She dropped her hands to her lap, suddenly looking way too vulnerable for his peace of mind. “Do you think Hunter could be right about someone looking for the jewelry here?”
“I don’t know. Someone might have heard about the police’s suspicions. They didn’t have enough evidence to secure a search warrant, so maybe your intruder figured he’d look himself.”
Bec shook her head. “No would-be thief would go to all this trouble on a far-fetched hunch.”
“That’s why I didn’t mention it yesterday. But now...I’m not so sure.”
“No.” She straightened. “You were right yesterday. It’s probably Neil who’s trying to scare me. That’s got to be it.” She sniffed. “This cologne kind of smells like something he’d wear.”
Josh pushed open the kitchen window. As much as he’d like nothing better than to pin all of this on Neil, she was clearly grasping at anything that would divert suspicion from any connection to her grandparents and the jewelry. “We’ve already concluded that Neil wasn’t the driver of the green Plymouth I spotted the night you were hit. He doesn’t fit Netherby’s description, remember?”
Hunter returned with the fingerprint kit. “Did you say her attacker drove a green Plymouth?”
“Yeah.”
“He was here yesterday.” Hunter turned to Bec. “That guy you had coffee with.”
Josh jerked his gaze to Bec. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t know Henry’s car was a Plymouth. Besides, he couldn’t be my attacker. He was a friend of my grandparents’.”
Josh expelled a breath. Why was he only finding out now that she’d had a visitor, let alone that he might be their man? “Does he match Netherby’s description?”
“Sure, I guess. But it can’t be Henry.”
“Why not?”
“He gave me his phone number....” Her voice trailed off.
“Where is it?”
She pointed toward the phone.
Josh looked at the paper. Henry Smith. An alias if he’d ever heard one. “Dust this for fingerprints, will you, Hunter?” Except if this guy had been here yesterday, then his car wasn’t the one they’d towed from the quarry.
Didn’t matter. Josh wasn’t about to take any chances where Bec’s safety was concerned.
Bec smoothed her skirt, but he didn’t miss the way she trembled.
Safety, right. He’d utterly failed to protect her already. The cameras hadn’t worked. Someone had gotten into the house. What if she’d been home?
She was right. Her life had turned into a nightmare.
If he didn’t catch this guy soon, she’d hightail it back to the city long before winter. He should probably encourage her to do just that. She’d be safer.
Except how could he be sure if she was fifty miles away?
SEVEN
Monday afternoon, Becki scrolled through images on the library computer. Images of the jewelry her grandparents were suspected of stealing. Images of diamond-and-ruby earrings, monogrammed cuff links, cameo broaches and much more. She grabbed scratch paper from beside the computer and jotted down the names of the witnesses who’d been interviewed in the online article.
The bold lettering of the classified ads sitting next to her elbow drew her attention back to what she was supposed to be doing—finding a job. If not for her idea of coming to the library to search for one, Josh would probably have a cop babysitting her this very minute.
From the inquisitive glances Mrs. O’Reilly slanted her way every few minutes, Becki half wondered if the older woman was secretly on Josh’s payroll, not a library volunteer as she claimed.
Her thoughts drifted back to the web article once more. She shook her head. How many times would she do this?
She had to focus, and not on the suspicions hanging over her grandparents’ heads. She should be leaving that to the professionals...to Josh, who believed in her grandparents as much as she did.
She looked down at the scratch paper in her hands and worked to flatten the crumpled edges. Maybe her grandparents were friends with some of the witnesses.
Stop it. She turned again to the classified ads, but after skimming her finger over several without a word sinking in, she set the newspaper aside and pulled Gran’s address book from her purse.
She searched for the names she’d jotted down from the article, but she didn’t find a single match. Now what?
“Are you still using that computer?” the librarian asked.
“Yes.” Becki launched an online search for the contact information of each witness.
Hopefully, these folks would be more helpful than the president of the antique-car club had been when she’d called him earlier. He’d asked more questions than he’d answered and had refused to give the name of a single friend of her grandparents’ that she might call.
She would have tried Henry first if Josh hadn’t taken his number. She couldn’t believe he was a thief. He’d made no attempt to invite himself inside. Well, except for asking about Gran’s costumes. But when she’d first invited him to stay for coffee, he’d declined. If he’d been looking for stolen jewelry, wouldn’t he have jumped at her invitation?
The two people from Gran’s address book she’d managed to connect with hadn’t been touring friends, although they would have happily talked to her all day if she hadn’t begged off.
If she could just talk to someone who’d been with her grandparents, she was sure she could figure out if there was anything to Josh’s jewelry-theft theory. It made far more sense that someone would come after the Cadillac. Maybe when the prowler had seen the car was gone, he’d simply checked out the empty house on a whim.
She clicked back to the newspaper article and studied the photograph of one of the stolen pieces—a double-chained necklace with large gemstones embedded in elaborate filigree dangling from the lower chain. She sure hadn’t seen anything like that in Gran’s jewelry box.
What was she thinking?
