Marshall stood on a section of rooftop that jutted over the front of the Everwood, a sun-warmed breeze sweeping over his skin as he took in the grove’s budding trees and the rolling hills beyond. Almost hard to believe that just days ago this landscape had been painted in wintry white.
Spring had come to Maple Valley. Maybe for good this time.
And it might’ve even found its way into his soul.
He took a deep, cleansing breath, not at all bothered by the sounds of Drew Renwycke’s three-man crew pushing in from below. They’d torn out what remained of the damaged porch yesterday and expected to have a new one well on its way by the end of today.
Marshall had high hopes of his own for the day. They’d finally begin painting the exterior of the house. He wanted to remove all the second-floor shutters before getting started, though, thus his climb onto the roof.
But first . . . first he just wanted to stand here and breathe. Take in the view. Count the days since his last headache, his last pill. Marvel at how strangely wonderful it felt to wake up with muscles sore from hard but rewarding labor.
For the past two days, he’d worked on scraping away the Everwood’s old, peeling paint. Spent so many hours with a scraper in hand that he’d gone to sleep last night still hearing the rhythm of blunt metal against wood siding. It was a tedious job but he’d had help. Lucas, Jen, Sam—they’d all pitched in.
And Mara. Sweet, beautiful Mara who’d turned out to be her own kind of warm front, thawing his heart in ways that should’ve been impossible. Those kisses Wednesday night—whew, a man stranded in a frozen tundra could survive on that memory alone. How many times was he allowed to mentally relive them before it got just plain ridiculous?
And how long was he supposed to wait before he did it again? Thankful as he was for the friends who were helping, lately there were a few too many people constantly around this place for his liking. Jen had even stayed overnight last night.
He hadn’t had a single moment alone with Mara since two nights ago. Not to kiss her again or to ask her the questions that’d badgered him ever since she’d shared her past on the way home from Minneapolis.
He crossed the slanted roof on careful footing. As long as he was up here, he should check his patchwork from last week too. Make sure that late round of snow hadn’t undone his repairs.
“Marshall Hawkins!”
With a grin, he crept to the edge of the roof and peered over. Mara stood barefoot in dewy grass. She was wearing those baggy overalls again and she waved a porcelain doll in the air, her other hand on her waist.
He heard chuckles from the men working on the porch below. “Something wrong, Miss Bristol?”
“In the coffee mug cupboard? Seriously?”
“Made you laugh, didn’t it?”
“It made me jump and knock a mug out of the cabinet is what it did. It fell to the floor and broke.”
“Don’t you know you shouldn’t walk around barefoot when there’s broken glass around?”
She was pretty always but when she flashed that glower of hers—the one she tried so hard to keep in place and failed at so badly—she was downright captivating.
“I’m coming up there.”
Be my guest. She disappeared from view and seconds later, the ladder rattled against the side of the porch roof. He dropped the tool belt from his waist and ambled to the edge. “Careful, Mara.”
Her red hair tumbled over her shoulders as she looked up at him. “I’m perfectly capable of climbing a ladder.”
“Yeah, but your feet are probably wet from the grass and the ladder will be slick.” He reached down as she neared the top, stretched out his hand. “Why don’t you ever wear socks and shoes like a normal person?” He pulled her over the edge, bringing her to her feet with mere inches of space between them.
She didn’t step back. “What’s wrong with bare feet?”
Her toes peeked out from under those silly old overalls. Adorable. “As it turns out, nothing at all.” He shuffled closer and hooked one arm around her waist. “It’s not so bad a coffee mug broke, you know. That cupboard was crammed way too full anyway.”
“Wouldn’t have been so full if you hadn’t stuffed a doll in it.”
“Touché.” The word was barely past his lips before they met hers. Finally. She leaned into his kiss without even a trace of hesitation, her hands coming up to his chest. Only when the sound of men talking below somehow pushed in did he make himself stop. “Good morning, by the way.”
“Good morning.” She fiddled with the button of his shirt pocket. “That was . . . quite the greeting.”
