CAN SHE TRUST A MYSTERY MAN?

Stranded in a blinding snowstorm, Laurel Adams must pin her hope of survival on a handsome stranger. The single mother and her teen daughter take refuge in his remote Rocky Mountain cabin. But Laurel’s anything but safe when she discovers a dead body in her trunk…and becomes the prime suspect in a murder investigation. Her rescuer, millionaire David Greene, knows what it’s like to be accused. Three years ago he was arrested for a crime he didn’t commit—an unsolved case that still haunts him. With the clock ticking, can they stop a cold-blooded killer with deadly ties to them both?

I can’t lose her.…

David gunned the engine, trailing Laurel’s car.

When he drew up behind her, her brake lights winked at him in a pair of short bursts. A deliberate move. She wasn’t trying to lose him. She needed help.

Redness edged David’s vision. If he got to this guy before the cops— No, he couldn’t let fury cloud his mind. He clamped down on his emotions.

Laurel turned into a mall entrance and he signaled to follow, but another vehicle surged in front of him. Just that fast, he lost her.

Eternal seconds later, as he drove around to the other side of the lot, his heart leaped. There was her car, the driver’s door wide-open.

David slammed on the brakes and ran to her car. Empty!

He stared wildly around, but saw nothing. His shoulders slumped. When she needed him the most, he’d failed the woman who meant more to him than his next heartbeat.

Why did he realize how precious she was now—when he might never get the chance to tell her?

JILL ELIZABETH NELSON

writes what she likes to read—faith-based tales of adventure seasoned with romance. By day she operates as housing manager for a seniors’ apartment complex. By night she turns into a wild and crazy writer who can hardly wait to jot down all the exciting things her characters are telling her, so she can share them with her readers. More about Jill and her books can be found at www.jillelizabethnelson.com. She and her husband live in rural Minnesota, surrounded by the woods and prairie and their four grown children, who have settled nearby.

Frame-Up

Jill Elizabeth Nelson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting; but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised.

—Proverbs 31:30

To all who have passed through the fire of testing and chosen the high road with God, who makes them over in His image; to all the single parents committed to raising their children right in a “gone wrong” world.

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

EPILOGUE

DEAR READER

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

EXCERPT

ONE

“Mo-o-om! Look out for the ditch!”

Caroline’s squeal rippled like a minor earthquake down Laurel Adams’s spine. Her death grip on the steering wheel shot pain up her forearms as she hauled the car away from the telltale crunch of gravel beneath the tires.

She squinted into the smothering blanket of white. Faint streaks of yellow winked on her left-hand side. Yes, she was again in her driving lane.

A long breath eased from her throat as she let up another notch on the accelerator. They were crawling along at barely thirty-five miles per hour. She navigated more by feel than by sight. At least it was daytime—the middle of the afternoon, actually, though only her watch gave much assurance that the sun was overhead somewhere.

None of the news services had predicted this pre-Thanksgiving storm in the Rocky Mountains that had swooped out of nowhere and swallowed them in its howling maw. If she’d had any warning, she would have cancelled her speaking engagement at YMCA of the Rockies, stayed snug in Denver and dealt with her daughter’s attitude in the comfort of their own home.

“Can’t we turn around and go back?” Caroline’s mocha-brown gaze pleaded with her mother.

“I’m sorry, sweetie.” Laurel shook her head. “We must be getting close to Estes Park. It’s safer to try to get that far and take shelter than to head home and hope we drive out of the storm.”

Caroline scowled and let out a loud sniff. The girl had made no secret that she didn’t want to come along on her mom’s speaking engagement to the “praying and graying set.” She’d begged to stay with their next door neighbor Janice, Laurel’s best friend, like she often did when her mother traveled. Laurel hadn’t consented this time, for her daughter’s own good—or so she’d thought. In twenty-twenty hindsight, Caroline physically safe with Janice trumped Laurel’s intention to use this trip as an opportunity for a heart-to-heart.

She spared a glance toward the teenager’s sullen profile. Caroline was blooming into a pretty young woman, but at the moment she was more the pouty child. The girl’s dark expression drew lines across her high forehead beneath a sleek cap of honey-blond hair and pinched a slender, straight nose into a sharp beak.

Laurel swallowed a sigh. The onset of hormonal ping-pong, normal for a girl newly thirteen years of age, couldn’t be entirely to blame for the souring of her daughter’s formerly sunny disposition. The downhill spiral had begun a few months ago, about the time Caroline’s best friend moved away.

“I know you miss Emily,” Laurel said, “but that doesn’t mean you can let your schoolwork suffer. That D in biology has to improve after Thanksgiving vacation.”

Caroline groaned.

“Oh, come on, sweetheart. Buck up! You’re not alone in the world, you know. You have a solid support system. We can get you a tutor, if you need one, or a study group. In fact, something like that might be a chance for you to get out of your shell and make new friends.”

“Is that what your psychologist mind is telling you? That I’ve suddenly developed abandonment issues?” Caroline’s gaze narrowed. “If I didn’t freak out when my dad left us when I was three and never looked back, why would I lose it because Emily moved to Tulsa? I talk to her on the phone and online nearly every day.”

Laurel fixed her attention straight ahead, words churning for release behind her lips. What could she say that would pop the cork on whatever festered inside her daughter’s heart? In her speaker persona, Laurel was touted as the voice of calm wisdom to beleaguered single parents everywhere, but right now she didn’t have a clue how to deal with her own daughter.

Caroline threw her arms around herself. “Just for the record, Ms. Eldon is a head case. If you want to shrink someone, pick on her.”

“Your biology teacher? Is she hard to talk to when you need help in class? I met her at parent-teacher conferences. She seemed cool and aloof, but very knowledgeable.”

“Just your type, then.” Caroline waved a dismissive hand. “I’m sure you two hit it off.”

If her daughter had spewed curses at her, the pain would have been more bearable. Is that how Caroline saw her mother? Detached? Distant? Laurel worked hard at being reasonable...approachable, especially with her daughter.

Laurel swallowed and raised her chin. “Ms. Eldon’s personality isn’t the issue here. Your grades are important, young lady. You don’t have to like your teacher in order to do your schoolwork. This getaway to the mountains—away from distractions—should provide time for you to buckle down and study.”

“Only if we get there ali—” A scream rent Caroline’s words.

Laurel echoed her daughter as something large and dark darted out of the ditch and paused in front of them. She hit the brakes and the shuddering car skidded into a doughnut on the snow-glazed roadway. Laurel’s stomach leaped into her lungs, and her pulse jackhammered.

Help, God!

The car abruptly crunch-slid to a halt on the gravel verge facing the wrong way on the wrong side of the road. A few thuds from the trunk told of their luggage shifting. Laurel sat, staring straight ahead, arms rigid, fingers melded to the steering wheel. The creature that had been on the road in front of them was gone.

Caroline whimpered. “What was that thing?”

“Probably a deer.” Laurel inhaled long and hard, sucking her stomach back into her abdomen. “We can thank God we’re not stuck in the ditch.”

“Or smashed at the bottom of a cliff.”

“That, too.”

“Or wrapped around a tree.” The girl’s tone edged toward hysteria. “I don’t think we can make it to Estes Park.”

“We’re going to be fine, baby girl.” Laurel made herself speak firmly, confidently, like she addressed the audiences for her speaking engagements. God, help me keep that promise.

Had Laurel dragged Caroline on this trip only to kill her—kill them both? The bass roar of the ceaseless wind taunted her question, rumbling like an endless sinister chuckle.

