Suspicion Of Guilt. Tracey V. Bateman
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working.”
“Fran is perpetually between jobs.” Leigh rolled her eyes.
“Leigh!” Shelley glared at the other girl as if to say, “Don’t diss one of our own in front of the C-O-P.”
Reece gave her a lopsided grin. “Hey, don’t worry about it. I won’t automatically shoot her to the top of my suspect list just because she’s jobless. It happens.”
But he made a mental note. Someone without a steady income, “perpetually between jobs” rather, might just need to rip off her own benefactress for a little extra cash. Interesting new twist. Maybe he’d been concentrating on Leigh a little too much.
“You talking about me?” Fran entered the room, her face devoid of makeup. Wearing a blue T-shirt and ripped Levi’s, she looked like a normal college student. But then looks were deceiving.
“Well, Detective, if you seriously want to help us, then I suggest we get started pumping out the water.” Skepticism sparked in Denni’s eyes as though she knew full well what the news of Fran’s employment status had done to his list of suspects.
He winked at her and she blushed.
Inwardly he acknowledged that blush for what it was. She might not be a pushover for a compliment, but she was a woman. And it was becoming more evident that she was just as attracted to him as he was to her. He didn’t like the thought of using her feelings against her. But after months of a cold investigation, it might just be time to mix things up.
Chapter Three
With a gasp, Denni snatched up her soggy scrapbook from the drying floor. Her heart twisted inside her chest and she captured her bottom lip between her teeth.
How could she have been stupid enough to leave her cherished baby book downstairs? One rule of the house was to put things back where they belonged. Too bad she hadn’t followed her own stinking directive. She hadn’t even thought to look for it when she’d first seen the flood.
Her mother had faithfully contributed to the baby book filled with childhood highlights that extended to Denni’s graduation day. She’d presented the book with a red ribbon tied around it the day Denni left for college.
Denni lifted a loose photograph next to where the book had lain. She picked it up. Her favorite picture of Mom and her. Denni had been three years old and mom was swinging her around the room. Mom’s ringing laughter was almost audible through the picture.
Mom had been like that. All fun and surprises and full of hugs and warmth. That first day of adulthood for Denni had been the last time she’d seen her mother alive. Two months later, the most important woman in Denni’s life had collided with a drunk driver and had instantly gone to be with Jesus. And now the photo was ruined, half the ink washed away.
“You planning to eat supper?”
Yanked from the memory of her mother’s face, Denni turned toward the steps, following the sound of Reece’s voice. She squared her shoulders and forced control.
“I came down to see if you’re going to have pizza. Those girls can pack it away like a high-school football team. If you don’t hurry, you’ll be out of luck.”
Discovering her most cherished possession soaked and ruined had effectively robbed Denni of her appetite. She shrugged.
“They can have it. I’ll grab something later if I’m hungry.”
He walked toward her, his boots squishing on the puddled concrete. “Hey, you okay?” He glanced down at the book in her hand and his face sobered. “Special memories?”
Not trusting herself to speak, she nodded.
“Maybe you can salvage some of it.”
Tears sprang to her eyes, a knee-jerk reaction to a sympathetic tone and his warm, gentle touch on her shoulder.
“Let me take a look at it,” he said softly. “You know men are the problem solvers of the world.” He gave her a lopsided grin.
Gratefully, she surrendered her book and the ruined photograph, hoping against hope that he’d give her the solution her muddled brain couldn’t seem to form. She honestly didn’t know if he was putting her on or not with that boyish grin, but if he could figure out a way to save her keepsakes, she was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.
He carried the book across the room and set it on top of her laundry table. Carefully, he opened the cover. He smiled.
“This is you?”
She nodded.
“Cute.”
Rolling her eyes, she stepped away. “Thanks.” She enjoyed the way he handled her memories with gentle care, his long fingers working open the damaged pages.
“These pages are removable,” he said. “If we take them out and spread them on the table to dry, you should be able to salvage most of the album. They won’t be like they were before, but at least you’ll still have your special memories.”
“It’s sweet of you to try to help.”
“It means a lot to you, huh?”
“Everyone treasures their baby book.”
“Not everyone has one.”
Something in his voice alerted her instincts. She set aside the first baby page then angled her head to meet his gaze. Her breath caught. Raw pain flashed through his eyes, instantly, briefly, and then it was gone. But she’d seen it. Had caught him unawares. She suddenly wanted to discover what made this man tick.
“Want to talk about it?”
He gave a short laugh. “About what? Not having a baby book?”
She shrugged “It obviously bothers you.”
“Honey, you have a lot to learn about men.” That condescending tone caused her to clench her fists and fight to keep from socking him. It made her feel foolish. And she didn’t like that feeling. Especially since he was right. What did she know about men? She’d never had a long-standing boyfriend and had only gone on a few dates. Still, he didn’t have to be so hateful.
With a sniff she turned back to her salvaging efforts. “And you have a lot to learn about being nice to someone who wants to help.”
He drew a ragged breath, but she refused to look again. Let him wallow in his childhood pain. She wouldn’t be his punching bag.
“Hey.” His fingers touched her shoulder, brushing back an errant strand of hair that had escaped her ponytail.
“What?”
His lips curved upward into a smile. “I’m a jerk.”
Searching his slightly self-mocking smile, she rolled her eyes and nudged him with her shoulder. “So tell me something I don’t already know.”
A chuckle rumbled low in his chest. “Forgive me?”
“Sure, Corrigan.”
Amid the whirring of the fans and dehumidifiers, they stood side by side saving Denni’s memories.
Reece couldn’t help but feel that he was invading a very private part of Denni’s life as he dabbed page after page of her baby book and set them aside to continue drying. He felt, rather than saw, her chest rise as she took a shuddering breath. He glanced at the page she held. On it, a photograph of a little girl holding a baby. The handwritten caption beneath read: Denni, Always The Little Mother.
“That was me. Always mothering anyone or anything that would let me.” She pronounced the statement as though not really speaking to him.
“Who’s the baby?”
She jerked her gaze to his. “What? Oh.” A smile tipped the corners of her lips. “My little sister, Keri. She just got married a few weeks