here.”
That sounded tempting, but her pride intervened. “I’ll go with you.”
Exasperation was written clearly on his face, but he didn’t argue. Together they moved through the ground floor, checking doors. She hated admitting that she wanted to stick close to him. Somehow that rough-hewn appearance of his was very appealing right now. He looked as if he could handle anything.
The shops were all locked, dark and, she supposed, normal.
“My keys are upstairs in Evelyn’s office. We could look inside,” she offered.
“I don’t think there’s much point. If someone had broken in, it would be obvious.” Nick flicked a light switch, bathing the back part of the hallway in its glow. The storerooms were locked and dark, as well.
Allison eyed Nick’s face as they went up the stairs side by side. His jaw was set, and his gaze was intent. He looked tough and determined, and she would definitely stack him up against any prowler.
There was that word again. “Why did you think there might be a prowler?”
He looked startled for an instant. “You mean when I saw you last night?” He shrugged. “There have been rumors making the rounds about a prowler in town, but no one seems to have seen anything definite.”
“If that’s the case, this should be reported to the authorities. I’ll call 911—”
“No need,” Nick said. “Consider it reported. As it happens, my brother, Mac, is the police chief. And oddly enough, I’m the mayor.”
“You? The mayor?”
Nick grinned at the doubt she made obvious. “Yes, me. Don’t be impressed, though. In a town of eight thousand people, being the mayor is as much a popularity contest as anything else.”
“I see.” She studied his face, wondering just how serious he was. “What, exactly, does the mayor of Laurel Ridge do?”
Nick shrugged. “Goes to a town council meeting once a month. Declares it Safety Week or Blueberry Day. Serves as a judge for the annual Pet and Toy Parade.”
Was he serious? Apparently so. “I’m sure you’re well suited to judging the Pet and Toy Parade, whatever that is.”
“Hey, that’s a serious event here.” He assumed an injured look as he checked office doors and rattled handles on the second floor. “And judging isn’t a piece of cake, especially when the contestants might cry if they don’t win. Or bite the judge.”
Her lips quirked as she thought of Hector’s reaction to him. “As I said, well suited.”
“The owners of last year’s contestants in the most colorful pet competition nearly came to blows.” He shook his head. “It wasn’t a pretty sight, believe me.”
His gaze met hers, his golden-brown eyes bright with amusement, and Allison felt an unexpected lurch in the area of her heart.
No, she told herself firmly.
“Since everything seems secure, I’d better pack up and get over to the—” She opened the office door, and Hector streaked out, moving so fast he was nothing more than an orange blur.
Nick jumped back, then gave an unsteady laugh. “I think that cat’s out to get me. What’s he so upset about now?”
Allison’s hand froze on the knob. “Look.” In the far corner of the room was a door that she’d assumed led to a closet. It had been closed and she’d thought locked when she left.
Now it stood wide-open, revealing a flight of wooden stairs that led up into darkness.
Nick’s hand closed on hers, and he drew her back from the door. “I take it you didn’t have the attic door open?”
“I didn’t even know that’s what it was.” She shivered. “We’d better call the police.”
Nick took a cell phone from his pocket and pressed it into her hand. “I’m going to have a look. If you hear anything odd, press 9-1-1.”
She clutched his arm. “What do you mean, odd? Like you being knocked over the head? Let the police do it. You don’t need to be macho about it.”
“I’m not.” He took both her hands in his. “Look, if I call in, that means whoever’s on duty will rush over here in the patrol car, siren wailing. It would probably be Johnny Foster—eighteen, eager and inclined to trip over his own feet. Let me see if there’s any sign up there first, and then I’ll talk to Mac quietly. No point in setting the whole town gossiping about you your second night here.”
Much as she hated to admit it, his words made a certain amount of sense. “All right. But be careful.” She frowned. “I thought the sound I heard came from the other end of the building.”
“Could have,” he said. “The attic stretches clear across, and there’s a stairway in each corner. Whoever was up there, he might have heard you go out of the room and slid down this way, then on downstairs by the back stairway.”
She blinked. “I didn’t even know there was a back stairway.”
He grinned. “You’d best explore your new property. But not now.” He squeezed her hands, crossed the room quickly and disappeared up the dark stairway.
Allison stood where she was, clutching the cell phone. If he didn’t come back in a few minutes, she was calling, no matter how much fuss it made.
But Nick reappeared, dusting himself off, before panic had her pushing the buttons. “He left the door open onto the stairway at the other end of the building. That must be how he got in. But there’s nothing upstairs but a lot of junk people have left there over the years. What was the point?”
She shivered, rubbing her arms. “If it was to scare me, he succeeded.” She scooped together the notes she’d made and stuffed them into her bag. “Right now all I want is to find Hector and get out of here. Do I need to stay around and talk to your brother?”
“Not tonight.” His attention seemed to be elsewhere, and she suspected his mind was busy with something he didn’t intend to share. “I’ll get Mac, and we’ll have a quiet look around. He can stop by casually tomorrow to have a word with you.”