He’d never seen her smile so widely or blush so deeply. Wouldn’t be the last time if he had anything to say about it. Although right at the moment, it’d probably be smart to take another step back and get some distance. Otherwise he’d just keep on kissing her and never get a thing done today. He slid his hand from Mara’s waist, but his feet refused to budge.
What had he come up here for anyway?
Right. The shutters.
“We’ve got a lot to do today,” he said lamely. And yet, he finally had her all to himself. He hated to ruin such a perfect moment, but the cop in him could only wait so long. “Mara? There’s something we need to talk about.”
She still stood close enough that he could smell whatever pear-scented lotion or perfume it was she always wore. But gone was her dazed look from his kiss and in its place, a sigh. “I knew we’d have to talk about it eventually. For two days I’ve been walking around wondering when we’d finally grow up and talk like adults.”
“Huh?”
“I kissed you. And you kissed me. That’s kind of a big deal. I mean, people talk about that kind of thing. Right? I don’t have much of a dating history, but you’ve been married, so I figured you’d be the one to—”
He was shaking his head, chuckling, fighting the desire to skip the talk and kiss her all over again. “That’s not what I meant.”
“No? So we’re just never going to acknowledge that something has massively changed here?”
“Not what I said, Miss Bristol.” This would be a whole lot easier if she wasn’t so cute when she was exasperated. “Of course we should talk about . . . this. At some point. But I need to ask you about Garrett.”
She turned away and he immediately missed her closeness. “There’s really nothing more to say.”
“There is. I want to make sure you’re safe. If you give me a last name and a street address—”
“There’s no point, Marsh. It was months and months ago.”
“Lucas looks like him, right? That’s why you jumped when you first saw him here last week. You were upset about your name and location being in the newspaper. You’re still dealing with the after-effects of Garrett now.”
She ran her palms up and down her bare arms. He pulled off the flannel shirt he wore over his tee and held it out. She accepted it without hesitation. Great, she looked even cuter swallowed up in it.
“Did you call his parents? Let them know what he’d done?”
She gave a bare shake of her head. “They didn’t believe me before, so—”
“Did you file a police report?”
“I didn’t think—”
“Mara, he threatened you. He followed you to another state. He hurt you.”
She lifted her hand to comb her fingers through tangled hair, the sleeves of his shirt flopping over her wrist. “I’m sorry I didn’t handle this to your exacting standards, Marshall, but I’d never been in that kind of situation before. And I was alone. I didn’t have anyone to lean on. I just wanted to get away.”
He stepped closer to her, but she stepped backward. Just like that first night in the cellar. He’d handled this all wrong, throwing questions like darts at her. Especially when she’d been expecting a discussion of an entirely different nature. “I wasn’t trying to accuse you in any way. I’m sorry. Really. I’m only trying to help here.”
“It’s just hard to talk about.”
“Sometimes it’s worth talking about the hard things.” This time when he took a step toward her, she didn’t move away.
“And yet . . . you don’t talk about Laney.”
The space between them cooled in an instant. He bristled even as he told himself not to. Even as he watched the regret slide into Mara’s blue-green eyes the moment the words were out.
“I shouldn’t have said that, Marsh. They’re drastically different situations. I would never compare—”
“It’s okay.” She’d only spoken the truth, after all. But even so, he could sense it—his wall going up. And he hated it.
Because he was ready to admit he felt things for this woman he hadn’t felt in so, so long. He was ready to acknowledge that for the first time in years, he could almost imagine a new life. He’d put Penny’s visit out of his head. He hadn’t given a thought to how many days were left of his administrative leave. Since kissing Mara on Wednesday night, he’d let his mind and his heart fill to the brim with desire he’d not even known he was still capable of.
He was ready for whatever might be blooming between them.
But he was not ready to talk about Laney. Not even with her.
“Marshall—” she began, but something past him caught her attention and she broke off, her eyes widening. He turned. What in the world? Cars—a whole line of them—moving down the gravel lane in a cloud of dust under tires.
“What’s going on?” Mara bit her lip as she turned to Marshall.
The first cars were parking now, people piling out with brushes and rollers, ladders and buckets. “I think they’re here to help.”
