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 reported the basement-flooding incident it might have given oomph to the case and roused the captain’s interest again. As it was, Reece knew his days on the Mahoney investigation were numbered—at least in an official capacity.
A sense of urgency nipped his insides, and he shifted in his overstuffed recliner. He conjured the image of the auburn-haired Denni. She didn’t deserve to have her dream snuffed out. He’d never known anyone quite like her before and he had to admit that at least fifty percent of his reason for wanting to solve the case was because he was tired of seeing the two lines of worry creasing her brow just above her perky little nose. A smile touched his lips. Obeying impulse, he reached for the phone and lifted the receiver. He dialed her number by heart.
One ring, two…He frowned at three, and growled at four, and was just about to hang up when a breathless voice filtered through the wires. “Hello?”
“Denni? What’s wrong?”
“Reece?”
“Yeah.” Just the sound of her voice raised his heart rate. “Everything okay?”
“No. Everything is just rotten!”
Her emphatic response took him aback. He raised his eyebrows. “Another incident?” This time he would definitely check the neighbor lady’s whereabouts.
“Not like that.” She didn’t even try to hide her irritation, and that irritated him. “Why are you so suspicious all the time?”
Okay, he hadn’t expected to get barked at. “Because I’m a cop. And because there’s an ongoing investigation surrounding you.”
“Well, this has nothing to do with your investigation. I just spoke to my caterer, who should have been here setting up about a half hour ago. Only, she insists the luncheon was cancelled. Which of course is ridiculous, because why on earth would I cancel the most important lunch of my life? Regardless, she has nothing she can prepare on a moment’s notice, so I have nothing to feed the ten people who could be deciding the future of Mahoney project.”
Her voice caught, halting her rant, and Reece stopped
breathing as the hero in him rose to the surface.
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t really have a choice. Cancel.” Defeat and tears mingled in her voice.
Reece kicked down the footrest on the recliner and grabbed for his brown leather sandals. “Get the dining room all set up. Don’t worry about the food. I’ll be there in forty-five minutes.”
“Forty-five minutes? Reece, do you realize the luncheon is in exactly—oh, good grief—two hours and fifty-four minutes.”
“Have a little faith, woman. And trust me.”
Denni watched, fascinated and eternally grateful, as Reece slid another grilled chicken breast from the indoor grill. Dressed in a pair of baggy jean shorts and a T-shirt, sleeves rolled up and straining over bulging sun-bronzed biceps, he was way too distracting on a day when she needed all of her wits about her. On the other hand, if his distracting personage hadn’t shown up bearing three bags of groceries, she’d be sunk.
“Hey, you going to slice those peppers? I need to get them on the grill.”
Denni jumped at the sound of Reece’s slightly urgent tone. “Sorry,” she muttered and turned her attention back to the task she’d been assigned by the chef: slicing red bell peppers to add to the mix. She had to admit the guy had saved the day. Grilled chicken wraps on whole-wheat tortillas and a large Caesar salad made a perfect luncheon. It spoke of class, but didn’t look like she was trying too hard. And best of all, the entire meal would be ready in less than an hour, and she would still have time for a quick shower before the guests began arriving. The girls had pitched in and prepared iced tea, coffee and strawberry shortcakes for dessert.
The thought of their worry when she’d made the wretched announcement of the caterer’s incompetence sent affection surging through her. And she felt guilty for ever entertaining the notion that one of them might be out to close her down. She’d have to be careful from now on not to let herself be drawn into Reece’s world of suspicion.
“All done,” she announced, scooping up the sliced peppers and tossing them into a bowl. She walked across to the other counter where the grill sat. Intent on cubing the chicken, Reece looked up only briefly, as she set the bowl on the counter, but in that instant, he sent her a knee-weakening smile.
“Thanks,” he said.
“You’re welcome.” Oh, be still my beating heart, she pleaded.
“Why don’t you go get yourself ready?” he suggested. “I can finish up here. By the time you come back, I’ll have everything cleaned up and you’ll be all set to wow the powers that be.”
Could this guy possibly be the same man who had breezed in and out of her life at irregular times over the past three months? He couldn’t. But she could definitely get used to this Reece Corrigan. A simple thank-you just didn’t seem appropriate at a time like this. Still, she had to say something. “Reece, I don’t know what I would have done without you today. I’ll find a way to repay you.”
He shrugged. “It was only around fifty dollars. Consider it my contribution to your life’s ambition.”
Fifty dollars! She’d forgotten about the grocery bill! “For crying out loud, why didn’t you say something? Let me get my purse.” She reached for her bag, which remained on the counter where she’d set it earlier when she’d frantically searched for the caterer’s card. That moment of panic seemed a million years ago, now that all was well.
Reece caught hold of her wrist. “Forget it. I wanted to do it.”
“But why?”
His gaze locked with hers, and the honesty in his eyes melted away the periphery until he was all she saw. “Let’s not analyze it,” he said softly.
Denni nodded, swallowing hard. Reece released her wrist and jerked his head toward the doorway. “Now go, make yourself presentable.” He turned back to the meal preparation, obviously finished with any discussion.
There was nothing for her to do but follow his instructions. At the door, she turned. “You will stay for lunch, won’t you?” It was the least she could do, she silently admonished herself. To allow him to save the day and then not even bother to invite him to join them would have been plain rude. And her mother hadn’t raised her to be ill-mannered.
