“You okay, man?” Jax asked as they walked outside.
“Right as rain,” he lied.
“Sure,” Jax responded.
That was it. Just sure.
But there was something in his eyes that said he understood.
Janelle, on the other hand, was oblivious.
She hurried along Main Street, waving at a few people as she went. Head up, steps brisk, she looked determined and just a little annoyed as she passed Chocolate Haven, then punched numbers into a lockbox that hung from the doorknob of May’s former store.
She pulled out a key, unlocked the door, and led them into a huge room. Empty of everything but a few shelves, it had a parquet floor that had probably been installed in the seventies, pink walls that were a little dingy, and spiral stairs that led up to the second floor.
A mess.
That was Sinclair’s first thought and his second.
His third thought was that he could fix it.
He could tear down a dividing wall that separated the large room from a small kitchen behind it; he could pull up the parquet and reveal hardwood that peeked out at the edges of the room.
He could tear down the ugly spiral stairs and replace them with something more original to the design.
His fourth thought?
That he was crazy to be thinking about anything but getting upstairs and checking on the door.
“Careful on these stairs,” Janelle called as she ascended them. “The people who had the building before May were hippies. They wanted to start a commune here in Benevolence, so they bought a few old buildings and fixed them up.”
The emphasis on the last words told Sinclair exactly what she thought of the job the hippies had done.
“The place smelled like pot and dog when she bought it, but she managed to make it a very profitable business. Up here,” she said as they walked into another gutted room, “was just storage for her shop. I hate to think about what it was before she bought it.”
He hated to think of it too.
The room had been ripped apart, plaster pulled off the walls so that the studs were visible beneath. A few old trunks sat against one wall, burn marks in the cracked leather.
He imagined using those trunks in the building after it was brought back to life, but pulled himself away from the thought.
He wasn’t going to buy property in Benevolence. He wasn’t going to restore it. He sure as hell wasn’t going to open an office in the town.
He was intrigued, though. The building had potential, a narrow hallway leading into what must have once been bedrooms. Three were empty, the wood floor as old as the building.
He followed Janelle into one, waiting as she turned on an overhead light. It flickered listlessly in the gray and dingy drop ceiling that had probably been installed around the same time the hippy commune had moved in.
“Really, this building was a little too big for May. Half the rooms weren’t used. This being one of them.” She bypassed a beanbag chair that had its stuffing spilling out, and opened a closet door.
She stood completely still and silent for a couple of heartbeats too long.
“Is something wrong?” Jax asked, peering over her shoulder and blocking Sinclair’s view.
“No. It’s just . . .” She bent and lifted something, turning it in her hand.
It looked like a stuffed bear. Or maybe it was a cat. Sinclair wasn’t all that up on kids’ toys. This one looked old, though. He knew that. The fabric was threadbare, the fur long gone.
“A kid’s toy,” Jax said, taking it from Janelle and studying it. “Was this here before?”
“I . . . don’t remember it being here, but I wasn’t looking all that carefully.”
Sinclair glanced in the closet. The far wall had been painted neon orange, the door centered in it bright green. The floor was bare. Not a box. Not a shoe. Nothing. “I don’t think it would have been difficult for you to see, Janelle. The closet is empty.”
“May and I were together. I just peeked in, checked the lock, and walked away.” She frowned. “I’m sure I just missed seeing it. Nothing else makes sense.”
“It all makes perfect sense if someone has been in here,” Jax responded. “Aside from the front entrance, is there another way in and out of the building?”
“The back door. There’s also a fire escape off the back, but that hasn’t been used in years. I don’t know if it even functions.”
“Want to show me both?” Jax headed back across the room, and Janelle followed.
Sinclair stayed where he was.
Neither had tried the door, so he did. It unlocked when he turned the knob. He relocked it, tried again, and got the same result. He opened the door, tried the one that led into Byron’s apartment. It opened easily.
Footsteps tapped on the floor behind him, and Jax whistled.
“Looks like we found our entrance point,” he said.
“What’s . . .” Janelle’s voice trailed off. “What in the world?”
She walked into the closet, crowding in next to Sinclair, her perfume a little too cloying for the space. “I can’t believe you were able to get in here.”
“The locks don’t seem to work properly,” he said.
“I’m sure they were working when May and I did our walk-through.” She pushed the lock on the doorknob and turned the handle. The lock opened immediately.
“The back door was unlocked too,” Jax said, walking into the apartment. “Seems like access to Byron’s place was easy enough, if someone wanted to get in.”
“Get in for what? Nothing has ever been taken.” Sinclair glanced around the office. It looked just the way he’d left it—clean desk with a few work papers piled on one corner, his guitar leaning against the wall. He walked into the hallway, searched the bedroom, the bathroom, the living room. As far as he could tell, nothing had been touched.
Same as always.
“Your guess is as good as mine. I’m thinking it has something to do with this”—Jax tossed the stuffed toy into the air and caught it—“and I’m also thinking it has something to do with Chase. You’ve seen the inside of his Corvette. Thing has dozens of stuffed animals shoved into it.”