Hands full of papers, she looked at him. “You’re going to a lot of trouble for me.”
He smiled, eyes focusing on her for a moment. “Just doing my duty to the voters, that’s all. Come on. I’ll help you find that dratted cat.”
CHAPTER FOUR
BY MIDMORNING THE next day Allison had met, as if by accident, with McKinley Whiting, Laurel Ridge’s police chief. Mac, as Nick had referred to him, was a slightly younger, slightly darker version of Nick, with the same straight nose and regular features but dark brown hair and dark eyes.
He’d been polite, he’d looked around, and he’d left Allison with the impression that he didn’t take the situation seriously, despite his assurance that he’d keep an eye on the building.
Following his visit she’d made the rounds of the upstairs offices, meeting in turn a Realtor, an investment adviser and an attorney. By the time they’d all exchanged pleasantries and each one had asked about her plans for the building, Allison had felt the need for escape, so she’d slipped downstairs to the quilt shop.
Once again, the warmth and color of the place enveloped her, and Sarah’s smile was the friendliest thing she’d seen yet today.
“Allison, wilkom. I’m glad you stopped in.” Sarah was sorting a stack of quilted place mats, apparently rearranging her display.
“Those are lovely.” Allison touched the tiny, intricate blocks that made up the pattern, each of them not more than an inch square.
“That’s postage-stamp quilting, worked in a Sunlight and Shadows pattern.” Sarah moved her hand over the design, which almost seemed to ripple. “My mother made these.”
“She must be a very accomplished quilter to do such fine work.” Each tiny piece was joined to the next by stitches so small and even that they were almost invisible.
“Denke. Thank you, I mean.” Sarah’s fair skin seemed sun-kissed today, as if she’d been doing something in the spring sunshine that had brought out a faint dusting of freckles. “Mamm will be in one day this week to set up a quilting frame in the corner. Once the weather is fine, we start getting more visitors from out of town, and they like to see a quilt in progress.”
“And it encourages them to buy,” Allison said, appreciating the marketing angle.
“Ja, that, too.” Sarah smiled on the words, her eyes sparkling. “Never underestimate the craftiness of a Pennsylvania Dutchman in making money, that’s what folks say.”
“I guess it applies to the Pennsylvania Dutch woman, as well.” Allison, feeling relaxed for the first time that day, picked up one of the place mats. “Let me help you arrange these.”
“Denke,” Sarah said again, and Allison stored the word away, realizing it meant thanks.
They worked in silence for a few minutes. Allison glanced at the other woman’s face. Sarah had an air of calm and stillness about her that seemed to say she could be relied upon, and Allison longed to talk to someone about what had happened the previous night. But she didn’t know how Sarah might react. Would she be frightened at the thought that someone had been in the building? Or disapproving of the action Allison had taken?
“Are you feeling as if you know your grandmother any better now?” Sarah shot her a questioning glance. “I thought her office might answer some of your questions.”
“Well, it cast a new light on her in some ways,” Allison admitted. “I hadn’t realized she was such a businesswoman, for one thing.”
Allison eyed her. “You wouldn’t remember my father, I suppose.” Sarah probably hadn’t been born when Hugh Standish had said goodbye to Laurel Ridge.
“No, but you know how folks talk.” There was something a little apologetic in her tone.
“I don’t imagine they had anything good to say about him,” Allison said.
“Ach, I didn’t mean—”
“It’s all right. I know better than most people how unreliable he was.”
Sarah nodded, blue eyes softening. “I’m sorry.”
She shrugged. “It’s been a long time. I don’t think about him much anymore.” Except for the occasional bad dream. “I’m glad to get a better picture of what his mother was like.” At least, she thought she was.
“I wish...” Sarah began and stopped abruptly at the sound of someone entering the shop. She looked up, a welcoming smile on her face that seemed to stiffen.
“I see you’re making yourself right at home.” The voice belonged to a fortyish woman who stared at Allison as if memorizing every detail of her appearance. “That is...well, I suppose half of the shop does belong to you and...” She seemed to lose herself in a welter of words, the challenge that had sounded in her first statement sagging under the weight of her qualifications.
Sarah came to the rescue. “Allison, this is Brenda Conner, your cousin.”
“Brenda Standish Conner,” the woman corrected, straightening the shoulders that had begun to droop. She stared at Allison again, her smile flickering nervously on and off and on. “I was your father’s cousin. You wouldn’t know, I suppose.”
The truth of the matter was that she’d never heard of a cousin until the business of Evelyn’s will came up, but it didn’t seem polite to say so. Brenda could never have been beautiful, but she might have had a fresh-faced charm before her round face had settled into those lines of discontent. She seemed somehow faded, as if life had drained her, and the classic gray suit might have looked stylish if it hadn’t turned her complexion a similar shade of gray. It hung from her sloping shoulders as if it had been made for a larger woman, or at least one who stood up straight.