“I’m sure I will.” Rarity held her hands out to the room. “It’s an amazing library. She was a great curator.”

“She would have loved to show it to you.” Darby paused at the doorway, looking around the room. “Enjoy your time in here. It’s always been my favorite room in the house.”

Rarity pulled out a few possible book choices and moved back toward the fire. There was a leather recliner with a reading lamp near where Killer had settled in. She set the books there, then a name on a book spine caught her eye. Cheryl Jackson. Catherine Doyle had books by the local author too. Of course, that wasn’t surprising since they both lived here, but Rarity pulled out one of the books to see if there was an engraving. Maybe Darby’s grandmother had known the author. It was a long shot, but it was a coincidence that the books were shelved both in her bookstore and in the Doyle library.

She checked each book—no inscription. But now she knew that Cheryl Jackson had written more than the two books Rarity had copies of in the store. She needed to do some more research on the author and see if she could find her. She needed to do more author events and starting with a local author would bring in people around town who didn’t normally visit her bookstore.

Rarity could see it as maybe an open house for the community. She went to the desk and found a pen and a notebook. Tearing out a sheet of paper, she wrote down all the titles of the books and tucked the sheet into her pocket.

The life of a small-town bookseller. She was always working, even when she was helping someone else. She settled into the chair and was still there reading when Holly and Malia stopped in to say good night before they left.

Rarity set the book aside and walked with them to the front door. She took Killer outside as she watched them drive away, and then she sat on the porch, watching the night settle in around them as Killer did his business. She found the trash can by the side of the house, and when she opened it, the scent of blood hit her. There were tons of rags and used-up bottles of cleaning supplies in the trash can. Evidence that Alex had worked hard to make the house not a crime scene anymore but a home. On top of that were the sacks from tonight’s dinner as well as an empty wine bottle. She added the little sack into the can and replaced the lid. The other houses had their cans out by the road, so she pulled the ones from the Doyle house out for an early morning pickup, hoping she’d read the signs right.

Then she took Killer back inside and locked the door. She wandered through the rest of the downstairs and checked all the other doors. They were locked too. Satisfied she’d secured the house, she got a bottle of water out of the fridge and went back to the study to read. It was past midnight when she finally gave up for the night, planning on taking the book upstairs after doing a second run through the house again.

This time she paused by the patio doors in the sunroom. The patio door was open a crack. Had she checked these doors the last time she walked through the room? She locked the door, checked the hold, and then unlocked and locked it again, double-checking that the lock held. Maybe she’d just forgotten to lock the slider last time. Or maybe Darby had come down and went outside while Rarity had been reading. Either way, the door was locked now.

On her way to her bedroom, she made sure the inside lights were off and the outside lights were on, and with Killer at her heels, she moved up the stairwell, book in one hand and stair rail in the other. It was time to call it a night.

Sometime in the night, Killer woke her up, whining in her ear. Rarity turned on the side light and checked the time. Three in the morning. Too soon to be up. She studied Killer’s face. “Do you need to go outside?”

When he barked his response, Rarity groaned. She couldn’t risk him having an accident in Darby’s home. She threw the blankets off her and put the little dog on the floor. She put on some flip-flops and threw her robe over her pajamas. “Come on, then, let’s go out the back. I don’t need Darby’s neighbors watching us at this time of the morning.”

Killer followed along as she used her phone’s flashlight app for light. The old house seemed spooky in the early morning, but Rarity pushed the thoughts of ghosts and ghouls out of her head. She was just taking her dog outside; no need to get all freaked out just because she was in someone else’s house.

She turned on the kitchen lights as she walked through to the sunroom, where she would let Killer out. She turned the lock and pushed the door, but it didn’t move. She looked down at the lock and turned it back. This time the door swung open. Killer hurried outside and ran down the stairs to the yard area. She quickly followed him, using the flashlight to follow his path.

Had she not locked the door before she’d gone to bed? She thought about her routine, the same one she used at home. Lock the door, then check the hold. No, the door had definitely been locked. She swept her flashlight over the backyard. The pool water gurgled, and she could see the ripples from the automatic pool cleaner, but there was nothing else in the yard.

She walked over to the gate behind the pool area, but it was shut. No lock on the gate, but there wasn’t an opener on the other side. Just the inside. She pushed on the gate, but it didn’t move. If someone had gone through this way, they’d made sure the gate was shut. They couldn’t have locked the door from the outside, but they made sure the gate was closed. Maybe to keep anyone from thinking someone was here?

Or maybe she was just imagining that she’d actually locked the door. She turned around, and Killer was sitting on the path, watching her. “Hey, buddy, let’s go back inside.”

He followed her as she made her way back to the house and the door. This time, she checked the lock twice. Then she walked through the downstairs. Nothing looked disturbed until she got to the study. Books were all over the floor. Stacks on stacks. Someone had been in here looking for something. And had left through the back door.

She found a name on her phone and hit dial. A sleepy Drew answered.

“Rarity? What’s going on? Why are you calling at three thirty?”

She glanced around the study one more time. “Drew, you need to come to Darby’s. Someone’s been in the house.”

Chapter 8

Rarity and Darby were sitting at the kitchen table when Drew came back in from the study. He nodded to the coffeemaker, and Darby hopped up to grab him a cup.

“Thanks,” he said as he sat down at the table. “So tell me again what happened last night?”

“Darby was already in bed, but I stayed up to read. I’d taken the trash out when I took Killer for his last walk, or so I thought, for the night. Then I went back to the study. I couldn’t put this book down. When I realized it was almost midnight, I walked through again and checked the lights. I let Killer outside, and the sunroom door was unlocked. I was sure I had locked it earlier when I came back in from taking out the trash.”

“You’re sure?” Drew was making notes, and he met Rarity’s gaze.

“I assumed either Darby had come down while I was reading and stepped outside or I hadn’t locked it right. So I locked and checked the door again. I know it was locked when I went to bed.” She shivered at the implication that someone might have been in the house then, waiting for her to leave the study.

“I didn’t come down last night. I was beat, and after everyone left, I grabbed a couple of books, then said good night to Rarity and went upstairs. She woke me up at just before four telling me you were on your way.” Darby looked inside her cup as if she’d forgotten she just emptied it a few seconds ago. She stood and walked over to the counter, where she refilled it. “Someone was in the house last night. But why would they mess up the study?”

“I think they were looking for something.” Rarity met Drew’s gaze. “You think that too, don’t you?”

“Before we jump to conclusions, let’s just get back to your statement. Killer woke you up at three?” He glanced at her pajamas. “And you went outside in Mickey Mouse pj’s?”