Page 214 of Cold Case, Warm Hearts

So who killed her parents? Fate? Or did a murderer lurk behind some smiling face she had grown to trust? She didn’t believe any of them were capable of cold-blooded murder. Maybe she should just give up and go back to school.

No. She wasn’t going to quit this time. She was done with quitting. Giving up was why she was still in school at age twenty-eight. She changed majors so many times Jake had jokingly called her a jack-in-the-box instead of a jack of all trades. Maybe he was right. She’d hopped from goals so many times, she’d lost count. But this was too important to mess up. She would stay the course.

But only if God helped her. It was too hard to do on her own, and she realized that was what her problem had been. She was trying to prove she could do it instead leaning on Him. He could give her the strength to see this through.

She got in her pajamas and crawled under the covers. A bloated moon shone through the window. She read her Bible then turned out the light. Laying in the dark, she prayed for strength of purpose and for God to show His will for her life. Maybe she was supposed to be caretaker for this property. She wanted to be open to what God had in store for her. She finally drifted to sleep.

She dreamed she was underwater. Seaweed wrapped around her neck, choking her. She fought the long green strands, tugging on them with all her might as she struggled for breath. The cold water of Lake Superior numbed her limbs, and she flailed against the creeping paralysis.

The seaweed turned into a pillow pressed against her face and a hand on her throat. Becca couldn’t see her assailant, but came awake and began to fight with all her might. She struggled against the muffling folds of the pillow. Her thrashing wrapped the bedclothes around her in a tight embrace, but she managed to get one leg free and kicked out with her right foot.

The pressure on her throat lessened a fraction, and she flung out an arm, connecting with someone’s face. She felt whisker stubble, then the pillow fell away, and a dark figure dashed from the room. Her vision was too blurry to make out any features. Sick and shaken, she rolled onto the floor and lay there. She drew air in past a sore throat and rubbed her neck.

She should call for help, but she knew she’d never get more than a squeak out past the pain. Rocking to her hands and knees, she retched weakly, but nothing came up. Sucking in her breath, she tried to slow her racing heart.

She grabbed the edge of the bed and managed to get to her feet. Her legs trembled and she swayed as she walked toward the door. Max. Becca wanted Max. His strength and calm assurance. He would know what to do.

Holding to the wall, she wandered down the hall and rapped on his door. There was no answer. She knocked again a little louder. When there was still no response, she twisted the doorknob and stumbled into the room.

“Max?” Flicking on his light, she saw his bed was empty.

She leaned against the doorjamb, not sure she could stay standing. Could Max have been her attacker? She didn’t want to believe that, but Molly had the most to lose by Gram’s decision. If Becca were out of the way, Molly would get a full share with everyone else.

“Becca? What’s going on?” Max stood behind her.

Still fully dressed, his hair was rumpled. Was he disheveled from the struggle with her? Heartsick, she wobbled where she stood.

“What’s wrong?”

“So—someone tried to kill me,” she rasped out.

His face changed from mild concern to amusement. “Were you dreaming?”

She tilted up her chin to expose her throat. “Does this look like a dream?”

His face darkened, and he examined her neck, touching it with gentle fingers. She flinched, and he sucked in his breath. “Who did this?”

“I don’t know. Where were you?” She winced at the accusation in her voice.

He scowled. “Molly woke up with a nightmare as I was going to bed, and I laid down with her for a while.”

That explained his rumpled appearance. Maybe. Becca wanted to believe him.

“Show me,” he said. He took her arm and helped her back down the hall.

In spite of her suspicion, Becca couldn’t help feeling better as she clung to his arm.

He flipped on the light in her room. Her bedclothes were in a heap on the floor where she’d left them, and one pillow was beside the bed.

“I woke up with a pillow over my face and someone choking me,” she whispered.

“Man or woman?”

“Man. I felt whiskers.” Becca glanced at Max’s face and examined the whiskers on his face and chin.

“Quit looking at me like that!” he snapped. “You have to know I wouldn’t hurt you, Becca.”

She wanted that to be true. She nodded. “Okay, but you have to admit it looks suspicious.”

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