Stop it! She shoved dark thoughts away. “God’s grace has seen us this far. He’s not about to abandon us. Check your phone to see if we have cell service yet. It would help if we could let someone know where we are.”

Laurel resisted the shove of the wind as she guided the car back onto the tarmac and into their proper lane. Rudolph himself would have been grounded in this weather. A snicker rose to Laurel’s lips, but she suppressed the sound. Caroline would think her mother was succumbing to blizzard madness.

“No service,” Caroline said, tone dull.

“All right, then. If Estes Park is too far, we need to find other shelter. Be on the lookout for a residential driveway. A few hardy folks live out here.”

“K.” The single syllable sounded more upbeat.

Psychologically, in a tense situation, it helped to have a concrete goal toward a solution. Laurel schooled her breathing to remain deep and even.

“There, Mom! On my side of the road. Looks like a driveway.”

Laurel took her foot off the gas and coasted the vehicle, gaze searching the swirls of white. Sure enough, a patch of gray-black widened to their right, and a small sign listing a property address number winked between snow gusts. Did she dare hope they’d found a haven? Her heart rate fluttered. But what if this was someone’s vacation getaway, and no one was home? No matter. Her jaw firmed. They’d break in if necessary. This situation was life-or-death.

“Good girl.” Laurel cramped the wheel to the right.

The rear tires fishtailed, but the nose of the car plowed faithfully into the turnoff. At least the driveway—which stretched on farther than she could see—was paved. The owner must be quite well off to afford the luxury.

Walls of darkness sprang up on either side of the vehicle, and the wind roar abruptly muted. Rows of sturdy pines blocked the wind’s buffet, and visibility improved marginally. Still, it was hard to feel safe. The drive was too narrow, the trees loomed too close. There wasn’t room to turn around in this bottleneck. They were committed to proceed until the driveway reached its destination. Long seconds passed, then minutes. Whoever owned this place must treasure seclusion in order to build so far back into the wilderness.

Finally, they emerged into a clearing, where the dense snowfall shrouded their view of a dark mass shaped like a large cabin. During split-second lulls in driving snow, a light winked at them from a window. Thank You, God! The sight meant warmth and shelter. Maybe even a roaring fire in the hearth?

As she stopped the vehicle, a muted cheer from Caroline drew a grin on Laurel’s face. “Someone’s home, sweetheart. I hope they don’t mind company dropping in.”

Caroline answered with a shaky chuckle.

“Are you ready to make a dash for it?” Laurel asked.

“Race you to the porch!” The teenager leaped from the vehicle.

“Whoa, there!” Laurel pressed her door open against the thrust of the wind. “Let me find out what sort of people live here.” But her words were gobbled in the roaring gale.

Icy flakes stung her cheeks, and snow drifts swallowed her legs to the calf as she struggled around the side of the car, clutching her coat hood tight beneath her chin and her purse under one arm. She battled her way up a pair of wooden steps to find Caroline knocking on the door. So much for having an opportunity to check out their potential hosts first. As if they could afford to be choosy.

The inner door swung open, and the backlit figure of a man gazed at them from behind the screen.

“Who in thunder would be out in weather like this?”

Not the friendliest greeting she’d ever encountered. She stepped closer, edging her daughter to one side, and gazed up into the man’s scowl. What was familiar about him?

Their prospective host looked to be in his mid-thirties—not much her senior. He was of medium height and built sinewy like a marathon runner. Not classically handsome, but arresting with that square chin, rugged cheekbones and coal-black hair curling around his ears. Piercing eyes the color of fog on the ocean scanned her up and down, then flicked toward Caroline. Icicles jabbed into Laurel’s marrow as recognition dawned.

David Greene—Texas oil millionaire, and accused murderer.

The money explained the paved driveway stretching at least a mile into the woods, but it didn’t explain what this unconvicted killer was doing in the Rocky Mountain wilderness.

Three years ago, he’d been the chief suspect in the strangling death of his girlfriend. The man had been found, passed out from booze and drugs, beside the dead woman, but his lawyer’s machinations had gotten everything incriminating removed from evidence until a grand jury concluded there wasn’t enough justification to go to trial.

What does it take these days to get a conviction? said some of the friends who worked with her in their nonprofit foundation. A sign around the louse’s neck saying, I Did It? Laurel understood the sentiment. Working daily with single parents, many of them abandoned or abused, tended to expose them to examples of wealth tipping the scales of justice until the guilty walked free and the innocent suffered. Was the Greene case another one of those?

“You’d better come in before we all freeze.” The man opened the screen door.

Caroline darted forward, but Laurel grabbed her daughter’s jacket sleeve. The girl shot her a wide-eyed look. Caroline probably didn’t recognize their host, or she’d be tempted like her mother to run back out into the storm. Laurel glanced over her shoulder, and a wind gust shot a geyser of snow swirling from the steps onto the backs of her legs. She shivered.

On an inner groan, she released her daughter’s jacket. What choice did they have? They could freeze to death or take their chances under the roof of a possible killer.

* * *

Why today, Lord?

David assessed his unexpected guests, certain that the woman had grasped his identity in two seconds flat. She and the girl had stepped inside barely far enough for him to shut the door. The woman’s wary brown gaze hadn’t left him—as if she thought he might leap on them at any instant with evil intent. That’s what came of his brand of notoriety, and the reaction had grown old a long time ago.

The girl seemed oblivious, gazing around the rustic luxury of the cabin with hardly a second glance for her reluctant host. In fact, her gaze seemed riveted on the baby grand piano. Was he in for an afternoon of “Chopsticks” on the ivories?

Why today of all days for drop-ins, Lord?

The repeated mental question held more than a hint of a whine. Not a worthy or wise approach toward the Almighty.

David took a deep breath. Better start over, both with God and with his guests. He could hardly send the shivering pair back into the storm, however much he wanted to be alone today—the anniversary of Alicia’s death.

“Hi—uh—I’m David Greene.” As if the woman didn’t know. “Leave your wet shoes on the mat by the door. May I take your coats? There’s a fire.” He motioned toward the cozy blaze snapping in the fireplace. Now he was babbling like an imbecile. Why could he never get used to the waves of suspicion wafting from people? He cleared his throat. “You can warm your feet.”

A big grin bloomed on the girl’s delicate features, an immature copy of her companion’s more defined face. The girl’s mother or her older sister?

“Great! I’m Caroline,” the teenager said as she scraped her snow-laden shoes off her feet. She tipped her hood down, revealing a thick blond ponytail, and then shrugged out of the jacket. Underneath she wore the standard teenage garb of jeans and layered shirts.

The woman responded more slowly, shedding her soggy shoes and long coat, reluctance etched in drawn brows. She wore a green print blouse and a pair of tan slacks. The outfit complimented her fair complexion and slender figure. In her stocking feet, the top of her tawny head barely reached David’s chin. She clutched her coat tight to her chest, even as the girl relinquished hers to his care.

“I’m Laurel Adams, and this is my daughter, Caroline,” the woman said.

A soft flush of color crept across high cheekbones as she no doubt realized that the girl had already introduced herself. At least now the relationship between the pair was clarified.

Rubbing her hands together, Caroline took off for a spot near the hearth. The girl sank into an easy chair and extended her toes toward the fire.

“Way cool that you’re out here in the middle of nowhere,” she said. “I pictured Mom and me as popsicles in a ditch or pancakes over the edge of a cliff.” She darted David a half smile.

He grinned back, and the tension under his breastbone eased. He could like this kid. Of course, she might not be so friendly with him when her mother informed her who he was.

