SHADOWS OF THE PAST

Though Macy Douglas remembers nothing from the night of her mother’s murder, she’s determined to prove her father’s innocence in the crime. But she soon finds that returning to her childhood home and digging up her family’s past is a surefire way to attract enemies—and a killer that’s still at large. Now only handsome local cop Nick Baldwin can safeguard her—even if that means disobeying direct orders and risking his job. His boss might not think Macy’s in harm’s way, but Nick’s suspicions are soon confirmed when an assailant breaks into her house. Nick tries to trigger Macy’s memories for clues…but someone will do anything to ensure that the past remains forgotten.

“He said to get out while I could…if I wanted to live.”

Nick choked, sputtering his soft drink over the table. He grabbed a napkin to clean up the mess he’d made, stunned at what he’d heard. “He said what?”

Macy repeated the threat, looking lost, while Nick stared at her. What was going on here? Someone threatened to kill her if she stayed in this house. So what was hidden here that someone wanted bad enough to pull something like this? Or was it someone who wanted to get her out of town before she found out something better left secret?

He wanted to reach across the table and take her hand, tell her it would be all right, but she’d know he was lying. Nothing would be all right until they found out the truth about Megan Douglas’s death and learned for certain who had killed her. Most important, he had to find the jerk harassing Macy before this situation turned deadly.

BARBARA WARREN started making up stories when she was young. When she grew older, she began working on her dream of becoming a real writer. Now writing is an important part of her life and she tries to make time for it almost every day. Barbara lives in the rural Ozarks with her husband. You can learn more about her at her website, barbarawarrenbluemountainedit.com, or on Facebook.

Dangerous Inheritance

Barbara Warren

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Though I walk in the midst of trouble,

Thou wilt revive me: Thou shalt stretch forth Thine hand against the wrath of mine enemies,

and Thy right hand shall save me.

—Psalms 138:7

Dedicated to Mary Lowe, Carol Parscale, Randi Perry, Ronica Stramel and Alice Leverich, my critique group, and to my agent, Terry Burns, who works so hard for me. And a special thank-you to Tina James and Emily Krupin at Love Inspired Suspense for being so helpful and so easy to work with. I appreciate you very much.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Praise

Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

Dear Reader

Extract

Copyright

ONE

A car drove by and turned the corner, but Macy Douglas ignored it. All her attention was centered on her grandmother Lassiter’s house—the house where her mother had been brutally murdered—the house where her father had been arrested as the killer. The house she couldn’t remember, even though she had apparently lived here the first seven years of her life. Dark and forbidding, and at least two stories tall, it sat back from the street on a large lot. She hadn’t realized the house would be this big—or this intimidating.

Lightning flared. A gust of wind rattled the branches overhead like dry bones. She shot a glance upward before giving herself a mental shake. Enough of this. She had to stop being such a coward. It was just a house, the house a grandmother she couldn’t remember had left to her.

It was hers...and she didn’t want it.

Didn’t want the secrets hiding behind that innocent-looking facade. Secrets better left dormant behind the barrier her mind had erected, protecting her from the horror of that night.

She stared up at the rounded turret of the old Queen Anne house. What had really happened here? In spite of her resolve to learn the truth, did she really want to know? Would the knowledge destroy all she wanted to believe about her father?

When Grandmother Douglas lay dying she had gasped out “the box.” When Macy found the metal box with information about her father’s death in prison, there had also been a letter telling her not to come here, that it would be dangerous. But she had come because she needed to know the truth about her family—the truth about what had happened in this house.

Lightning flashed again, illuminating the wide porch and the front of the house. Thunder grumbled overhead.

Macy climbed the steps and inserted the key her grandmother Lassiter’s lawyer had sent her. The door swung open, silent as a shadow. She caught her breath, listening, but the low growl of thunder and the wind whipping the tree limbs were the only sounds. She fumbled for the light switch.

A chandelier sprang to life and she had a fleeting impression of a mahogany table, the glint of a gold framed mirror, before a jagged spear of lightning split the sky.

Thunder exploded.

The lights went out!

Darkness closed around her, the silence like a heavy blanket. Macy glanced behind her. The streetlight on the corner shed a circle of dull light, but all the houses in the area were dark. The lightning must have done major damage. She turned back to face the house, fumbling in her pocket for the penlight she carried. Her fingers closed around the smooth cylinder. The tiny light barely dented the darkness. A staircase rose on the left, disappearing into the ebony depths of the upper regions.

A door beckoned, and Macy crept toward it. She caught a glimpse of old-fashioned chairs and a fireplace.

A slight movement at the window suddenly caught her attention. A pale oval pressed against the glass—someone was peering in.

Watching her.

Macy whirled, running to the door. She plunged down the porch steps and strode around the house, swinging the penlight from side to side. Right there. That’s where the sneak had to have been standing. So where was he now?

Then strong arms clamped around her, yanking her back in a tight embrace. Macy dropped the penlight. A scream ripped from her throat as she clawed at the arms encircling her, trying to break loose.

* * *

Nick Baldwin grunted and caught the intruder’s shoulders, swinging the guy around. The stranger’s ball cap fell off and long copper-colored hair swung down, swirling in the wind. Nick revised his impression in a hurry. This was no man.

It was a woman! A very angry woman determined to break his hold, and he had his hands full trying to stop her.

“Let go of me.” She twisted her body, trying to wrench loose.

His grip tightened. “Whoa! Take it easy. I’m not going to hurt you.”

He propelled her toward the front porch and jerked out his cell phone. “Sit down on that step so I can keep an eye on you.”

She sat, glaring up at him, and he had the impression she was braced to jump and run. A jagged flash of lightning slashed the sky, followed by a cannon blast of thunder. The storm was moving closer.

He ended the call and stood in front of her, firm and unyielding. “You just sit there for a few minutes. I’ve got someone coming to help straighten this out.”

She arched an eyebrow. “You can’t handle one woman by yourself?”

Amused by her question, he chuckled, breaking the tension. There was laughter in his voice when he spoke. “I don’t think that’s the problem. I’m Nick Baldwin, a police officer here in Walnut Grove. And right now—like it or not—I’m in charge. You just sit there for the time being and we’ll try to get everything worked out before the storm hits.”

A sprinkle of raindrops greeted his words, and the woman glanced at the sky, looking startled. He hoped it wouldn’t start pouring, but if it did, they could move to the wide front porch.

He stood before her, relaxed, but blocking her from leaving. Nick was aware that with his back to the street his face was hidden in the shadows, so she would have no idea what he looked like. But the dim glow from the streetlight had to show her he was in uniform. A policeman.

She stared up at him. “Why were you looking in the window?”

“I saw a light moving around in the house and then you came barreling out. I’ve got some questions for you, but they can wait for a few minutes.”

A police car pulled into the driveway and parked behind her Chevy. Sam Halston got out and left the motor running and the lights on, illuminating the scene.

“Hey, Nick. What’ve we got here?”

Nick turned to face him. “I saw something like a flashlight in a house that’s supposed to be locked and unoccupied, and then she came rushing out the door and down the steps like something was chasing her. Thought it might be a good idea to check her out. I’d be interested in learning how she got inside and what she was doing there.”