“You think Chase has been staying in the building?” Sinclair asked, ignoring Janelle’s frown. She looked more irritated than concerned. He doubted she appreciated being pulled away from her schedule to deal with a problem that wasn’t quite a problem. If Chase had been staying in the building, if he had been entering Byron’s apartment, he hadn’t done any damage, taken anything, or created any real problems.
Unless Sinclair counted the scare that had caused Byron to fall down the stairs.
“I think”—Jax eyed the open doors and then the toy he was holding—“there’s a good possibility someone has been in that building. Whether or not it was Chase . . . I’m going to have a little chat with him, see if I can pin down where he’s been sleeping at night. I’m also going to call the sheriff. He may want to send another guy over since I’m not officially on duty. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” He hurried from the room, and Sinclair walked back to the closet.
He didn’t like the idea that someone could easily access the apartment. He liked it even less that someone probably had, but he couldn’t discount the idea, couldn’t quite convince himself that it hadn’t happened.
“Is May’s building heated?” he asked, testing the locks again. They weren’t broken. They also weren’t designed to keep properties secure.
He walked back through the closet and into the room beyond. There was no evidence of a squatter. No blankets, no discarded food wrappers, nothing to hint at someone using the property long-term.
“Yes, but she keeps the thermostat set low. She’s very frugal, and spending money to keep the place warm when she won’t be in it doesn’t make sense to her.”
“It wouldn’t make sense to me either.” He headed into the hall, trying hard not to notice the thick crown molding or the hand-carved window casings.
The more he looked, the more evidence of the building’s past was revealed. He found those things intriguing. He always did. The past lived in the tiny details of places like this. Nicks in the old wood floor. Cracks in the mantel of a boarded-up fireplace that he found in another room. There were a few paintings on the walls in one of the bigger bedrooms. One looked like it had been created during a drug-induced psychosis, the colors so bright they hurt his eyes. The others were old oil paintings. One of a woman with dark hair and even darker eyes dressed in Victorian attire—dark dress with full sleeves and a low neckline. She held a book in one hand and a cup of tea in the other. He was certain that the fireplace behind her in the picture was the one he’d seen in the other room.
“That’s Lily Wilson.” Janelle ran her hand along the top of the intricately carved frame, frowning at the layer of dust she removed. “She was married to McArthur Wilson. He owned the textile mill outside of town in the late eighteen hundreds. He built the brownstone right around the time my in-laws built Chocolate Haven; Lily hated living out in the middle of nowhere. She wanted to be in town, right in the center of activity.”
“She was a beautiful woman.”
“And a very generous one. After McArthur died, she donated ten thousand dollars to build the local library. That was a lot of money back in the day.” She glanced at her watch. “I don’t want to rush things, Sinclair, but I’ve got to get home soon. I’m going to leave the key with Jax and have him lock up, but if you don’t mind . . .”
She stopped short of asking him to leave.
He should have taken the hint and gone.
He had no intention of doing anything with the property.
He certainly wasn’t going to buy it.
That would be an investment in a town that he’d always despised.
But he wanted to see the rest of the property, look at the upper level where the servants had once slept. He had a feeling there’d be more of the building’s past there, larger glimpses of what it had once been, a clearer view of what it could be.
“Shit,” he murmured, because he knew what was happening, and he was helpless to stop it. He was getting pulled in, just the same way he had dozens of times before.
Some of the guys he worked with said he had a sixth sense when it came to properties. He knew just the ones to choose that would turn the highest profit and make the biggest impact. This place? It could be a showstopper one day, and God help him, he just couldn’t seem to turn away from it.
“What’s that?” Janelle said, glancing at her watch again, her high-heeled foot tapping on a shag carpet that he was sure hid mahogany floors.
“I don’t want to keep you,” he responded, touching the old window, his fingers trailing over pitted glass. “But I’d like to see the rest of the building.”
“I don’t have time—”
“I may be interested in restoring it,” he said, cutting her off.
Her entire demeanor changed. No more impatience. No more tapping toes or glances at her watch.
She smiled, brushing wisps of hair back into whatever fancy hairdo she had. The gesture reminded him of Adeline, but her smile was more predatory than her daughter’s could ever be.
“In that case,” she nearly purred, “follow me.”
Chapter Ten
Addie noticed the sheriff’s car right around the time Chase returned from the break he’d asked for.
Fifteen minutes to grab a cup of coffee.
She’d allowed it because he’d arrived early, and because the shop had been empty, the first rush of the day over. Things would pick up again at lunchtime, but for now, things were quiet.
Except for the sheriff’s car which was parked right in front of the shop.
She watched as Kane Rainier got out, his sheriff’s uniform crisp and clean, his shoes gleaming in the sun as he passed the shop door and headed . . .
To May’s shop?
That’s where it looked like he was going.