A stiff smile tipped the corners of Laurel’s lips. “Thank you for taking us in, Mr. Greene.”

Like he had an option? But then, since she assumed him a killer, she probably thought he was fully capable of slamming the door in their faces.

Suppressing an inner sigh, David took hold of Laurel’s jacket, his direct stare challenging her to release the garment. She let it go and backed away, gaze darting between her daughter and him. He headed for the coat closet next to the entrance to the kitchen. Receding footfalls said that his lovely, frightened guest had scurried for the hearth.

He hung their coats, then swiveled to find Laurel seated in a chair beside her daughter. Her focus was on him. Questions shouted from her expression. He could imagine what they might be. “Did you kill your girlfriend?” probably topped the list. Most folks couldn’t bring themselves to be so blunt as to ask the question directly, but then, most people weren’t snowed in with him.

“Our cell phones don’t have service here,” she said. “Would you have a landline so we can let people know where we are?”

An innocuous question, if a person ignored the sub-text of fear.

He shook his head. “No landline. When I come to the mountains, I’m not big on communicating with the outside world.”

Her lips flattened, then she attempted another smile that only succeeded in becoming an anxious grimace. “How about internet service? We could instant message or email or—”

He shook his head. “I have a CB radio. I can give a holler to the authorities in Estes Park as to your whereabouts, and they can communicate with your husband or anyone you’d like.”

“It’s just Mom and me.” Caroline waved a breezy hand. “Has been for a long ti—”

The pointed clearing of her mother’s throat cut the girl’s words short, but David got the picture. Or at least a hint. The specific reason for the absent dad/husband remained a mystery.

“You won’t be going anywhere soon anyway,” he said. “This storm is anticipated to last through the night, and it’ll be longer than that before the roads are cleared. Why don’t we take the chill off over a cup of coffee? Or cocoa or tea, if you prefer.”

“Tea would be awesome.” Caroline threw a grin over her shoulder. “Do you have anything fruity and spicy? Sniffing the steam jazzes my sinuses.”

A chuckle spurted from David even as the girl’s mother darted her daughter one of those Mom looks.

“Caroline, we can’t expect our host to wait on us.”

The girl’s expression flattened. “But—”

“I offered, Ms. Adams,” David said.

“Yeah, he offered.” Caroline’s infectious grin sparkled forth.

David tendered a slight smile in return. “Tea it is, then. If you’re looking for something to do, help yourself to a book or a board game.” He waved toward the floor-to-ceiling set of shelves built into the opposite wall.

“Thanks, Mr. Greene.” The girl bounced to her feet. “I know my mom’s bummed about missing her speaking gig, but we might as well make the best of being snowed in. Right?”

“You’re a public speaker, Ms. Adams?”

His question jerked Laurel’s focus away from her daughter, and her gaze met his. A spark lit the brown depths. “I travel quite a bit, speaking to groups about grief, loss and single parenthood.”

“Yeah, and she’s even got a reputation for being funny. Can you figure that?” Caroline giggled as she drifted toward the laden bookshelf.

“Really?” David raised his eyebrows.

Color rose in Laurel’s face.

He swallowed a smile. Whether or not her speeches were funny, the subject matter was still serious. Raising a kid alone was no laughing matter. Not that he’d know about it firsthand, but the mere thought gave him the willies.

Laurel’s chin lifted, and she rose in a fluid motion that dripped elegant dignity. David caught his breath. His mother was the only other woman he’d known to command a room so completely with a simple action. An ache throbbed deep in his chest. After all these years, he still missed Mom. Always would. This woman had his mother’s air of confident grace, though an unfortunate pinch of pride stiffened her spine.

Laurel wandered toward the bookshelf in Caroline’s wake. “Several years back, a few partners and I started a nonprofit organization called Single Parents Coalition. Have you heard of it?”

“Can’t say that I have, but it sounds like a needed service.”

“Oh, it is!” Her whole face softened and lit, and David’s heart went kabump for reasons he couldn’t entirely explain. Perhaps he was just responding to her passion for her vocation.

“I’ll get the tea.” He faded into the small but complete kitchen, and got busy at the single-cup brewer.

He shouldn’t let himself be too interested in his uninvited guests. There was no point in getting friendly with these people. The cloud of suspicion over his head nullified any prospect of warmth or ease between them.

Too bad even he didn’t know for sure what happened three years ago. He had no recollection beyond a night of partying that ended with him passing out—normal in those days.

What wasn’t usual? Waking up to the cold snap of handcuffs around his wrists, the reading of rights snarled from an icy-faced detective and the chilling sight of his girlfriend—a woman he’d planned to make his fiancée—lying lifeless by his side, strangled to death with her own scarf.

Sometime during his blackout had he attacked Alicia? That was the question he’d hoped to answer during this annual time of seclusion and crying out to God to release his memories. Maybe he’d get a breakthrough this time. Even if he discovered the worst about himself, at least he would know. The truth would bring a form of peace. It would be a relief to own up and take his punishment.

Now he was stuck with these people invading his space and his chance for self-reflection was lost. In its place, he got the judgment of strangers. Couldn’t they at least offer him the benefit of the doubt? But why should they? He didn’t even know if he should offer himself that much grace. Yet what no one seemed to understand was that as long as suspicion of murder hung over his head, rejection and isolation ensured he was serving a life sentence in Solitary.

The tune of “Chopsticks” from the baby grand dragged David from his mulligrubs. He flashed a wry smile toward the fresh lemon he was slicing into wedges. Caroline, no doubt. He added the dish of lemon to the tea tray and headed with it toward his guests.

“Honey, you haven’t asked permission to touch our host’s piano.”

The soft-voiced rebuke from Laurel met his ears as he entered the living room.

“It’s all right,” he said, taming his grin.

Caroline whirled from the piano, ponytail flipping and color in her cheeks. “I’m sorry, Mr. Greene.”

“No problem.” He set the tray on the small dining table in front of Laurel. “Feel free to do the honors.” He motioned toward the steaming teapot and the empty cups.

If he didn’t know better, he might think a smile had flickered across Laurel’s face. She poured the tea with quiet dignity.

“Thank you, Mr. Greene.” She handed him a cup, her gaze frank and open. “You’ve been very gracious to a couple of strangers bounding in on you.”

David barely stopped his jaw from sagging as he accepted the offering—both the tea and the slight thaw in attitude.

“Call me David, please. When you say Mr. Greene I feel like you’re talking to my father, and if you shorten it to Dave I’ll think I’ve gone back to grade school.”

“David, then. But you—” Laurel wagged a finger at her daughter “—should refer to him as Mr. Greene. It’s basic respect, like the way you address your teachers at school.”

“Gotcha, Mom.” Caroline accepted her cup and brought it to her nose. “Mmmm. This stuff smells great! Thanks, Mr. Greene.” Her enthusiasm was followed by a distinct slurp.

A chuckle escaped David’s throat, and Laurel lifted her cup to hide what looked like a suspicious twitch of the lips. Small talk occupied the next minutes, but at last David set his cup down and stood.

“I can fire up that CB radio now. It might take me a few minutes to tune it in to the right frequency. I’ve almost never used the gadget.”

Laurel rose. “Yes, please, that would be great. Let me know when I can speak to someone. In the meantime, I’d like to step outside and bring in our luggage. It would be so good to freshen up a little.”

“I wouldn’t feel right leaving you to go out in the storm.” He moved toward the coat closet and grabbed his outdoor gear. “I’ll get the bags if you give me your keys. We can do the radio after your things are inside.”

“You’ve done enough for us, Mr. Greene. I’ll handle it.”

