abruptly refocused on the stage, because Nadia had taken the microphone and was thanking everyone for coming and letting them know how much money had been raised. Over $100,000 just from the auction, plus an additional $20,000 from the sale hall open today, where many more quilts had been available as well as other textile arts. A drop in the bucket compared to the need, but a nice sum of money nonetheless.
“And, finally,” she said, “we all owe thanks to the artists who donated the work of thousands of hours, their skill and their vision, to help people whose lives were devastated by nature’s fury.”
The applause was long and heartfelt. Ben joined in, watching as Nadia made her way from the stage and through the crowd, stopping to exchange a few words here, a hug there. She was glowing. Nothing like the way she’d shut down at the sight of him.
Even so, he hung around until the end, thinking about how much money was stashed in that metal box behind the cashiers. He couldn’t shake the big-city mentality. Hard to picture anyone here trying to snatch it—but better safe than sorry.
He clenched his teeth. That had been one of his mother’s favorite sayings. She had, once upon a time, been firm in her belief she could keep her family safe by adequate precautions. Until the day she found out shit happens to everyone.
Keeping that in mind, he stepped outside and waited in the darkness beneath some ancient oak trees until he’d seen Nadia Markovic safely in her car and on her way.
* * *
THE FOURTH STAIR always creaked, and it always made her start. Which was silly. Older buildings made noises. Nadia had had an inspection done before she bought this one, and there wasn’t a thing wrong with the structure. Yet the creak made her think of clanking chains, moans and movement seen out of the corner of her eye.
Had the stair creaked before Mrs. Jefferson’s fatal fall? Nadia wrinkled her nose at her own gothic imagination. Only then she got to wondering if the police had noticed that one step creaked. Because nobody could sneak up those stairs—unless they knew to skip that step. Or the person hadn’t bothered, because he or she was expected, even welcome. Either way, it suggested the killer wasn’t a stranger.
She rolled her eyes as she set the money box on the dresser in her bedroom. If Mrs. Jefferson had the TV on, she wouldn’t have heard anyone coming. Or she could have been in the bathroom, or maybe she was going a little deaf. No one had said.
Or, oh, gee, she’d stumbled at the head of the stairs and fallen. There was a concept. A neighbor had said that the poor woman had suffered from osteoporosis. Tiny, she had become stooped with a growing hunch. She should have moved to an apartment or house where she didn’t have to deal with stairs.
And Nadia did not want to think about tragedy of any kind, not tonight. If she hadn’t encountered Ben Slater, she wouldn’t have felt nervous for a minute going upstairs in her own home.
While she was at it, she’d refrain from so much as thinking about him, too. She’d forget that odd moment of fear, or her surprising physical response to the man. Instead, she’d let herself enjoy satisfaction and even a teeny bit of triumph, because tonight they’d exceeded their original goal by a good margin. She could hardly wait to deposit the money in the bank tomorrow morning.
Normally, she didn’t like to have money lying around. She made regular deposits to limit how much cash she had on hand in the store. But whatever Chief Slater said, Byrum seemed to be a peaceful small town. She read the local paper, and most of the crimes mentioned in it were trivial or had to do with teenagers or the weekend crowd at bars.
Nadia had locked up as soon as she was inside, checking and rechecking both the building’s front and back doors as well as the one at the foot of the staircase leading to her apartment.
Worrying came naturally to her, and the tendency had worsened drastically after—Nope, not gonna think about that, either.
Instead, she removed her heels and sighed with relief. Most people hadn’t had to dress up at all, the event having been advertised as Missouri summer casual, but since she’d opened the evening and closed it, she’d felt obligated to wear a favorite silk dress with cap sleeves while hoping it wasn’t obvious her legs were bare.
She took a cool shower, brushed her teeth and went to bed wearing only panties and a cotton camisole. She threw even the top sheet aside. The small air-conditioning unit in the window helped, but she usually turned it off at some point during the night. It didn’t just hum, it rattled, which was really annoying.
Maybe that’s why Mrs. Jefferson didn’t hear someone coming up the stairs.
Nadia groaned, but even as exhausted as she was, it was bound to wake her up later. Replacing it was on her wish list.
So, as she often did, she basked in the scant flow of chilly air until her eyelids grew heavy, then forced herself to crawl out of bed and turn off the air conditioner. Tonight, not even a sultry ninety degrees would keep her awake.
* * *
THE SCREECH OF the alarm jolted Nadia to enough consciousness to slap the button to shut it off. Then she moaned and buried her face in the pillow. Why hadn’t she planned to close the shop today?
Dumb question. Saturday was her busiest day in a typical week, and she bet lots of people would stop by just to share the excitement generated by last night’s event. Plus, she needed to slip out before noon to deposit the money, since the bank’s Saturday hours were so limited.
“Ugh.” Her eyelids felt as if they were glued shut, or maybe weighted down with a thin coating of cement. She had crashed last night. Unfortunately, her body wasn’t ready to reboot.
Another cool, or even icy-cold, shower would help, she decided. She just had to get up and make it that far.
With a whimper, she rolled out of bed. It only took a minute to gather clothes. Heading for the bathroom, she tried to decide why her entire body ached. Yes, she’d worked hard yesterday doing setup, and she’d been on her feet for hours on end, but she wasn’t in that bad shape.
Nadia had gotten all the way into the bathroom before her brain stuttered. No, no. I just didn’t see because I wasn’t looking.
So she set the neat pile of clothes on the countertop, then very slowly turned around. Through the open bathroom door, she could see her dresser. She could even see her reflection in the beveled mirror above the antique chest of drawers.
She just didn’t see the money box.
HAVING SLEPT POORLY last night, Ben was not happy when his phone rang while he was in the bathroom trying to scrape off the whiskers he’d grown since he last shaved at approximately 6:00 p.m. yesterday. He glared at himself in the mirror and groped for the phone. Half his face still covered with foam, he snapped, “Yeah?”
“Um...Chief?”
Recognizing the voice, he sighed. “Sergeant. Sorry. What’s up?”
“Ah, just had a call I thought you’d want to know about. Since you said you were going to that event last night.”
Tension crawled up his spine. “The