Mara still wore Marshall’s shirt.
All these hours later, she still wore his shirt, and she still regretted bringing up his daughter the way she had. Surely it wasn’t wrong of her to be curious about his past, especially with all that had happened between them in such a short time.
But it’d been insensitive to toss his great loss into the middle of an already tense conversation. They’d hardly exchanged two words the rest of the morning and into the afternoon. He didn’t seem angry. Only . . . distant.
Or maybe he was just busy acting as team captain for the townspeople who’d surprised them by showing up ready to be put to work.
“Hey, you going to help or just perch up there motionless with your brush dripping paint on my head?”
Mara’s gaze swooped down from where she balanced near the top of the ladder she’d been sharing with Jenessa for the past hour. A drop of white paint had landed in Jen’s hair. “Sorry.”
Jen hopped off a rung near the bottom. “I need more paint.”
Mara did too. She made her way down and abandoned her roller long enough to re-knot Marshall’s shirt at her waist. Laughter, voices, and the clatter of people at work rose in every direction around the Everwood.
After the group from town had descended on them this morning, Marshall had taken charge while Mara ran inside to grab shoes. By the time she’d returned outside, at least two dozen people were at work, prying open cans of paint and setting up ladders. A few had been assigned to help Drew and his crew with the porch.
Jenessa knelt near a paint can and used a screwdriver to lever open its lid. Mara carried over their empty can and found a spare brush to scrape out any remaining paint.
“Are you ever going to admit that you’re the one who got all these people to give up their Saturday to come out here?”
Jenessa’s stylish straw hat blocked her eyes. “Nope. ‘Cause I didn’t.”
“Someone had to have spread the word that we were painting today.”
Jenessa propped her stir stick on the upturned lid of the paint can then poured a smooth pool of white into her tray. White house, blue door. Such a deep blue it was almost purple. Just like that magazine ad she’d seen on Marshall’s nightstand.
Another thing she wanted to ask him about. Would he clam up about that too?
Maybe she should just ignore her questions. But ever since that first kiss, she’d found herself wanting to know everything about him. Not just about his past, but his thoughts on the future. He had a job to return to, didn’t he? A whole life back in Wisconsin.
Slow down, Mara. It was one kiss.
And another this morning. And two days’ worth of exchanged looks and shared smiles and . . .
And she had it bad. For a man she’d only known two weeks.
A man she hoped she hadn’t pushed away this morning.
The thing was, when he’d asked those questions about Garrett, about whether she’d called his parents or notified the police, a heavy weight had thunked through her, landing in her stomach. She hadn’t done either of those things. She’d done . . . nothing.
Just like she’d done nothing when Lenora hadn’t returned one week after another.
“You’re staring again, Mara. Do you need a break?” Jenessa stood at the ready, paint tray in one hand and roller in the other.
Mara shook her head. “Nah, I’ve got hours left in me.” She moved the ladder down the wall a few feet then grabbed her roller and started climbing. “I still can’t believe all these people came out to help today.”
“By the way, if you want to thank someone for all this help, you should talk to Sam.”
Mara paused halfway up the ladder. “Sam? Gruff Sam?” Who’d only just a week ago had suspicions about Mara’s presence here?
“The man has a heart of gold, Mara. The minute he decided you weren’t, in fact, a squatter or somehow involved in Lenora’s disappearance, he became your ally.” Jen streaked white paint over the wall below. “He’d be here himself, except Harper got called in to work and asked him to watch Mackenzie. I’m sure he’ll come later, though.”
Mackenzie. Sam’s daughter. There was a mystery all its own. “So Harper is . . .”
“His story to tell.”
“Oh.”
Jenessa held on to the back of her hat as she tipped her head to look up at Mara. “Fine. Only the bare facts. Sam and Harper were never a thing. It was a one-night stand on the day he was left at the altar.”
“Sam was left at the altar?”
“By Lucas’s sister.”
“What?”