Stubborn woman. His mom had been, too, but in her the trait hadn’t irritated him. “We’ll do it together, then.” If he could take back the bite in his tone he would.

Posture stiff, Laurel took her coat from him. He resisted the impulse to hold the garment while she shrugged into it. Under current circumstances, the common courtesy ingrained into him by his upbringing might feel like an invasion of her space. He put on his jacket, hat, boots and insulated mittens, but refrained from commenting about the wet loafers on his guest’s feet.

“I’ll set up a game of Scrabble while you get the bags,” Caroline said.

Tugging on thin gloves, Laurel nodded at her daughter and led the way to the door. David pulled it open for her. At least he could do that much.

Snow particles stung his cheeks, and icy air washed David’s face as he forged onto the porch after Laurel. He followed close on her heels as she eased down the steps. As she reached the ground, a drift swallowed her legs to the knees. He shook his head. She should have unbent enough to let him do this for her.

Frowning, he slogged after her toward the dark bulk of the car. The wind had already driven snowdrifts up to the bumpers. At last they reached the car’s trunk. Laurel fished a set of keys out of her coat pocket and pressed a button. The trunk lid sprang open, blocking the wind. David gratefully inhaled a long breath free of ice particles.

Laurel’s scream froze the oxygen in his chest. The car keys dropped from his guest’s lax fingers. David caught the keychain, then followed the line of her gaze into the trunk. There were suitcases, all right. But something was sprawled atop them. Or rather someone. The fact that this person was no longer among the living was clear in the frozen stare and facial expression locked into an unnatural contortion.

Bitter bile stung the back of David’s throat. He’d seen the body of a murder victim before—exactly three years ago to this day. At least no one could claim he’d killed this woman.

The same couldn’t be said of his guests.

TWO

How could this be? Laurel blinked and shook her head, but the corpse draped across her luggage didn’t disappear. And Laurel knew the woman. Did she ever!

How did the body of Melissa Eldon—Caroline’s detested biology teacher—wind up in her car trunk? Laurel’s pulse roared in her ears. How did the woman die? No noticeable injuries sprang to Laurel’s attention.

And where did Ms. Eldon meet her end? Absurd to believe she crawled into the trunk of her own free will and expired. No restraints tethered the splayed body so she must have been dead before someone dumped her remains in the trunk—after Laurel stowed their bags last evening and before she and Caroline left town. The thuds and thumps from the trunk when they had nearly run off the road took on horrific significance. Nausea churned her stomach.

Think, Laurel. Think logically.

Other than herself, only Caroline would have had access to the car keys and the trunk remote control. She kept a spare set on top of the refrigerator in the kitchen. No! Laurel would never believe her daughter was responsible.

But what if the law didn’t see it that way? Blackness edged her vision, and she swayed.

A firm hand caught her elbow. Gasping, she gazed up into eyes as gray and piercing as driven rain. Laurel went still. If only this man were someone she knew and trusted. Strong arms around her might never be more welcome. She pulled away and stiffened her spine.

“Do you know who this is?” he asked.

Laurel didn’t answer. Her voice had lost the ability to respond. David tugged off one of his gloves, leaned into the open trunk and touched the woman’s throat with a pair of fingers.

By an act of will, Laurel unlocked her lips. “Any pulse?” She already knew the answer, but she had to ask.

“Not a flicker.” David straightened with a grimace. “You’re out of luck on your suitcases. We’d better not disturb anything until the authorities get here.”

“This is so awful! That poor woman!”

“We may as well sort out our thoughts inside where it’s warm.” His hand pressed gently against her shoulder. With the other hand he slammed the trunk closed on the grizzly vision. “We’ll have to fire up that CB radio immediately.”

“Right.” The weak word was swallowed by the wind.

The journey back to the house passed in a blur. The next thing she knew, David was helping her out of her coat and urging her to remove her snow-cased shoes. Her toes tingled and stung, but nothing compared to the pins and needles in the pit of her stomach.

“I’ve got the game ready, Mom.”

Caroline’s cheerful announcement wrung Laurel’s heart. How could she tell her daughter what they’d discovered outside? Laurel’s gaze slid toward David, making a soundless plea for...what? Guidance? Moral support? Or was she hoping for a laugh and an assurance that their gruesome find had been a practical joke? If only!

A muscle in his jaw twitched. “You may as well tell her. The police will be involved soon enough, and there will be questions for all of us.”

“Tell me what?” Caroline’s brows drew together as she stood up. “Police? What’s going on?”

Laurel drew in a shaky breath. “Let’s have a seat on the sofa.” She stepped toward her daughter, a hand extended.

Caroline backed away. “Stop it! You’re scaring me.”

“Listen to your mom, young lady,” David said. “This is too important for you to do anything but tune in with both ears.”

The teenager gaped, gaze cutting toward their host.

“Please,” Laurel said.

Something deflated on the inside of Caroline, and she shuffled to the sofa and plopped down. Laurel perched beside her daughter.

“There is no gentle way to break this news.” If only her whisper-soft tone could perform the impossible anyway. “We—uh, Mr. Greene and I—made a shocking discovery.” Her hands fisted around the fabric of her pants legs. “Your teacher—” She stopped and cleared her throat. “Your biology teacher is dead.”

Caroline gaped. “That’s terrible! How did you find out— Ohhhh!” Her expression lightened. “You must have gotten cell service out there and someone called you. Did you tell them where we are?”

“No, honey. No one called me. I know she’s dead because I saw her with my own eyes.” Laurel brushed her fingertips against her daughter’s cheek. “Your teacher’s body was lying across our luggage.”

Caroline’s face went red and then drained stark white.

“Yes, it’s a terrible thing, sweetheart. Even if you didn’t like Ms. Eldon, you’d never wish something like this to happen to her.”

“What’s going on? How did she die?” Caroline’s eyes pleaded with her mother to provide answers that would make sense of the incomprehensible.

Laurel spread her hands. “We’re mystified. I didn’t see any marks on the body, did you?”

She looked toward David. He shook his head. At least she wasn’t so rattled she’d overlooked something obvious.

“How did she get into our car?” Caroline burst out. “I don’t understand.”

“None of us do.” David’s voice rang strong. “That’s for law enforcement to figure out. I’d better go raise them on the radio.”

“This is for real?” Caroline’s voice went shrill.

Laurel nodded. “I’m afraid so, sweetie.” If she looked half as horrified as her daughter, they were truly a miserable pair.

“Oh, Mo-o-om!”

Caroline threw herself into Laurel’s arms. If only she could absorb some of the shock for her little girl, but there was more than enough of that to go around.

Over her daughter’s shoulder, she glimpsed David’s expression as he turned away from them and left the room. Compassion? Yes, a strong dose of that. Confusion? Who could blame him? Suspicion? No, surely not!

But why not? He didn’t know them any better than they knew him, and she had been quick enough to draw conclusions about him the moment she recognized him. What irony for the shoe to suddenly find itself on the other foot! She didn’t like it, but what David Greene thought was the least of their worries. They had a reprieve until the storm abated and the authorities arrived, but then she and her daughter would find themselves the focus of a murder investigation.

She could almost feel sympathy for what David had gone through. Almost. He could well be guilty, but at least she knew her own innocence and Caroline’s—didn’t she?

Laurel gazed into the teenager’s tear-wet face. She wiped at the tears with her thumbs. Caroline might be going through a rough patch emotionally, but she’d seen no signs of potential to do this kind of harm. Deep down, her girl was still her sweet girl.

“It’ll be all right, honey.”

