by Tanya Agler
Or the most convenient?
Her truth might have struck too close to home.
In the meantime, there was a lead to investigate. “Let’s examine your discovery.”
She snapped her fingers. “First, I have to close the window in the art room.”
He escorted her to the opposite wing of the building, where it was a good five degrees colder than the lobby. “Wasn’t securing the windows part of the nighttime closing list?”
“It is. But I was distracted. Betty’s Joe needed her, so I agreed to close the center tonight.” She slammed the pane down with more force than necessary, the thump echoing in the room. He clicked the locks closed and checked one extra time. Here, an ounce of prevention would reassure the both of them.
Brooke stood there, her arms folded. “Feel better?”
“Much.”
She walked over to the light switch. “Ready to go to the storage room?”
“Why was the window open in the first place?”
“One participant in tonight’s art class was too warm. The rest of the class concurred.” Brooke shrugged and flicked off the light. “I was in a hurry to put everything away, but the new security system would have alerted me before I left.”
“Were you the teacher again tonight?” He glanced at her outfit, not a speck of paint in sight.
She flushed before she nodded. “Art’s been my lifesaver over the years. Coffee and art supplies have been my two big indulgences, and I was fortunate in that some of my fellow employees at other community centers knew how much I love painting. Instead of throwing away quality tubes that had a smidgen of paint left, they gave them to me. I’m a big believer in recycling and upcycling.”
She finished talking just as they reached the storage room.
“I poked around with a ruler in order not to disturb any fingerprints.”
A blue plastic tote was upended on the cement floor. Bits and pieces of shattered Christmas ornaments were scattered everywhere. “Did you find it like this?”
“Um, that happened when I saved myself from falling.”
Good grief. Brooke could have been seriously hurt tonight. “Were the ladies from the class around?”
“Only me, I’m afraid.”
“What if you’d hurt yourself?” How long would it have been before help had arrived?
The fact that he cared so much hit him like that container crashing against the hard floor. Sometime in the past couple of weeks, he’d realized he was always looking forward to seeing her, his pulse racing a little faster every time he knew she was near.
He stepped toward her, and the scuff of his work boots reminded him he was here in his official capacity.
“I had my cell with me, and Aunt Mitzi and Colin would have come running if I hadn’t arrived home tonight.” Her nervous laugh gave too much away. She’d considered the same outcome. She met his gaze, and the laughter ended. Sparks flew, and he didn’t know whether to snuff them out or let them start a roaring flame. “I’ll be more careful,” she said softly.
“Good. You have people who care about you, you know.”
The electricity crackled between them. “Are you one of them?”
Stepping on the broken ornaments by accident, he startled them both with the noise. Another reminder he was here as a police officer. “That’s part of my job.”
She looked away, thereby ending their connection, the moment lost forever. “There’s a laminator in the tote. I saw a state logo on it.”
He removed a pair of latex gloves from his pocket. Sure enough, a laminator peeked through. Not just one purchased at a craft store or office supplies shop either. This was from the North Carolina Department of Motor Vehicles. This was a bigger operation than he and Mike contemplated. He kept that to himself. “Someone went through a great deal of trouble to hide this. When do you decorate for the holidays?”
“The center has plans for three major displays, one for Hanukkah, one for Christmas and one for Kwanzaa. As soon as the special Heartsgiving family presentations are over on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, I’m staying late that night along with four other staff members to decorate.”
“Who knows about that?”
“Everyone. Apparently, that’s the tradition around here.”
He pulled out the laminator and placed it to the side. “Is there a broom handy?”
“In that corner.” She retrieved it and reached for a new trash bag, only to discover there were none. “There should be more bags upstairs. Wait here.”
Brooke sprinted out of the storage closet, and he scratched his chin, the light stubble slightly itchy against his rough fingers. He was missing something, but he wasn’t sure what. On his phone, he pulled up the picture of Eric’s fake ID and remembered the smooth texture of the lamination as he held the license between his fingers. Enlarging the picture, he studied each corner until it hit him. The lower right corner was off as though slightly pinched. Come to think of it, that anomaly had led him to separate the two licenses at the time. Tomorrow he and Mike would use this laminator to see if the suspect had used this exact machine.
Brooke returned with a larger broom in one hand, a whisk broom with a clipped dustpan in the other, and a trash bag over her shoulder. “This should cover everything. I was thinking on my way back here why—”
“The supply closet is so far from the storage room?”
She handed him the whisk broom with the dustpan. “Make that three questions. And a fourth! I’m on a roll now. Do we need to keep anything from this heap of stuff?”
“There’s nothing worth saving except the laminator. What were your questions? Maybe I can be of service.” He took a mock bow. Anything to keep his mind on his job. There had only been one other time when he’d been so distracted, and adrenaline and shock had helped him stay focused.
She swept the red-and-green metal pieces into the dustpan, then rested her chin on the tip of the broom handle. “Is this an inside job? Could the person who’s been talking to Mr. Whitley also be the one who’s selling the IDs?”
