Legacy of Lies. Jill Elizabeth Nelson
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the investigation led. Neither of them was going to sleep well tonight.
Nicole tossed and turned in her upstairs bedroom. The last time she looked at the bedside clock, it was nearing midnight. There was no way that Grandpa Jan or Grandpa Frank had anything to do with her horrific discovery. They were so honest they’d go out of their way to return a dime if a checkout clerk gave them too much change. But then why was an infant buried beneath Grandpa Frank’s roses?
And what was the matter with her that she’d taken note of that police chief’s naked wedding ring finger? What a time to suddenly feel attraction for a man. The shock of her discovery must have affected her even worse than she thought if a square chin and a pair of vivid hazel eyes could jump-start her pulse.
Had he always been single? Or was he divorced like too many cops? Maybe widowed? That would be a switch, the spouse going before the cop, but it happened. His voice had been strong, yet gentle when examining the remains. He’d been firm when questioning her grandmother, though, but not bullying, like some behaved with suspects.
Suspects! Her grandmother was a suspect in the death of a baby. Unbelievable! Her grandfather, too. He might be dead and gone, but this discovery promised to assassinate the memory of his character. Unless he was clearly exonerated. Unless they both were.
Nicole caught her breath. Please, God, let this mystery be solved. But what if the case remained unsolved and suspicion clouded the rest of her grandmother’s days? And let my grandparents be innocent. But what if they weren’t?
Sighing, Nicole sat up and switched on the small table lamp. She might as well go downstairs and warm a cup of milk. The old-fashioned remedy had helped many nights when Glen was out on night duty, and she knew he had a particularly dangerous case on his docket.
Nicole threw on her robe and padded barefoot down the carpeted stairs, relying on the nightlights her grandmother had strategically placed along the route for vision. She stepped off the hallway carpet onto the cool kitchen linoleum, and the sound of stealthy footfalls on the porch froze her in her tracks. She’d read in the local newspaper about a rash of nighttime thefts in the county. Her heart did a somersault.
Had they forgotten to lock the door?
The door latch clicked, and the panel creaked slowly ajar.
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