stood by the roaring fireplace, while Rachel sat down and told her part of the story. “When I went back to Betty’s house, Officer Bates had returned and was trying to pull fingerprints while the chief finished with photos, especially of the kitchen and pantry. When I told him what we found, he left his officer processing evidence and told me to go home, then he started toward the woods.” The sight of Aunt Betty on the ground haunted her. Rachel shut the memory down and shifted her attention to Jake. “Your turn.”
With his hands behind his back, he drew in a deep breath. “The chief took photos of Betty, then we carried her to the house. When I left, he was waiting for Doc to come take her. It appeared she died either from the head wound from someone hitting her with some kind of round object—possibly a can from the pantry—or she succumbed to the cold. Either way, the police chief is looking at the case as a murder.”
Aunt Linda dropped her head, tears falling on her lap. “I can’t believe this.”
Lawrence cupped Aunt Linda’s hand in her lap. “We haven’t had a murder here in years. A couple of deadly bar fights. That’s all.”
“Do you know if they found what they were looking for?” Aunt Linda lifted her gaze, her eyes red.
“No. The police don’t know what she had of value at her house.” Jake stepped away from the fire and took the last seat in the living room. “Was the TV the only thing of value that a robber would steal?”
Her aunt shook her head. “She had a few pieces of jewelry, but nothing to kill over, a state-of-the-art food processor and an old Kodak camera. Do you think Chief Quay would like for me to go through the house and see if I can find anything?”
“I’ll call him tomorrow. It might help to know if that was the motive for the break-in. Knowing the motive might help find the killer.”
Rachel remembered her brief encounters with Aunt Betty earlier that day. “I don’t think it’s a robbery. I think Aunt Betty discovered something that concerned her. She asked about talking to you, Jake, because you were a police officer in Anchorage. Aunt Linda, do you know of any place she uses for hiding valuable items? I can’t think of any.”
Her head lowered, Aunt Linda stared at her folded hands, the thumbs twirling around each other. “She had a cubbyhole in her kitchen. If you didn’t know about it, you wouldn’t see it. It’s where the two cabinets form an L-shape near the sink. But it only can hide small objects. She kept her spare key to the truck in there. A diamond ring our mother passed on to her. I’m not sure what else.”
“Then that should be checked.” Rachel glanced at Jake, who nodded. “We can do that tomorrow.”
Her teeth digging into her lower lip, Aunt Linda rose. “Since we’re her only living relatives, it’s our responsibility to see to her—” she swallowed several times “—belongings. Now, I’m going to set the table, and dinner will be in about ten minutes.”
Lawrence also stood. “I’ll help.”
After they left the room, Jake leaned across the end table that separated their chairs and said in a low voice, “Is something going on between your aunt and my grandfather?”
“Good friends. That’s all. Over the years, they’ve helped each other, and their friendship has grown. It kind of reminds me of us when we were kids. Not that I’m saying theirs is childish. Aunt Linda told me a few years ago that she’d had a wonderful marriage she would always cherish in her memory, but she didn’t want to get married again.”
“How about you? I thought by now you’d be married. You have so much to offer a man.”
But not you. When they had been friends, before Celeste, Rachel had wondered if Jake and she would fall in love, and whether the marriage would work—unlike her mother’s six marriages—because she knew Jake so well. Her mother would date a man for a couple of months, marry him, then discard him in a few years. “I don’t have a lot of faith in marriage—at least what I’ve seen of it.”
“You might be right. A successful marriage is becoming rarer.”
“Is my cynicism rubbing off on you?”
He grinned. “I’ve been around you for a day, and look what happened.” His gaze shifted to the Christmas tree in front of the living room window. “Your lights were what we focused on. Even with it snowing, we could see them from our front porch. Of course, it’s not snowing as hard as earlier.”
“We always decorate the day after Thanksgiving. Aunt Betty comes over...” Thinking about how her aunt died churned her stomach. She needed to forget the last few hours for a while or she wouldn’t be able to help Aunt Linda. “Is Lawrence going to put a tree up this year? He usually doesn’t because he visits you in Anchorage.”
“He hasn’t said. Maybe I should go cut one down like we used to, and then he’d have no choice. He always insists we do when he comes to visit, so turnaround is fair play. He’s really a kid at heart.”
Rachel took in the hard edge to Jake’s expression and the reserve he didn’t have as a teen. She missed who he’d been. “But you aren’t. From what he’s told me, you’re very serious and focused.”
“Being a police officer in a large town colors your perception. Sadly, I have covered murders. I’d forgotten the charm of Port Aurora and the lack of what I call real crime.”
“You should come home more often.” This exchange brought memories of how they were as teenagers. They used to tell each other everything—until Celeste. She changed Jake. He became closed, and in the end he left because she married Brad Howard. That hurt her more than she cared to acknowledge.
“We’ll see.”
“Have you seen Celeste yet?”
His shoulders tensed. “I’ve only been here less than a day.”
“But you were in town for hours, and it’s a small place. She and Brad don’t live far from the main street.”
“I’ve seen that big house overlooking the harbor.”
“You mean the audacious home looming over the town,” she said with a forced chuckle.
Jake pushed to his feet. “I can smell the dinner, and I’m starving. Let’s eat.” He held out his hand to her.
Celeste was still a sore subject with him. That broke her heart. Rachel wanted him to be happy and move on from Celeste. Rachel placed her hand in his, and he tugged her up. For a few seconds they were only inches apart, his spicy scent—or maybe the Christmas tree nearby—teased her senses and blended with the aromas of the bread and beef stew.
At least he loved someone once. You don’t even want to take that chance.
* * *
The next morning, after Gramps plowed the long drive from the road to the cluster of houses, Jake headed for town to talk with the police chief, a man he’d worked with for over a year, before he moved away. Randall had taught him a lot, but his real police training came when he went to Anchorage.
Jake parked in front of the police station, a small building, nothing like where he worked. When he entered, he saw the chief coming out of his office