He dumped the dustpan remnants into the trash bag. “Are those the two questions or additional ones?”
A broad smile was his reward. “That was the first question with a new one attached.”
Something told him talking to her would always be this easy, whether now or forty years from now. “I have the employee list.” He didn’t tell her he’d already checked out the backgrounds of the five full-time employees, along with her. Actually, he’d asked Jillian to follow through on Brooke. “I’m investigating that angle. We make a good team, you and me.”
She blushed, and his heart swelled at her reaction. “Why would someone be keeping everything here?”
His thoughts exactly. When he pieced that together, he’d have enough of a profile to figure out who was behind this.
Unless Colin kept his equipment here for easy access in a place where Mitzi Mayfield wouldn’t find it.
Yet Jonathan was doubtful a teenager could pull all of this off, especially one without stronger ties to the area.
“From what you said, your predecessor, Mr. Hinshaw, was rather lax on security, and this is peak tourist season.” So far, every effort to contact Mr. Hinshaw had failed. “Every other business cracks down on security this time of year. That could have something to do with this location. What else did you think about?”
“Why is this case important to you?”
He dropped the trash bag and blinked. “What do you mean? Every case is important to me.”
“This one’s different. I’d like to know why.”
That breath he’d been holding escaped, and he picked up the bag, thankful nothing had fallen out. He met her gaze, and that spark between them ignited into something warm and colorful. “I told you about the accident that took Anne’s life.” He waited for her nod. The conne
ction between them was real. He’d stake anything on that. “Anne’s death was preventable. If I can spare anyone else the pain of having a loved one seriously injured in an accident, or worse, because of sheer recklessness, I’ll do everything to make that happen.”
“You can’t control everything.”
He was getting a touch too comfortable around the smart brunette who made him feel again.
“I can try.” He lifted the laminator and checked the room. “Thanks for calling.”
A simple sentence changed the atmosphere in a drop of the hat. A ten-degree drop in temperature would have caused less confusion on Brooke’s face. He wanted a return to the gentle camaraderie of a few minutes ago, but focusing on the case and getting that promotion had to come first.
Brooke shrugged and held the door open for him. “You do your job, and I’ll be able to keep mine.”
He walked her to her car, taking care with the evidence. She drove away without a backward glance. His radar had been out of commission longer than he’d realized if he’d mistaken professional courtesy for attraction. Her attitude toward him was a means to keep her job.
As he placed the laminator in the trunk of his police car, the wind swirled around him, and leaves whirled about the parking lot in a frenzy. Fall had arrived with a vengeance today. He thought his heart had come back as well.
This was the time of year when bears and other animals found a cozy spot for hibernating in the Great Smoky Mountains. Rather than a cozy spot, however, his heart found a cold spot to hunker down and sleep awhile longer.
CHAPTER TWELVE
KICKING OFF THE weekend with cookie decorating classes before the holiday season was in full swing had been a stroke of genius by Yolanda, the community center’s assistant director. Brooke wiped down tables for the next class starting shortly, this one for older elementary school students.
The first class, targeted toward adults, had been packed. Even last-minute additions, Frederick and Agnes Whitley, tucked away a couple of keepsake boxes of the iced sugar cookies with satisfied expressions. Perhaps the primary benefactor of the center was coming around to her methods.
The aroma of the cookies tantalized Brooke. She noticed she had sprinkles sticking to almost every inch of her apron. Unlike the previous class, where the adults had whipped up their own dough, the teacher had brought prebaked cookies and would only highlight decorating tips for the younger incoming students, who were more likely to end up with the finished product in their mouths than in the containers to take home.
Kids spilled into the cooking room, each with a chaperone. A group of women, presumably moms, huddled in the corner, laughing and moaning about holiday shopping. The split seemed to be right down the middle with half saying they’d already completed their lists, and the other half lamenting that they hadn’t even begun.
Paige, the owner of the Night Owl Bakery and today’s instructor, clapped her hands, and all eyes turned toward her. A guilty tinge of relief fluttered through Brooke at the absence of Jonathan and Vanessa, who’d signed up for the class, although she also cringed at the memory of how the other night had ended.
That evening had started out well. He’d opened up to her and let her in on something raw and sensitive, and she believed they were making progress, heading toward something substantial, unlike anything she’d ever shared with Colin’s father, who’d been all talk and no substance. Hayden had said pretty words before she’d told him she was pregnant. Then he had begged her to keep his identity as the father a secret. He hadn’t wanted to lose his parents’ approval. Or the tuition money they promised him to stop seeing her.
Jonathan, however, was a combination of talk and substance, but he’d withdrawn without any warning. Taking her cue from him, she’d also walked away. Sprinting was a better description of how she’d tucked her tail between her legs and hustled away. Together they snuffed out that romantic spark with a tsunami of cold water.
She pushed that regret aside, a roomful of guests at the center demanding her full attention, not a shadow of her complete self.
