Suspicion Of Guilt. Tracey V. Bateman
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rattled and the front door opened. A second later, Leigh came into the kitchen. Just after Reece had gone home earlier, Leigh had been called in to cover another girl’s shift at the barbecue shack where she waited tables.
“What are you two doing up so late?”
“Getting lectured,” Fran groused.
“I’m sure you deserve it.” Leigh smiled to remove the sting, but Denni could see in the hardness of her eyes that she meant it. Leigh worked hard at school and at work. Her payoff was a 4.0 average and a boss who begged her to take on a management role at the restaurant. But Leigh wanted none of it. She was going to be a physical therapist and she didn’t need to be tied down to extra responsibilities and more hours at work.
Denni could see attitude sweep over Fran, but the girl knew better than to tangle with Leigh. Abandoned before the age of ten to the streets, Leigh had survived until a police officer found her hooking at the age of fourteen. The girl knew how to take care of herself.
“We’ll finish this in the morning,” Denni said.
Fran nodded and stomped from the kitchen. Denni watched her go, wishing she knew what to say to make her understand that the world was not out to get her.
“Sheesh, what’s her problem this time?” At Leigh’s irritated tone, Denni turned back to face her.
“She missed curfew.”
“What’s with the chair knocked over? Did she threaten you?” Leigh’s eyes narrowed to angry slits. “Denni, tell me the truth.”
Denni walked to the chair and righted it. “Of course not. She just stood up too fast and the chair fell over.” Which was true of only the barest description of the event.
Obviously not buying it, Leigh shook her head. “If she ever threatens you, tell me. I’ll make sure she never does it again.”
A warmth filled Denni at Leigh’s fierce loyalty. “Thanks, Leigh. But trust me when I tell you Fran wouldn’t hurt me. She just overreacts.” She grinned. “Like someone else I know.”
Leigh chuckled and slid her arm around Denni’s shoulders. “You gave us all a chance to make something of our lives. I’m grateful. And no one is going to hurt you while I have anything to say about it.”
Slipping her arm around the girl’s slender waist, Denni gave her a little squeeze then let her go. “I’m going to wipe down the counters and table before I go to bed. But you go on up. I know you’re exhausted.”
A yawn stretched Leigh’s mouth at the suggestion. “You’re right. I’m going to bed. Corrigan coming tomorrow?” She said it like the name caused a bitter taste in her mouth.
“Yes. He’ll be here early with some of his friends to move the furniture outside so it can dry and air out.”
“Well, maybe he’ll be good for something after all.” She stopped. “You’re not by any chance falling for this guy, are you?”
Heat crept to Denni’s cheeks. “You don’t have to worry. Detective Corrigan doesn’t have any interest in me beyond this case.”
A dubious half smile lifted one corner of Leigh’s lips. “Yeah, right.” She opened her mouth as if to comment further, but stopped and cocked her head. She frowned. “Do you hear that?”
“What?” But she did hear it…water running through the pipes. As if…Denni’s heart nearly beat from her chest. “Not again!” Leigh outran her to the basement door. She flew down the steps.
“It’s coming in again!”
Without waiting for an answer, Denni sped through the kitchen to the back door and outside. The water was running full force. With a frustrated cry, she twisted the handle until the water trickled, dripped, then stopped. She dropped to her knees on the ground, tears of anger streaming down her face. Leigh reached her and stood over her, hands on hips, her chest heaving.
Denni moaned. “Why would anyone want to stop this project? Why?”
“I don’t know, Denni. But not much water got in this time. We can use the shopvac to get rid of it. Obviously whoever turned it on didn’t expect us to hear it so soon.” Leigh squatted down and began twisting the handle.
“What are you doing?”
“Taking this off. I don’t know why I didn’t think about it before.”
“Good idea.”
They returned to the house and Leigh dropped the handle into the junk drawer. “Well, I’m going to bed.” She gave Denni a quick hug. “Don’t worry. The basement is officially off-limits to anyone trying to cause damage.”
Denni nodded. “’Night.”
She double-checked the doors to make sure they were all locked, then headed to bed. Staring up at the dark ceiling, Denni went back over the events of the night. What if Reece was right? Had Fran turned on the faucet before coming inside? Maybe that’s why she’d been so defensive. Or…Denni cringed at the very thought. What if Leigh hadn’t really heard the water? What if she’d actually just known the water was running? After all, Denni hadn’t heard it the entire time she and Fran had been sitting in the kitchen. How had Leigh?
Her chest tightened and she sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. She tiptoed across the room and back down the stairs. In the kitchen, she slid open the junk drawer and lifted out the faucet handle. Back in her bedroom, she twisted the lock on her bedroom door—the first time she’d locked it in the two years since opening the house. With the cold handle still in her hand, she headed back to her bed. She stared at it for a long time. Imagining five scenarios. Each girl creeping into the night and turning on the water. With a shudder, she placed the handle in her bedside drawer and settled back against her pillow.
She closed her eyes, but sleep refused to come. For the first time in the three months since the first mishap, she was beginning to wonder…was Reece right? Was one of her girls out to cause her harm?
Chapter Four
Reece stared at his forty-inch, flat-screen TV—a perk that went along with being a thirty-five-year-old law-enforcement officer with no responsibilities to anyone but himself. Not that he had much time to watch the thing. Monday was his day to eat a home-cooked meal—even though he was the one to cook it—and catch up on a week’s worth of recorded TV shows.
Today, however, the efforts of a half-dozen sunburned, undernourished millionaire-wannabes failed to keep his attention and his mind drifted miles away from the so-called reality show playing out before him.
The memory of Denni’s neighbor tossed back and forth in his brain. He hadn’t even asked her name. What kind of a cop was he anyway?
Could the old lady have sabotaged Mahoney House? She certainly had motive, since she’d made no secret of her objection to the girls living in her neighborhood. But what about the thefts? Theoretically, he supposed, it was possible for her to have sneaked into the house and lifted the items. Especially if she had an accomplice. But why would the obviously well-to-do lady steal? Just to scare Denni and the girls away?
A vigorous rub of his sleek, shaved head did nothing to alleviate the frustration at his inability to put two and two together. Times like these were rare. He could count on one hand the number of cases he’d failed to crack in his past fifteen years on the force. And despite the fact that he had the best record of any of his fellow officers by a long shot, he still didn’t like the math. Failure wasn’t in his vocabulary.
To make matters worse, his captain had been asking questions about the Mahoney case lately—enough that Reece was beginning to avoid the guy. After three months, the captain was getting close to filing the case in the back of the cabinet and assigning Reece another one. He hadn’t said as much, but Reece could read him like a book, and his stomach sank with dread every time they made eye contact.
If Denni had