think it’s possible Bernie didn’t want to have to look for a murderer, so he ruled your father’s death an accident before he’d fully examined all the possibilities.”
It was as she’d feared. “You never finished telling me why you suspected it wasn’t an accident.”
The formidable man leaned toward her, his dark eyes black in the dying light. Maggie thought about turning a light on, but his shadowed gaze held her eyes, and her fear kept her rooted in place.
“Your father called me,” Gideon began again where he’d left off in his story earlier, “and said he’d found something in the basement that he wanted me to see. I asked him what it was, but he said I wouldn’t believe it until I saw it with my own eyes. I wish I could recall his exact words, but I know he said it was very suspicious, whatever it was. When I got here twenty minutes later, he was dead.”
“So that’s the reason you think he might have been murdered—because he found something suspicious inside the house?”
“Yes. That, and when I found him, his pockets were all turned inside out.”
Maggie took a startled step back, and the old floorboards groaned along with her. “Someone searched his body before you got there?”
“That’s what it looked like to me. I can’t imagine your father running around with his pockets inside out—that just wasn’t like him. I knew him well enough to know that. His wallet was lying beside him on the floor, but from what we could tell, nothing was missing. We took fingerprints. Most of them matched your father’s, but there were a few that still hadn’t found a match when I was last on the case.”
Much as Maggie tried to tell herself it didn’t make any difference, the idea that her father may have been murdered made his death that much more difficult to bear. She bit down on her lower lip to keep it from trembling.
Gideon obviously noticed her distress. “I’m sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t be telling you this.”
“No.” She sniffled and tried to work her face into a smile. “I’m glad you told me. I was thinking about moving into this house since we’re going to be working on it anyway, but I’m not going to do that as long as the cause of my father’s death is unresolved.” She stopped short as the expression on Gideon’s face tightened. “If you want to work on the house, that is. I didn’t mean to assume—”
“It’s fine. I’ll take the job, if you’re offering it. I owe your father, you know.”
Maggie wasn’t sure she understood what he meant. “You mean since he taught you about carpentry?”
“I suppose that.” Gideon’s mouth tightened into a grim line. “And because I failed to catch his killer.”
Not willing to think about that subject any longer, Maggie said, “It’s getting dark, and I really don’t want to stay here any later this evening. Can I meet you tomorrow morning to talk about plans for the house?”
Gideon nodded and reached for the doorknob, easily opening the door that had given Maggie so much trouble earlier. “Sure thing.” They arranged when to meet, and Gideon extended his hand toward her as he thanked her again. “I appreciate having some work to do. This project should give me plenty to get my mind off everything else that’s happened.”
Reluctantly, Maggie shook his hand, once again surprised by the warmth she felt at that simple contact, and by the glittering blackness of his eyes in the dusky room. “I appreciate your willingness to take on the job, in spite of its complexity.” She fumbled over her words as she looked up at him, feeling an odd connection with the man who knew her father so well. With the man who’d found her father’s dead body.
THREE
Gideon arrived at the house on Shady Oak Lane ten minutes early and settled his tool belt around his hips where his gun belt used to sit. The weight of the hammer and measuring tape weren’t equal to that of his gun and billy club, but it nonetheless felt good to wear the tools of a trade again, even if it wasn’t his chosen trade.
He grabbed his clipboard and circled the property, watchful for any signs of disturbance or clues that may have been missed before. It bothered him that Glen Arnold’s murderer was still at large, without even so much as an investigation under way to catch him. If Gideon had anything to say about it, the murderer would be caught. He might not be sheriff any longer, but he’d ensure the future safety of Glen Arnold’s daughter. He owed the man that much.
As he came around to the front side of the house, he saw Maggie drive up in her father’s truck, looking even smaller than usual behind the wheel of the full-size pickup. Poor girl. She looked skittish as she hopped out of the front seat, glancing around nervously as though her father’s murderer might leap out of the bushes at any moment. Even from across the yard, he could see the fear on her face, the same vulnerability that had crossed her expression so many times when they’d spoken the day before.
His jaw tightened along with his resolve. He would keep this woman safe. He’d failed her father. He’d failed all of Holyoake County by missing the clues to his brother’s drug-making activities for so long. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he failed Maggie Arnold, too.
“Good morning,” he called out so she wouldn’t be startled by his approach. “Just thought I’d secure the perimeter before we start.”
Her tense expression relaxed slightly. “I appreciate that. You wouldn’t think less of me if I told you this place gives me the creeps?” She fell into step beside him as they made their way up the overgrown front path to the porch steps.
Gideon held the screen door open for her as she worked her key in the front-door lock. “Don’t ever be ashamed of being afraid. Sometimes fear is what keeps us alive.”
Maggie froze and looked up at him. “My father used to say that.”
“I know. He’s the one who taught it to me.” Gideon reached past Maggie, and since she had the door unlocked but couldn’t seem to get it pushed open, he placed one hand gently over hers on the knob, slammed his other open hand against the wedged wood, and the door fell back with a shudder. “I should do something about that door,” he offered.
But Maggie had stepped inside and was already looking around the great foyer that opened upward to the stud-walled second floor. “I think we’ve got plenty of other projects that are more pressing.”
“Where do you want to start?” Gideon asked.
With a long sigh, Maggie shook her head. She clearly felt overwhelmed by the immensity of the project and all that needed to be done. Not that he could blame her. He’d lain awake the night before, trying to break down the renovation process into manageable steps until he’d lost track of where he’d started. It was such a large house and needed so much work.
“This place will be spectacular once it’s finished,” he said in hopes of encouraging her.
She didn’t look encouraged. Instead, she looked as though the responsibility of transforming the house into something spectacular weighed on her even more heavily than simply making it habitable. Gideon was reminded that he didn’t know exactly what her plans were. She’d told him a few things, and he’d inferred the rest based on what he’d have done if the place were his. Those two were likely very different things.
