Suspicion. Ginny Aiken
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be in touch. As soon as we know something…”
“I look forward to hearing from you. I’m sure you’ll catch the mugger. And figure out this box-slashing thing, too.”
And she was. Hal Benson struck her as a man who wouldn’t give up until he’d met his goal. With his natural intelligence, she doubted much ever got the best of him.
“Thank you for your trust, Miss Steph—”
“Now, really.” She cut in with a smile. “You’ve known me since I wore that sloppy braid that never stayed tight back in school. I think you can drop the miss. I’m just Steph.”
His eyes twinkled. “Good night, just Steph. I’ll see you soon.”
“Good night, Hal. I’m sure you will.”
Steph locked the door behind the sheriff. After the echo of his footsteps melted into the rumble of the rain against her roof, the overwhelming silence shrouded her.
Funny how she’d never noticed the profound quiet of the area around her home. She loved the small home with its angled rooflines and nooks and crannies, but tonight, since the home did sit on the edge of town, she really felt alone. If someone tried to break in, no one would hear her screams.
Her only means of contact would be her cell phone.
She hurried back to the kitchen, leaving the living-room light on, the thud of her footsteps louder than she’d ever heard them before. The thought of eating nearly made her sick. Supper was not in her immediate future.
A quick rummage through her purse produced her phone. Clutching the device to her chest, Steph turned on even the small-wattage light over the kitchen sink, before hurrying to her room. She flicked on the overhead light, turned on the bedside lamp then headed to the bathroom, where she did the same with the last unlit fixture in her home.
She made a face at her reflection in the mirror. “This is so stupid.”
If anyone was planning to break in, they already knew she was home alone. Lights wouldn’t deter a dogged intruder. Still, they made her feel marginally better, and she wasn’t about to turn a single one off.
Sleep? Maybe. Maybe not.
In a handful of minutes, she’d washed her face, brushed her teeth, debated whether to don pj’s or stay fully clothed and shoed in case someone did try to break in, opted for the pj’s and crawled into bed. Her fluffy down blanket felt as light as the feathers that filled it but would offer the warmth she’d craved since she’d stepped out of her store.
A second crawled by. Another…three dozen more.
What was going on? Why would someone ruin a number of products on her shelves? And who had tried to break in? She was sure the mugging had been an attempt to get inside the store.
Had it been a run-of-the-mill robber, he wouldn’t have left her purse and the deposit pouch behind.
A car drove past on the road out of town, the hum of its engine and the splash of tires over the wet surface a frightening sound for the first time ever.
Steph scanned her bedroom, the cozy haven she’d made for herself. She’d only given her closet-romantic heart free rein in this room. A white-painted antique dresser sat at the right side of the window, while a wicker chair flanked the other side. The bed, also painted white, wore carved floral embellishments at the crest of the headboard, and she always piled it high with pillows and cushions, all of them decorated with embroidery, delicate vintage fabrics, ruffles, ribbons and lace. A white-on-white embroidered coverlet finished the bedding, and she’d always found the room soothing and welcoming.
But not tonight. Her safe little world had taken a blow. And she didn’t know how to make things right once again.
Before she went off the deep end and gave her lively imagination the chance to run away with her common sense, Steph reached for her Bible. With experienced hands, she flipped through it to her favorite verse. She took a deep breath, and as always, read Jesus’ words out loud.
“‘I will never leave you; never will I forsake you.’”
No doubt about it. He was a clumsy oaf when it came to women.
Hal pulled into the driveway of the sturdy old home he’d bought last year. It was a comfortable place, with large rooms, beautiful wood floors and leaded windows, but it was also a lonely place. That’s why he’d rescued a greyhound. Pepper was the best idea he’d ever had.
Maybe she was the only girl for him.
In college, he’d envied the guys with the smooth lines, but he hadn’t been able to imitate them. The stuff they came up with had always felt so fake. Sure, he’d dated, but not often, regularly or for long. Plus, he’d never forgotten Steph Scott. Every girl he’d met had started out with that strike against her.
After today, seeing Steph’s courage, her strength and her sweet gentleness, he was more certain than ever that all females he met always would.
Hal loped up to his front porch. On the other side of the door, Pepper’s nails tapped out an urgent SOS. She’d been locked in far longer than usual today.
As soon as he opened up, the sleek animal shot past him and straight to her favorite corner of the side yard, not ready to listen to his apology, not ready to forgive his slip. Then, when she trotted back inside, she graced Hal with a disdainful glare and shook herself within inches of his already soaked uniform pants’ legs. Hal knew many pet owners believed their animals had human traits. But when it came to Pepper he didn’t just believe it, he knew it.
She was uncannily human.
“All right, your royal highness.” He chuckled as he headed for the tall aluminum trash can where he stored Pepper’s kibble. “Forgive me, please! I am only a mere mortal and was detained by work.”
Hal scooped out a healthy serving of the crunchy chunks.
Pepper sniffed, unwilling to even lick his hand, her usual form of love-filled greeting. She burrowed into her meal as if Hal weren’t in the room.
He walked out of the former larder he’d turned into a first-floor laundry room, and then called back, “What’re you going to do when I do land a date with Steph?”
Crunch, crunch, crunch.
Yeah, well. Maybe Pepper had it right, and he was dreaming. The way he’d acted at Steph’s hadn’t won him any awards. Suave, smooth and leading-man savvy, he wasn’t. But he was a decent, hardworking Christian and even more attracted to Steph now than he had been back in school, or more recently, from a distance.
She’d blossomed into a lovely woman.
In the large living room, Hal turned on his stereo to a Charlotte classic jazz station. As the sassy sound of Dave Brubeck’s “Blue Rondo a la Turk” filled his home, Hal felt his energy return. He had paint to strip from molding upstairs, and Blue Rondo’s beat should work to kick-start him into gear.
But before he made it to the stairs, his cell phone rang, and he had to turn down the sound. “Hello?”
“It’s Maggie Lowe. Sorry to bother you in the evening, Hal, but the guys at the lab just called. They did lift some prints from the blood pressure cuff box. I figured since you’d responded twice to calls to the pharmacy, you’d be interested in what they found.”
“Let me take a stab at it. You tell me how close I come. They found Steph’s prints, those of the skinny kid who fills her shelves, and nothing else.”
“We weren’t surprised, either.” Maggie fell silent for a moment. “Don’t know what it means—or whether it means anything at all.”
Hal sat in his wide leather armchair then propped his feet on the matching ottoman. “What’s really important here is whether the mugger is connected with the…I don’t know what to call Steph’s vandal. But that’s what I want to know.”
“That