“You always tell me that.”

“Haven’t things always worked out?”

“They didn’t work out so well for Ms. Eldon.”

“I’m sorry for what happened to your teacher, but she’s not my main concern. You are. Always and forever.”

The ghost of a smile trembled forth. “That’s sappy, Mom, but right now, I don’t care. What are the cops going to say? They’re going to think we killed her, aren’t they.”

The last sentence was more of a statement than a question. Laurel couldn’t fault her daughter’s intelligence. “I assume we’ll be questioned, and they’ll have to investigate us, but we’re innocent. They’ll discover that soon enough.”

“Ri-i-ight! Like they exonerated Mr. Greene.”

Laurel’s jaw dropped. “You know who he is?”

Caroline rolled her eyes. “Sure. I was in grade school when all that stuff happened, but I don’t live in a bubble. We talked about the weird case last year in our Social Studies unit on criminal justice. Even watched a recorded news segment. I have to say, Mr. Greene looks a lot cuter now than he did when he was being dogged by reporters.”

“I would never have guessed you recognized him,” Laurel said. “You didn’t act nervous to meet him.”

“I’ll let you hog the Oscar for uptight performance. I just reminded myself straight off that there must be a reason why the guy wasn’t indicted.” Caroline lifted a forestalling hand. “I know. I know. Bad people get away with things all the time. But Mr. Greene seems like a good guy. You have to admit that sometimes good people get accused of bad things.”

Laurel spurted a chuckle. “I think you’ve overheard too many of my phone conversations with colleagues from work. But please remember, sweetheart, that I’m a mama bear dedicated to protecting you. I’ve also had a little more life experience, so pardon me for being skeptical about charming exteriors.”

Caroline leaned close. “You know what I think?”

“Hmm. Something about the tone of that question makes me wonder if I want to hear it.”

“I think you can handle charming without wigging out, but rich and charming pushes all your buttons. Throw in a little suspicion of violent behavior, and the guy is presumed guilty until proven innocent.”

The air stalled in Laurel’s lungs. What would Caroline know about the terrors of Laurel’s brief marriage to her father? She’d barely been three years old when he ditched them for a more compliant wife. Good riddance, as far as she was concerned. But since then, for Caroline’s sake, Laurel had been careful to keep any mention of the man brief and honest, but as kind as possible. Well, at least not overly hostile. Had Caroline been reading between the lines all these years?

The teenager clapped her hands and laughed more heartily than Laurel had heard her in months. “You should see your face, Mom. The psychologist’s daughter strikes again!”

The sound of footfalls entering the room stopped the rebuttal on Laurel’s tongue. Caroline’s head turned in unison with hers toward their host.

David regarded them soberly. “The sheriff and the coroner will be here as soon as the storm lets up.”

The smile melted from Caroline’s face, and Laurel shivered as if he had dashed her with a bucket of snow. For Melissa Eldon the worst had already happened. For her and Caroline, the worst might be about to begin.

* * *

David ripped at the bunch of romaine lettuce as if he could rend truth out of it by force. Refusing assistance from his guests, he’d retired to the kitchen to prepare a supper no one might have an appetite to eat—and to gather his thoughts. He’d left mother and daughter in the main room playing a listless game of Scrabble.

How legit were those two? If he’d ever seen pure horror on anyone’s face, he saw it on Laurel’s when they uncovered the dead woman in her trunk. After they came inside, Caroline’s stunned reaction was as believable as her mother’s. Then he left the room for a few minutes to place that radio call and came back to find them laughing—well, Caroline anyway. Laurel’s expression had been confounded as a coyote staring down a rabbit hole.

Were these a pair of stellar actors, or were they as innocent as they seemed? Laurel hadn’t done well at hiding her feelings from the moment he opened his front door to them, so he’d be surprised if she was that good at pretending. On the other hand, from what he’d overheard of their discussion about him, Caroline had also recognized his face and hadn’t batted an eyelash. If she easily masked surprise, could she fake it, as well?

He attacked a tomato with a knife.

His brief observation of the body, clad in button-down blouse and sleek pants, revealed Ms. Eldon as tall, blonde, full-figured and leggy. Caroline was a snip of a girl. The picture of her lugging that body into the garage from wherever and lifting the corpse into the trunk simply did not compute.

David’s knife halted halfway through a downstroke into the meat of the tomato.

Unless little Caroline had an accomplice—like her too-attractive-for-his-own-good mother. They were both petite, but together they could have managed it.

Maybe he was on to something. Laurel had protested him joining her to collect the luggage. Maybe they were planning to ditch the corpse down one of the ravines along the route, but the snowstorm scuttled their best-laid intentions.

But then he came back to that look on Laurel’s face as she stared into the trunk. He couldn’t quite buy a put-on when the response was so spontaneous. Besides, if she knew the body was there, she could have been more forceful in her refusal of his help. Why did Laurel even bring up the luggage if the mention could lead to discovery of her grizzly secret? If she was that desperate to freshen up, she could have sneaked out there while he was warming up the radio and been back in with the bags before he knew she’d gone.

Then there was Caroline’s cheerful announcement that she’d set up the game. No trace of anxiety and no attempt to stop them from retrieving the bags.

David began giving the salad the tossing of its life.

Could his unexpected guests be setting him up for some reason? The pieces didn’t fit that scenario either. He didn’t see how they could have planned for a snowstorm to dump them on his doorstep. Plus, he’d never met the dead woman, though there was something about her...His brows drew together. What had he glimpsed out there that gave him this feeling he needed to take another look?

He shrugged off the thought with a roll of the shoulders. He didn’t know the woman. Never seen her before in his life, and he wasn’t going to meddle with a crime scene. Period.

But his guests knew the dead woman, and it seemed that Caroline had cordially disliked her. That was a tick mark against the teenager, but he’d had plenty of teachers during his school career that he’d wanted to ship to Timbuktu in a packing crate. Of course, he never would have followed through with his desires, any more than Caroline’s feelings about her teacher meant she’d killed the woman. Surely, the police investigators would realize that much.

Not that he had much faith in cops giving anyone the benefit of the doubt. Come to think of it, he didn’t have much confidence that they’d solve the murder. Look how they’d done on his case. Lots of crimes never came to closure and left people in a limbo of pain and distrust.

David stopped tossing the salad and leaned against the counter. There was his answer. He wanted people to treat him as though he was innocent until he was proven guilty. Shouldn’t he do the same for Laurel and Caroline?

“Something smells wonderful.” Laurel leaned a shoulder against the kitchen door frame.

David offered her a smile, but she stared back at him as if she’d never seen one before. She was still dazed, and he couldn’t blame her. He stirred the sauce bubbling on the stove.

“If you and Caroline want to set the table, we can eat in about ten or fifteen minutes.”

Laurel called her daughter, and they headed to the glass-fronted cupboards that held plates and glasses.

“Wow!” the teenager said. “This kitchen’s got about every technogadget on the planet.”

David wrinkled his nose. “I know. It looks more like the kitchen of a five-star restaurant than a cabin in the woods. I like to cook, but the prior owner was something of a gourmand. I was told that he sometimes brought his private chef with him. I prefer doing things the old-fashioned way.” He motioned toward the paring knife and cutting board.

“Which reminds me,” he continued, “I’ll move into the chef’s bedroom tonight, and you two can have the larger bed in my room.”

“You don’t have to do that, Mr. Greene.” Laurel said.

“Not doing it because I have to...and it’s David. Remember?”

Their gazes locked. Laurel clutched a short stack of plates to her chest. Her eyes searched his. Would she be able to see that he meant her well? That he was not a threat to her safety, and that he wasn’t going to judge her?

