Page 163 of Cold Case, Warm Hearts

“I like to pray,” Molly said. Her hand crept into Becca’s.

Shayna grimaced and opened her mouth, but Tate put his hand on hers.

“That’s enough, Shayna,” he said. “Go ahead and pray, Becca. We’re a bunch of heathens here, but a good influence wouldn’t hurt us.”

Becca knew he meant the words to be encouraging, but they felt condescending. He sat there with his liquor in his hand and a smile on his face that spoke volumes.

A hint of moisture burned the back of her eyes, and she quickly lowered her head before anyone could notice. “Thank you, Lord, for this food. Amen,” she mumbled. Heat scorched her cheeks, and she kept her head down even while the silverware began to tinkle around her. Some witness she’d been. Her mother would have been ashamed of her.

She was going to have to do better than this if she expected to accomplish her goals here before her grandmother returned.

Molly squeezed her hand, and Becca raised her head. “Grammy will like you.”

“I imagine she will,” Max said on Becca’s other side. “And we’ll soon find out. She just called and she’s heading home next week.”

“Next week? I thought you said she’d be gone a month.” Becca winced at the dismay in her voice and hoped no one had noticed.

Max nodded. “Yep. She’s lonely for home. She would have come home tomorrow if she could have managed it.”

A week. Becca’s heart took a nosedive to her toes. That wasn’t nearly enough time to find out who murdered her parents.

CHAPTER FOUR

Becca punched her pillow for the umpteenth time and bunched it under her head. The sound of waves crashing on the rocks echoed through the screen on her open window, which should have lulled her to sleep hours ago. The breeze blew the gauzy curtains into streamers in the moonlight.

She’d been here two days without accomplishing a thing. She was going to have to pry harder. It went against her nature. She normally tried not to draw attention to herself. Her size was a big enough attention-getter. But this called for drastic measures.

She tried to pray, but the words wouldn’t come. If she didn’t discover who murdered her parents before her grandmother got back, her whole plan would come falling down around her ears. Dread soured her stomach. She’d never be able to pull the wool over Gram’s eyes. She might be getting up there in years, but she’d always been observant. Mom and Dad said she hadn’t changed a bit.

If she failed to discover the murderer before her grandmother got back, her only hope was to meet with her grandmother in private for the first time, and beg her to keep Becca’s identity a secret. That was a long shot, and she knew it.

Becca sat up and drew her knees to her chest. She glanced at the clock on the bedside table. The glowing green numbers said twelve-ten. Maybe she could check out the room down the hall—Laura’s room then get a glass of warm milk. There was no way she could relax enough to go to sleep.

She slipped her feet into the slippers by her bed and grabbed her robe. Cinching it around her, she opened the door and stepped into the dark hall.

Tiptoeing down the hall, she put her hand on the doorknob to Laura’s room. It was locked. She frowned then went to her room and got a bobby pin. Kneeling in front of the door, she was very conscious of every sound, every whisper of air movement from the furnace register behind her.

Maybe she should give it up. The lock resisted her prying and prodding, then finally, she heard a slight click. She turned the doorknob, and this time the door swung open. She stepped inside and shut the door behind her.

Reaching along the wall, she found the light switch and flipped it on. The soft glow from the overhead light illuminated a decidedly feminine room. She had to wonder how a very masculine Max liked being in this room when Laura was alive.

A lace coverlet lay over a pink satin spread on the bed. More pink and lace festooned the windows. Lovely glass perfume bottles sat on a mirrored tray at the dresser. Even the bedside lamps dripped with lace.

Becca went to the closet and opened the door. All Laura’s clothes were still inside. She touched a red sweater. Laura’s favorite color had been red.

Max must have loved her very much to have kept everything like she left it. Becca surprised herself by feeling a touch of sympathy for her gruff boss.

“What are you doing on Mommy’s room?” Molly stood in the doorway rubbing her eyes.

Becca whirled at the child’s voice and put her hand to her throat. “You scared me out of five years of my life, Molly.”

“Daddy doesn’t like anyone to come in here.”

“I was just looking around. We should get you back to bed. Let’s keep this our secret, okay? Just like the attic?” Becca hated to feel she was blackmailing a child. “Never mind, you can tell your daddy if you want. I won’t tell about the attic.”

“I won’t tell either. I want you to stay and Daddy might make you leave if he knew you were here.” Molly yawned and leaned against the door.

“Let’s both go. I’m sorry if I was trespassing.” She took Molly’s hand and walked her down the hall to the child’s bedroom. After tucking her into bed, Becca stood in the hall wondering what to do next.

---