Of course she hadn’t. Gran and Gramps would never have stolen jewelry. Anyone who knew them would know that. So if whoever had been prowling around the place hoped to find the loot, he couldn’t possibly know them.
In fact, the more she thought about it, the more ridiculous the whole theory seemed.
She shook her head. Would she rather believe her sister and brother-in-law had sent an intruder into the house?
She clicked back to the online directory and managed to track down numbers for three of the witnesses. Phone numbers in hand, she wedged the crutches they’d given her at the hospital last night under her armpits and hobbled outside to make the calls in private.
As she reached her car, another pulled to the curb behind her. “What do you think you’re doing?” Josh called through his open window, sounding none too happy.
Becki opened her car door, tossed her purse inside, then repositioned the crutch under her arm so she could turn to face him without putting weight on her injured foot. “Can’t a girl take a break?” She swallowed at the sight of him climbing out of a patrol car in his police uniform, looking so tall and handsome and protective. He’d been incredibly attentive at the hospital last night, keeping her company through the long hours they’d had to wait for the doctor to come in and confirm her injury was a sprain.
“Sure.” He closed the distance between them in three long strides. “If you were actually job hunting.”
“Of course I’m job hunting. If I hope to afford to stay in the house, I will need one.”
“Uh-huh.”
She teetered on her crutches. Did he have someone spying on her in the library?
He cupped her elbow, steadying her. “Your ankle won’t get better if you don’t rest it.”
She tossed her crutches into the backseat, feeling way too much like another one of his
broken-winged sparrows or three-legged dogs, even if it was kind of sweet that he worried about her.
Josh shook his head, looking utterly exasperated.
“What?”
“We just got a call at the station from the detective investigating the museum theft.”
“You did! What’d he say?”
Josh’s stern expression shared none of her excitement. “Seems the president of the antique-car club that hosted the tour talked to a person of interest.” Josh’s gaze grew uncomfortably intense. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”
“Oh.” She ducked her head. Wait a minute. “They think I had something to do with it?”
“They did until I explained the situation.” The exasperation—yes, definitely exasperation—etched on Josh’s face bit at her conscience.
“I couldn’t just do nothing.”
His gaze tracked up one side of the street and down the other. “Interfering with a police investigation isn’t helping.”
“I wasn’t interfering. I just wanted to talk to someone who’d been on the tour with Gran and Gramps. Find out what they’d seen or heard.”
“And if your prowler catches word that you’re asking too many questions, what do you think he’s going to do? Not call the station, you can be sure of that.”
Becki couldn’t help it. She grinned.
“What are you smiling about?” Josh growled. “This is serious.”
“You’re not really mad at me. You’re worried about me.”
“Of course I’m worried.” He strode back to his car.
“Josh, don’t be mad,” she called after him, fearing he’d leave in a huff.
He didn’t respond, just opened the back door and reached inside.
A floppy-eared dog soared to the sidewalk and bounded toward her, straining at the leash Josh held.
“Oh,” she gasped. The tongue-lolling mixed breed, with his mismatched patches of brown-and-black fur and white belly and feet, looked just like the pooch she’d had for a short time as a child.
She knelt and offered him her hand.
The dog gave her a slobbery kiss instead.
Josh laughed. “I guess that answers that question.”
“What question?” Becki scratched the dog’s neck.
“Whether you want Bruiser.”
Her heart leaped. “He’s for me?”
“If you want him. He’s had his basic obedience training. One of the guys on the force needed to find him a new home after his daughter developed allergies.”
“Oh, I’d love to give Bruiser a home.” She threw her arms around the pooch and gave him a giant hug. “But such a tough-guy name won’t do, will it?” she crooned. “I’ll call you...Ruffles.”
“Ruffles?” Josh tugged back on the leash. “You’re not serious?”
Becki pursed her lips to try to maintain a straight face.
“C’mon, no self-respecting dog should have to endure being called Ruffles.”
She laughed. “I knew you’d say that.”
He offered her a hand up and held her gaze for a long moment.
She squirmed under the intensity, even as a thrill rushed through her chest.
“You can call him whatever you like. I want you to be happy here.” His voice turned husky. “And safe.”
Oh. Safe. Right. She tightened her fingers around the piece of paper containing the names and numbers she’d found. What would her prowler do if he learned she was asking questions?
Josh would be furious if she called the witnesses now. But if the news that she’d talked to the club president had gotten to Josh so quickly, maybe the idea that someone had heard of the cops’ suspicions of her grandparents wasn’t so far-fetched.
“Are you okay with me going home now?” she asked, since he’d been so sweet.
The muscles in his jaw flexed. “If you promise to call at the first sign of any trouble,” he said finally, when he clearly wanted to say no. “Deal?”
“Deal.” As she reached for the dog leash, Mrs. O’Reilly ambled out the library doors.
“Mighty fine day, isn’t it?” the woman chimed, throwing Josh a meaningful look.
Becki struggled to contain the new grin that sprang to her lips. She gave Josh a sideways hug and leaned her head against his chest as she let the grin loose. “Oh, yes! Look at the dog Josh brought me.”
