Page 216 of Cold Case, Warm Hearts

The entire household was still assembled in the living room. Was it his imagination or did everyone look at him with suspicion? Molly rubbed her eyes and leaned against his chest.

“Let’s get you to bed, baby girl,” he said. He stood, cradling her against his chest. “I’m bushed. I’ll see all of you tomorrow.”

“How can you think about sleeping at a time like this?” Shayna demanded. “Who knows if someone will creep back in and murder us all in our beds?”

“I think you’re being melodramatic,” Max said dryly. “Becca seems to be the target. And I need to figure out why.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Tate sat slumped in a chair by the window. “Someone really killed her parents, and they don’t want her to discover their identity.”

“I don’t believe that,” Nick said. “I still think it was an unfortunate accident.” He shot a glance toward Becca. “Sorry.”

“Then why is someone trying to kill Becca? You’re not making sense Nick.” Max shot his brother a quelling look.

Nick shrugged. “Yeah, I guess so.” He rumpled his hair and slumped back in his chair.

Becca looked pale but composed. Max had to admire her spirit. She’d answered the sheriff’s questions with quiet composure. Her bruised throat looked sore, and he wanted to throttle whoever had hurt her like that.

His gaze wandered around the room. Someone didn’t want Becca to inherit Windigo Manor.

Mrs. Jeffries wandered in with her housedress rumpled and the collar askew. “I heard the Windigo tonight. I knew something bad was going to happen. Maybe it was the Windigo himself that attacked you,” she told Becca.

Becca flinched and wrapped her arms around herself. “I don’t think so, Mrs. Jeffries. God wouldn’t let a demon harm me.”

“It’s just a superstition,” Shayna said.

“There are demons in the world,” Becca said. “But they can’t harm a Christian. I’m not afraid.” She said the words with a hint of defiance, and Max admired her spirit.

“I’m not nearly as worried about some mythical creature as I am about a flesh and blood person who is targeting Becca.” Molly was asleep by now, and he cradled her gently.

“You’ll see,” Mrs. Jeffries said with a sniff. She dropped the tray of tea onto the coffee table with a clatter and stalked out of the room.

“You’ve offended her,” Gram said.

“She’s getting worse,” Max said. He stared after the housekeeper. Could Mrs. Jeffries be behind this? Maybe she was upset about Gram leaving the house to Becca. He resolved to feel her out tomorrow sometime and see if she harbored any animosity toward Becca.

“See you in the morning,” he said, carrying his daughter out of the room and up the stairs. He put her into bed then stood looking out her window at the moon shimmering on the Lake.

He saw a figure flit between the trees. An animal? He stared through the gloom but didn’t see anything else moving. He turned and exited Molly’s room and went down the back stairs through the kitchen and out the backdoor.

The scent of dew hung heavy in the air, and pine scent wafted to his nose as he trod over pine needles into the woods.

Once in the woods, he stopped and cocked his head, listening for any sounds other than crickets and the wind soughing through the treetops. Nothing.

Maybe it had been his imagination. He retraced his steps to the house and went inside. He found Becca in the kitchen putting her cup into the dishwasher.

She flinched when she saw him and started to turn toward the door.

“Becca, wait,” he said.

He could see her visibly shrink as he approached where she stood by the sink. “It wasn’t me in your room tonight,” he said urgently. “I want to help you figure it out. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“At least not until your manuscript is done, is that it?”

Her caustic tone stung. “That’s not it at all! I—I care about you. I admit I’m flat out scared that this is more than we think it is.”

“You’rescared? What about me?”

He put his hands on her arms, but she didn’t pull away. “Let me help you. I thought maybe there was something developing between us, Becca, something special.”

---