his hair pulled back in a ponytail at the base of his neck and was dressed in a dark T-shirt and jeans.
Dixie ran to greet him. Wrapping her arms around his neck, the two embraced and shared a lingering kiss.
Follow your gut, Pete’s first sergeant used to remind him. Right now, his gut was screaming that something wasn’t on the up-and-up about this late-night rendezvous.
Once the loving couple unwound, they climbed into the Lincoln and headed out along the two-lane road.
Pete gave them enough leeway to keep from attracting attention before he followed the taillights that cut through the night.
Staying clear of the main highway, Dixie and her boyfriend headed north, meandering along the coastal contours. Eventually, the two-lane road veered east into a narrow spit of black desolation.
If they’d made Pete, the lonely road could be a trap. But Pete felt no sense of unease or warning.
The taillights turned, and Pete increased his speed. He couldn’t lose them now.
An outline of homes sat nestled along a coastal inlet. A plaque erected on the side of the road welcomed him to Refuge Bay.
Driving on the main thoroughfare of the small community, Pete passed two gas stations, both closed, a corner mom-and-pop grocery and an all-night diner, where three patrons sat at a booth by the window.
On the far side of town, a long, shingled building was perched at the edge of the water. A sign out front read REFUGE LODGE.
At the next intersection, the Lincoln turned inland. Were they going in a circle? Or had he been spotted?
The boyfriend didn’t look like the type of guy who enjoyed being followed. Hopefully, this cat-and-mouse game they’d been playing wouldn’t end up with Pete in the trap.
Not a good thought.
As if in response, the Lincoln stopped short by a tiny bungalow.
Pete cut his lights and turned onto a path that led behind a clump of pines. He killed the engine, crawled out of his Jeep and watched the guy push open the rear door of the small frame house. Dixie followed him inside. Lights flipped on from room to room.
Hoping to catch a glimpse of what was happening, Pete circled to the far side of the wooden structure and wormed his way through the thick shrubbery until he could peer in the window.
The man stood over a small table, his face twisted into a deep frown. A newspaper lay open. He shoved it aside, then lifted a square of cloth and studied it for a moment before tucking it into his pocket. Evidently satisfied with what he found, he turned abruptly, motioned to Dixie and headed for the door.
If Pete left the cover of the bushes now, he’d be spotted. Better to hole up until they climbed into the car and started down the road. With a little luck, Pete would be able to backtrack and pick up their tail.
Hunkered down in the bushes, Pete listened for the sound of an engine. All he heard were tree frogs against the backdrop of the distant surf.
Two doors slammed and an engine purred into gear.
Pete climbed from the bramble as the Lincoln drove out of sight, probably heading back to Dixie’s house. He glanced at the bungalow. Torn between seeing what had prompted the twosome to drive so far in the middle of the night and wanting to follow them, he crossed the road and stepped into a small kitchen. Neat. Clean. A bowl of fruit sat on the counter. An open pantry next to the back door held a few cans of vegetables, a box of oatmeal and a jar of pickles.
The design on the linoleum was old and faded but without a spot or crumb. The floorboards creaked as he walked into the living–dining room combination where a love seat and rocker edged a braided rug. A wooden crate, decorated with a collection of seashells, served as a coffee table. Two folding chairs and a card table sat in the dining area.
Swatches of fabric that had drawn the guy’s interest lay on the table in various pastel patterns of tiny, delicate hearts and crosses. Pete drew closer, overwhelmed by a sense of familiarity. The intricate motif looked like something Eve would create.
Glancing into the bedroom, he smelled a fresh, floral fragrance as sweet as honeysuckle. Had to be a woman’s room.
Blow-up mattress on the floor. Rumpled bedding, the beige blanket and pink top sheet thrown aside.
Had someone or something interrupted her sleep? Not Dixie and her friend. The house hadn’t been occupied when they had entered through the back door.
A photo on the floor next to the bed caught Pete’s attention. A woman with shoulder-length raven hair and green eyes the color of the ocean looked lovingly at a man, perhaps two inches taller, who held her close.
For an instant, Pete longed for something as real in his life.
Abruptly, he turned away. Whoever lived here didn’t need her privacy violated.
Stepping into the kitchen, he spied a stack of bills on the counter addressed to Meredith Lassiter. Probably the gal in the photo.
He glanced at the open pantry, noting the black hinges attached to the doorframe.
Odd.
He retraced his steps to the bedroom.
A couple of pairs of slacks and a blouse hung on the rack in the closet. Slippers were neatly placed on the floor below.
He hadn’t noticed earlier, but the closet door had been removed from its hinges, just like the pantry.
Some type of space-saving decorating trick?
Then Pete left the house, the lights still ablaze to warn the woman, should she return before the break of day. Tomorrow he’d make more inquiries in town. Hopefully, he’d learn why Dixie and her friend had driven through the night to break into this bungalow.
A second question needed to be answered as well.
Who was Meredith Lassiter?
“Are you a policeman?”
Not the response Pete expected from the shopkeeper.
“No, ma’am, but I am trying to find Meredith Lassiter.” He paused, searching for a way to ease the concern he saw in the woman’s eyes. Gray hair, mid-sixties, she continued to stare at him.
“I’m a friend of her mother’s.” Pete needed the woman’s cooperation. “One of Meredith’s neighbors said she teaches quilting classes here at your store.”
“Taught. Past tense. She’s missed her last three classes and hasn’t answered her cell in days.”
The friend-of-the-mother angle must have worked, although annoyance was still evident in the shopkeeper’s voice. Hopefully aimed at Meredith and not at him.
“I left a message, reminding her that she’s got a check to pick up,” the woman continued. “With the economy and all, I don’t have to tell you money’s tight.”
He thought of the lack of funding for his research. “Yes,
