honestly don’t know. They haven’t made any attempt to steal my old Chevy, and there’s nothing exceptionally valuable here at the house. My dad made a good living, but he wasn’t wealthy. All the tools, furniture and appliances are well used and out of sight now, locked up in a metal storage building.”
“Have they targeted anything special?”
“The lumber and other building materials, but I don’t see what they’d have to gain from setting it all on fire.”
“Yet they’ve come back twice. There’s got to be something they want. What about your father’s papers and files? As a lawyer he has made his share of enemies.”
“I’ve gone through most of his files looking for something that could be triggering these attacks on me, but so far I haven’t found anything,” she said, filling in the details. “The only thing missing is my dad’s map collection, and that’s not worth much. That’s all they took.”
“Are you sure about that? And if you are, is it possible your father threw the maps out and never got around to discarding the folder from the filing cabinet?”
“The maps were nothing special,” she assured him. “And Dad was a neat freak when it came to his files. He would have discarded both folder or maps, or neither.”
“I’d ask you to turn all your father’s records over to us to sort through, but the truth is we can’t fund the man-hours when no major crimes have been committed. It’s a matter of priorities and resources.”
“I couldn’t have turned them over to you anyway—not without a court order. My dad protected his clients’ confidentiality, and I’d have to respect that, too.”
“Admirable, but if you feel threatened, I’d advise you to hire a trained expert to examine those files for possible suspects.”
She shook her head. “I can’t. My money situation is similar to your department’s.”
Jonas walked into the room just then, and the sergeant who’d questioned him followed.
Jonas glanced at Charlie, then back at Emily. “Take things one step at a time, Em. You’ll get further that way.”
“I’m done here,” Deputy Dusenberry said, standing up and placing his notebook in a shirt pocket.
“If you need us, just call,” Sergeant Nez added.
Emily saw the officers to the door, spoke briefly to the reporter outside, then excused herself and returned to the house.
Standing by the window, she watched them drive away. “It’s such a beautiful day. I wish there wasn’t so much to do here.”
Jonas gently pulled her toward him and away from the window. “It’s not a good idea to stand in front of the glass like that.”
Although his words reminded her of the seriousness of the situation, the warmth of his body crept around her, awakening needs.
“I’m going to take a look outside,” he said, moving away. “I’ll be back.”
She watched him go, noting the tension that tightened his muscles. An edge of danger defined Jonas. It was there in his long-legged stride and the grim set of his rock-hard jaw. Though he’d chosen a path in life that was wildly different from hers, it seemed to suit him perfectly. Like the wind, he’d be here one day, gone the next.
Her inn, on the other hand, would be a part of her life forever. If she could keep her priorities straight, she’d be just fine.
Jonas returned inside moments later and helped her remove a light fixture from the wall. “We’ve been working under the assumption that someone’s threatening you because of something your father was involved in,” he said. “But is it possible you’ve made enemies, too?”
“I don’t see how that’s possible. I’ve only been back a few days,” she answered, surprised by his question.
“What about enemies from your past—old boyfriends, neighbors, people from work who think you’ve offended them, or a stalker who followed you here from Albuquerque?”
“I lived in the city and worked at a mountain resort. I got along with my boss and fellow employees, kept my distance from the clients and barely knew my neighbors.” She shook her head. “If I’d had any enemies, I would have known long before I moved back here.”
“You failed to mention boyfriends,” Jonas pointed out.
“A few along the way, but nobody for long. And the breakups were all amicable.”
“At least you think they were. Ever get any strange, or pushy e-mails, phone calls? Have you noticed any strange people hanging around your…apartment?”
“Nope, just a gray cat. After about a week, his owner tracked him down. Sorry, but I can’t think of anyone.”
“That’s okay. So who have you seen and spoken to since you moved back?” he pressed, undaunted.
“Starting close to home, there’s my neighbor, Grant Woods. I’ve known him since high school. He came over to give me his condolences.” She paused. “He also expressed an interest in buying all my land. He comes from a wealthy family and is always looking for investments. He figured I wouldn’t be staying. After I told him about my plans for the inn, we didn’t talk about it anymore,” she said. “I also got some other offers—one from a developer and another from one of the utility companies. They wanted drilling and mineral rights.”
“There’s nothing unusual about any of those offers. Land sells quickly around here. This area’s rich with natural gas and that makes it a potential bonanza for an investor. But none of that explains the men after you.”
“Maybe someone’s hoping to scare me, so I’ll sell out.” She shook her head. “That doesn’t make sense, either. There are multiple bidders. I could sell to whoever I wanted. There’s no way any of them could insure they’d be the new owner. And why help out the competition?”
“All right. Let’s set that aside for now and finish in here. What’s next?” he asked.
“I want to remove all the hardware and a few built-ins, like the fireplace mantel. Whatever stays will be demolished along with the house, and that’s scheduled to begin tomorrow.”
“Where do you want to put this stuff?”
“In that big metal storage compartment over there.” She pointed to the green, metal bin beside the driveway, across from her trailer. “It’ll be pretty full after that, but I can’t afford any additional storage places, so the boxes over there with dishes and housewares will go to my dad’s workshop. It’s that small building on the south side of the house.”
“What kind of workshop?”
“Dad liked tinkering with wood. Spending hours there was his way of relaxing.” And hiding out. After her mother’s disappearance, he’d spent most of his free time there—away from her.
Emily pointed toward the den. “The boxes in there marked with a red D for donation are going to charity. They’re