She gave a brief nod. “Thank you, then.”

“Don’t thank me too much.” He chuckled as she headed for the sitting room with the plates, Caroline in her wake, toting fistfuls of silverware. “I’m going to make you change the sheets yourself. You’ll find a stack of them in the hall closet. Take your pick.”

Laurel glanced over her shoulder, a corner of her mouth quirked upward. “I think we can handle that.”

Soon they sat down in front of steaming beef stroganoff, tossed salad and biscuits with honey butter.

“What an awesome feast!” Caroline eyed the serving dishes.

“I wish I had more of an appetite.” Laurel’s words came out softly.

Enthusiasm faded from Caroline’s face, and her gaze fell to her empty plate.

“I’m sorry, honey. I shouldn’t have said that.” Laurel covered her daughter’s hand with hers. “You enjoy this meal, and I’ll do my best to follow your lead. It does smell wonderful.” Her gaze cut to David and then back toward her daughter. “We can’t allow ourselves to feel guilty for living.”

Caroline gazed at David. “You can tell she’s got a master’s degree in psychology, right?”

David folded his hands. “You can be thankful for and take pride in an intelligent and well-educated mother.” Did he detect a smidgeon of gratitude in Laurel’s eyes?

“Um, yeah.” Caroline’s nose wrinkled the barest degree.

“You can tell my daughter has never looked at the matter that way before.” Laurel’s statement was directed toward David but her attention was fixed on her daughter. Their stares dueled.

“Feel free to dig in.” David delivered the invitation, then closed his eyes and bowed his head to say a soundless grace.

He didn’t believe in making them uncomfortable by pushing his faith on them. He was more the live-it-and-trust-they-see-something-they-want sort of soul winner.

Lord, I’m trying but I could use a little help. There’s some serious healing to be done between these two, not to mention a crime to solve. Of course, You know that. I’m a bucket of problems with my own crime to solve, so if You’d bring them across the path of someone who can help them sort things out, I’d be grateful... Oh, and thank You for this food. Amen.

Silence rang in his ears. Weren’t the ladies going to eat? He opened his eyes a sliver, then widened them all the way. His guests sat with heads bowed over their plates. Laurel’s lips moved without sound. Caroline’s head came up, and a smile flickered at him as she reached for the stroganoff. Her mother’s gaze lifted slowly, no smile, but she helped herself to the mixed green salad.

Were these two fellow Christians? Maybe his after supper plans would help clarify the matter. His gaze traveled to the baby grand as he reached for the biscuits.

“Caroline, I noticed you play the piano.”

“A little bit,” she said. “I’ve only had a couple years of lessons.”

“Do you like playing?”

The girl pursed her lips. “I love music. I’m just not sure if I can play well enough to make it worth the cost of the lessons.”

“Honey, cut yourself some slack,” Laurel said. “You’ve come a long way, but you can hardly expect to be a professional yet. Mastering an instrument takes time and effort.”

“More effort than I’ve been putting in, you mean.”

“I didn’t say—”

“Let’s tickle a few ivories after supper,” David put in quickly. “Just for fun. No Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony or anything. But first—” he wagged his fork at Caroline “—you and your mom put the dishes in the dishwasher. Cleaning up is the part of cooking I don’t like.” He waggled his eyebrows, and Caroline giggled.

“You’re on, Mr. Greene. I’d do dishes every night to eat like this. Mom tries, but cooking isn’t her thing. It’s lucky that I like bake-at-home pizza, sub sandwich delivery and Chinese takeout.” She gave a brief lift of her shoulders, laughed and then stuffed a bite of stroganoff into her mouth. Her eyes drifted closed as she chewed, and a soft hum purred from her throat.

David grinned and then the smile faded as Laurel laid her fork aside and dabbed at her mouth with a napkin. Had Caroline’s offhand remark about her mom’s cooking brought that expression to her face as if she’d tasted something nasty? The sorrow that darkened those honey-rich eyes seemed deeper than a simple lack of culinary skills might cause. There were undercurrents here that he didn’t understand and wasn’t sure he wanted to navigate.

Small talk continued over the meal. David’s effort to remain upbeat flagged as shadows settled over his guest’s expressions. Clearing up time couldn’t come fast enough. While Laurel and Caroline saw to the dishes, David tended the blaze in the fireplace.

“Are you up for ‘Chopsticks’ then?” He waved a hand toward the piano.

Caroline backed away a step. “Seriously?”

“Go for it. I promise you it will turn out better than you think. I’ll help you.”

“You play?”

He grinned. “I didn’t truck this piano up here just to look at it.”

Caroline’s cheeks pinked but she spurted a brief chuckle. “I suppose not.” She took a seat on the polished mahogany bench and placed her fingers on the keyboard.

Notes emerged hesitantly and then picked up speed. About the time Caroline hit a good cadence David slid onto the bench beside her and began to play a high counterpoint melody. She shot him a startled glance and stumbled over a few notes, then resumed her tune in earnest.

Laurel, who had come to stand to one side of the piano, rewarded him with a smile and a nod. David almost botched his next note.

The woman was lovely. Not in an exotic way—a hothouse flower like Alicia had been. Or in a delicate and fleeting sort of way like a rose. But with the graceful purity of the calla lily. He should know. On his Texas ranch, he grew plots of the stunning flowers that had been his mother’s favorite. But now he was likely doomed to see another face in his mind’s eye whenever he tended his plants.

Get a grip, dude. He turned his attention on Caroline. “What else do you know?”

“Not much, but here goes.” Caroline moved into a rousing rendition of “Jingle Bells.”

Chuckling, David switched positions to her other side and began a bass note accompaniment. The girl’s sunny grin turned his insides to mush. He’d be nothing but pleased if he could be 100 percent certain the two of them had nothing to do with the demise of the woman in their car trunk.

“That’s it. I’m done.” Caroline slid off the bench. “Now let’s hear what you can do.”

“Yes, please.” Laurel seconded the invitation. “Though that was really nice, honey. I’m proud of you.” She slid an arm around her daughter, and Caroline didn’t pull away.

“You asked for it.” David moved to the center of the bench.

The keys were cool velvet beneath his fingertips. If anything other than gardening had saved his sanity these past few years, it was his music—another legacy from his mother. He transitioned into an airy rendition of “My Favorite Things” and then toned it down with Für Elise.

“Hey, I recognize that one,” Caroline said. “It’s Beethoven. I’ll bet you could play his Fifth Symphony, no problem.”

“I can, but I’m not going to. How about this one?” He began “Morning Has Broken.” A few chords into the song a clear, strong voice took up the words. A heartbeat later, a more youthful voice joined Laurel’s.

“You two can sing.” David smiled big. “This is going to be fun.”

Time drifted as they moved from one familiar favorite to the next—a few pop songs to please the teenager, but mostly praise choruses or old-fashioned hymns. At last, David pulled his hands from the keyboard and let out a slow breath. His guests echoed the soft sigh. Calm and peace enveloped the room. Rare commodities, especially under current circumstances.

“I think,” Laurel said quietly, “this would be a good note on which to say good-night.” She nudged her daughter. “Good night, David. And thank you.”

The gentle light in Laurel’s eyes played a tune on David’s insides.

“Thanks, Mr. Greene,” Caroline said as she allowed herself to be guided away.

The mild flurry of them changing the bedding and him lending them T-shirts and drawstring bottoms for sleepwear did little to disrupt the precious serenity.