“I’m not exactly dressed for a luncheon,” he said.
“I disagree. No one specified dressy.” By the dubious look on his face, she knew he wasn’t buying it. Everyone would be dressed in suits or other professional clothes. As a matter of fact, she’d intended to dress professionally herself, but if it would make him feel more comfortable…
“Dress appropriately, Denni,” he said as though reading her thoughts. “I don’t need to stay for lunch.”
She hesitated, wanting to insist, but afraid she’d sound needy and desperate. A single thirty-something woman clinging to the man who had come to her rescue. But she did want to prolong his presence. She couldn’t help it.
“I’ll call later to see how everything turns out.”
Denni’s eyes grew wide at his knowing smile. Had she said that thing about wanting to prolong his presence aloud? Well, she couldn’t have him thinking she wanted him to stick around because of some personal attachment or crush or something. So she did all she knew to do. Gave a shrug. “Whatever. Just don’t forget to take your grill home.”
He chuckled. “I won’t.”
She hurried up the stairs to the solace of the bathroom where she could soak away her humiliation and be alone with her confusing emotions, which seemed increasingly to be favoring Reece Corrigan.
Reece was just drying the last of the mixing bowls, knives and cutting boards and putting them into the cabinets when the doorbell rang. He looked around. The women of the house had adjourned upstairs, presumably to get ready for the luncheon. Personally, Reece thought it was risky on Denni’s part to include the pregnant Cate, the body-pierced, tattooed Leigh and the explosive Fran, but no one had asked his opinion, and he knew offering it to Denni would only undo the good he’d done by making his famous grilled chicken wraps and saving Denni’s behind for the day.
The bell chimed again and Leigh called down, “Corrigan, get the door, already. Can’t you see we’re busy? Or do you want us to come down in our skivvies?”
He was almost sure he heard idiot added, but had no solid proof.
He put on his best smile and opened the door. Four professionally dressed people stood on the porch. One woman, dressed in a navy-blue suit and three men, similarly clad. They gave him the once-over, setting his defenses on edge. Couldn’t a guy wear a pair of shorts during his time off?
“I’m afraid we must have the wrong address,” the tallish woman said. “We’re looking for Miss Mahoney?”
“Yeah, she’s taking a shower.” Immediately he regretted giving into his wicked side—the side of him that loved to shock women like this piece of work standing in front of him.
“And you are…?”
“Oh, excuse me…” He wiped his hands on his apron—oh, brother, he was still wearing the apron—and offered his hand. “Detective Corrigan. I’m a friend of Denni’s.” He stepped aside. “Won’t you come in?”
With quadruple curt nods, they stepped inside, each set of eyes darting around the living room, beginning their perusal before they even got comfortable.
The doorbell chimed again, and Reece mentally prepared himself for another once-over. This time, however, Denni showed up, her disturbing floral scent breezing into the room ahead of her. “Oh, good, you’ve all met Reece.” She turned to him. “Would you please get the door while I show these guests to the dining room?”
Suddenly wishing for a three-piece suit, Reece realized he was staying for lunch.
Chapter Five
Denni barely touched her lunch. Not that she didn’t try. Every time she brought the wrap to her mouth, someone asked another question. Finally, she gave up and sipped her iced tea instead. Just as well, she conceded. Her tied-in-knots stomach probably would have rejected any intruders anyway.
The girls, sea
ted amongst the guests, were thankfully on their best behavior—including Fran and Leigh—who had settled into a fragile peace after the tension of the other night.
The nine male liaisons present seemed amiable enough, genuinely interested in the mission. Denni smiled as Mr. Terrie, representing one of the smaller churches, patted his lips with his napkin and addressed her. “This is a unique idea, Miss Mahoney. Intriguing. I can’t help but be impressed with the desire to provide training and guidance to girls who have grown up in foster care.”
Under the table, Reece nudged her knee with his. She turned to him and he winked. A flush crept to her cheeks and she averted her gaze quickly. “Thank you, Mr. Terrie. I feel as if this is a God idea.”
“What I must question,” broke in Elizabeth Wilson, AKA Cruella De Ville, “Is whether or not it is really necessary to take care of legally adult individuals. Isn’t that what the welfare system is for? Perhaps our funds would be better spent elsewhere.”
Leigh’s eyes flashed across from Denni, but to her credit she kept her mouth shut. Denni fought to maintain a pleasant expression. “The welfare system is for adults who need help…yes. But statistically, once an individual becomes dependent on the state, it’s almost impossible for them to break free, particularly if they become pregnant out of wedlock. After bearing three or four children, these young women are trapped for life and rearing children who are, themselves, in danger of repeating the cycle of foster care and adult dependency on welfare.”
“But surely not in every case,” Elizabeth Wilson challenged. Her cold gaze swept the girls. “Do you feel you’d end up on welfare if not for Miss Mahoney’s charity?”
Denni bristled. And before she could respond, a knowing sense of dread shifted through her and from the corner of her eye, she saw Fran rise to her feet.
“Lady, are you trying to imply we’re all a bunch of charity cases?” Red splotches of rage popped out on Fran’s face and neck.
Suspicion of Guilt Page 4
