Without a sound, she placed the container on the floor next to the door and walked toward her bedroom, leaving the door to the apartment wide open in case she needed to make a run for it. She stopped just outside the bathroom and reached around the wall with her hand to flip on the lights. Light flooded the tiny room, and one quick look was all it took for her to know it was empty. The curtain was pulled back on the bathtub, just as she’d left it that morning, so no one could be hiding inside, and the tiny bathroom didn’t have a linen closet.
Easing down the hall, she reached inside her bedroom and turned on the lights. The room appeared undisturbed, and she was glad she’d left in a hurry that morning and left her closet door open. It was so small that she could see every square inch from the doorway, and no one lurked inside. Her bed was platform style with drawers for storage underneath, so no one could be hiding there.
Relief washed over her and she plopped down on the bed, chiding herself for scaring herself half to death over nothing. She needed to get a grip on her overactive imagination. It had been getting worse for some time, but ever since her trip into the woods and her run-in with Paul Stanton, it seemed to be in overdrive. She pulled open the drawer on her nightstand to retrieve lip balm she kept inside and froze.
Her diary had been moved.
She leaned over for a closer look, but she knew it wasn’t where she’d left it. It wasn’t off by much, but she was almost anal about fitting it exactly into the corner of the drawer. Now, it lay about an inch from the side. Lifting the journal from the drawer, she inspected the bookmark. Just as she suspected, it was off. The pink flower that she always left peeking out from the top of the journal was buried halfway in the book.
Suddenly, she remembered that she’d left the front door wide open and she jumped up from the bed, dropping her journal on the bed as she dashed out of the room. She slammed the door and slid the dead bolt into place, then leaned back against it, trying to slow her racing heart.
No one but Madelaine had a key to her apartment, or the café, for that matter. And she couldn’t think of any reason at all that someone would break into her apartment to read her journal. She didn’t have much of value, but she kept a stash of cash in the same nightstand as the journal, and it was still there. It didn’t make sense. Why would anyone go through the trouble of finding an undetected way into the café and her apartment just to read the ramblings of a waitress?
Paul Stanton!
Ever since he’d grabbed her in the woods last night, he’d shown up everywhere she was. Granted, it was a small town, so that wasn’t hard to do, but Ginny didn’t believe for a moment that he’d picked Johnson’s Bayou at random for a vacation and then went roaming around the woods at night carrying a gun for relaxation.
Then there was that scene at the festival today. She’d seen his expression when he asked her about the necklace. He was surprised and agitated and afraid, all at the same time, just as he had been when he’d found her in the woods that night. But why?
Ginny crossed the room to the kitchenette and pulled a bottle of wine out of the refrigerator. She had moved past scared to angry. A glass of wine and a hot bath were in order. It had been a long day of work between the café and the festival, and she had to do it all again tomorrow.
She took a sip of the wine and stared out the kitchen window into the woods. If Paul Stanton had the nerve to show up at the café or the festival tomorrow, she was going to give him a piece of her mind.
In fact, she was almost looking forward to it.
PAUL TIMED HIS ENTRY into the café just after the locals had cleared out to set up for the festival. He’d barely slept, his mind rolling around every possibility associated with the jewelry he’d purchased from Ginny the day before. The jewelry laid out in the same swirl of circles that his sister used to draw on everything—her signature, she used to call it. Their mother had even helped her paint the design on her bedroom walls in bright pinks and blues.
It wasn’t impossible that two people would have the same idea, but it was highly unlikely. And if Ginny was the girl who had wandered out of the woods the day the LeBlanc School had burned, then Lord only knew what might be locked in her memory. If her lost memories contained anything to do with his sister, he intended to figure out a way to access them. Surely, she would understand…would help, if he explained the situation. She’d seemed nice enough, despite his less-than-polite behavior, and her mother had definitely shown all the signs of Southern hospitality.
He slipped into an empty booth at the back of the café, as far away as possible from the few patrons who were still lingering. Until he had a better idea of exactly what had happened at that school all those years ago, it was best to keep his purpose in town hidden from the masses. Plus, if he asked Ginny personal questions and she got uncomfortable, locals would probably jump in to protect her. That was typical small-town behavior.
The couple sitting nearest to his booth rose right after he’d taken his seat and left some money on the table. Perfect timing. Now all he needed was for Ginny to come over with her order pad. He hadn’t seen her when he walked in, but she was probably in the back plating food or running dirty dishes through the wash.
The door to the kitchen swung open and he took a deep breath, mentally preparing the words he wanted to say. A second later, he let out the breath in a whoosh of disappointment as Madelaine approached his table, a big smile on her face.
“Morning,” she said. “You want coffee?”
“Yes, please,” he said, trying not to let his disappointment show.
Madelaine stopped at a pot on the counter to pour him a cup of coffee, then placed it on the table in front of him. “Guess the food didn’t kill you yesterday.”
“No. In fact, your omelet is one of the best I’ve ever had.”
Madelaine blushed a bit. “Oh, well, what a nice thing to say. Did you enjoy the festival yesterday?”
“Yes. I was impressed with the variety of the artists.”
“Ginny said you bought a necklace from her. Do you think your aunt might be interested in carrying some of her stuff?”
Paul’s mind went blank for a moment and then he remembered the lie that had rolled off his tongue the day before. “It’s certainly possible,” he said, suddenly realizing why Madelaine was steering the conversation to Ginny.
Which also gave him the perfect opportunity to inquire about her. “I didn’t get a chance to talk with her yesterday,” he said. “I was hoping to catch her this morning. Has she already left for the festival?”
Madelaine beamed. “No. She ran upstairs for a second. Just let me take your order so I can get it started and I’ll send her right out to chat with you.”
“Great,” Paul said and ordered the breakfast special.
Madelaine stuffed her pad in her apron and hurried into the kitchen, still smiling. Paul felt a momentary twinge of guilt for deliberately misleading the nice woman, but it passed quickly. A little white lie was a small price to pay if it led him to information about his sister.
A couple of minutes later, Ginny came through the kitchen door and into the café. She looked toward his booth and hesitated just a moment before continuing to make her way over. She did not look happy to see him.
“I don’t know who you think you are,” she said, glaring down at him,