She pressed her face against the storefront window, watching as he walked in May’s front door.
“Everything okay?” Chase asked as he carried peanut clusters from the kitchen.
“I don’t know. The sheriff is next door.”
“Really?”
There was a hint of fear in Chase’s voice, and she turned to face him.
“Don’t worry, he’s not going to lock you up,” she joked.
“Why would he?” he asked, his gaze dropping as he placed the peanut clusters in the display case.
“Relax. It was a joke.”
“Oh. Sorry. Sometimes I’m a little too serious.”
“I’ve only known you a couple of days, but I could have told you that was a fact.”
He smiled. The tray was empty, the display case filled with beautiful gleaming chocolates.
It was good to have help.
Great to have help, actually.
She’d been able to keep up on the inventory and fill all the Internet orders. Things were working out swimmingly. She just hoped to heaven Chase wasn’t some sort of criminal, because that would screw things up for both of them.
“What’s next?” he asked. “Want me to do more of the wedding favors?”
“Sure,” she responded, distracted by the sheriff’s car, a little worried about what it might mean. May had closed down the shop over a month ago, and the place had been empty since then. As far as Adeline knew, no crime had been committed on the property, but . . . she’d been a little too busy to notice if there had been. Sinclair and Jax had said they were going to ask Janelle to let them into the property. Had they found something? Drugs? Guns? Squatters?
A body?
She pressed her face closer to the glass, trying to see into the shop next door. It was impossible, of course.
“I’ll finish the milk chocolates,” Chase said as he headed back to the kitchen. “We only have a hundred more of those to make.”
“Actually . . .” She stopped him. “Can you watch the front of the house for a few minutes? I want to see what’s going on next door. You have my cell phone number. If anything comes up that you don’t think you can handle, give me a ring.”
He hesitated, then nodded. “Okay. Sure. I can handle that.”
“Don’t look so scared, Chase. You’re not going to get slammed with customers. If you do, just take one order at a time.”
She was taking a chance, leaving him there alone. She knew that. Not a chance of him messing things up. A chance that he might take all the money from the register and leave town.
She barely knew the kid, after all.
Jax had said he had a clean record, though, and she figured if Chase were going to steal to fund his trip home, he’d have done it his first day on the job.
Outside, the bright day had grown even brighter, the sun glinting off the sidewalk and gleaming in the windows of May’s old shop. The storefront display had once been filled with fabrics and sewing doodads. Often May would hang dresses that she’d made or quilts that someone in the community had fashioned. She’d sold those on commission and had made a tidy little sum from tourists who’d come for the hiking or rafting or for the chocolates, and who’d wanted to bring a piece of Benevolence home with them.
It seemed a little sad to see the windows empty.
Time marches on. That’s what May had said when she’d decided to close down. People didn’t sew like they once had. They didn’t value quality either. They went to Walmart to buy their fabrics and their buttons. They purchased cheap threads instead of the good quality stuff she offered.
Mostly, Addie thought, it had been love that had made May close the business down. She’d made plenty of money in her lifetime, and she wanted to enjoy being a wife.
Late in life, but it was something she’d always dreamed of.
That’s another thing May had said.
She’d also said that Addie should find herself a man, that everything that was wrong in her life would be right if she did.
That had made Addie laugh, because nothing had been wrong in her life. Even if something had been, there was no way any man was going to solve the problem.
She bypassed the empty windows and opened the shop door.
The place smelled musty.
Not surprising since no one had been in it for a month.
Janelle had been excited to list the property, certain the place would sell for a pretty penny.
Only it hadn’t sold.
The empty building seemed to mock Main Street. In all the years Addie had been alive, she couldn’t remember a shop ever staying empty for longer than it took a new owner to move in.
“Hello?” she called, her feet tapping on the old parquet floor. “Where is everyone?”
“Is that you, Addie?” her mother responded.
Great. Perfect.
Addie had been doing everything in her power to avoid Janelle, because she wanted to avoid the thing she hadn’t dared think about—dinner with her sisters.
It was coming. She knew it. Felt it the way other people felt storms blowing in, deep in her bones. Adeline would be there, sitting at one end of the table, her sisters sitting on either side with their significant others close by. Janelle would be at the other end, overseeing the whole thing, a beatific smile on her face.
Until she looked at Adeline.
Her one holdout, the only daughter who didn’t have someone in her life.
Adeline loved her sisters. She loved her mom. The three of them together, though? Right before a wedding? When two of the three Lamont girls were in serious committed relationships and Addie was . . . not?
It didn’t sound like fun.
It sounded like torture.
“Addie!?” Janelle called again, a hint of impatience in her voice.
“Right here,” she called back.
“Good! I planned to stop in and see you. This will save me some time.” Janelle descended the spiral staircase, her high heels clicking on the rungs.
Sinclair was right behind her.
And, God! He looked good.
Just like he had when he’d stopped in Chocolate Haven.
Just like he did every time she saw him.
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