Jenessa went back to painting. “That’s all you’re getting from me. Other than Sam’s an amazing father and it stinks that he doesn’t have Mackenzie with him more often. I’m pretty sure he would’ve married Harper as soon as he found out she was pregnant if she’d been willing. Sometimes I think that hurt him—maybe still hurts him—almost more than being jilted did.”
Mara would never look at Sam the same again. Every day she spent with these friends, she glimpsed another piece of their family-like puzzle. They cared so intently for each other.
And now they’d turned that care upon her. Even Sam.
Mara lowered her roller and Jen grabbed it, dipped it into the paint and lifted it back up. The smell of hamburgers, courtesy of Seth Walker and The Red Door, wafted from the grill, and music drifted from speakers that’d come from who knew where.
“You know what I think?” Jen said. “I think there must be something magical about this house. Even Lucas seems happier since he’s come here. I used to think it’d make a perfect haunted house. But now, the whole atmosphere has changed.”
Yes, and Mara was changing with it. With every week that passed, her roots grew deeper—not just at the Everwood, but here in Maple Valley. For eight months she’d lived on the edge of this little town without having any idea what she was missing out on. Now that she knew, there was so much more at stake than simply saving the Everwood. This is where she wanted to stay.
If Lenora were to show up and ask her again about her dreams, this would be her answer—this place and these people.
And that man across the way currently helping Logan Walker carry a stack of two-by-fours. A strong, ridiculously handsome man who’d burrowed his way into her heart. Maybe the only man she’d ever known who looked just as attractive with a beard or without or especially with an in-between shadow. He was kind and funny and protective and . . .
And oh, how she wished she could take back this morning.
Not all of it. Not the kiss. Just the careless way she’d brought up his daughter.
Mara rolled paint across the wall as far as she could stretch. Then froze.
A song, a voice she hadn’t heard—hadn’t let herself hear—in years floated from the speakers.
You’re my forever girl
The one my heart adores
You’re my always girl
I could never ask for more
“All right. Another drip. We’re going to have to switch—” Jenessa cut off, head tipped to Mara. “What’s wrong with you?”
Mara clambered down the ladder. “That’s one of my dad’s songs. Not just one of his songs. That’s him singing.” She’d told Jenessa while they’d scrubbed the lime stains from one of the upstairs bathtubs earlier this week about Dad leaving.
She started to march toward the speaker now but paused and returned to Jen. What was she going to do? Demand someone turn off the radio?
When you’re right here
And I’m far away
You’re the one I’ll think of
And when we’re back together, this is what I’ll say
You’re my forever girl . . .
“They’re horrible, cheesy lyrics, right?”
Jen took the roller out of Mara’s hand and propped it near the can. “I don’t know. They’re kind of—” At Mara’s slanted brows, she started over. “Yep. Horrible. Cheesy.”
“Country music is the worst.”
“The worst.” Jen nodded.
“Marshall thinks so.”
“He’s a smart man.”
“Of course he is.” Unlike some. Unlike a man who left home then rubbed salt in the wound by turning a little chorus he used to sing at his daughter’s bedside into a commercial hit.
If only he didn’t sound so much like he meant the words as he crooned them in a slow, acoustic melody.
Her attention caught on Marshall once more. He was still with Logan Walker, but now the man’s daughter was with them, jumping at her father’s side until he reached down to swing her onto his hip. Was that hard for Marshall to watch? If it was, he didn’t give anything away. In fact, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a packet of Tic Tacs, offering the girl one.
There. Those two men—that’s what fathers looked like. Logan Walker clearly besotted with his kid. Marshall Hawkins carrying around a broken heart out of undying love for his.
And with what she’d just learned about Sam . . .
She wasn’t bitter and she wasn’t mad, but oh, she was lying to herself if she pretended it didn’t still hurt.
Jenessa came up beside her, draped one arm around her back. “Have you ever tried to reach out to your dad, Mara?”
“I emailed him a few times when I was a teenager.” And she’d called him once. After Mom’s heart attack. She’d found a phone number in Mom’s things and left a message for him when he didn’t answer.
He hadn’t even shown up for the funeral.
“Maybe it would help if you did. Maybe it’d give you closure.”
