Page 30 of Skin and Bones

“How will we communicate if something changes?” I asked, walking him to the mudroom.

“I’ll call you,” he said, pulling out his phone and frowning at it. “My battery’s dead. Been in meetings all day without a chance to charge it.”

“You can use my charger if you want to stay a bit longer,” I offered, then immediately regretted it when I saw the slight quirk of his eyebrow.

“Thanks, but I should go. Just be at that fundraiser tomorrow night. Dress up, blend in, and keep your eyes open.”

“I always dress up,” I said, slightly offended. “I don’t own sweatpants.”

A hint of a smile touched his lips. “I’ve noticed.”

Before I could process that comment, he was gone, slipping out the mudroom door and into the gathering darkness.

I returned to find Bea watching me with a knowing smile.

“Don’t,” I warned.

“I didn’t say a word,” she replied innocently.

“You didn’t have to. Your face said plenty.”

“All I’m thinking,” she said, leaning closer, “Is that man moves like someone used to staying in the shadows. Very mysterious. Very sexy.”

“We’re investigating a potential murder, Bea. This isn’t a romance novel.”

“The best mysteries always have a little romance,” she replied, patting my cheek. “And darling, the way he looks at you is definitely a mystery worth solving.”

I rolled my eyes, but couldn’t quite suppress the little flutter that had started in my stomach. That was the problem with sheriffs who showed up unannounced and complimented your fashion choices—they had a way of making a girl forget she was supposed to be focused on murder rather than the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled.

The Silver Sleuths departed an hour later, armed with an elaborate plan for tomorrow’s lighthouse mission.

“Remember,” Walt said at the door, “Constant vigilance.”

“I’ll try to stay alert between opening the shop at dawn and running a business all day,” I promised.

After locking up behind them, I moved through the house, checking windows and doors one more time before heading upstairs. Chowder waddled up beside me, his nails clicking on the hardwood stairs.

“What do you think, Chowder? Are we completely crazy for getting involved in this?”

Chowder snorted, which I took as emphatic agreement.

As I changed into my nightgown, I couldn’t help peering out my bedroom window toward the harbor, where the distant lighthouse beam swept rhythmically through the darkness. Somewhere inside that tower, Elizabeth Calvert had hidden something important enough to die for.

Tomorrow night, we’d find out what it was.

“Into each life some rain must fall,” I sang softly as I climbed into bed. “But too much is falling in mine…”

I patted the bed beside me, and Chowder made his way up the small pet stairs I’d placed there years ago. With a grunt of effort, he nestled against my side. Within minutes, he was snoring softly, completely unburdened by thoughts of murder and conspiracy.

“Must be nice,” I whispered, stroking his wrinkled head.

As I lay in bed, I found myself staring at the diary on my nightstand. Only a few days ago, my biggest worry had been whether Mrs. Wexler would remember the extra cinnamon in my beignet order. Now I was searching for clues in a lighthouse with a team of surprisingly formidable senior citizens and a sheriff who seemed to carry as many secrets as answers.

“What would Patrick think of all this?” I whispered to the empty room.

For the first time in years, I realized I couldn’t quite picture his response. That thought should have troubled me, but instead, I felt something unexpected—a flicker of anticipation for tomorrow.

CHAPTER

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