by Laura Scott
Making a mental list, he moved on to the yellow room to look at that bathroom. It was in slightly better shape than the blue room, but not by much. There was no missing tile, but there may as well have been since the grout in there was seriously cracked and peeling, too.
Jazz finally joined him twenty minutes later, holding the pad and pencil in hand.
“What kind of a budget do you have?” he asked. “Tile can be pricey, and if you want me to try to salvage what’s here in the yellow room, I will do my best to do that.”
“I’d planned to replace the tile in here and in the blue room,” Jazz said. “The green room’s bathroom had been updated by my grandpa about five years ago, so it’s in decent shape. The other three rooms could use updating, but they’re not in horrible shape, not like these.” She gestured to the tiled wall. “What are the chances there will be mold behind there once we remove everything?”
He grimaced. “Fifty-fifty. Depending on how much these rooms have been used and the amount of moisture that may have been trapped in there.”
“Right.” She blew out a breath. “I guess it’ll be a surprise.”
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He’d smiled more in the past few days than he had in the entire year. Thanks to Jazz. “I guess it will.”
She made a few notes on the pad as he pointed out the various fixtures and other odds and ends that needed replacing. By the time they were finished, the way she stared at the list made him think that he’d gone overboard.
“Start with the tile, and then the tub/shower fixtures,” he suggested. “The rest isn’t completely necessary.”
“I know.” Her smile was brave. “Now that there hasn’t been any more vandalism, I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to point out that it had been only forty-eight hours since the last attempt but decided there was no reason to play the pessimist. Instead, he edged toward the door. “I need to look at the drywall seams in the blue room, see if they’re dry enough to sand down.”
“Now?” she asked. “It’s late; you’ve done enough work for the day.”
He wasn’t nearly as tired as he needed to be to sleep without thinking about her, so he nodded. “Yes, now. If it’s dry, then I can get ahead of schedule.”
“But . . .”
“I don’t need any help, why don’t you relax and”—he hesitated and shrugged—“I don’t know, watch a movie or read a book. Whatever you normally do in your personal time.”
She looked directly into his eyes, and just as last night, he found himself leaning toward her. Somehow, he managed to catch himself before he went too far.
“But . . .”
He pulled back and rubbed the back of his neck. “Really, I don’t need your help.” The words came out sharper than he intended.
Jazz bit her lip, then turned and disappeared into the room near the end of the hall. She shut the door behind her with a distinct click.
He inwardly groaned, hating that he’d inadvertently hurt her feelings. He walked into the blue room, telling himself that it was better this way. She needed to stay away from him for a while.
Better for her. Better for him.
The homey feel of the place was already getting to him, making him acutely aware of what he’d never have again.
Testing the drywall plaster, he found it was still slightly moist. Not possible to sand it down until it was completely dry.
Great, just great. He whirled away from the drywall and headed back downstairs.
Unfortunately, the scent of Jazzlyn, lilacs intermixed with rain, lingered.
He couldn’t believe how close he’d come to kissing her. For the second time in as many days.
And the worst thing about it was that the renovation job wasn’t finished. Wouldn’t be for at least four days, according to his best guess.
If there wasn’t mold behind the cracked and broken tile. And if nothing else went wrong.
Call it a week. No more. Hopefully less.
Surely, he could manage to keep his hands and his mouth to himself for a measly week.
He stretched out on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Despite the physical labor he’d done, starting first thing in the morning, sleep was impossible.
After twenty minutes, he rolled off the bed and slid into his shoes. Shrugging into his flannel, he eased through the dark house and out the French doors.
He welcomed the cold spring air slapping him in the face. Moving carefully, he circled the gazebo, glad to see that it appeared undisturbed. His small red tent was right where he’d left it, possibly helping to keep intruders away by giving the impression someone was sleeping in there.
Maybe Jazz was right and the vandals were nothing but kids. Older kids. Bored young men with more testosterone than brains.
The water beckoned him and as he walked toward the lakeshore, he thought about how nice it might be to live on or near the water.
Not that he planned on settling down. Or to buy a car, or a house, or even renting an apartment. No ties at all.
No luxuries of any kind.
A glimmer of light caught the corner of his eye, and he turned and stared through the darkness sweeping his gaze along Jazz’s property lines. The quarter moon was bright, but that wasn’t what he’d seen.
A flashlight? Was someone out there, staking the place out to do more damage?
Then he saw it, not a flashlight, but a tiny beam of light toward the back of the old white house, the one Jazz referred to as the Stevenson place.
Someone was in there!
He sprinted across the lawn, heading straight for the house. If the Stevenson sons, Mark and Rich, were indeed living there, then he knew they had to be the ones who’d damaged the gazebo.
The house was dark on the side closest to Jazz’s place, so he edged around the corner to the side that faced the lake. The light was brighter now and appeared to be in a kitchen, at least based on the edge of the cabinet he could make out through the window.
Keeping himself flat against the siding, he made his way to the window and peered inside, bracing himself to come face to face with one of the brothers.