Sam approached. “Okay, let’s see what’s going on. You got any identification?”

The woman switched her attention to him, but she didn’t look any friendlier. “It’s in the car. If you can call off your watchdog, I’ll go get it.”

“Well, now, I think it might be better if Nick escorted you. We can’t take a chance on you hopping in and driving off, now can we?”

She didn’t answer, but she got to her feet and marched down the drive. Nick followed her, watching as she reached inside the car and retrieved her purse. She took out her driver’s license and handed it to him, but he could tell from her expression she was ticked off.

He tilted the license to the light, then glanced in her direction. “Macy Douglas. You’re not from here, so what are you doing in Opal Lassiter’s house?”

“She was my grandmother.”

Sam stepped forward. “Let me see that.”

He took her license from Nick. “So, you’re Steve Douglas’s daughter. I heard you might be coming to town. How long are you here for?”

“I have no idea. Does it matter?” A gust of wind lashed the branches of the trees and whipped her long copper-colored hair into her eyes. She sent a quick glance overhead at the approaching storm.

He handed back the license. “I’m Sam Halston, chief of police in Walnut Grove.”

Nick glanced at him through narrowed eyes. So Sam was familiar with her name. And how had he heard she might be coming to town? It was time he took part in the conversation. “We’ve had a problem with attempted break-ins at this house recently. So far, whoever it was got scared off before getting in, and the neighborhood watch in this area is used to being on guard. They kept an eye on Opal while she lived here.”

“Are you saying someone reported me when I drove in? How did you get here so fast? I’d only been in the house for a few minutes before you showed up.”

He could hear the suspicion in her voice. Well, that worked both ways. He was a little suspicious himself and he hadn’t learned yet why she was in the house. “I’ve made a habit of driving by and keeping an eye on things, and it’s a small town. It doesn’t take long to get to any part of it. But none of this answers the most important question. Why are you here at this time of the night?”

She hesitated, and he waited, his eyes holding hers. Finally she sighed and started talking. “This house is a piece of my family history, and I was curious about it. I suppose I could have waited until morning, but I wanted to find it and see what it looked like.”

“You lived here when you were young,” Sam said. “You ought to have some memories of it.”

“I was seven years old when I left, and no, I don’t remember much.” She slid her license into her wallet and closed her purse, slinging it over her shoulder. “May I go now?”

“That depends,” Sam said, sounding reluctant. “Where are you going?”

“To a motel, I guess. If there’s one in town that still has lights.”

“There’s a good one on the highway, and the outage is just on this side of town. It’ll probably be off for several hours. Nick’ll show you how to find the motel, and I want to have a talk with you in the morning.”

Macy shook her head. “I have a nine o’clock appointment with Raleigh Benson, my grandmother’s lawyer.”

“Make it eight, then. Nick will give you directions.” He turned and walked away. A handful of raindrops splattered around them and Nick motioned toward her car.

“We’d better get. It’s going to start pouring in a few minutes. I’m parked just around the corner. Follow me, and I’ll show you the way to the motel.”

“First I have to lock the house.”

They hurried back to the porch and he waited while she climbed the steps, checked the light switch and locked the door before jogging over to their separate cars.

Nick walked around the corner to his car and drove back to the driveway, pulling in front of Macy to lead the way. He watched in his rearview mirror, making sure she followed him. She hadn’t been all that cooperative, and he wouldn’t put it past her to speed off in the other direction.

Of course, the way he’d surprised her might have something to do with how she’d acted. The minute he’d felt the softness of her shoulders, seen the glimmer of that long hair flashing across her face, he knew he’d messed up. Even in the pale glow of the streetlight, that copper-colored hair held a fire of its own. A man could warm his hands by it.

Since she was from out of town the possibilities of her being their mystery burglar were practically nonexistent. But why didn’t she remember living here? After all, she’d spent a few years in this house. She should remember something. But what was she doing here, alone, at this time of night? Her explanation had been lame, to put it mildly. And what was she doing inside the house?

Macy Douglas still had some explaining to do.

Macy followed him into the parking lot of a Motel 6, the windshield wipers slapping at a barrage of raindrops. Nick got out and hurried toward her car, shoulders hunched and head ducked against the wind. She rolled down the window and he stuck his head inside, the rain pelting his shoulders.

She stared at him, looking startled as their eyes met—and held. His heartbeat kicked up a notch. A reaction he hadn’t expected and definitely didn’t want. Macy leaned back as if trying to put a little distance between them. Maybe he needed to try that, too. Regardless of how lovely she was, he didn’t need any more complications in his life.

She seemed almost as surprised as he was. After a split-second hesitation, he said, “You’ll be all right here. I’ll drop by in the morning and show you the way to the police station. Be ready about seven thirty and we’ll pick up a bite to eat first. There’s a restaurant in town that puts out a good breakfast.”

“That will be fine, I guess,” she muttered.

He nodded and stepped back. “I’ll go with you to check in and get your room number.”

They hurried toward the office, Nick striding along with her. She probably didn’t want to check in with a policeman standing beside her. He could understand that. It wasn’t the best way to make a good impression.

The motel clerk eyed them curiously, but he assigned her a room and handed her a key. Nick lifted her suitcase out of the car. A curtain of rain danced on the pavement and bounced off the motel roof, soaking them both. She unlocked the door and turned to face him. Crystal raindrops glistened in her hair, and those sea-green eyes fringed with thick dark lashes seemed to warm for a moment.

She smiled suddenly and his heartbeat kicked up another notch. “Thank you for showing me the way to the motel. I’d probably still be driving around, lost in a strange town. Now you’d better get in out of the rain.”

He nodded and handed her a card. “You need anything, call me. I’ll see you in the morning.”

He noticed she watched him run back to his patrol car before going inside and locking the door.

Nick drove away from the motel thinking about Macy Douglas. The sudden flare of attraction he’d felt that moment in the motel parking lot had surprised him, but he couldn’t deny there had been a spark between them. The way she had stood up to him and to Sam, not giving an inch, was impressive. He’d give her one thing, she was a fighter. And she had the kind of beauty that would be hard for any man to resist.

He’d known her grandmother Lassiter, and everyone in town knew about the brutal murder of Opal’s daughter, Megan Douglas, and that Steve, Megan’s husband, had been convicted of killing her and had died in prison. It was part of the town’s history. A part most of them would just as soon forget.

He drew up to a stoplight, his thoughts still on Macy. Opal had led a quiet life, not getting involved in community affairs, but he had a hunch her granddaughter would be different. Yet he sensed vulnerability behind that feisty behavior, as if she were afraid of something. Maybe he could find out more tomorrow at breakfast.

Nick hurried home to change into dry clothes and then drove to the police station. Sam greeted him as he entered. “You get the Douglas woman settled all right?”

“She’s at Motel 6. Or at least that’s where I left her. Why? What’s up?”

“I’m wondering why she came to town, and why now. She hasn’t been back since she was a kid, and I’ve got a hunch she’s up to something. You’re too young to remember what it was like when Megan Douglas was killed. She was well liked, went to church, owned and ran her own business. Steve was something else.”

“How so?”

