The Highlander Next Door (29 page)

“Oh, sorry, but I’m afraid I already have plans.”

Birch stopped as they reached the walkway and slid her arm free. “What plans?”

“Just plans. So tell me, when did you start making your bed first thing in the morning before you even get dressed?”

Damn, she should have messed up her blankets and pillow last night. Heck, maybe she better ask Cassandra for pointers on sneaking around. No, wait; she just had to ask her
mom
. “Now that Noreen’s no longer here, I’m trying to stay ahead of the mess. Speaking of which,” Birch rushed on, deciding to redirect the conversation, “I’m going to call a house meeting to discuss dividing up the chores. And just so you know, I’m including Emily so she’ll feel like a valued member of the household. She can vacuum and dust and even help with the meals by setting the table.”

Birch realized her plan had worked almost too well when she saw her mom’s eyes darken with sadness. “That poor child; she didn’t say two words at dinner last night. I really don’t understand why some men feel they have to prove their manhood by terrorizing women and children.”

“Now, Mom,” Birch said gently, touching her arm. “We had this discussion when we agreed I’d take this job even though it was a live-in position. Remember my saying you have to be careful about letting the women’s circumstances break your heart? Children are far more resilient than most people realize. What’s really important is that Emily will learn right along with her mother that not only do they have choices, but that there are plenty of people willing to help them.”

“But I’m not sure how to act around Emily,” Hazel whispered. “I don’t want to appear as though I pity her. Or Francine, for that matter; I’m afraid I might say the wrong thing.”

“Just be your happy self, Mom. Emily’s only a few years younger than Cassandra, and you two have become good friends. Do the same with Emily; find out what her interests are and encourage her to pursue them.”

“Cassandra’s an amazing artist,” Hazel said, her smile returning. “She showed me some of her pastels, and I told her to take them around to the artisan shops and see if they might be interested in selling them on consignment. I’m glad you weren’t upset that I left her in Millinocket with Macie; Cassandra can be quite a mature young woman when given the chance to feel needed.”

“I think it was a wonderful idea to have her stay with Macie, and I agree there’s a lot more to Cassandra than first impressions,” Birch said as she started up the walkway.

Hazel caught her sleeve to stop her, glanced toward the house, then stepped closer and lowered her voice. “Can I ask what your first impression of Francine and Emily was?”

“A very scared mother and daughter. Why? What’s your impression of them?”

“That’s exactly what I thought, too—at first,” Hazel said softly. “But when I came back from Millinocket and went up to my room, I . . . well, I realized someone had been snooping around. Did you go in my bedroom yesterday looking for something?”

“No. I spent the morning cleaning the kitchen and dealing with all the stuff the committee women brought over. What makes you think someone was in your room?”

Hazel shook her head. “Everything in my bureau drawers was right where it should be, but . . . messy, like clothes and items had been pushed back and forth as if someone were looking for something. I don’t want to accuse anyone,” her mother rushed on, “and it never occurred to me that we should lock our bedroom doors. But when you think about it, Birch, we take in complete strangers we know nothing about.”

“Well, shit,” Birch muttered. “Being my first live-in position, I never considered that could be a problem. If we keep our bedroom doors locked, it’s going to create an atmosphere of mistrust. But I also want everyone to feel secure.” She cocked her head. “Did you notice if anything was missing?”

“No, not that I could see. I checked my jewelry box and it didn’t look like it had even been gone through. It was mostly my bureau, and it seemed that every drawer was touched. It also looked like some of the boxes on the floor of my closet had been pulled out and gone through, then shoved back in.”

“But your jewelry box was completely ignored?”

Hazel nodded, then shook her head. “I’m not saying Francine or Emily was in my room, but if you weren’t looking for something . . . well, I don’t know what to think.”

“Neither do I, at the moment,” Birch said, giving her a quick hug, then stepping back with a smile. “Let me kick this around in my head for a while and see if I can’t come up with a solution.”

Her mother’s smile returned. “It might be as simple as providing each resident with a small lockbox for their more precious possessions. I think you were wise to have us leave our more expensive jewelry at the bank, although I do wish I had my emerald necklace and earrings.”

