Page 87 of Building What's Meant to Be

I lean close, worried it’s about the case.

She swallows then says, “I wub you.”

Brave and I both tilt our heads as if not quite understanding.

“I mean I wuv you,” she tries again.

“Do you mean—?”

She shakes her head and places her finger across my lips. “I need to say it. Aiden, I lurve you.”

She’s not quite there, but I pull her into me, not caring that she’s wet and covered in dog hair.

I say, “I’ve done a lot in my career, but love is new to me too.”

She nods her head against my neck as we embrace.

We start with a smoosh and finish with the kiss that sends a shooting star across the sky.

It rains for the next three days, which, despite the profession of love, matches my mood. I’m ready to be done with the Stoll case. Ready to retire and go full country, but Tinsley doesn’t have to worry. I’m keeping the Maybach.

We lose a few days on the exterior of Bubba’s but are just about done inside, which means the crew can return to my house. All that remains there is a long punch list, including installing the light switch plates, vent covers, and weatherstripping around the French doors off the back deck.

I decided not to decorate yet because there’s a certain someone I want to help me with the project. Hint: we’re not related nor does she have her own show on HLTV.

Tinsley covers Mae’s shifts at the Starlight and each day she proudly tells me what she baked. I guess Rhondy even graduated her to decorating cupcakes, which she has a knack for. I also find my way there for a daily mid-morning coffee break.

The bad weather also gives me extra time to work on the case. I traced the Hawaiian shirt receipt to a store in Savannah. I visit and sure enough, the security tape footage shows Gatlin Stoll making the purchase two days before he disappeared. Taking a copy, I watch it carefully in case he was being followed.

I review every detail of the case, writing them all on index cards, and pinning them to the wall in chronological order. Unfortunately, having fallen in love seems to have dampered my usual Sherlock Holmes-esque ability to make deductions based on my observations and clues.

First order of business: I contact Gannon Barnes, who tells me he wrote Gatlin to let him know he got out of jail. Don’t believe it.

Next, I call every animal rescue in the Atlanta area and none of them had a cat in their possession that fits Twinky aka Cindy Clawford’s description.

For the third time, I search Gatlin’s emails and calendar to try to figure out why he went to Atlanta and returned the next day with a cat.

I talk to everyone in the town hall, slide surreptitious questions into conversation at the Starlight, and finally return to Stoll’s house.

We scoured the place the other night and came up with nothing. As the rain pounds down, I sit in the driveway, trying to clear my head, and let the answers in. They’re here somewhere. I’m simply missing something.

Despite my better judgment, for the third time, I break into Stoll’s house. It’s a bit musty and mail spills onto the rug under the slot in the front door. Like when Louella Belle, Bo, Christina,Buck, and I came by recently, I don’t dare turn on a light. Shadows play and jump as the wind blows outside.

“Stoll, where are you?” I whisper as I go from room to room.

Nothing seems out of place except my being here. I rifle through drawers, look in closets, and check for loose floorboards.

I go to his office and run my fingers over surfaces, checking for the seams of hidden compartments in his desk. Nothing.

“Stoll, what are you hiding and where is it?”

I spin in his chair to face the fireplace behind the desk. The Easton Estate has hidden rooms and passageways accessed by bookshelves. Perhaps the fireplace has a lever somewhere, spins, and opens to a lair where I’ll find Stoll’s grand master plans stuck to the wall with thumbtacks.

Instead, I look into a painting of the man himself—it’s massive. Then again, so is he. About as wide as he is tall. His face has a reddish hue in the painting, set with beady eyes, and a smug grin.

I steeple my fingers and think. If I were Stoll, why would I want to take over a town? Why the greed? Why the cat? And if I were to leave anything to point to my involvement in illegal activities, where would I hide it?

In plain sight? Even he’s not that stupid.

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