Sam leaned back in his chair, getting comfortable. “Steve had a favorite in the state senate race, and it wasn’t our Garth Nixon. Steve went all out, using his newspaper to influence the voters in this area. Pretty much divided the town—even divided the whole district. Cost Garth the election. I’d hate to see it all stirred up again. You never know how people will react, and if she’s anything like her dad, things could get out of hand.”

“What does that have to do with his wife’s death?”

“The police chief was Garth’s cousin. When Steve was arrested, some people figured it was payback time, like maybe the police didn’t try hard enough to find the real killer.”

Nick stared at Sam, thinking about what he had just said. The police had been accused of playing dirty? His father had been a cop back then. No way would his dad have been a part of anything like that—not the man he remembered and had looked up to. “You can’t be serious. My dad was an honest cop. He’d have quit before he stood by and let someone pull something wrong. You know better than that.”

Sam shrugged. “I’m guessing there could have been some dirty work going on. There’s always that possibility. And no, I don’t think your dad would have taken part, but he might not have known about it. I don’t know all that much about what went on, and at the time it wasn’t any of my business, so I really didn’t care all that much.”

Nick narrowed his eyes. “That was what, twelve or thirteen years ago?”

“More like seventeen, I believe. Macy was just a kid. He knocked her out, almost killed her. And that was another problem. Regardless of Steve’s politics, a lot of people had trouble believing he’d kill his wife or hurt his own kid. He was crazy about that girl.”

Nick remembered the way Macy Douglas had stared at the old house. Something had brought her to Walnut Grove and he had a feeling it was rooted in the past.

“If he was innocent, that means there might still be a killer out there who doesn’t want to get caught.”

TWO

Morning light filtered through the blinds as Macy glanced around the motel room. This wasn’t turning out to be a great day. First she needed to get through the meeting with Sam Halston. Then she had the meeting with the lawyer, another thing she wasn’t looking forward to. According to him, her grandmother Lassiter had been dead for several months, but he’d had to close out the estate and then it took a while to locate her. And then after seeing the lawyer she would move into her grandmother’s house. She had no idea what she was getting into, but there were only two options: carry this through or turn tail and run.

She had no place to run.

When Grandma Mattie had been battling the cancer that had finally killed her, Macy had to take several days off work at Wesley Manufacturing, which hadn’t sat well with her supervisor, Lena Hankins, a cold, play-it-by-the-book woman who didn’t believe in second chances. Then when she had needed a few days to get her grandmother’s affairs in order Lena had given her a choice: forget it or quit.

Fresh from the funeral and still wounded by losing the only family member she had left, Macy had walked out. So here she was, no job, no family, no one who cared. She’d listed Grandma Mattie’s house for sale, but so far, no takers.

And eating breakfast with Nick Baldwin seemed way too intimate. What had she been thinking? A knock on the door sent her hurrying to open it. Nick stood there in his police uniform, the rising sun dusting his shoulders with gold. His smile was warm and welcoming. At this stage in her life, warm and welcoming was good. He was also six feet or more of muscle and charm. A deadly combination.

His dark hair was combed back, not rumpled as it had been in last night’s storm, and his golden-brown eyes were friendly as he stepped back to let her walk past. She accidently brushed against him, and quickly moved on, more aware of him than she liked. What was it about Nick Baldwin that affected her this way?

He smiled and her pulse rate accelerated. “I guess we’d better go in separate cars since you have an appointment with your lawyer right after you talk to Sam.”

The flare of disappointment caught her by surprise. After all, it wasn’t as if she wanted to spend more time with him—or did she?

And her lawyer? She’d never met Raleigh Benson. Would he be friendly to the granddaughter who had never seen or talked to Opal Lassiter, her maternal grandmother, in the past seventeen years? Or would he be one of the enemies her grandmother Douglas had warned her about in the letter Macy had found after her death?

Macy closed the door and locked it behind her, and they walked through the parking area. The April air smelled fresh and clean after the rain. A sprinkling of new leaves brightened the tall oaks, and sturdy green shoots of jonquils held a promise of golden blooms to come. Nick waved from his car and she followed, finding it hard to believe that she was actually looking forward to having breakfast with him.

Last night she had been ready to deck him. Had her feelings toward him changed that fast? Grandma Mattie had believed the police in Walnut Grove were corrupt. What about Nick? Could she trust him, or beneath that friendliness was he really her enemy?

She drove into the restaurant lot and found a spot to park close to his car. He stood beside it waiting for her. Today he bore little resemblance to the hard, suspicious policeman he’d been last night. Tall, broad shoulders filling his uniform, he had the kind of rugged good looks she liked in a man. His grin lit up his face.

Her lips moved in an answering smile that was a little more spontaneous than she intended. She jerked herself up short, clamping down on her emotions. No matter how good-looking Nick Baldwin was, the last thing she needed was to get involved with a policeman. At least not until she learned more about this town...and Nick.

* * *

Nick held the restaurant door open for Macy, noticing the way the sun struck glowing bronze highlights in her hair. She was even more beautiful than he’d realized, and she wasn’t angry or nervous the way she’d been last night. Maybe it had just been stress from driving in an unfamiliar place after dark with a storm threatening, and then being harassed by a stranger.

He reached for a menu, wondering why she was here. He didn’t know anything about this woman, but for some reason he was interested in her, and it had nothing to do with the way she looked, or that vulnerable expression she wore some of the time. Or at least that’s what he wanted to believe.

As a matter of fact, he really couldn’t explain why he spent so much time thinking about her. Maybe he should back off a little until he found out more about what was going on. He needed to remain professional, concentrate on her reason for being here, instead of thinking of her as a woman who needed his help.

The waitress took their order: eggs and sausage for him, cheese omelet and a cup of peach yogurt for her. Nick smiled in approval. He liked a woman with a good appetite. He leaned back and studied Macy. She had the same copper-colored hair and green eyes as her deceased mother, judging from the pictures he’d found of Megan Douglas in his research last night on the internet. There hadn’t been much, just a couple of articles about the trial. Not a lot of help.

But regardless of how good she looked, he couldn’t let those sea-green eyes and that dusting of freckles across her nose distract him from the job at hand—learning why Macy Douglas was in Walnut Grove and what she hoped to accomplish. He didn’t believe she just decided all at once to visit. Something had brought her here, and he wanted to know what. He had a personal interest in this now since his father might have had a hand in sending her dad to prison.

Before he could speak, she put down her fork and gave him a straight look. “Tell me the truth—how did you manage to get to that house so fast last night? I’d only been there for a few minutes before you grabbed me. And why were you parked around the corner instead of in the driveway?”

So all right, maybe she wasn’t as calm as she appeared to be, and apparently she hadn’t forgiven him for his part in what had happened. He searched for the right words. Until he knew why she was here, he wasn’t about to discuss police business with her.

“Like I said, I got a call that you’d pulled into the drive and I was nearby. I drove past just as you stopped. Since I didn’t know who you were or why you were there, I just went around the block and parked, then walked the rest of the way.”

She looked thoughtful. “I see. You said there had been attempted break-ins. What were they looking for, and why didn’t they succeed?”

He took a sip of coffee so hot it burned his tongue, trying to decide how to answer. “I don’t know what they’re looking for. As for why they didn’t succeed, people were used to watching to see if Opal was all right or if she needed anything.”