Or it’d only open a door in her heart she’d closed long ago.
Except have I really? If hearing his voice still stings this much?
“I hate to say it, guys. I really do.”
Marshall looked up from the mess of papers spread across the coffee shop table, knowing what Sam Ross was going to say before he said it. He knew that mixed look of frustration and resignation.
“We’ve hit a dead end.”
He didn’t have to look at Mara to sense her deflating next to him. On her other side, Jenessa gave a dramatic sigh while across the table, Lucas finished off his beverage.
They’d been sitting in this coffee shop for almost an hour discussing Lenora, reviewing what they knew.
Spirits had been high when they first arrived. They’d decided to celebrate the long, successful day of work by driving in to Maple Valley for ice cream. But by the time they’d arrived in town, it was already after 9:30 p.m. and the only place left open was the coffee shop on the riverfront—Coffee Coffee. It was an eclectic little spot with a mishmash of brightly colored furniture and mosaic-topped tables.
They sat at a table edged up to one of the shop’s large front windows. No peering moonlight tonight—not with those downy clouds filling the near-black sky. But the light of the lampposts dotting the walking path around the riverfront reflected over the water’s ripples.
Sam folded his arms on the tabletop. “We know Lenora was in Davenport, so we could start calling hospitals in the area, but how far out do we go? We might have a grainy pic from I-80 in eastern Illinois but still no credit or debit card activity. Her name and license don’t show up in any accident reports.”
“She can’t have just disappeared.” Mara sagged in her chair. From disappointment at their stalled case or simply fatigue from so many hours in the sun?
Probably both. Marshall fought the urge to drape his arm around the back of her chair. Before their talk on the roof this morning, he might’ve, even with their friends looking on.
But there was a strain between them now. He itched to make things right. Apologize for bulleting so many Garrett-related questions at her. For prickling the moment she’d mentioned Laney.
Then again, what if a little distance was a good thing? There was still so much Mara didn’t know about him. She didn’t know about the pills, about the mistakes he’d made on the job that had forced him into administrative leave. If she had any idea how low he’d sunk in the past couple of years—
“Marshall?”
He blinked to attention. Had Sam just asked him something?
“You’re the big-city detective. You see anything here we’re missing?”
He scanned the documents on the table—information on The Crabapple Tree, a Wikipedia entry on Argo Spinelli, notes on Lenora’s vehicle. “You’re checking art dealers?”
Sam nodded.
He hated to think what the lack of bank activity or failure to locate Lenora’s car might signal. Probably nothing good. If she had found the painting, maybe she’d also found a buyer. Maybe it was a sketchy buyer.
Sometimes he hated having a policeman’s mind.
He picked up the printout on the painting. “It goes back to this. I know it. Either she found it. Or she’s still looking for it. Or—”
Sam stole his next words. “Or someone else is still looking.”
Lucas sat up straighter. “If this Spinelli guy was some kind of mob boss, he may still have living relatives or associates out there. Even though he died in prison a few decades ago, maybe they’re out to make good on an old grudge. Could be dangerous.”
“And if Lenora was making inquiries about the painting—”
Mara bolted from her chair and without a word crossed the coffee shop and disappeared out the door.
An awkward hush fell over the table.
Jenessa cleared her throat. “I could go . . .” It was a half-hearted offer considering the look she gave Marshall. A perfect match for Sam’s and Lucas’s expectant glances.
Marshall pushed away from the table. He reached for Mara’s empty travel cup. She’d gone for the decaf house blend, hadn’t she? He stopped at the counter for a refill.
“Take her on a walk over the Archway Bridge.”
His attention darted to the woman with jet-black hair behind the counter. The owner, according to Jenessa. Megan, according to her nametag. She hardly looked twenty-five. Awfully young to be a business owner. “Say what?”
“Mara looked upset. Walking across the Archway Bridge always makes me feel better. It’s the big white one.”
“You know Mara?”
She flicked her hair over her shoulder with a roll of her eyes. “This is Maple Valley. I’ve got the caffeine. So I hear things. All the things.”
All the gossip, she meant. “Well, thanks for the suggestion.”
