Come Morning (13 page)

Slade didn’t want to talk anymore about his father. He was all talked out. So they methodically removed several canvases, looked them over, compared them, pushed a few back, picked out more. By the time they’d settled on six, it was noon, the lateness of the hour surprising them both.

“I’ll crate these up and take them over to the gallery in the morning,” Slade said as he opened the door to the room. “I appreciate your help.” He picked up the portrait of her grandfather. “Don’t forget this.”

“Slade, I don’t feel right about …” She hadn’t realized how close he was as he followed her out.

“Then we arm wrestle for it.” He smiled down at her. “But I warn you. I cheat.”

“All right, I give up. Then thank you. This portrait means a great deal to me.”

His eyes were friendlier than before, she noticed, suddenly a warm gray. Was it because she’d helped him with the paintings, or because she’d listened? At any rate, it was time to go, to leave this close, charged atmosphere and step out into the light of day. “I imagine you’ll want to change.” At least she hoped he would. Unable to stop herself, her eyes kept returning to those tight knit shorts. “I’ll meet you over there.”

“Right.” He waited at the top of the stairs until she left, then went to his bedroom.

Unlocking her front door, Briana hurried inside, holding Gramp’s portrait this way and that, wondering where she’d hang it. She’d just propped the painting on the fireplace ledge when she heard a mewing sound. Frowning, she moved to the kitchen.

A calico ball of fur leaped up onto the chair, then the table, startling her. “Rascal! What are you doing in here? And how did you get in?” It was then that she noticed that her back kitchen window had been smashed in, glass shards everywhere.

Staring transfixed, she saw that her back door was ajar, that once the window had been broken out, someone could easily have reached in and unlocked the door. Who had done it and why? And where was he now?

Oh, God! What if he was still inside?

Heart thundering, Briana ran back out the front door as if she were being hotly pursued and rushed back into Slade’s living room, yelling at the top of her lungs. “Slade! Someone’s broken into my house!”

Chapter Six

S
heriff Howard Stone had known and admired Andy Gifford as man and boy. Which was why he personally responded to the break-in call to Andy’s house. He’d also watched Andy’s granddaughter grow into a fine young woman. Smiling down at her from his six-foot height, he patted her shoulder.

“Don’t you worry, Briana. We’ll find out who broke in here.” The sheriff glanced at his deputy carefully dusting the broken glass fragments on the kitchen floor and the table under the window. “You did the right thing, leaving the house as soon as you noticed something wrong. Looks like he broke the window, then reached in and unlocked the door, easy as pie.”

“I don’t understand who’d want to break in here or why,” Briana said, truly puzzled now and less frightened. “I don’t recall Gramp ever mentioning burglaries or thefts in this neighborhood.”

Stone pushed his rimless glasses farther up on his nose and sighed. “True enough, but these are rough times we live in. I guess I don’t have to tell you that.” Like everyone else on the island, the sheriff had heard about the tragic death of Briana’s husband and son. “The world isn’t an easy place to live in anymore,” he added. “When I moved here thirty years ago and signed on as deputy, we had the occasional auto accident, some kids vandalizing now and again, maybe some petty thievery in a hotel once in a while. But now?” He waved a bony hand. “You don’t want to know.” But he leaned down and told her anyway. “Actually had an elderly tourist assaulted walking along Petticoat Row one evening last month.”

Hadn’t she just told Craig yesterday that she felt safer in Nantucket than anywhere else? Was her last bastion now gone? “That’s terrible.”

The sheriff shifted his shrewd gaze to the man in the worn jeans and T-shirt, the one who’d called in the report. “Don’t believe we’ve met, young man, but I knew your father well.” He held out his hand. “Sheriff Stone.”

Slade shook hands, thinking that if this man knew his father well, he was the only one who did. “Do you know of any other break-ins in this immediate area, Sheriff?”

“No, sir, I don’t. Couldn’t find any fresh footprints in back. Most of the yard’s cement, like the driveway apron, the walkway, and the patio.” He glanced over at the deputy, now scooping up shards and fragments. “Hopefully, we’ll get some fingerprints off the glass.”

“Still, they wouldn’t be helpful unless the guy’s got a record and his prints are on file, right?”