She gave him a skeptical glance. “Go on.”

He shrugged, hoping to appease her without giving away too much. “Opal had an alarm system installed a couple of years ago. That went off once recently, scaring the burglar away and alerting her neighbors. And people are quick to call in if they see anything suspicious. It’s a good neighborhood. They watch out for each other.”

Whoever was trying to break in had damaged the alarm system so it didn’t work anymore, which was one reason the police were keeping an eye on the place, and why the neighbors were on high alert. Someone was determined to get inside Opal Lassiter’s house. It was common knowledge she didn’t keep anything of value at home, so there had to be another reason for the recent attempts to break in, and he wondered whether it might tie into the sudden appearance of Macy Douglas. Like the robber knew she was coming and wanted to find something before she got there.

He wondered how many people had expected Macy Douglas to show up in town. Sam knew. So how did he find out?

Macy picked up her glass of water and sipped. “Too bad they didn’t have a system like that in place when my mother was killed.”

Nick caught the bitterness in her voice and understood it completely. Compassion surged through him for this woman who had lost so much. “Things are different today, I guess. More people, more crime. But the police were convinced they had the killer. There was evidence to back up that decision.”

Macy gave him a stern look, as if daring him to dispute her words. “The police were wrong. My father wasn’t a killer. He was a good, decent man who was sent to prison for a crime he didn’t commit. And he died there.”

Nick stared at her, caught by the conviction in her voice. So that was what she believed. Maybe Sam was right. Her coming could stir up trouble they might not be able to control. Start talk like that and people would line up taking sides.

“Do you have any proof of what you’re saying?”

“No, but I’m going to find it, even if I have to turn this town on its ear.”

Judging from the green fire burning in her eyes, he figured she just might do that. According to Sam, passions still ran high over what had happened back then, but most of what he’d heard had been about the election. A woman had been killed. Surely that should have been everyone’s first concern. Had the murder of Megan Douglas gotten lost in the uproar over a failed election? Some people seemed to lose what little sense they had when it came to politics.

Nick glanced at his watch, hating to end this conversation, but they had to go.

“Are you through? If you are, we need to leave. It’s almost time for you to meet with Sam.”

He dropped some bills on the table, enough to pay for breakfast and provide a tip, and followed her outside. “I’ll lead the way. It’s just a short distance from here.”

Macy didn’t look happy, but she nodded and got in her car, and he did the same.

He wasn’t sure what Sam had in mind, but whatever it was, he intended to keep an eye on Macy Douglas. Judging from the mood she was in, there was no telling what kind of trouble she might stir up.

Nick parked in front of the police station and waited for Macy to join him. Their conversation in the restaurant had been puzzling. He guessed it was normal for her to hope her father wasn’t guilty, but she had sounded so sure. Did she have evidence of some kind that led her to believe in his innocence? If she did, where had she found it, and why had it surfaced after all these years?

They entered the building, and Nick led her into the police chief’s office and at Sam’s instruction, took a chair against the wall.

Macy sat down across the desk from Sam, looking a little intimidated. Most people felt nervous at being summoned to a police station, whether or not they had done anything wrong. And here he was sitting behind her, as if he was blocking her from leaving. He guessed he could understand how she felt.

Sam leaned forward, resting his arms on the desktop. Medium height, carrying about ten pounds more than he needed, and his hair thinning on top, he didn’t look as intimidating as he had last night. Nick hoped that would help Macy relax.

The police chief eyed her intently. “You had a rough welcome to Walnut Grove. I hope it goes better from here on out.”

“Thank you.”

He waited, staring at her as if he wanted more. “How long are you planning to stay?”

Nick had a hunch she probably didn’t want to answer Sam’s question.

“I’m not sure. I haven’t talked to my grandmother’s lawyer yet, and I haven’t had a chance to inspect the house. Depending on what I learn, I might be here for an extended visit.”

Sam nodded, his expression and tone of voice sending a clear message that he wasn’t happy with her answer, or with her presence in Walnut Grove. “What do you know about your mother’s death?”

Macy looked like she didn’t want to answer that, either, and Nick wanted to jump in and ask a few questions of his own, but this was Sam’s show, so he made an effort to keep quiet.

After taking a deep breath, she said, “Just that she was murdered in that house. I was very young and my grandmother Douglas never talked about it, but she was convinced my father was innocent.”

Sam pressed his lips together as if she had just confirmed what he suspected. When he spoke, his voice was stern, almost condemning. “This is a quiet little place. Oh, we have crime, but nothing like murder, as a general rule. What happened hurt the town and I’d hate to see it all stirred up again.”

Macy bristled as if she was getting a little of her spunk back. “I believe it hurt my family more than it hurt the town. And if stirring things up again—as you put it—can clear my father’s name and bring my mother’s killer to justice, then that’s the way it has to be.”

“Your parents are both dead. Nothing you can do now will help them. But ripping this town apart over something that happened years ago can do a lot of damage. I won’t allow that to happen.”

She stood, apparently ready to leave whether he liked it or not. “I have no intention of damaging anything or anyone, but I will do everything in my power to find out what happened to my family and who was responsible. I’ll be living in my grandmother’s house until I learn the truth.”

Sam shoved his chair back and got to his feet. “You may be putting yourself in danger. Have you thought of that?”

“Of course I’ve thought about it, and since you’ve made it clear I can’t expect any help from the police, it looks like I’m on my own.”

She gripped the back of the chair. “Let me ask you something. You say someone is trying to break into my grandmother’s house. What do you think they hope to find? And what do you plan to do about it?”

She whirled and stalked out before he could answer, not even glancing at Nick to see how he took her confrontation with his boss.

He watched Macy stride from the room before glancing across the desk at Sam. “What was that all about?”

Sam shrugged. “That woman is trouble. The sooner she leaves town, the better.”

“If she owns a house in Walnut Grove, I’d say she has a right to be here.”

“She’s up to something and I don’t want this department mixed up in it. You stay away from everything connected to Macy Douglas if you know what’s good for you.”

He walked out of the office, leaving Nick to stare after him. He had to be kidding.

First Sam hinted the police might have been involved in something dirty back when Megan Douglas was murdered. Then he ordered him to just drop it, stay away from the woman who was stirring things up? Regardless of how Sam felt, Nick would keep an eye on Macy Douglas. Someone had to, and it looked like it was up to him.

THREE

Macy drove to the motel, paid her bill and loaded her suitcase in the car. The meeting with the attorney had just been more of the same behavior she’d experienced from Sam Halston—she needed to sell the house and leave town.

She’d learned a couple of things, though. Her grandmother hadn’t left her the house. Her parents had left it to her. Opal Lassiter moved into the house where her daughter had died when her own husband, distraught over Megan’s death, committed suicide and left her bankrupt. Apparently she’d done well because she’d left Macy a good-size sum of money. Something she could definitely use. According to the attorney Opal had worked in the bank, she’d moved up to a good position and she had been thrifty. She’d also been a quiet woman, keeping to herself a lot of the time. Church and friends had been her only social activities.