“Your peace in the midst of trouble is such a gift, God,” David said as he pulled the covers over himself in the cook’s bed.

The mattress was harder than he liked and the pillow too thin, but he wasn’t about to complain. To God or to himself. He closed his eyes and let his thoughts drift.

He’d come up to the mountains to be alone and seek the truth. That plan had taken a major detour. Now, he might believe the disruption was a blessing in disguise—except murder had once again invaded his life.

No, he didn’t want to go there. He needed to hang on for dear life to the evening’s calm. But his thoughts had a mind of their own.

A stark vision formed in his head. Pale hair cascaded across shiny black luggage. Blue eyes and red lips frozen open. The blouse twisted away from one shoulder. An etched mark beneath the bare collarbone. A tattoo!

David lunged upright in bed, heart catching in his throat. The whole tattoo hadn’t been visible—maybe half. The rest remained covered by the blouse. He’d only idly noticed it, as he’d been absorbed with the shock of the discovery and the futile search for a pulse. His hand had nearly brushed the telltale mark.

No wonder he’d had this feeling he needed to take another look at the body. His subconscious had registered what his consciousness had overlooked. He’d known one other woman with a similar tattoo in an identical spot. That woman was also dead, and he was suspected of killing her.

THREE

Lying flat in the cushy bed, Laurel stared into the dark. The wind wailed around the corner of the cabin, raging against denied entrance. No wonder people’s minds could slip when trapped in a storm. The constant drone tweaked every nerve.

If she could relax, maybe she could sleep. Laurel rolled over onto her side. She’d dozed off for a while after they’d first turned in, but the reprieve from consciousness had been short-lived. No way would she get another wink tonight, despite the luxury of silken sheets and a down-filled pillow.

That poor woman—murdered! What of Ms. Eldon’s family—her parents? As a mother, Laurel could imagine the pain of learning about the loss of a daughter to foul play. How awful for them! What would she do if she lost Caroline?

Caroline.

The name sighed through Laurel’s thoughts. The friction between them continued and had perhaps escalated. Why had Caroline never told her that she craved home-cooked meals—or that anything her mother made might be better off in the trash?

So cooking wasn’t Laurel’s strong suit. She’d be the first to admit it, and the shortcoming hadn’t bothered her much. Until now. Caroline’s casual remark, comparing her abilities to those of a total stranger, had cut to the quick. Why had Caroline bonded with this suspected murderer with such ease when she could hardly offer her mother a civil word?

Laurel could resent David for his charming ways that seemed to have mesmerized her daughter, but surely she wasn’t that petty. The pleasant atmosphere he’d gone out of his way to provide deserved high marks. His efforts went beyond simply being charming. Given his apparent prayer before the meal and his song repertoire, he might even be a fellow believer in Christ. Why did that idea dismay her rather than comfort her? Maybe because Christ-follower and murderer were two roles that didn’t reconcile.

What was she to believe about this man? Perhaps the best she could do was to strive to withhold judgment. His guilt or innocence wasn’t her concern, after all. She had more pressing worries.

When the sheriff arrived, what was going to happen to Caroline and her? How could she protect her daughter?

God, have mercy!

If that was the best prayer she could offer, she was a pitiful specimen. She couldn’t seem to muster so much as a mustard seed of faith to mix with pleas for help and guidance. How long had she been so dry spiritually?

Too long. The answer echoed in her mind.

From the tossing and turning on the other side of the bed, apparently Caroline wasn’t sleeping either. In fact, the girl seemed to be doing her best to maintain the greatest distance possible from her mother. Not a difficult task in this king-size bed.

“Do you believe I might have done it?”

The whispered question electrified the darkness.

“Done what?”

“You know.”

Laurel’s heart wept. “Why would you ask such a thing, honey?”

“You answered my question with a question. I guess that gives me my answer.”

“No, sweetheart. I never suspected you for a minute.”

Caroline snorted. “Yeah, but I’ll bet you had to analyze the situation for at least fifty-nine seconds before you made up your mind what you were going to believe. You never accept anyone or anything at face value.”

Laurel caught her breath. Was this how Caroline viewed her mother’s carefully cultivated caution and prudence? How could Laurel correct that perception? The solution to that problem would have to wait. Caroline needed reassurance right now.

“I know you, baby girl. There’s nothing in you capable of doing...whatever was done to Ms. Eldon.”

Her daughter sighed. “But you think I’m manifesting deep-seated abandonment issues.” Caroline bracketed the last half of her sentence in a tone that mimicked Laurel’s dictation voice following a professional counseling session.

The accusing words jabbed at Laurel, but she firmed her insides. “We had this discussion in the car. Are you saying there’s no possibility that Emily’s leaving hasn’t opened up some emotional scar tissue that you didn’t realize was there?”

“I don’t know, Mom.” The words emerged as a miserable whine. “I’m going to try to get some sleep.” The girl rolled over, presenting her back to her mother.

Laurel swallowed a foul lump in her throat. What fine-sounding psychobabble had she spouted? Such statements sounded wise and understanding during her public talks, but in the wee hours of the morning in this demented situation, they fell flat. Had her mission and ministry amounted to no more than empty air?

A noise grabbed Laurel’s attention. Was that the front door closing? She hadn’t heard their host leave his bedroom up the hall from theirs. The barest waft of chilly air moved through the room, and the hairs on her arms stood to attention.

David or an intruder? How would the latter be possible in the middle of the night in this storm? Laurel sat up.

“Do you hear someone in the living room?”

Caroline yawned but didn’t stir. “Must be Mr. Greene. He padded past here a little while ago. Probably can’t sleep either.”

“Oh.” Lame, but Laurel had no better response to offer. She hadn’t heard the earlier movement, no doubt because she’d been so lost in fretting that other sounds hadn’t penetrated.

“I think I’ll get a glass of water.”

“K.”

Laurel slipped from between the sheets and stood on the scatter rug by the bed. She took a step onto the hardwood floor and quickly retreated onto the rug. The cabin definitely didn’t have heated floors. Probably not even a basement, just a crawlspace beneath. Thankfully, electric baseboard heat kept the air in each room tolerably warm. She sucked in a breath and tiptoed quickly up the hall and into the carpeted living area.

The glow from the dying embers in the fireplace revealed that the room was vacant. Had David returned to his bed? How would that be possible? He would have had to walk past her to get back to his end of the hall. She looked toward the front door. His boots were missing. Why would he have gone out into the storm in the middle of the night?

Laurel went to the front window, parted the curtains and peered out. A ghostly wall of white shimmered in the darkness and hid any form or movement. Where was David Greene? Her heart thudded against her ribs as her misspent youth of watching horror movies played gruesome possibilities through her mind. Shivering, she drew back from the window.

“Don’t be silly,” she whispered aloud. But her arms slid around her frame in a tight hug.

What if David’s midnight mission had something to do with the murder? Was he out there satisfying morbid curiosity and messing with things he shouldn’t? Should she throw on her shoes and outerwear and go after him? Yeah, right! as her daughter might say. She’d get two steps away from the porch and be unable to find either the cabin or her car.

She should go get a bottle of water. Her mouth had gone dry as the last pan of brownies she’d tried to bake. But while she was in the kitchen she could acquire a weapon—a knife, a meat mallet—whatever it took to stand between any threat and her daughter. If she was indulging morbid night fancies, she’d be happy to feel foolish in the morning with a defensive weapon under her pillow rather than ignore her inner alarms. She’d ignored those alarms more than once while married to Caroline’s father and lived to regret it.

In fact, she was lucky she’d lived.

