rel="nofollow" href="#ub0232478-9239-5032-a604-13d0da46f2ed">Dear Reader
A car drove by and turned the corner, but Macy Douglas ignored it. All her attention was centered on her grandmother Lassiter’s house—the house where her mother had been brutally murdered—the house where her father had been arrested as the killer. The house she couldn’t remember, even though she had apparently lived here the first seven years of her life. Dark and forbidding, and at least two stories tall, it sat back from the street on a large lot. She hadn’t realized the house would be this big—or this intimidating.
Lightning flared. A gust of wind rattled the branches overhead like dry bones. She shot a glance upward before giving herself a mental shake. Enough of this. She had to stop being such a coward. It was just a house, the house a grandmother she couldn’t remember had left to her.
It was hers...and she didn’t want it.
Didn’t want the secrets hiding behind that innocent-looking facade. Secrets better left dormant behind the barrier her mind had erected, protecting her from the horror of that night.
She stared up at the rounded turret of the old Queen Anne house. What had really happened here? In spite of her resolve to learn the truth, did she really want to know? Would the knowledge destroy all she wanted to believe about her father?
When Grandmother Douglas lay dying she had gasped out “the box.” When Macy found the metal box with information about her father’s death in prison, there had also been a letter telling her not to come here, that it would be dangerous. But she had come because she needed to know the truth about her family—the truth about what had happened in this house.
Lightning flashed again, illuminating the wide porch and the front of the house. Thunder grumbled overhead.
Macy climbed the steps and inserted the key her grandmother Lassiter’s lawyer had sent her. The door swung open, silent as a shadow. She caught her breath, listening, but the low growl of thunder and the wind whipping the tree limbs were the only sounds. She fumbled for the light switch.
A chandelier sprang to life and she had a fleeting impression of a mahogany table, the glint of a gold framed mirror, before a jagged spear of lightning split the sky.
Thunder exploded.
The lights went out!
Darkness closed around her, the silence like a heavy blanket. Macy glanced behind her. The streetlight on the corner shed a circle of dull light, but all the houses in the area were dark. The lightning must have done major damage. She turned back to face the house, fumbling in her pocket for the penlight she carried. Her fingers closed around the smooth cylinder. The tiny light barely dented the darkness. A staircase rose on the left, disappearing into the ebony depths of the upper regions.
A door beckoned, and Macy crept toward it. She caught a glimpse of old-fashioned chairs and a fireplace.
A slight movement at the window suddenly caught her attention. A pale oval pressed against the glass—someone was peering in.
Watching her.
Macy whirled, running to the door. She plunged down the porch steps and strode around the house, swinging the penlight from side to side. Right there. That’s where the sneak had to have been standing. So where was he now?
Then strong arms clamped around her, yanking her back in a tight embrace. Macy dropped the penlight. A scream ripped from her throat as she clawed at the arms encircling her, trying to break loose.
* * *
Nick Baldwin grunted and caught the intruder’s shoulders, swinging the guy around. The stranger’s ball cap fell off and long copper-colored hair swung down, swirling in the wind. Nick revised his impression in a hurry. This was no man.
It was a woman! A very angry woman determined to break his hold, and he had his hands full trying to stop her.
“Let go of me.” She twisted her body, trying to wrench loose.
His grip tightened. “Whoa! Take it easy. I’m not going to hurt you.”
He propelled her toward the front porch and jerked out his cell phone. “Sit down on that step so I can keep an eye on you.”
She sat, glaring up at him, and he had the impression she was braced to jump and run. A jagged flash of lightning slashed the sky, followed by a cannon blast of thunder. The storm was moving closer.
He ended the call and stood in front of her, firm and unyielding. “You just sit there for a few minutes. I’ve got someone coming to help straighten this out.”
She arched an eyebrow. “You can’t handle one woman by yourself?”
Amused by her question, he chuckled, breaking the tension. There was laughter in his voice when he spoke. “I don’t think that’s the problem. I’m Nick Baldwin, a police officer here in Walnut Grove. And right now—like it or not—I’m in charge. You just sit there for the time being and we’ll try to get everything worked out before the storm hits.”
A sprinkle of raindrops greeted his words, and the woman glanced at the sky, looking startled. He hoped it wouldn’t start pouring, but if it did, they could move to the wide front porch.
He stood before her, relaxed, but blocking her from leaving. Nick was aware that with his back to the street his face was hidden in the shadows, so she would have no idea what he looked like. But the dim glow from the streetlight had to show her he was in uniform. A policeman.
She stared up at him. “Why were you looking in the window?”
“I saw a light moving around in the house and then you came barreling out. I’ve got some questions for you, but they can wait for a few minutes.”
A police car pulled into the driveway and parked behind her Chevy. Sam Halston got out and left the motor running and the lights on, illuminating the scene.
“Hey, Nick. What’ve we got here?”
Nick turned to face him. “I saw something like a flashlight in a house that’s supposed to be locked and unoccupied, and then she came rushing out the door and down the steps like something was chasing her. Thought it might be a good idea to check her out. I’d be interested in learning how she got inside and what she was doing there.”
Sam approached. “Okay, let’s see what’s going on. You got any identification?”
The woman switched her attention to him, but she didn’t look any friendlier. “It’s in the car. If you can call off your watchdog, I’ll go get it.”
“Well, now, I think it might be better if Nick escorted you. We can’t take a chance on you hopping in and driving off, now can we?”
She didn’t answer, but she got to