Raleigh Benson had given Macy all the keys to the house he had in his file. She already had one to the front door, but she didn’t want other keys out there for someone else to use. Another thing bothered her. Why would a grandmother who made no effort to stay in touch be so generous at her death? It didn’t make sense.

She reached the house without any trouble but found Nick Baldwin and his police car parked in her driveway. What was he doing here? Did he intend to stop her from moving in? There must be something in that house they didn’t want her to see. Well, she’d find it in spite of them. She might be outnumbered, but she wouldn’t give up without a fight.

Macy got out of the car and waited for Nick to join her. Had Sam sent him to check on her? She wouldn’t put it past him.

“What are you doing here?”

The smile stayed in place, but there was something watchful about his eyes. “I thought you might need some help moving in.”

“I don’t have all that much and I can manage just fine.” He had to have a reason for showing up at just the right time to help. No, not just showing up. He was waiting for her. Which made her a little uneasy, considering the way she’d already been treated that day.

He shrugged, still looking pleasant. “I thought you might feel more comfortable if you had someone with you when you went inside. I won’t get in your way, just be along to keep you company in case you need anything.”

And she was supposed to believe this? “Does Sam know you’re here?”

The grin faded, but if she’d struck a nerve it didn’t show. He shook his head. “No, this is something I’m doing on my own. I just thought it might help if you didn’t have to do this alone.”

Okay, she hated to admit it, and wasn’t going to admit it to him, but she had been dreading going inside again. Afraid of what she might find or how she would feel. It would be easier to have someone with her, and it was nice of him to think of it—if he was telling the truth. And if he wasn’t, she’d deal with it later.

Right now she felt better just to have him standing beside her, strong and dependable. Macy shook her head. Dependable? What was she thinking? She didn’t know him well enough to be sure of that. She held up the key ring, steeling herself to face the inevitable. “All right, let’s go.”

The storm had left a scattering of budding leaves and broken twigs covering the walk. They crunched underfoot as she strode toward the house, hearing him stepping along behind her. Seen in daylight, the house was still imposing. Two stories high plus an attic, cream-colored with light blue and beige trim, a wide porch and a corner turret, classic Queen Anne. Beautiful, but not exactly cozy. Scary might be a better word. She swallowed the lump in her throat and fumbled with the key ring the lawyer had given her.

Nick reached over and took it from her. “I’d guess this is the one you need.” He inserted it in the lock.

Macy motioned for him to go first, not sure she was ready. She followed, nerves prickling. The entry hall had a hardwood floor and a long mahogany table against one wall, with a wide gold-framed mirror hanging behind it, elegant, but cold. Macy walked slowly through to enter the living room. It looked different in the daylight.

Gold brocade armchairs with high backs flanked the fireplace. A crystal chandelier with a cluster of white candle-like lights hung overhead. An alcove held a matching gold sofa with a scattering of ivory and darker gold pillows. The air smelled musty, as if the house hadn’t been aired for some time. Judging from the muted rumble of the furnace, the heat was still on.

The furniture wasn’t new, so she assumed it had been here when her parents were alive. At least she hoped it had. Maybe it would jog her memory in some way. She moved farther into the room, nerves keyed to the max, almost forgetting to breathe while waiting for something to spark a recollection.

Nothing.

Macy swallowed her disappointment. What had she expected? That everything would immediately fall into place? When had her life ever been that easy? She walked over to stand in front of the white fireplace with a marble mantel holding several pictures of people she probably should know.

She waited for a hint of recognition. Nothing happened. She turned to Nick. “Is one of these my mother? Would you know?”

He gave her a curious look, and pointed to a photograph of a woman laughing at the camera. She had the same red hair as Macy and now that she really looked, there was a resemblance in the planes of her face, the curve of her lips. Not an exact replica, but there could be no denying the similarities.

“You don’t know what she looked like?” Nick asked.

She wasn’t sure how he would take it or if he would even believe her, but it was time to tell the truth. “I don’t remember her. I don’t remember my father, either, or even remember living in this house. The first seven years of my life are a total blank.”

Macy watched him trying to take this in. It probably sounded like something she’d made up, but let him try living with it, try realizing that a part of him was missing. That he didn’t know what exactly, just the gap in his life. See how he felt then.

“You don’t remember anything?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

She hadn’t expected him to understand, so why was she disappointed by his reaction? Why would she care if he believed her or not? His belief or disbelief had nothing to do with the truth.

“I have dissociative amnesia. According to my doctor it happens when a person blocks out certain information usually caused by stress from something a person has witnessed. My memory begins when I woke up in the hospital with Grandma Mattie sitting by my bedside. I have no recollection of ever being in this house. I’m hoping living here will help restore what I’ve lost.”

If not, at least she would know she’d tried. But if she could recall the events of the night her mother died, perhaps she could remember the face of the killer, and it would not be her father. It would take strong, irrevocable proof to make her believe otherwise.

Nick still looked uncertain, as if not sure what to think about everything she’d just said. “Let me get this straight. You don’t remember anything about living in this house. You don’t even remember your parents? Is that what you’re saying?”

She gave the collection of photos on the mantel a second look before answering. “That’s right. I don’t remember anything about them. And I don’t remember the grandmother who lived here. She was never a part of my life after I moved to Oklahoma. I didn’t know anything about her until I got a call from her lawyer.”

He nodded, as if in some way he understood, but he couldn’t. Not really. No one could unless they had lived it. She barely even understood it herself. But according to what she’d learned, she’d been born here, had lived here with her parents the first seven years of her life. Been attacked and left for dead the night her mother was murdered. Add that to the fact that all memories of her parents were gone, as if they had never existed. Then tell her she had no right to dig around in the past. She had every right, whether Sam Halston and Raleigh Benson liked it or not.

Or Nick Baldwin, either, for that matter.

Macy reached for the picture of her mother, and something rustled at the back of her mind. Laughter, soft arms holding her close. Almost as soon as the image came, it vanished, leaving her aching for more.

Her mother.

She wanted her mother.

The house had waited for her, large, empty and filled with secrets. Macy suddenly had an overwhelming desire to leave—get out of this place.

Resolutely, she gripped the mantel with both hands, fighting down the billowing wave of fear threatening to submerge her.

God, where are you? Help me. I can’t do this on my own.

Gradually the feelings subsided, leaving her in some semblance of control. She took a couple of shaky steps toward the next room. Nick followed, not saying anything, but she was aware of the way he watched her, as if expecting her to fall apart. Well, she almost had, and she was sure there were other shocks waiting for her in this house. She had to expect that. Would she be strong enough to do this?

Only with Your help, God.

Next was the dining room. A long walnut table surrounded by high-backed wooden chairs caught her eye. A matching sideboard sat along one wall with mounted pictures depicting the four seasons arranged above it. Beautiful furnishings, but nothing here spoke to her. Macy moved on, walking through the downstairs.

She ended up in the entry hall again and turned toward the staircase. Nick stopped her. “From what you’ve said, you probably don’t remember, but you were found here at the foot of the stairs. You’d been knocked unconscious. At first the police thought you were dead, but when they discovered you were breathing they rushed you to the hospital in an ambulance.”

Macy grasped the newel post with both hands. She’d been found here? Why couldn’t she remember?