“If you’re smart, you’ll take it.” She gave him a wave of her hand, shooing him out the door.
He found Mara on the walking path, gaze on the river, arms hugged to her waist. The breeze lifted strands of her hair. He handed her the coffee. “You all right?”
She shook her head.
Down the path he saw the bridge the barista had mentioned. An arching iron structure. Picturesque even without the glow of moonlight. He pointed. “Want to walk?”
Not until they reached the bridge did she finally speak up. “Marshall, about this morning—”
“I’m sorry about that, Mara. I really am. I just threw those questions at you—”
“No, I’m sorry. The way I brought up . . .”
Did she think he’d get upset all over again if she said Laney’s name? They stopped halfway across the bridge. The sound of the wind brushing over the river, water lapping at its bank, the twinkling lights of the riverfront businesses . . . that barista was right to suggest this. It was peaceful, calming.
Mara leaned against the railing, one arm dangling over, the other hand lifting her cup for a drink. He traced her profile with his gaze. He wished . . .
He wished what?
I wish I could stay.
Here in this little town with its quirky events and friendly people. Here where his life brimmed with new possibilities.
Here with Mara.
But what about Beth and Alex and the kids? What about his job—Captain Wagner and his coworkers? As much as he liked his new friends here, he did have people he cared about in Wisconsin, even if he’d done a lousy job of showing it in recent years.
He closed his eyes. Inhaled the scent of Mara’s coffee, heard the distant motor of a car, the swish of tall grass along the riverbank. Longed for a regretful moment for the kind of faith he used to have. The old Marshall would’ve prayed about his competing desires. Would’ve asked God for guidance.
“Somewhere deep down there’s still a piece of you that wants to believe.” Beth had said that. Maybe it was the truth.
When he opened his eyes, Mara was watching him. “Why’d you leave just now, Mara?”
She looked away. “I’m just . . . I’m so annoyed with myself. Sam and Luke were talking about people looking for the painting, people who could be dangerous, and all I could think was, if I’d just done something . . . if I’d asked Lenora what she was looking for or gone to the police station when she didn’t come back . . .”
“Didn’t we already talk about this that night in the attic?”
“It’s not just Lenora. I should’ve called Garrett’s parents. I should’ve filed a report.”
He could kick himself. “Mara, I never meant to make you feel—”
“And my dad. I called him one time as a teenager. One time. I heard one of his songs today, and it’s a song he wrote for me. And I know it’s crazy to think, but what if . . . what if he was trying to reach out through his music and I never paid attention? For almost twenty years, I’ve lived with the thought that he gave up on his family. But didn’t I give up on him too?”
Marshall turned to face Mara, planted his hands on her shoulders. “He left you. You’re not the one who should feel guilty.”
She set her coffee cup on the railing. “It’s not guilt. It’s disappointment. I’m disappointed in myself for being so . . . so passive. I don’t want to be someone who gives up too soon or runs away too fast or misses out because I’m too passive to do something.”
“Would a passive person stand up in front of a city council and make a presentation to secure a grant? Or pour herself into fixing up a B&B that everyone else assumed was a lost cause? And you’re not just saving the Everwood, Mara. Every day that I’ve spent here—with you—I’ve felt a little more whole. You are doing something. And it matters. You matter.”
Her eyes filled with tears. He slid his hands from her shoulders to her back and pulled her close. He held her for a long, quiet moment. Felt her heart beat against his. Heard his soul whisper once more. Stay.
Could it be that simple?
You’ve only known her two weeks. You have a life back in Wisconsin. There are a hundred things she doesn’t know about you. And probably just as many you don’t know about her.
Well, maybe that’s where he should start. Take a step back—emotionally, physically, and otherwise—and give it some time.
“Hey, Mara?”
From the cocoon of his arms, she looked up at him. Her eyes no longer glistened. “Hmm?”
“I was wondering . . .” He swallowed. “Do you think . . . is there any chance . . .” Man, it’d been a long time since he’d done this. “Could we go on a date? After the open house is over and things settle down. I feel like maybe we’ve gotten ahead of ourselves in some ways and . . .” Her breathtaking smile messed with his train of thought.