But the room was empty.
He paused, then went back the way he came, going around to where the driveway was located.
No vehicle. He raked a gaze over the area but didn’t see a garage or other out-structure.
Was there someone inside the Stevenson place? Or was the light set on a timer to make it look as if there was someone living there when there really wasn’t?
He thought back to the night he’d chased the intruder. He didn’t remember seeing a light in the kitchen.
But considering he’d been running to catch a vandal, it was possible he could have missed it.
Dalton turned and walked back toward the McNally Mansion. He needed to contact Deputy Lewis first thing in the morning.
They needed to understand where the Stevenson brothers were staying, once and for all.
8
Jazz woke up the next morning feeling refreshed. Her previous annoyance with Dalton had vanished, leaving a resigned acceptance in its wake.
Dalton had made it perfectly clear that he wasn’t interested, so she needed to get over herself. He was a nice guy, nothing more. After all, she was paying him to work.
Speaking of which, she heard noise coming from the blue room. Not hammering this time, but he was obviously already working. The guy sure was determined to finish things up to get back on the road.
Something she should be grateful for. Without his assistance, she knew she’d never be able to open the B&B early.
She headed down the hall to look in on him. He had the door closed. She pulled it open and was greeted with a cloud of dust that made her cough. A fine sheen of white dust covered Dalton from head to toe. She was relieved to see he was wearing goggles to protect his eyes and a face mask over his nose and mouth.
He glanced over his shoulder. “Good morning.” His voice was muf
fled by the mask. “Better stay out of here for a while.”
“Okay.” She coughed again and then covered her mouth with her hands. “I’m planning French toast for breakfast, if that’s okay with you.”
“Fine with me.”
“Plan on breakfast being ready in forty-five minutes. I have some other stuff to do on the website.”
He nodded, then turned back to continue with the belt sander.
Jazz made a pot of coffee, then went to work. She’d taught herself how to do the website stuff, not necessarily difficult but not intuitive either. Her experience in real estate helped. She opened up six rooms to be available starting the middle of May and then posted the same information on various social media sites, along with other B&B advertising sites.
Satisfied that she’d done as much as she could to promote their business, she stood and began making breakfast.
In exactly forty minutes, Dalton came downstairs and disappeared in the master bathroom. When he emerged, he looked amazing with his dark hair damp and long enough to curl a bit around his ears.
He helped himself to coffee while she set the platter of French toast in the center of the table.
“Do you mind if I borrow your phone?” Dalton asked.
She was surprised by the request. “Sure.”
“Have you noticed a light on in the kitchen at the Stevenson house?”
“No, why?”
“I saw a light on last night, but there was no vehicle in the driveway. Figured it might be on a timer of some sort.”
“You saw it last night?” He nodded. She scrunched up her forehead, trying to think back. “I honestly don’t remember seeing it, but the kitchen overlooks the lake, so I’m not sure I’d notice it from here.”
“That’s what I thought, too.” He took another bite of his French toast. “When Deputy Lewis updated you yesterday, did he say anything about the Stevensons?”
Now she understood why he wanted to use her phone. “No, he didn’t. I still don’t think Mark or Rich would take a sledgehammer to the gazebo.”
He shrugged but didn’t say anything more. Jazz knew he didn’t agree, but she found it hard to believe that either one of the two sons would care about their small business. As far as she could tell they rarely stayed at the place anyway.
After Dalton called Deputy Lewis, he returned the phone with a glint of satisfaction in his eye. “The deputy agreed to check into the Stevensons to see if they’ve been around recently. He agrees it’s possible they’re the ones behind the vandalism.”
“It’s kids,” she insisted. “But whatever. As long as they leave me alone, I don’t care if the police find them or not.”
“What?” He looked shocked. “Why wouldn’t you want to press charges?”
“No reason to give some local kid a criminal record,” she pointed out. “It’s bad enough that some of the people in town don’t like me now, something like that would only add fuel to the fire.”
“And if the vandal happens to be an adult?”
“Then I’ll press charges,” she reluctantly agreed. “Now if you don’t mind, I need to clean up the kitchen before we start painting.”
“I’ll get started,” Dalton said. “Meet me when you’re ready.”
The day passed much like the previous day, with both of them working together to put the second coat of paint on the gazebo. They had a good-natured fight over the radio, which Jazz won. By the time they were finished, the gazebo was a beautiful brilliant white.
“I have an idea,” Dalton said, staring at the finished gazebo thoughtfully.
“What’s that?”
“This would be a nice spot to hold wedding ceremonies.”
Her eyes widened as she envisioned a quaint service being held in the gazebo. “That’s an awesome idea. I could hang baskets of flowers along the edge, maybe add tulle for a romantic touch. We could even offer the entire B and B for the wedding party while other guests could stay in the hotel in town.”
“Exactly,” Dalton agreed. “You could set up various packages online and see what kind of response you get.”
She was so thrilled with the plan, she could hardly stand it. Impulsively, she threw her arms around Dalton and hugged him. “This is so great. Why didn’t I think of it?”