“Where was my mother?”

“She was lying in front of the living-room fireplace.”

“How did she die?” She forced the words out through lips gone numb with shock.

Nick placed his hand over hers, his expression compassionate. She fought an urge to lean against him, draw courage from him.

“Are you sure you want to know?” he asked.

She drew a harsh breath that was almost a sob. “I have to know. After all these years, I can’t just pretend it didn’t happen. I need to know everything.”

He drew her away from the stairs. “Let’s sit down for a minute. This is going to be hard for you.”

She let him lead her into the living room and sank into the chair he indicated. He sat across from her, leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees. His gaze locked with hers, and she caught her breath at the concern reflected there.

After a minute he started speaking. “She’d been hit repeatedly with the fireplace poker. They found it beside you, and believe you were struck with it, too.”

Macy bowed her head, hands tightly clasped in her lap. Tears pooled in her eyes, and she furiously wiped them away. Beaten to death? Her mother? In this room? And she couldn’t remember. Even now, after what he’d said, she had a picture in her mind of what it could have been like, but she knew it wasn’t real, just a manufactured image. Not a memory.

Nick caught her hands, holding them in his. “Macy, look at me. It was a long time ago. You were just a child. It has nothing to do with you now.”

She raised her head to stare at him, tears blurring her vision. “It has everything to do with me. She was my mother. My mother was killed here, and I can’t even remember her. It’s like I’ve betrayed her in some way. Betrayed them both. My father died in prison and I can’t give the police the name of the person who destroyed my parents.”

* * *

Nick knelt beside Macy, aching to help her, and knowing he couldn’t. No one could. All he could do was kneel here and watch her suffer. He couldn’t share her grief and feelings of guilt, but he could understand her need. Whatever it took, he was going to do everything possible to help her learn the truth—if it was available after all these years. He wanted to take her in his arms and comfort her, but he was a stranger and he was afraid that would upset her even more. Better to wait and just be here if she needed him.

After a long time she raised her head. “I need to go through the rest of the house. Will you go with me?”

“I’ll be glad to.” He helped her to her feet and continued holding her hand. To reassure her.

They mounted the stairs together, her hand warm in his, and he slanted a sideways glance at her. She’d almost fallen apart in the living room. There might be even more personal reminders up here. He’d need to stay close. Be ready to help.

It must be horrible for her not to remember her parents. He had good memories of growing up, of times spent with his mother, fishing trips with his dad. He was a cop today because he was following in his father’s footsteps. He couldn’t imagine not remembering them.

He hadn’t been completely honest with Macy. Sure he figured she might be nervous about entering the house, but he also intended to do everything he could to prove the police, particularly his father, were innocent of any wrongdoing.

But if she didn’t remember the night her mother died, that had to be part of the reason she was here. What if her memories returned? Would she remember the face of who had killed Megan Douglas? The person who had brutally beaten Macy and left her for dead?

If she did remember, would it be Steve Douglas or someone different? Someone who lived in Walnut Grove and didn’t want Steve and Megan’s daughter staying here, trying to find out what actually happened that night? Someone who would do everything he could to prevent her from remembering? Macy just might be in more danger than he’d realized.

And what was going on with Sam, behaving the way he had? Almost as if he had a reason for not wanting Macy Douglas to stay here, a strong personal reason. That brought him up short. Sam had lived here all his life. He claimed to have had no interest in the murder, but what if he wasn’t telling the truth?

But then again, if Sam had a hand in the cover-up, why would he mention that the police might be involved? Or was he trying to throw suspicion on them to save his own neck? Nick felt ashamed at the thought. Sam was his boss, his friend. He needed to slow down, not jump to conclusions.

The rooms were in order, and apparently nothing caught Macy’s attention. He’d worried that she might remember her parents’ room, but she didn’t seem to see anything familiar. They turned toward the round turret room at the front, across the hall and down from what he took to be the master bedroom.

Macy stopped in the bedroom doorway, stiff and silent, as if she had received a sudden blow. What had she seen? She released his hand and took one step inside the room, looking around, mouth sagging open and eyes wide. He reached for her, knowing something had happened, but she moved away.

It was a child’s room, decorated in pink, pale green and white. Nothing looked new, but there was a floral bedspread with matching curtains, a small white wicker rocking chair and a bookcase full of children’s books.

Macy crossed to stand in front of them, fingering one after the other. “I know these. I’ve read every one. They used to be mine.”

She strode across the room to a white corner cabinet. The top shelves held an array of figurines, ceramic animals, things that would appeal to a seven-year-old girl. She ignored them, pulling open the door covering the bottom shelves.

Nick watched as she lifted out a large stuffed brown bear with a pink ribbon tied around its neck.

“Toby.” Macy snuggled the soft animal against her, cuddling it close. Behind her, Nick stirred restlessly. She turned to face him. “I remember this room. It was mine and I loved it here, and I loved this bear. It was a gift from my father. Oh, Nick, my memory is coming back!”

That’s what he was afraid of. Yes, he wanted to help her, but something about all of this was making him uneasy. What if Steve Douglas really was innocent of killing his wife? What if someone here in Walnut Grove knew the truth? That person wouldn’t want Macy to remember what had really happened that night. She walked downstairs, carrying the bear, and he followed, wishing he knew what to do.

First he’d like to get her out of this house. After all, there was someone trying to break in regularly. What if the person succeeded and found Macy here—alone?

“Look, Macy, you can’t stay here by yourself. Why don’t you spend a few nights at the motel for a while until you get better acquainted with this house and everything?”

“Everything?” She gave him a long, searching glance. “You mean you think I would be safer at the motel? That I’m in danger because I’m the Douglases’ daughter, and I’m here. Isn’t that right?”

He puffed out a frustrated breath of air. Yeah, that was what he thought, he just didn’t want to put it into words, but she wasn’t giving him a choice. He didn’t have anything to base it on, just a growing feeling of something off center. Maybe it was based on Sam’s belief that her coming here could stir up trouble.

“I guess so. I’m just not comfortable with you staying here by yourself.”

She nodded, looking serious. “I’m not comfortable with it, either. It’s like I’m walking a dark road and I don’t know what waits around the next curve. But I feel like this is something I have to do and I truly believe God is with me.”

Nick could understand that, but he wanted to be here, too. And where did that need to keep her safe come from? He barely knew Macy Douglas, so why was he going all protective over her? He didn’t understand it, but he knew it would take everything he had to walk away and leave her alone.

“All right, but I want you to keep my card handy, and you call me the minute anything bothers you. I mean it, Macy. Don’t wait to be sure something is wrong. Call.”

“I’ll be all right. After all, it’s just a house. My grandmother Lassiter lived here. I can, too.”

The smile she gave him looked like a brave attempt to appear confident, but it didn’t fool him a bit. Macy was afraid.

FOUR

Nick left and Macy closed the door and leaned against it. The house felt cold and empty now that he was gone. How long had it been since anyone except her grandmother had worried about her, or shown any concern for her? She wasn’t used to this. She wanted to run after him, beg him to stay, but then she drew a deep breath and wandered into the living room, stopping to examine the pictures.