Laurel headed for the refrigerator. The bottoms of her feet registered the chill as she left the carpet for the kitchen tile. She flipped on the light rather than risk adding a stubbed toe to cold feet. The kitchen was as tidy as they’d left it. Their host’s excuse for nighttime prowling wasn’t the quest for a snack.

Her gaze scanned the countertops and landed on a wood block bristling with knife handles. Weapons search over. Her hand closed around the handle of the largest one, but a sound at the front door froze her in place.

“Brrr!” someone muttered and feet stomped the floor. David? Probably. But she couldn’t be certain. And even if it was David, did that mean she was safe?

What legitimate purpose could he have for sneaking outside this time of night? She slid the knife from its housing and turned to face their host. If he was a threat, she was ready.

Her knees shook, but she firmed her spine as a parka-clad figure filled the kitchen doorway, face shrouded in a fur-lined hood. Her gaze fell to the items he carried, and her insides went limp.

* * *

Clutching a load of firewood in the crook of one arm and a flashlight in the other hand, David took in the stark fear staring at him from the pallor of Laurel’s face. Then he dropped his gaze to the knife in her fist. His jaw clenched. So his efforts to reassure his guests this evening hadn’t reduced his threat level in her mind.

“Looking for a snack?” he said, forcing his tone as near to natural as he could muster. “There’s some brick cheese in the fridge that might need slicing, but I don’t think you’ll need the butcher knife.”

Her head snapped back as if his words had slapped her. “No—um— No, of course not. I was just...” She lowered the knife to her side, at a loss to finish her sentence.

“Let me put this wood down by the fireplace, and I’ll help make sandwiches. I could use one, too...and a cup of cocoa. It’s freezing out there, and big daddy storm hasn’t let up any.”

“Sounds fine.” She nodded. “I’ll get started on the cocoa.” She moved to the single cup brewer and plucked a K-Cup from the carousel next to it.

David plodded to the fireplace. He knelt and dumped the load of stubby logs into the box on the hearth. He should be angry with her. Furious even. Or at least offended, but the best he could muster was this deep sadness that weighted the pit of his stomach.

He rose and shed his parka, then tossed it onto one of the pair of easy chairs with more force than necessary. Maybe he was a little angry. He exchanged his boots for the house slippers he’d left on the rug by the door and rejoined his guest in the kitchen.

Laurel was standing at the brewer flamingo-style with one foot on the tile and the other pressed against the navy knit of her sweatpants. Unexpectedly, his heart warmed. Was he that starved for domesticity that the sight of a female at the homey chore turned him sappy? The two of them were on little more than speaking terms. Still, the tawny, sleep-tousled hair brushing her shoulders only added to her appeal.

She turned toward him with a pair of steaming mugs in her hands, and he mustered a smile. “Why don’t you take those into the living room, and I’ll make the sandwiches. Your bare feet must be chilled to the bone.”

Gaze averted, color high on her cheeks, she nodded and hustled from the room. Sighing, David dug cold cuts and cheese from the refrigerator. A few minutes later, he laid a plate beside her cocoa on a side table. She’d left the living room light off, but the glow from the kitchen conspired with the fireplace embers to outline her form curled up on the easy chair with her feet under her.

“Here.” He stripped the throw blanket from the back of the couch and laid it across her lap. No word of thanks or eye contact acknowledged his courtesy. What was with this woman? Either she was still petrified of him or her mind was consumed with what lay outside in the trunk of her car. Or maybe a healthy dollop of both. Good thing she had no idea what he’d really been doing outside.

“I’ll stoke the fire,” he said.

A jingle stopped him in the act of turning away. He swiveled toward her. A set of car keys dangled from her fingers.

“I found these on the floor near your parka.”

“Really?”

“They must have fallen out of your pocket.”

“I—I suppose so.”

“What were you doing with them?” Even in the twilight, her gaze skewered him. “And how did you get them?”

Heart thumping, he went to the hearth, knelt and began positioning logs in the fireplace. Better if he answered this with his back to her. His face was likely to give him away. “You dropped them. Remember?”

“Dropped them! I don’t—” Her words halted. “Oh, yes,” she said, tone subdued. “When we found the— When we went outside to get the luggage.”

“That’s right.” With the poker, David prodded the fresh logs into position on the embers. “Guess I must have stuck them into my pocket after I caught them in midair.”

“So your excursion into the storm had nothing to do with the keys that happened to be in your pocket. You went outside for more wood?”

David swallowed against a dry throat. “There’s a box on the porch.”

“We don’t need the fire in the fireplace for heat in the house.”

“True, but a little blaze is nice if you can’t sleep and want to toast your toes and sip cocoa.”

He inserted bits of tinder into the smoldering ashes, and flames began to flicker. If only he could be so successful in calming his guest’s suspicions.

“I can’t argue with that statement.” A soft slurp followed her words.

David rose and turned to find Laurel standing with her keys in one hand and her mug in the other. The blanket had slid onto the floor and lay crumpled at her feet.

“I’ll take this to bed with me.” She raised the mug. “Thanks for making the snack, but I guess I really don’t feel like eating. Enjoy your cozy fire.”

The flatly spoken words hung in the air as her graceful stride carried her from the room. David’s gaze followed her retreat—empty protests, explanations, reassurances locked behind his tongue.

Good thing he’d never aspired to an acting career. He stunk at it. Laurel’s body language communicated that she didn’t believe he’d told her the truth. Well, he had; just not the whole truth. Before he grabbed the wood, he went out to her car first and verified his glimpse of that tattoo on the body. The tat was there, all right. His memory hadn’t played him false.

He picked up the blanket and settled onto the sofa next to his sandwich and cocoa. Frowning, he sipped at his hot beverage, then ran stiff fingers through his hair. The thick mop needed cutting, but a trim hadn’t seemed important before he went on a solo retreat to the mountains. Who could have predicted so many complications to a simple plan?

David set his mug on a side table, leaned forward— elbows on his knees—and gazed into the blossoming fire. What was the meaning behind the nearly identical tattoos on jet-setting Alicia and this middle school biology teacher? Was there a real connection between the dead women, or were the tattoos a coincidence? The questions seared his mind, demanding answers. Where did he start looking for them?

Maybe he should hire another private investigator. This would be his fourth. The notion left a sour taste in his mouth. He’d had nothing but empty promises and bills from every P.I. he’d hired to look into Alicia’s murder. Call him paranoid, but he’d had the sense that even the P.I.s on his payroll had figured him as the culprit. Had they looked very hard to find another explanation? Why would they take him seriously this time? No, he wasn’t going to go that route again.

He could point out the similar tattoos to the police once they arrived and let them follow the lead. His insides shriveled. What was he thinking? Major bad idea. If the police caught wind of the tattoo connection on another dead body in his vicinity, they were as likely to try to pin this second murder on him as to look further for answers.

Before he went to the cops with this similarity between the murder victims, he needed to have some idea how the tattoos might point to a different culprit. He knew he hadn’t killed the high school teacher, so if the murders were connected, then this could be proof that he hadn’t killed Alicia either. He sat up stiff.

Did he dare hope the tats signaled his innocence? Or was he setting himself up for bitter disappointment? At this point, there was no way to tell. He’d have to uncover the significance of the ink markings for himself before he could trust this knowledge to anyone—even the woman who owned the car where the teacher’s body was stowed.

For all he knew, Laurel or her daughter had a hand in the teacher’s death or knew something about it. Either they were innocent victims of a frame-up, or they were devious and culpable. Either way, innocent or diabolical, he needed to keep an eye on those two until the tattoo business was explained.

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