Carol J. Post - Shattered Haven

Blake raised his brows. That was an interesting tidbit.

Allison was apparently as intrigued as he was. “You’ve heard of this?”

Hunter flashed her a sheepish smile. “My little sister went through a stage where she was nuts over any and all things Victorian. She collected trinkets, played dress-up in period clothes and read everything she could get her hands on. And I learned all kinds of worthless information that I’ll probably never use, because she never shut up about it.”

She returned his smile. “Well, it didn’t turn out to be totally worthless, because you just taught me something. Now when I go into a Victorian house, I’ll always wonder what might be hidden in the newel post.” She chewed her lower lip, suddenly serious. “If the intruder was hoping for treasure, he probably wasn’t too happy to find nothing but a roll of old house plans.”

Which means he might be back. She didn’t finish the sentence aloud, but she was thinking it. It was all there in her eyes. The fear and uncertainty.

Hunter stroked his chin with a thumb and forefinger, deep in thought. “Seems if he was just hoping for something in the newel post, he wouldn’t have searched any further. It’s as if he knew exactly what he was looking for.”

He moved across the foyer toward the den. When he pushed open one of the double doors, Allison drew in a sharp breath. Blake looked over Hunter’s shoulder and understood. It looked as if every file had been removed from the file cabinet, the contents emptied.

“Whoa.” Hunter turned to face her. “I’d say he was pretty determined to find something.”

Allison didn’t respond. Blake studied her. Maybe she was just dazed. But something told him she knew more than she was telling them.

Hunter continued his walk through the house, getting an overview before the real investigation started. When he swung open one of two mahogany doors next to the kitchen, a low whistle escaped his mouth. Blake stepped into the room, and the dusty scent of old books wrapped around him, mixed with the smell of varnish.

It was a library. Floor-to-ceiling shelves lined three walls. But they were all empty. Teetering piles of books lay on the two stuffed chairs and all over the floor. There were dozens of them, maybe hundreds.

“This is a pretty impressive library you have here.”

Allison nodded. “It is. At least it was . The fiction was all arranged by author last name, the nonfiction categorized and labeled according to the Dewey Decimal System. But I can’t take the credit. This was my grandparents’ collection. Even though there have been a couple of owners in between, apparently no one has been able to part with the books.”

Hunter stepped up next to him. “Are we ready to tackle this mess?”

Excitement swept through him. This was what he was made for—police work.

“Deputize me, and I’m all yours.”

THREE

Allison watched the two officers work their way through her house. Hunter looked sharp and professional in his crisp navy pants and light blue polo shirt, embroidered with Cedar Key Police Department . He moved with confidence, dusting doorjambs and other surfaces, lifting prints and making note of each location.

In khaki cargo shorts and a sailboat print shirt, Blake wasn’t dressed for the part, but everything else about him said cop. His dark eyes were alert as he scanned each room, and he exuded a sense of seriousness and concentrated focus. But there was something else, too—excitement and anticipation. Police work had been his life. Now she understood the fulfillment he had gained from his work. And the trauma of having it ripped from him. A pang of tenderness shot through her. Total upheaval—she had been there.

As the two men moved toward the dining room, Blake’s limp appeared more pronounced than usual. He was apparently too focused on the investigation to think about trying to hide it. He circled the room, his gaze settling briefly on each item out of place. A pinkish-tan scar extended a couple of inches below the hem of his shorts, visible proof of the injury that had ended his career. It was the only visible proof. His sun-kissed, muscular arms were...perfect. He obviously hadn’t spent his recuperating months sitting idle.

Without warning, those observant dark eyes met hers, and heat crept up her cheeks. He responded with a knowing smile, which only made it worse. Her gaze shifted to where Hunter stood dusting the open door of her china cabinet. They still had the library to do. And then the whole second floor.

“Check this out.”

Blake’s words cut across her thoughts. They were probably directed at Hunter, but she moved closer to see what he had found. When he spoke again, his question was for her.

“Did you remove the screen from this window?”

She stepped up next to him. The window was on the side of the house, blocked from the view of the street by one of her moss-draped live oaks. Now that Blake had pointed it out, she saw it, too—the screen was gone.

“No, I didn’t.” She put her face close to the glass. Lying on the ground next to the house was the missing screen. “In fact, I just mowed two days ago. I may not have noticed it missing from the window, but I know for a fact it wasn’t lying on the ground.”

Hunter joined them. He hadn’t made it to that side of the room yet. “Do you think this is where he gained access?”

With latex-covered hands, Blake gripped the edges of the handle and slid the window upward in its track. “I’d say that’s a definite.”

“But how...” She let the words trail off. It had been locked. She had checked.

In answer, Blake lowered the window and turned the latch. It barely made contact. “A little jimmying, and this would rattle right out of here. We need to look at installing some new locks.”

She nodded and swallowed hard, a sudden sense of vulnerability sweeping through her. She would get some new locks installed. ASAP.

Blake had said we . But she always paid her way. She would hire Terrance. Or maybe do it herself. Installing window glass was beyond her level of expertise, but she could change latches, even if she had to drill holes. Over the past two years, she had acquired several new skills. And quite a few tools. And a good dose of independence.

Boarding her boat and heading for Cedar Key alone was the scariest thing she had ever done. So was taking a good chunk of the life insurance money Tom had left and purchasing the house. But staying in Providence hadn’t been an option. Neither had going back to Boston to accept help from her parents. She didn’t need to hear I told you so .

So she summoned a strength she hadn’t known she had, sold most of her belongings and headed for Florida. The strength had apparently been there all along. She had just never needed it before.

She nodded at Blake. “New locks. That’s a project for tomorrow.”

Hunter finished processing the area, and they stepped from the room. At least there hadn’t been much stuff out in the dining room. Napkins and place mats had been removed from the buffet and lay scattered about the table. But except for some china being shifted around, the mahogany hutch was pretty much as she had left it. The rest of the house was the problem. She was going to spend the next month getting everything cleaned up, reorganized and put back where it belonged.

How had she accumulated so much in two short years? She had left Rhode Island with nothing but her boat, then bought a used car and golf cart. Now she was the proud owner of a newly restored 1880s Victorian and surrounded by stuff. She knew exactly where it had come from. And it was Darci’s fault. Allison met her her first week in Cedar Key, and they became fast friends. Then Darci got her hooked on yard sales, estate sales and consignment shops. Now, two years later, the place was fully furnished, her wardrobe rebuilt and her personal belongings restocked. And then some. Bargain hunting had proven to be addictive.