There were no pictures of her father. Maybe not all that unusual, considering that Grandma Mattie Douglas hadn’t appeared to have any pictures of her mother. She moved to stand by the window, looking out. Two women, both mothers, each damaged forever by something beyond their control.

The pictures, or rather the ones that were missing, told the story. Her grandmother Lassiter had refused to display the pictures of the man she believed had killed her daughter. Her grandmother Douglas kept only the ones of the son she believed had been wrongly convicted.

Had the two women’s grief and anger extended to Macy? Was that why she knew nothing about her mother’s family? Never even knew she had a grandmother named Opal Lassiter? She was just beginning to understand how many lives had been damaged by what happened here.

Now it was up to her to bring it to a close. Would she be up to the job? Did she have a choice? She’d pretty well burned all her bridges.

The doorbell rang, startling Macy. A tall, husky, pleasant-faced woman stood there, smiling. “Macy? I’m Neva Miller. I have a housecleaning business and I cleaned for your mother and for your grandmother. And I remember you from back then. I’d like to speak with you.”

Company was the last thing Macy wanted right now, but she didn’t like to be rude, either. She smiled, trying to appear welcoming, but how did this woman know she would be here?

“Come on in. The living room is right through here, but I suppose you know that.”

Neva laughed. “Yes, there’s not much about this house I don’t know. I was surprised to hear you’d moved in. I’m sure it has some difficult memories for you.”

“I don’t remember much about living here. I was young, and from what I’ve been told, I was seriously injured at the time my mother was killed.”

Neva wore her sandy hair cut short and straight, her face was devoid of makeup, and her jeans and long-sleeved green shirt looked loose and comfortable. Now her blue eyes squinted at Macy. “You don’t remember what happened that night?”

“No. That’s one of the reasons I’m staying here. I’m hoping something will trigger my memory and it will all come back to me.”

“I see.” Neva looked thoughtful. “Well, you may be right. But then again, you might be better off if you don’t remember.”

Macy ignored that remark and glanced at her watch. There had to be a reason for this visit, so she hoped the woman would get to it. She had planned to do some more exploring before dark, and time was slipping by.

Neva must have realized what she was thinking, because she said, “I suppose you wonder why I’m here. I was hoping I could continue taking care of the house for you the way I did for Megan and Opal. I could use the work and it’s a big house. If you tried to clean it yourself, let me tell you, it’s a never-ending job. I can set whatever schedule works for you. I’m flexible.”

“I’m not sure how long I’ll be here, and I don’t have any long-term plans right now. You wouldn’t be interested in taking me on as a client knowing I might eventually leave, would you?”

Neva beamed. “Of course I would. I’ll take care of you just like I took care of Megan and Opal.”

Macy smiled. She knew what Neva meant, and this house would be a chore for her to keep up the way it should be. “All right. What would be a good day for you to come?”

“Any day you like.”

Macy thought for a minute. “How about Friday? Would that be convenient?”

Neva agreed, and promised to be there Friday morning around nine o’clock. She coughed suddenly, gasping for breath. “Water.”

Macy hurried to the kitchen to drop ice cubes into a glass. She turned on the water, letting it run until it was cold. Neva had stopped coughing, and Macy thought she heard a soft brushing sound from the other room, as if the woman was moving around. But when she carried the glass of water into the living room, Neva was sitting where Macy had left her.

Neva drained half of the liquid before glancing up at Macy. “Thank you, dear. Got a frog in my throat. Allergies. They’re bad this time of the year.”

Neva left soon after that and Macy locked the door behind her. She stood for a minute, overwhelmed by the heavy silence. Could she stay here? Alone? At night? Pride stiffened her spine. She’d set this course for herself. She couldn’t quit now.

She wished she hadn’t agreed to let Neva work for her. Looking back she couldn’t find a reason for the way she felt. Maybe it was just the fear and suspicion she felt about Walnut Grove and the people who lived here. Another thought occurred to her. How had Neva learned she was here?

Grandma Mattie’s letter she’d found in the box of papers containing information about her mother’s murder, and her father’s conviction and death in prison, had warned against going to Walnut Grove. Things she’d known nothing about. She’d been curious about her parents, asked questions, only to be brushed off by her grandmother, who made it clear she didn’t want to talk about the past. After a while Macy had stopped asking.

After Grandma Mattie’s funeral, she’d decided to ignore the letter, determined to discover the truth and clear her father’s name. But there was one thing she could only ignore at her own peril—since she didn’t know who her family’s enemy was, she’d be a fool to trust anyone.

Now that Neva had finally left, Macy spent her time prowling through the downstairs rooms. Not looking for anything in particular, just getting acquainted. She was standing in the kitchen when a sound startled her. She held her breath, listening. Had she heard something, or was it just her imagination?

It came again, a distant rattle. Startled, she rushed to the window and identified the source. A garbage truck rumbled up the street. Nothing to be afraid of—nothing but the house. And yes, she was afraid of this house. Afraid of what lay hidden within these walls. The silence smothered her until she longed to get out, get away from the implied threat lurking in the echoing rooms.

It was probably caused by the fact that she felt completely alone, with no one to talk to, no one to rely on. In the months Grandma Mattie had been sick most of her friends had drifted away.

Even Clark, her so-called fiancé, the man she thought cared for her and would stand by her forever, hadn’t lasted two months. He’d needed his freedom, claimed he couldn’t be tied to a woman who had to spend her time taking care of her sick grandmother. A woman who didn’t have enough time for him.

The pain caused by his rejection had been devastating, but it had also taught her two valuable lessons: be careful about trusting anyone, and pretty words didn’t mean much without commitment behind them. It had also left her with a firm conviction that most men shouldn’t be trusted. She thought of Nick Baldwin. Did that include him? She didn’t know yet. He’d have to prove himself before she made that decision.

Macy checked the doors, making sure they were safely locked. She paused at the foot of the stairs, looking up. The rooms above her waited with all the patience of a crouching lion. She climbed slowly, one step at a time, gripping the railing so tightly her hand ached. A step creaked underfoot. The hairs on her arms furred. The house smelled old, abandoned. It needed a good cleaning.

No, it needed people, a family. Would this sad, lonely house ever be a home again?

At the top of the stairs, she walked through the rooms, trying to decide where to sleep. Not in what was obviously the master bedroom—that had surely been her parents’ room. She wasn’t up to moving in there just yet. Not in the child’s room, either. Thinking about it sent a shiver up her back. Why hadn’t she been up here where she belonged that night? What had caused her to leave her bed and go downstairs? It was something she had to try to remember, but she couldn’t bear the thought of sleeping there. At least not yet.

She also avoided the room that must have been her grandmother’s. Grandmother Lassiter probably hadn’t wanted to take the master bedroom, either—the one her daughter had shared with Steve Douglas. The man Grandmother Lassiter believed was her daughter’s killer.

Finally Macy settled on the small room at the back. A search through various closets revealed a stack of clean sheets. She made up the bed, trying not to think about actually sleeping here. The thick branches of the trees outside blocked most of the glow from the streetlight, throwing the room into deep shadows when the lights were out. The house was too large, too lonely and way too silent for her to feel comfortable.