Becki reached for the leash, but Josh caught her hand in his and held it fast as his other arm slipped around her waist.
Mrs. O’Reilly glanced from the dog to Josh, her eyes sparkling. “Yes, mighty fine,” she repeated and moseyed on up the street.
Becki immediately tried to pull away, but Josh’s arm cinched tighter around her waist.
His gaze dropped to hers, a dare flaring to life. “You set me up.”
She slipped her hand from his clasp and splayed her fingers over her chest with wide-eyed innocence. “I was just trying to help your cause. Let her believe you’re interested. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“My cause, huh?” Light danced in his eyes. “Like the time you came up with the scheme to get your sister to notice me?”
“How was I supposed to know a family of skunks lived under that log? Besides, it worked, didn’t it?”
He let her go and gave her a what-am-I-going-to-do-with-you shake of his head. “Oh, yeah, Sarah could smell me coming from a mile away.” Josh opened the back door of her car and shooed the dog inside. “You haven’t changed a bit, Bec. Still trouble with a capital T.”
* * *
Becki glanced in the rearview mirror at Bruiser sprawled across her backseat. “Josh probably got you for me just so I’d go home and stay out of trouble.”
Bruiser yowled.
Trouble with a capital T. Was that what Josh really thought of her?
Considering all that had happened around here since she’d arrived, she supposed she couldn’t blame him. So she should just stop thinking about how handsome he looked in that police uniform, let alone how at home she’d felt in his arms.
Oh, yes, she definitely needed to forget about that.
Josh would never make a home with someone who didn’t share his faith, and her outburst about the squirrels’ nest had left little question about the shaky state of hers.
She pulled the car into her driveway and opened the back door to grab her crutches. “Here you go, Bruiser. Your new home. Hope you like it.”
Bruiser bounded from the car without a second’s hesitation and took off around the house.
So much for basic obedience. She supposed the phone calls would have to wait until after she got Bruiser settled. She grabbed her crutches. Before she reached the corner, Bruiser let out a low-pitched growl that sent a chill down her arms.
“Good dog” came a frightened male voice.
Becki ducked. There was only one reason why a strange man would sneak around her house. But he didn’t sound like Henry. She edged closer to the corner as she fumbled for her phone. The hot sun glinted off a motorcycle parked behind the house. A big, shiny black bike. The kind of bike that scary-looking biker-gang dudes drove.
“Nice boy,” the man repeated inanely between Bruiser’s unrelenting growls.
Okay, maybe not a gang biker.
“Hello,” he called out. “Anyone there? Name’s Winslow, the real-estate agent.” His voice pitched higher as if that should explain everything.
“Bart?” He didn’t sound like Mr. Maserati.
“No, his father. Please call off your dog.”
Becki’s thumb hovered over the connect button for Josh’s number. He was never going to see her as grown-up if she kept calling him to her rescue. “What are you doing here?” Becki asked without stepping into the man’s line of sight.
“Albert Graw’s granddaughter asked me to appraise the place.”
Becki’s fingers tightened around the handle of her crutch. She rounded the corner of the house. “You’re lying.”
The man took a step toward her, but Bruiser’s growling immediately intensified.
Way to go, Bruiser!
The man’s arms shot into the air. “I’m not. I swear.” He wore a suit jacket, despite the heat and his apparent mode of transportation. Sweat beaded his forehead, pooling at his bushy eyebrows and dripping in tiny rivulets down his pudgy cheeks. “She called my office this morning. Asked me to meet her here at two.”
Becki glanced at her watch. “Well, it’s two. I’m here. And guess what? I didn’t call you.”
“You’re Graw’s granddaughter?”
“Yes.”
His brows drew together. “Well, someone called me.” He reached inside his jacket, and the dog lunged. The man’s hand snapped back into view, a business card between his fingers.
Bruiser backed up, but he added a bark for good measure.
Becki hid a smile. She loved the dog already.
“Could you please call off your dog? If you don’t want a valuation, I’ll go, but I’m telling you the truth. Does Mr. Graw have another granddaughter, perhaps?”
Becki’s heart dropped. Sarah wouldn’t. Yes, she would. Becki squinted at the man. “She said she’d meet you here?”
“Yes.”
As if on cue, her sister’s BMW rolled into the driveway.
Becki swung her crutches around and loped toward her sister’s car.
“Hey, what about your dog?” the real-estate agent cried out after her.
“Bruiser, come here,” Becki called over her shoulder, having no clue whether the dog would actually listen. “We have another culprit to corner,” she muttered and braced herself as Sarah stepped from the car.
Bruiser raced around the corner, grazing his chin on the gravel as his legs went out from under him on the curve. But without losing a step he barreled right for Becki and took up sentry duty at her side.
Sarah arched a perfectly plucked eyebrow at the canine. Then, before Becki’s eyes, Sarah’s crusty facade crumbled. “He looks just like Max!” She squatted and ruffled the dog’s ears. “Where did you find him?”
Fatal Inheritance Page 9