“Yeah, right” The sheriff sent Slade a look of grudging respect. “‘Course, we could get lucky.” He turned back to Briana. “Have you checked yet? Is anything missing?”

“I did a quick inventory, but there really isn’t much here to steal. I brought over only a few things and, as you can see, my grandparents didn’t live lavishly.” She looked up at Slade. “Kind of makes you wonder, if the thief was after money or something valuable, why he didn’t choose your house.”

“Jeremy’s house is wired for an alarm, but I haven’t been engaging it.”

“You should,” Sheriff Stone said emphatically. “You might want to consider installing one, too, Briana. Though I doubt this fellow will come back. Could be some kid, you know. A prank. Or …” He walked to the back and looked out. “Isn’t that the Reeds’ house past the shrub fence? Maybe their little girl tossed a ball through your window.”

“I doubt she’d have the strength at age six, Sheriff,” Slade said, wondering just how efficient this man was. “Besides, we didn’t find a ball in here.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” Annoyed that he’d conjectured aloud, Stone ran a hand over his thinning hair, feeling every day of his sixty years. “You finished, Simmons?” he asked the young deputy.

“Yes, sir.” Simmons sealed his evidence bag, nodded to Briana, and left through the back door.

“I’ll send someone over to fix your window, Briana,” the sheriff offered. “Least I can do for Andy’s granddaughter.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Slade answered before Briana could, “I’ll fix it and get some better locks as well.” He pointed to the flimsy slide-lock on the back door. “That’s not good. You need a dead bolt.”

“Just like in Boston,” Briana complained. “We have to live in fortresses. I hate it.”

Stone nodded. “Can’t blame you there. I too. I’ll be in touch.” With a nod to both of them, he followed his deputy out.

Briana opened the small kitchen closet and took out the broom and dustpan, wanting to sweep up all that the officer missed. “Thanks. I’m sorry I acted like such a ninny, running over to you. But all I could think of was what if he was still in the house.”

“And he could have been. Do you have a tape measure handy? I’d like to take care of this right away.”

She let her gaze drift down to his bare feet, knowing he’d been changing clothes when she’d run screaming to him. “Maybe you should get your shoes first.”

At least she seemed calmer now. “I will You want to look around while I do this and make sure nothing was stolen?”

Briana let out a nervous breath as she rummaged through a kitchen drawer, looking for the tape measure. “What’s in this house that someone would want badly enough to break in? I’m truly puzzled.”

“Did you bring any jewelry with you? Maybe someone saw you in town wearing something valuable.”

Her hand went to the gold chain she wore and the small heart that dangled from it. Robert had given the necklace to her when Bobby had been born. She never took it off. And she wore an amethyst ring in a gold setting, a gift from her parents. “I brought only the jewelry I’m wearing. I rarely travel with more. The few other good pieces I have are at home.” Which reminded her of something. “You know, my condo in Boston was broken into shortly after… after the funeral.”

Spotting the tape measure in the corner of the drawer, Slade took it out and walked to the window. “Anything turn up missing?”

“Two cameras from my darkroom.”

“That was it?”

Grabbing paper and pencil, she went over to watch him measure. “Far as I could tell.”

“You weren’t home at the time, I take it.”

“No. I’d gone to visit my sister in Florida, mostly because I was such an emotional wreck. But after four days, I flew back. I just wasn’t fit company for anyone. And I walked into a real mess. That time, drawers were open and everything spilled out onto the floor. Cupboards and closets had been gone through, everything scattered. But the worst thing was, they’d gotten into the darkroom I’d had built off the kitchen, ruined a bunch of new film and took two of my best cameras. I felt like sitting down and crying.”

“Did you report it to the police?”

“Oh, yes. Someone had forced open my patio door and gotten in that way. Easiest point of entry, the officer told me. He took down all the information and to this day, I’ve never heard from them.” She sighed, feeling frustrated. “That’s probably what will happen this time, too.”

Slade jotted down measurements, stuck the paper in his pocket. “I think Chief Stone’s a bit past his prime. Fingerprints rarely get you anywhere unless you’re dealing with hardened criminals with a rap sheet. Why would someone like that choose this small, innocuous house to break into?”