She glanced inside the bathroom. Forget a shower tonight. No way was she brave enough for that. Macy paused in front of the dressing table, looking at her reflection. The face staring back at her wore a nervous expression. She swallowed hard, refusing to speculate on what she was afraid of—she knew, she just didn’t want to face it.

She was afraid she would remember too much. More than she could handle. On this, her first night in the house.

The phone shrilled, shattering the silence.

Startled, Macy jerked as if she had been stung. Who could be calling at this hour? There was a phone in Grandmother Lassiter’s room. She scurried down the hall, catching it on the fourth ring.

A harsh voice that she took to be male grated over the line. “Are you enjoying yourself in that house?”

She almost dropped the receiver. “What? Who is this?”

“You don’t belong here. If you want to live, get out of there while you still can.”

Click.

Macy stared in shock at the receiver. If she wanted to live? Who had been on the other end of that line? Someone who knew she was in the house. Someone who didn’t want her there. Had news of her returning to Walnut Grove reached the ears of her mother’s killer?

She turned her head to look at the window. Was the caller standing outside watching? Or was he in the house with her? If he was using a cell phone he could be anywhere. How could she turn out the light and behave as if nothing was wrong?

God, are You listening? I’m afraid. Please...watch over me. Help me make it through this night.

She sat rigid, straining to hear. Was she really alone? Or was someone lurking downstairs waiting until she fell asleep? She thought about calling the police but she wasn’t sure she trusted them, and she didn’t know Nick well enough to call him in the middle of the night.

Finally she went to bed, only to lie there staring at the ceiling, straining to hear. Something creaked. A footstep on the stairs? She listened, nerves raw. Nothing. Probably just the normal sounds of an old house, but how could she be sure? She stared at the door, imagining a shadow lurking, peering into the room, but there was no movement. She tried closing her eyes, hoping to relax, but nothing helped.

Macy threw back the covers and crawled out of bed. The silence was too heavy, too full of danger—real or imagined—for her to sleep. For the past hour she’d been lying with her eyes wide-open, ears straining to hear and nerves stressed to the max. Now she strode down the hall, looking for something to distract her, anything to take her mind off the phone call and the few things she’d learned today. The house felt empty, dead. She shivered. Would life ever fill these echoing rooms again?

She slowed her pace, creeping past the room that had belonged to her parents, afraid of waking any of those long-forgotten memories. Facing them in the light of day was hard enough without confronting them in the dark and lonely evening hours. She felt the same way about her childhood room and its air of familiarity.

That left the room her grandmother Lassiter had used. Macy entered her grandmother Lassiter’s room feeling as if she was violating Opal’s privacy. She turned on the bedside lamp. The dark blue drapes and carpet matched the deepest shade of the striped bedspread. A worn Bible lay on the bedside table.

So both of her grandmothers had been believers. She sat down on the bed and picked up the Bible, thumbing through the fragile pages. Several passages were underlined, with personal notes written in the margin. The ninth verse of Joshua, chapter one, caught her attention.

Macy read it aloud. “‘Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be terrified; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.’”

She read it a second time, comforted by its simple promise. God must have led her to this verse, because it was exactly what she needed.

A church bulletin fell out of the back of the Bible. Walnut Grove Community Church. This must be where her grandmother had attended.

Tomorrow was Sunday. She’d start getting acquainted with the citizens of Walnut Grove by going to church. The people there would have known Opal Lassiter. Some of them must have been her friends. At least it was a place to start.

Macy sat on the bed, pondering her situation and begging God to help her. Finally she went back to her room, carrying the Bible. After placing the worn book on her bedside table, she crawled back into bed, pulling the blanket up around her shoulders.

She closed her eyes, feeling comforted—for now.

* * *

Nick drove past the Lassiter house, checking to see if everything looked all right.

The lights were off except for the one in the foyer and one upstairs that was probably the hall light. This was his third time to drive past here tonight. He hoped Macy was okay. It had to be strange for her staying in that house by herself. He was on duty tonight and he’d continue making a pass down this street occasionally. Not that he expected anything to happen, but there had been attempts to break in before she arrived in town. It paid to be careful.

Sam’s suspicion that Macy was bent on stirring up trouble had left him unsettled. There was also Macy’s conviction that her father was innocent. What was that based on? Nick’s thoughts turned again to Macy Douglas.

Maybe it was the rather dramatic way they had met last night, but something about her had gotten to him. It was more than the way she looked, with that fiery hair and gorgeous eyes. There was something deeper, something more personal drawing him to her.

Part of it had to be her determination to discover what really happened to her parents. This wasn’t a shallow woman. She had an appealing depth and a passion. As his father would have said, Macy was the real deal. If he tried to help in this search, he’d be seeing a lot more of her. He could handle that.

He waved at two kids on bicycles he knew. About time they were getting home. He thought about stopping and asking what they were doing out at night like this, but decided against it. They had just another block to go and he’d keep an eye on them. As often as he drove through this neighborhood checking on attempted burglaries at the Lassiter house, he knew every child and most of the adults.

Nick drove past the police station and saw Sam headed for his car. The chief motioned for him to pull in. He parked next to Sam’s car and waited for him to walk around to face him. Sam leaned his hands on the door. “You seen the Douglas woman today?”

“Yeah, I’ve seen her. She moved into Opal Lassiter’s house. Guess she’s planning to stay.”

Sam puffed out a blast of air. “That’s what I was afraid of.”

What was Sam’s problem with Macy Douglas? He hadn’t been a policeman back when the Douglas case happened, so he couldn’t have been involved. The way he’d been acting, though, seemed as if he had a personal grudge against Macy.

Surely Sam wasn’t one of the people he needed to watch. He liked and respected the guy, but this attitude about Macy Douglas was making him uncomfortable.

He glanced at his watch. Another hour and he’d be off duty. Then he could rest a bit, eat breakfast and go to church. He wondered if Macy would be there. Not that it was any of his business, but he wished he’d invited her to attend his church.

Nick waited for Sam to walk away, but Sam just stood there eyeing him suspiciously. “You taking up with that woman?”

“What woman?” He knew exactly what Sam meant, but right now he didn’t feel like cooperating.

Sam grunted. “That Douglas woman. You need to stay away from her. She’s trouble from the get-go. I don’t want you hanging around talking to her while on the clock. And that’s an order.”

Nick pursed his lips, feeling contrary. “I’d think you’d want someone watching her to see what she’s going to do next.”

“You sure that’s what you’ve got on your mind? She’s a good-looking woman and I’d hate to see you get involved with whatever trouble she plans to stir up.”

Nick thought about telling him that Macy didn’t remember her parents, didn’t remember living in that house, but that was her story to tell. “All she wants is to learn the truth. I can’t see any harm in that. The way I see it, knowing the truth is always better than believing a lie.”

“You go right on meddling if that’s what you’re determined to do, but don’t come running to me when you get in trouble. And if you help divide this town, you can forget about your job security. You got that?”

“I got it.” Nick watched Sam stomp toward his car. Really ticked off. That wasn’t good. Maybe he should back off, forget about it, but his conscience wouldn’t let him. Even if the truth destroyed his memories of his father. He hoped it didn’t come to that, but from the way Sam was acting, Nick had a gut feeling there might be a surprise headed his way.

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