Jonathan’s robust laugh heralded his arrival, and she stilled. He and Vanessa crossed the threshold, their smiles lighting up the room. “We’re late, and we’d better catch up.”
Vanessa looked anxiously around the room.
He met Brooke’s gaze, and those hazel depths brought about a fluttery feeling in her stomach. Last time anyone impacted her like this was Colin’s father, an episode she had no inclination to repeat ever again. Jonathan was a complication, same as Mr. Whitley.
Lucie Spindler and her twins patted the chairs next to them, and Jonathan sent a smile Brooke’s way that spread the fluttery feeling through her even more.
The class got underway, and everyone chattered and applied Paige’s clever icing tips to their cookies. Perhaps it was downright cowardly to make sure Paige helped Jonathan and Vanessa, but concentrating on helping others had always saved Brooke before, and it should work now. It was hard enough to be in the same room and remain professional. Besides, she couldn’t lose her heart to the charming cop if he walled up his emotions almost every time they talked.
The class ended, and the registrants filed out of the room, boxes of cookies in hand. Lucie waved to Jonathan and placed her arm around Vanessa’s shoulders with an air of protectiveness. “Thanks for lending us Vanessa for a couple of hours. She and her cousins are going to have so much fun decorating Fred and Ethel’s shed for the holidays. Caleb will drop her off at your house around bedtime if that works for you.”
“A whole evening to myself? Who am I to complain about that?” The jovial tone of Jonathan’s voice didn’t quite match his eyes.
Vanessa giggled and hugged her father. “Don’t eat all my cookies.”
“I’ll save you one.” Jonathan smiled warmly, making him seem ten years younger. “Or at least I’ll try.”
“Daddy!”
His smile widened when Vanessa broke away and joined the other three. Paige waved goodbye and left along with the crowd, the room cleaner now than it was before the class. Brooke spied a few stacked containers waiting and ready to go to the storage room.
Jonathan walked toward her, and his presence heightened all of her senses. Even her toes tingled. “Can I help?”
“Every time you show up here, you help. And every time, you find something related to your case. It won’t take me but five minutes to put these away.”
“Oops. Wait a minute.” He took off his orange apron decorated with colorful pumpkins and turkeys and rolled it into a ball. “Where was I supposed to put this?”
“It’s part of the fee. You get to keep it.” She had to admit Jonathan looked cute in that cable-knit green sweater. He definitely qualified as MCG.
That was the problem. He was more than cute. Finding someone attractive was more than skin-deep in Brooke’s book. Humility and humor changed him from everyday good-looking to downright handsome.
“Thanks. Vanessa will love my wearing this leading up to Thanksgiving, while Izzy will say something snippy, as she’s now full-on into tween angst.” He laid the box with his cookies on the nearest table and scratched his chin. “How did you handle that with Colin?”
She laughed and set the containers down. “Ask me that when he’s thirty.” Her cell rang with her son’s ringtone, and she held up her finger. “Hold that thought. It’s Colin, and he doesn’t normally call me at work unless it’s important.”
She navigated her way to a corner of the room, turning away from Jonathan, a distraction at the best of times. Colin asked her permission to watch some training videos at the basketball team captain’s house and chill out with popcorn. “I haven’t walked Daisy yet, but can I go?” The yearning in Colin’s voice practically leaped through the line.
“That’s also Riley’s house, isn’t it?”
“She’s visiting her aunt in Asheville.”
“Riley’s brother can drop me off. Can I go over now? Without walking Daisy? Aunt Mitzi’s not home and it’s about to rain.”
“I’ll walk Daisy...” She hadn’t finished her sentence when her phone beeped his disconnect. She glared at the device. “...this once.”
She turned around, and Jonathan was no longer in the room. She guessed he wanted to get started on that evening to himself. Walking over to where the containers were, she froze. They were here a minute ago.
“You were wrong.”
Startled, she jumped and crossed her arms over her chest. “Jonathan! I didn’t see you. Where did you come from?”
“The storage room.” He grinned and crossed to where he’d left his box of cookies and balled-up apron. “For the record, it only took one trip and three minutes to get there and back, not five.”
“Then I thank you, and my labradoodle thanks you. As soon as I check with Joe and Betty, I’m off to walk Daisy.”
“You know what makes walks in Hollydale perfect?”
She eyed him with some trepidation. “No rain, good shoes and a bouncy dog?”
He laughed and rattled the box of cookies. “Cooperative weather, a great trail and a knowledgeable guide.” He opened the box and swayed it under her nose. “Who’s willing to share his cookies.”
This camaraderie with him was new and exciting, if not a little overwhelming as well. They’d tried to dial it back, but here they were, and she wanted to curl up with him by a fire and find out everything about him between kisses. However, Mr. Whitley had laid down the law in no uncertain terms, and she’d promised Colin he’d stay in Hollydale until he graduated. Brooke’s mother had never delivered upon a promise. Brooke wouldn’t go back on her word to Colin. She needed this job.
“Thanks, but I don’t know how long I’ll be here finishing up.”