His arms encircled her, and they shared a poignant embrace before he dropped his arms and stepped back. “I’m sure you would have eventually.” He cleared his throat. “Why don’t you head inside? I’ll finish cleaning up the paint stuff.”
“Okay.” She entered the house and went directly up to her room. She showered, then went back down to the kitchen to log into The McNallys’ B&B website that she’d updated earlier that morning.
But it wasn’t there. She frowned, wondering if there was some weird software glitch. She shut the computer down and then rebooted it.
Still nothing. It was as if the B&B website had never existed.
She stared at the blank page facing her. A chill snaked down her spine. Someone had hacked into her website and wiped it clean. She didn’t understand how they’d done something like that, but she knew she’d updated the website that morning and had even tested everything to make sure it was working correctly.
And it had been.
But not anymore. Furious, she picked up her phone and redialed Deputy Lewis.
Apparently, the vandals had found a new way to sabotage her business. Whoever this was clearly wasn’t going to give up.
This was too much. She needed the deputy to catch the jerk before he or she could do any more damage either physically to the house or gazebo or electronically.
Wearily, she couldn’t help but wonder what the vandal would come up with next.
Dalton came into the house to find Jazz pacing the length of the kitchen. “What’s wrong?”
“Those—mean—awful—argh!” She curled her fingers into fists. “My website has been hacked by the vandals, and they’ve wiped out everything.”
He stared in shock. “What? How?”
“I don’t know.” She spun on her heel and walked away from him. Every inch of her body was in motion. “I still have my domain name, but the website is gone. I’ll have to start over from scratch.”
“I’m sorry.” He truly felt terrible about this latest turn of events. So much for his tent outside keeping the vandalism at bay. They’d only gotten more creative in how to target Jazzlyn. “You should call the Sheriff’s Department.”
“Deputy Lewis is on his way.” She whirled around to face him. “Okay, you were right. This isn’t the work of bored kids with nothing to do. This latest attack was a deliberate attempt to sabotage the business.”
Being right never felt so awful. “I’m sorry. Do you want me to see if I can fix it?”
“No need. I called my brother Jesse, he’s a software guy and will see what he can do for me. But that’s not the worst thing about it.” She tipped her head back and stared blindly up at the ceiling. “I had reservations built into the website through a special program so both Jemma and I could see them, which means I can’t confirm who had already booked rooms for the Memorial Day weekend, not to mention I had several bookings through June.”
That wasn’t good. “Nothing was backed up?”
Her gaze shot over to clash with his. “I don’t even know how to back up a website. It’s password protected. I don’t have the slightest clue how this scumbag hacked in.”
“I see your point,” he grudgingly admitted. “Seems like this was done by someone with better than average computer skills. Anyone in particular come to mind?”
“Well, I doubt it’s Leon Tate,” she muttered. Then her eyes narrowed. “I seem to remember, though, that Rich Stevenson was a computer whiz. He bragged once that he hacked into the FBI computer system. I know it’s a stretch, but maybe you were right all along about the Stevenson brothers being a potential suspect.”
“That’s a great lead.” Once again, the temptation to pull her into his arms, holding her cl
ose, was nearly overwhelming. He hated knowing that someone was determined to see her business fail. And who knows what lengths these jerks would go to in order to succeed?
A knock at the front door interrupted his thoughts. Jazz rushed over to let Deputy Lewis in. She practically dragged him into the kitchen and pointed to her laptop screen. “It’s gone. Completely wiped away. And I just updated it this morning!”
“You’re sure you didn’t accidently push a wrong button?” Deputy Lewis dropped into a kitchen chair and peered at the screen.
“I’m positive. I’m not an idiot.” The edge to her tone betrayed her brittle emotional state. “Even if I didn’t save my recent update, there’s no possible way to accidently delete the entire website. I don’t even know how to do something like that.”
“Have you found anything out about the Stevensons?” Dalton asked, trying to deflect Jazz’s anger. “Have they been around?”
The deputy shook his head. “I’ve asked around, no one claims to have seen Mark or Rich recently. I’ve also left messages for both of them to call me, but so far they haven’t.”
“What about getting their phone records? Or checking their credit card receipts?” There had to be a way to prove one or both of the Stevensons have been in town. “There has to be something you can do.”
Deputy Lewis rose to his feet. “This isn’t an episode of Law and Order. I need a search warrant for that kind of thing, and other than you seeing someone running into their yard and driving away, there isn’t any proof they’re involved. No judge is going to grant me access without something more than your opinion.”
“What about the fingerprints?” Dalton asked. “Isn’t it reasonable to attempt to get a match?”
“Yes, it’s reasonable. Which is why I’ve called and left messages for each of them.”
Dalton narrowed his gaze. “Do you really think if you ask them nicely they’ll volunteer to come in to be fingerprinted? Yeah, right.”
“If they don’t cooperate, and if I can prove they’ve been around, then yes, I could potentially convince a judge to give me a warrant for their fingerprints. But until then? There’s not much more I can do.”