the long table that took up much of the room. “Are these the items for the auction?”
“Everything I’ve collected so far,” she said. “I still have a few more things people have promised.”
He picked up a set of hand-braided reins and a silver-trimmed bridle. “You’ve got a lot of nice things. Should net you a good bit of money.”
“I hope it’s enough,” she said. “I don’t suppose you have any hope of finding Henry Hake alive and well and enjoying an island vacation, have you? He was our biggest donor.”
Dwight shook his head. “I don’t expect any of us will be seeing Henry Hake again,” he said. “At least not alive.”
“I figured as much. So all we need is another wealthy benefactor. I’m hoping that rare book will attract someone like that—someone with money to spare, who might enjoy getting credit for pulling us out of the red.”
“What will happen if that benefactor doesn’t materialize?” he asked.
She straightened her shoulders and put on her brave face—one she had had plenty of practice assuming since Andy’s death. “I’ll have to find another job. And this town will lose one of its real assets.”
“I hope we won’t lose you, too,” he said.
The intensity of his gaze unsettled her. She looked away. “Sometimes I think leaving and starting over would be a good idea,” she said. “But I love Eagle Mountain. This is my home, and I’m not too anxious to find another one.”
“Then I hope you never have to.”
The silence stretched between them. She could feel his eyes still on her. Time to change the subject. “Lacy was telling me Eddie Carstairs has been mouthing off to people about his getting fired, trying to stir up trouble.”
“Eddie’s sore about losing his job, but Travis did the right thing, firing him. Any other department would have done the same. The fact that he’s making such a fuss about something that was his own fault shows he doesn’t have the right temperament for the job. You can’t be hotheaded and impulsive and last long in law enforcement.”
Dwight had never been hotheaded or impulsive. He was the epitome of the cool, deliberate, hardworking cowboy. She replaced the book in the box and fit the lid on it. “I don’t want to keep you any longer. I’ll close a little early for lunch and you can follow me to the house—though that probably isn’t necessary.”
“No harm in taking precautions.” He followed her into the front room, where she collected her purse, turned down the lights, then turned the sign on the front door to Closed. “After we secure the book in your safe, maybe I could take you to lunch,” he said.
The invitation surprised her so much she almost dropped the book. Was Dwight asking her out on a date? You’re not in high school anymore, she reminded herself. He was probably just being friendly. Her first instinct was to turn him down. She had too much to do. She wasn’t ready to go out with another man.
Andy’s been dead three and a half years. When are you going to be ready?
“Thanks,” she said. “That would be nice.”
He walked her to her car, and when his arm brushed hers briefly as he reached out to open the door for her, a tremor went through her. Why was she acting like this? She wasn’t a schoolgirl anymore, swooning over a crush—but that’s what being with Dwight made her feel like all of a sudden.
She murmured, “Thanks,” as she slid past him into the driver’s seat and drove, sedately, toward her home. She laughed at herself, being so careful to keep under the speed limit. Did she really think Dwight would suddenly switch on his lights and siren and give her a ticket?
The house she and Andy had purchased when they moved back to Eagle Mountain had undergone extensive remodeling, expanding from a tiny clapboard-sided bungalow to a larger cottage trimmed in native rock and including a detached two-car garage with an apartment above. Only recently, Brenda had learned that those renovations had been financed not by Andy’s law practice, as she had thought, but with money he received from people he blackmailed, including her former boss, Jan Selkirk. The knowledge had made her feel so ashamed, but people had been surprisingly kind. No one had suggested—at least to her face—that she had been guilty of anything except being naive about her husband’s activities.
She pulled into the driveway that ran between the house and the garage and Dwight parked the sheriff’s department SUV behind her. That would no doubt raise some eyebrows among any neighbors who might be watching. Then again, considering all that had happened in the past three and a half years, from Andy’s murder to the revelations about his blackmail and Jan’s attempts to steal back evidence of her involvement in the blackmail, everyone in town was probably used to seeing the cops at Brenda’s place.
Dwight met her on the walkway that led from the drive to the front steps. “You haven’t had any trouble around the house, have you?” he asked. “No mysterious phone calls or cars you don’t recognize driving by? Any door-to-door salesmen who might have been casing the place?”
“If door-to-door salesmen still exist, they aren’t in Eagle Mountain.” She led the way up the walk, keys in hand.
He smiled at her, and her heart skipped a beat again. He really did have the nicest smile, and those blue, blue eyes—
The eyes hardened, and the smile vanished. She realized he wasn’t focused on her anymore, but on her front door. She gasped when she saw the envelope taped there—a bright yellow envelope. Like a birthday card, but she was pretty sure it wasn’t. Her name, printed in familiar bold black lettering, was written on the front.
Dwight put his hand on her shoulder. “Wait before you touch it. I want to get some photographs.”
He took several pictures of the note taped to the door, from several different angles, then moved back to examine the steps and the porch floor for any impressions. He put away his phone and pulled on a pair of thin gloves, then carefully removed the note from the door, handling it by the edges and with all the delicacy one would use with a bomb.
Meanwhile, Brenda hugged her arms across her stomach and did her best not to be sick in the lilac bushes. Dwight laid the envelope on the small table beside the porch glider and teased open the flap.
The note inside was very like the first—yellow paper, dancing cartoon flowers. He coaxed out the sheet and unfolded it. Brenda covered her mouth with her hand. Taped to the top of the paper was a photograph—a crime scene photo taken of Andy at his desk, stabbed in the chest, head lolling forward. Brenda squeezed her eyes shut, but not before she had seen the words written below the photograph. THIS COULD BE YOU.
Dwight could feel Brenda trembling and rushed to put his arm around her and guide her over to a cushioned lounge chair on the other side of the porch, away from the sick photo. He sat beside her, his arm around her, as she continued to shudder. “Take a deep breath,” he said. “You’re safe.”
She nodded, and gradually the trembling subsided. Her eyes met his, wet with unshed tears. “Why?” she whispered.
“I
