Page 36 of Midnight Secrets

Outside her door, she put a hand on my arm, gripping my sleeve.

“Oscar.”

Frowning, I glanced at her. She stared at the closed door with wide, frightened eyes.

“What?”

“That door should be open.”

My frown deepened. “You’re sure?”

She nodded. “Contrary to my habits at my listings, I don’t close the interior doors at home. Unless I’m sleeping. I know I left that door open after I changed clothes.”

Her voice rang with conviction.

Pulling out my trusty fingerprint kit once more, I dusted the doorknob, then the light switch inside before flipping on the light.

Claire’s gasp said it all.

The room was in complete disarray.

Clothes hung from the dresser. The bedding had been pulled off, revealing the pale pink fitted sheet covering the mattress—a mattress which was askew, exposing the box spring. All the pillows were on the floor, scattered around like they’d been flung off the bed.

“Why would they ransack this room and not my office?” She wandered a few feet into the space, eyes fixed on the mess.

I had my theories, but I didn’t want to mention them to her. No use making her more scared by telling her some people were just sick perverts. Though I wasn’t sure that was the case. It felt too coincidental that the person connected to my homicide case would also be the victim of some perverse stalker.

Unless it wasn’t supposed to be Marie Hammond who died.

The thought hit me like a Mack truck.

My jaw worked.

Was Claire the intended target? Did the killer think it was her in the house? Who would have a motive to harm her, though?

“Have you had any dealings with anyone who seemed… off, lately?” I tried to keep the question casual. Again, not wanting to alarm her.

She turned a confused frown on me. “What do you mean?”

I lifted a shoulder, digging into the evidence kit for the digital camera. “Just someone who seemed odd. Did anyone make you think twice about what they said or did? It could be something as simple as a comment they made in line at the store or a phone call.”

Her brows twitched as she thought. “No,” she finally answered. “Not that I can remember. Do you think I know who did this?” She swept a hand out at the mess.

“Maybe. Do you ever work in your bedroom?”

“All the time. I like to sit in bed with my laptop and the TV playing. It’s cozy.”

I turned on the camera and aimed it at the bed. “Do people know you do that?”

“Some, yes. I don’t broadcast it, but people who know me have heard me talk about working in here.”

A bit of the tension eased from my shoulders. I far preferred the theory that someone was looking for information on the Hammond case and not here for Claire specifically.

“Okay.” I snapped a few more pictures of the room, then looked at her. “Was there anything in here, work-wise?”

Immediately, she shook her head. “I didn’t bring anything home tonight. And I never leave anything in here. It always goes back to the office with me in the morning. Usually, when I work up here, it’s loading pictures for a listing. Sometimes it’s a contract, but usually, I’m working on a listing.”

My gaze sharpened. “Listing photos, you say?”

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