No loose locks or broken panes. The bedroom windows were the same. Murphy, thinking there was some game afoot, pranced and barked as he searched.
When they got to the kitchen, the dog ran ahead and jumped up onto the kitchen door. Wondering, Nic stopped, and watched. Sure enough, Murphy jumped again, this time his paws hitting the lever door handle. If the dead bolt hadn’t been in place, the door would have popped right open. “Mrs. Rosenberg, was the kitchen door dead bolted when you were away?”
“The kitchen door? No, the key for that lock got lost a long time ago. But I did push the button in, on the doorknob. That locks it from the inside, and it opens with the same key as the front door.” She paused, eyes wide, “You don’t think someone broke in, do you?”
“No, not a break-in,” he assured her. “Just a break-out. See these scratches on the door? I think Murphy was jumping at the door to follow you, and his paws landed on the handle. That lock opens automatically from the inside as soon as you turn the handle. He just let himself right out. Then I imagine the storm blew it shut again. If you’re going to keep him in, you’re going have replace that lever-style handle with a good old-fashioned doorknob.”
“Oh, my goodness. What a smart boy! Opening doors!” Mrs. Rosenberg beamed at her black-and-white escape artist. “But I see what you mean. We can’t have him gallivanting around town. I’ll have to ask around about a handyman—I’m afraid tools and such just aren’t my area of expertise.”
“I could do it,” Nic said before he could stop himself.
“Would you? Oh, that would be such a load off my mind. I worry so about poor Murphy. I know this isn’t the best home for him, but I’d be sick if anything happened to him.” Before Nic could think of a way to extricate himself, she pressed a wad of cash into his hands. “Palm Hardware is just around the corner. You must have passed it on the way here. Just pick out whatever you think is best.”
Thirty minutes later, Nic was tightening the last screw with, of all things, a pink screwdriver. Murphy had been banished to the bedroom after getting in the way a few too many times, and Mrs. Rosenberg was thrilled. Straightening, he couldn’t help but grin as he packed up the pastel tool kit. Project Dog-Proof was a success, and despite his initial reluctance to get involved, it felt good to know he’d been able to help. Getting his own hands dirty was a lot more satisfying than just signing a work order.
“I have to say, I’m so glad Jillian had that meeting today, and you came instead. Not that I don’t love Jillian,” she clarified hastily. “Murphy adores her and I do, too. But I wouldn’t have felt right asking her to change a doorknob. I’m a bit too old-fashioned for that.”
He grinned. Of all the ways he might describe Mrs. Rosenberg, “old-fashioned” wasn’t one of them. “What sort of meeting she was going to?” He told himself he was only interested as part of his research on the island. He certainly wasn’t prying into the pretty vet tech’s life. Not very much, anyway.
“The Island Preservation Society. Jillian is one of the founding members,” Mrs. Rosenberg said proudly. “I don’t attend the meetings—meetings give me heartburn—but I donate when they have their annual rummage sale, and attend the dinner dance they do in the spring.”
His shoulders tensed. “What exactly does this society do?”
“They mostly work to preserve the historic buildings, protect the coastal habitat, anything that has to do with maintaining the way of life Paradise is known for.” Her eyes shined with pride. “Our little town isn’t as fancy or popular as Daytona or Miami or those other beach places, and that’s just fine with us. We like things the way they are, if you know what I mean.”
Nic was afraid he did know. From what she was saying, he was going to have a fight on his hands, and Jillian was playing for the other side.
Jillian walked quickly across the hot asphalt parking lot, sticky with sweat and humidity. Ahead, the air-conditioned coolness of the Palmetto County Library beckoned like a mirage, a refuge from the last gasp of summer. Stepping inside, she took a deep breath, embracing the smell of old books that permeated the air. Fortified, she climbed the single staircase to the crowded conference room where Cassie and Mollie were waiting for her.
“We saved you a seat.” Mollie waved, her pixie-like face lighting up at the sight of her friend. “I was afraid you wouldn’t show, and you know I only come to these things because of you.” Formal meetings of any sort were definitely not Mollie’s thing. Grateful, Jillian hugged the petite woman in appreciation.
“I appreciate you making the sacrifice. These meetings really are important, especially now. Rumor is that the Sandpiper’s new owner wants to sell.”
“Sell the Sandpiper Inn? That place is an institution! I can remember Dad taking me there as a kid for the annual fish fry and the Christmas tree lighting ceremony. And just a few years ago, he and mom had their twenty-fifth anniversary party there.” Cassie’s eyebrows furrowed. “It’s bad enough that they don’t do the community events anymore, but sell it? To who?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “They haven’t even officially put it on the market yet. I think that happens Monday. I only know about it because another one of the Island Preservation Society members, Edward Post, told me about it when I saw him at the grocery store yesterday. He was always close with the Landry family, and had hoped when their daughter inherited the Sandpiper she would bring it back to its glory days. But she’s got her own retail shop over in Orlando, and isn’t interested in being an innkeeper. He thinks she’ll take the first good offer she gets.”
Jillian’s heart hurt just thinking of the stately inn being taken over by outsiders, or worse, torn down. A beacon on the Paradise Isle shoreline, the Sandpiper had stood for more than a century. Its spacious grounds had always served as an unofficial community center, the gregarious owners often hosting holiday events, weddings, even a prom or two. She’d fallen in love with the grand building the first time she saw it and had always imagined she’d bring her own family to events there, one day. Now it might be destroyed before she ever had that chance. It just didn’t seem fair, or right, to let it slip away without a fight.
As the meeting got under way, she found it hard to concentrate on the details of the historic post office renovation, or a proposal for a bike lane on Island Avenue. Normally she was the first volunteer for a Society project, but right now she was too on edge about the fate of the Sandpiper Inn.
And if she was honest with herself, the issue with the Sandpiper wasn’t the only thing making her palms sweat. A good number of the butterflies fluttering in her stomach were about her upcoming date. It wasn’t as if she’d never been on a date before; at twenty-seven, she’d had her share of relationships. But always with local, familiar, safe men. Nothing serious. After a few dates, they’d ended up just friends, leaving her wondering if she was even capable of more intense feelings.
But Nic, with his towering good looks and confident manner, was another kind of man altogether. One that had her squirming in her seat, unsure if she was eager for the meeting to be over or afraid of what came after it.
Finally, the last item on the agenda was addressed. Edward Post stood at the front of the room, faced the folding chairs and cleared his throat. “I know that a few of you have heard rumors about the Sandpiper Inn. I’m afraid those rumors have been confirmed. Ms. Roberta Landry, the current owner, has decided to sell the inn and return to her job in Orlando.” Shifting his weight nervously, he continued, “The board of the Island Preservation Society