“By ‘some ways’ you mean those couple little kisses, right?”
He was thankful for the dark that masked his flush. “Not gonna lie, Mara. If you count those as ‘little’ kisses, I’m pretty eager to see what you consider a not-so-little kiss.”
“And here you said we shouldn’t get ahead of ourselves.”
“That’s not exactly what I said, and for the record, if memory serves, you’re the one who started the kissing thing.” If they kept talking about kissing, he was going to have to forget about taking a step back. “By the way, you haven’t answered me.”
“Yes, Marshall, I would love to go on a date with you.” She eased away from him, retrieved her coffee cup, and started across the bridge. “In the meantime, I’m going to learn every little thing I can about Argo Spinelli and his crime ring. Because if this all ties back to the painting and the painting ties back to him then it’s not a dead end. Surely we can learn more about him. That prof said he had a daughter, right? We should find out if he has living relatives, known partners—”
Marshall halted, his mental cogs spinning, a thought—a hunch—coming in to focus. It was there, right at the edge of his brain . . . “Oh.”
“Marsh?”
“The photo. Those film reels we found in the attic. We need to get back to the Everwood.”
“Marshall, slow down. It’s not worth getting your very first speeding ticket.” Mara gripped the seatbelt over her shoulder. Less because of concern over Marshall’s driving and more because her own jitters.
If Marshall’s hunch was correct, would it finally give them a solid lead?
“When did I tell you I’ve never had a speeding ticket?”
“Your second morning at the Everwood. I was eating Lucky Charms. You were trying to convince me I wasn’t crazy to let you stay.”
“Good memory.”
Yeah, well, he was a memorable guy.
The headlights of Lucas’s truck behind them shone in the rearview mirror.
“I still don’t understand how you put it all together.” Mara’s leg bounced on the floor. She had ordered decaf tonight, right?
Marshall turned onto the gravel lane that led to the house. “You mentioned Spinelli’s daughter, and I suddenly remembered that professor saying his daughter was an actress. And then I remembered those film reels in the attic. I think they had initials on them. J.S.”
And back at the bridge Marshall had pulled out his phone and Googled until he’d discovered the name of Argo Spinelli’s daughter. Jeane. Like the Jeane in the photo Mara had found. Jeane Spinelli. J.S.
“I’m tracking with you, but what’s the daughter of a mob boss doing at a B&B in Iowa?”
Marshall lifted one eyebrow. “Running it? Think about it. Lenora’s parents—who we already know went by at least two different names—had a painting that belonged to Spinelli. Maybe they were art thieves or maybe—”
“Maybe Arnold and Jeane are Lenora’s parents.” Which made Lenora the granddaughter of a high-profile career criminal.
“I want to look at those film reels to see if I’m remembering the initials right. It’s just a hunch at this point.”
Marshall pulled up in front of the house. The first coat of fresh white paint stood out against the night’s shadows. But wait . . .
“We should keep digging online and see if we can find a photo of Jeane Spinelli too. And—”
“Marsh.” His name came out in a sharp gasp as her attention snagged on the Everwood’s open front door.
And the figure running toward the grove.
Marshall saw the racing form only a moment after Mara. He thrust the vehicle into park. “Tell Lucas.”
He was out the door in seconds, his scrambling gaze locking on the intruder, but it was far too dark to make out any details.
Soon he heard Lucas sprinting behind him. Grass, leaves, twigs snapped and crunched as they ran. He entered the grove, dodging trees . . . but whoever they chased had too much of a head start. He cleared the grove and reached a parked car. The intruder sped away before Marshall could get so much as a glimpse of the license plate.
Marshall slowed, lungs heaving. He bent over his knees, breathing hard, looking up when Lucas reached him.
“Get a look at him?”
He shook his head.
“A burglar? Or . . .” Lucas looked into the distance where the car had disappeared. “What are the odds we’re not the only ones looking for Lenora?”
Frankly, Marshall would rather entertain that thought than the other one that’d immediately entered his brain. Garrett.