“You’re right. It doesn’t make sense. But then, who else is there?”

“Maybe not a visitor but a resident. Older people often keep cash squirreled away in secret locations. We had a fire once in a home where this elderly woman kept screaming that we had to go back for Mickey. I asked her who Mickey was—her husband, a child, her dog? Turned out to be a Mickey Mouse bank stuffed full of money. Did your grandfather keep cash around and maybe someone got wind of it?”

Briana was already shaking her head. “No. They were both retired business people. He had his own insurance agency and my grandmother had a store off Main Street called the Needle Pointe. They believed in banks. Also, this house stood vacant for several weeks after my parents came over and took Gramp to the nursing home before I decided to visit. If someone suspected there was something worth stealing, that would’ve been the time to break in, wouldn’t you think?”

“You have a point there. I’ll get my shoes and keys and run into town for the replacement glass and some sturdy locks.”

“I can do that. Give me the measurements and I’ll go. I don’t want to stay here alone just now.” Not an easy admission to make, but it was the truth.

Slade had a better suggestion. “I saw some boards in Jeremy’s garage. I’ll nail this window shut and we’ll both go. How’s that?”

“Are you sure? You must have things to do and …”

“I’m sure. Sweep up. I’ll be right back.”

She swept, the work occupying her hands but not her mind. The break-in worried her, yet something else now tangled her thoughts as well. She’d run over to Slade’s at the first hint of trouble as if she’d been doing it all her life. That instinctive act had her frowning.

She hadn’t leaned on a man in years. Or had she ever, really? Her father hadn’t been home enough to count on during her early years. Robert had been too impatient, too occupied, too unsympathetic to even listen to any fears or problems she might have had. No, she’d never leaned on anyone, and she preferred it that way. An independent woman of the nineties, able to care for herself, make her own decisions, take her own lumps.

Except this time, she’d acted on pure instinct. It felt strange, and not at all as unpleasant as she’d feared, to have had Slade come running down, calming her, taking over. Then, while they’d waited for the police, she’d had a delayed reaction and begun to tremble ever so slightly. She’d struggled with an alarming need to be held, just simply to be held.

And somehow, he’d known.

He’d put those strong firefighter’s arms around her, eased her close to that solid chest, and put his big hands on her back, stroking her gently. His touch hadn’t been in the least sexual in nature, but rather like a big brother might comfort. It had lasted but a few moments, yet she remembered in vivid detail the earthy male scent of him, the feeling of strength he conveyed.

Bending to the trash can, Briana dropped the debris in and put away the broom and dustpan. Her life was in a state of upheaval, she assured herself. That was the reason for her actions and reactions. It was nothing more than that.

Trying to believe that thought, she went to change from shorts to jeans.

In his garage after getting his shoes, Slade was struggling with some concerns of his own. Frowning, he carried boards, nails, and hammer around back to Briana’s window. True, the break-in was a mystery and made him uneasy to think she might have walked in on whoever the hell had broken the window and let himself in. But other feelings vied for his attention, feelings that didn’t please him.

Having been forced to worry so much about his mother as a boy, he’d shied away from relationships and even friendships that would cause him concern, with one notable and disastrous exception. After Rachel, he’d decided he’d spend time only with lighthearted women, problem-free friends, folks who weren’t needy. He’d had no pets, not even plants in his sparse apartment in California. Responsible for no one but himself was the way Slade liked his life. Which was why he was so rattled to find himself suddenly worrying about Briana Morgan.

Was she inside that small house sleeping or crying for her son? Was she eating enough—she was too thin. And now, was she safe in there?

Shit! Slade dropped the hammer and popped the tip of his index finger into his mouth. That hurt. Not paying attention to what he was doing, obviously. He picked up the hammer, found the nail again, and went back to work.

He knew she’d been married, divorced, had a child, buried a child. Yet she had such an air of innocence, of vulnerability about her. Almost from the first day he’d met her, she’d had him wishing he could do things for her. Like chase the sadness from her eyes, make her smile more, hear her laugh out loud. Not once had he ever heard her laugh. He felt the challenge of doing something, anything, just to hear her laugh.