bathroom, and a small covered porch with a single chair and small table.
The sun had set, casting the world around them in gray twilight, but a light shone over the door of Bette’s cabin. She stopped at the bottom of the steps leading up onto the porch. Cody halted behind her. “What is it?” he asked, then followed her gaze to the door. There, in bright red paint, someone had scrawled the words Go Home!
* * *
ONCE SHE WAS over the initial shock of seeing the message on her door, Bette was more angry than frightened. “I guess we know what Doug Whittington was up to when his mother couldn’t find him,” she said, starting up the steps, her key in her hand.
“Don’t touch the door.” Cody took her hand as she was reaching for the knob.
She glared at him. “What? You think you’re going to find fingerprints? And then what? I don’t think a nasty message is exactly a major crime.” She pulled out of his grasp, inserted her key in the lock and shoved open the door. Not waiting to be asked, Cody followed her in—not that that surprised her. He was in full-on cop mode, on the case. Except there was no case.
“You don’t know that Doug did this,” he said.
“Unless his mother took a break from preparing dinner and ran out here with a can of red paint, my money is on Doug. No one else here is so anxious for me to leave.” She looked around the room, but clearly nothing had been disturbed. Her unopened suitcases stood by the bed, which was still neatly made, a blue-and-yellow patchwork quilt draped across it.
“I’ll talk to him,” Cody said.
“No.” She grabbed his wrist, squeezing hard, making sure she had his full attention. “Don’t say anything. The best way to deal with this kind of harassment is to ignore it.”
He set his jaw in a stubborn line and his eyes met hers—denim-blue eyes a woman could get lost in. Clearly, he wasn’t a man who ignored anything. “If I tell him to lay off hassling you or he’ll have to deal with me, I think he’ll stop,” he said.
“Your job is not to protect me,” she said. “I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself.”
He took a step toward her, so that the front of his duster almost brushed against her puffy coat. He was breathing hard, and she realized she was, too. She was torn between wanting to slap him and wanting to grab his shoulders and pull him down to her in a kiss. Her hormones were jumping up and down, shouting, “Big, sexy man—must have,” trying hard to drown out her brain, which was pleading that she had more sense than this.
Cody’s gaze shifted to her lips and she wondered if he was thinking the same thing—a dangerous thought that had her releasing her hold on him and stepping back, until she bumped into the bed. “You need to leave,” she said, her brain momentarily getting the upper hand.
“Yeah, I probably do.” He stepped back also, though his eyes remained locked to hers. “Just promise me if anything else happens—something more than annoying messages—you’ll call for me. My cabin is next door.” He nodded to his right.
“Sure.” She hugged her coat more tightly around her body. “But nothing is going to happen. This is kid stuff.”
“What are you going to do about the door?”
“I’ll find something to clean the message off the door before anyone sees it.”
“Or you could show it to the Walkers and let them know what’s going on.”
“No. I don’t want to do anything to upset them. They’ve got enough on their hands, between the wedding and this whole serial killer thing. I mean, it can’t be that easy, having two sons out hunting a murderer.”
Cody wanted to argue—she could practically see the words building up in his head. She braced herself to reply, but instead, he turned and took hold of the doorknob. “Have it your way. But remember—I’m right next door if you need me.”
He left and she dropped onto the bed, struggling to control her racing heart. Great. He was next door. Entirely too close for comfort. He had no idea, but Cody Rankin was a lot more dangerous to Bette’s well-being than Rainey and her son.
Bette couldn’t decide if the dinner of roast beef, potatoes au gratin, green beans almandine and homemade rolls was designed to impress her with Rainey’s prowess in the kitchen, or if it was simply the way the Walker family ate every evening. Add in the gleaming oak table, polished silver and dishes she guessed were hand painted, and the place screamed laid-back luxury. “Everything is so delicious,” she said, determined to give credit where credit was due.
“I wish Travis and Gage could have been here,” Mrs. Walker said, as she passed the dish of potatoes.
“They said they were sorry to miss eating with us, but they think they have a break in the case,” Lacy said.
“I hope that means they’re close to catching the murderer,” Mrs. Walker said.
“And without another woman dying,” Mr. Walker said.
Silence descended on the table, broken only by the clink of ice in glasses and the scrape of forks on china.
“Not the most cheerful topic of conversation,” Travis’s sister, Emily, said, slicing into her roast.
“One of the hazards of living with law enforcement,” Cody said. “Lacy will get used to it.”
“Oh, I am,” Lacy said. “I think it’s interesting, actually.”
Mrs. Walker turned to Bette. “I hope you’re finding the cabin comfortable.”
“Oh, yes,” Bette said. “It’s beautiful. I’m going to really enjoy staying there.”
“Well, if you need anything, just let me know,” Mrs. Walker said.
“Maybe some more cleaner.” Seated next to her, Cody whispered the words under his breath. Bette kicked him in the shin. She had refused his offer to help scrub the painted message off the front door, but it was true she had used most of a bottle of cleaner and probably ruined a bath towel cleaning everything up. Someone looking closely would probably still be able to see the shadow of the words, but tomorrow she planned to make a wreath or something to hang on the door to cover them up. She had gotten to be pretty crafty, all those years behind bars.
“If I wasn’t staying here, you could have had my room,” Lacy said. “Though you’ll probably appreciate the privacy of the cabin.”
“I thought you had a place in town,” Bette said. She remembered Lacy’s excitement over the apartment she had rented from a friend.
“I do, but Travis persuaded me that I should stay here until the wedding.”
“He didn’t like the idea of you living alone while this killer is on the loose,” Mrs. Walker said. “And I don’t blame him.”
“It’s very sweet of you to