“You only wear those emeralds with your beige gown,” Birch said in surprise. “And both are a little dressy for Spellbound Falls, don’t you think?”

“They’re not too dressy for Aeolus’s Whisper.”

“You’re going up to Nova Mare? Who with?”

“I didn’t say I
am
going,” Hazel said quickly, heading for the house. “I merely wish I had my emeralds in case I want to dine there. And if I might suggest,
chére
,” she continued as she walked up the stairs, “the next time you feel compelled to call on your neighbor before you’ve dressed, you might want to wear something other than those ratty old pajamas under your robe.” She opened the screen door to let Mimi in the house, then looked back and gave Birch a wink. “And try to remember the tag goes in the back on the
inside
,” she drawled, disappearing into the kitchen.

Birch sat in her new executive office chair that had been delivered yesterday, a warm cup of coffee resting on her belly and her socked feet propped up on her beautiful new desk, and stared at the matching floor-to-ceiling bookcases on the opposite wall as she tried to decide whether or not to tell Niall what she suspected about her newest residents. Based on Hazel’s certainty that her room had been searched, Birch had been keeping a closer eye on Francine and Emily No-Last-Names for the last two days and had started wondering if, rather than running for their lives, they might actually somehow be connected to both the white car and Jacques Rabideu’s murder.

Three or four families of con artists operating in Canada, Claude had said. And weren’t children indoctrinated into most family businesses starting in the cradle, such as ranching and farming and fishing and even the circus? Heck, Birch figured she had known more about guns by age eight than most adults ever would.

But what kind of parent made a thirteen-year-old play the daughter of an abused woman? Because if that truly were the case, the really scary—or very sad—part was that Emily was one hell of an actress. But who better to get inside a women’s shelter than a mother and child? And of course it had to be
two
people fleeing for their lives, so one could be a lookout or a distraction while the other one searched.

But searched for what? Because someone was definitely searching for something; the deciding factor for Birch occurring this morning after sneaking home from Niall’s just before sunrise. Intending to grab clean undies on her way to the shower, she’d stopped in mid-reach and started opening all the drawers of her bureau. She’d checked her jewelry box next, rushed over and opened her closet, then slowly backed away at the realization her room had been methodically searched sometime during the night.

And they’d ignored her jewelry, just like they had her mother’s, which implied that whatever they were looking for didn’t fit in a jewelry box. Birch scanned her office, only able to assume it had also been searched, since it was still a mess of unpacked boxes, making it impossible to know if anything had been disturbed. But surprisingly, at this point she honestly didn’t care, figuring she’d much rather have strangers pawing through her stuff than be run off the road.
Merde
, if they would just tell her what they were after, she’d
help
them look.

No, the only thing stopping her from confronting them or even telling Niall what was going on—which on the surface would seem the wiser thing to do—was the possibility she might be wrong. She was running a safe house for women, meaning she was in the business of
trust
. And if word got out she’d asked the police to investigate one of her residents for merely suspecting something . . . well, the new Spellbound Falls’ Crisis Center would be dead in the water less than six weeks after opening its doors.

She needed solid evidence to take to Niall, or at least something more tangible than a few rearranged drawers and closets.

Despite the fact she’d only been sleeping with the man for three nights now—if she didn’t count the night he’d made wonderful, playful love to her and then turned into a caveman the next morning—Birch felt she was getting to know Niall quite well. And not just how his amazing body worked, either, but his actual
mind
. He was probably the most innately protective, old-fashioned, noble guy she’d ever met. He was also quite understanding for not writing her off as crazy for admitting she talked to trees and had apparently become the new Bottomless Bird Lady.

So she was pretty sure if she mentioned what she suspected about Francine but asked him not to do anything until they were certain, Niall would likely turn into Chief Caveman right before her eyes again.

Birch dropped her feet to the floor when she heard her mother moving around upstairs, and realized there would be no more sneaking off at night in the foreseeable future, since she couldn’t very well leave Hazel alone in the house with two possible criminals now that Noreen and Macie and Cassandra were gone.

Macie had moved back to the colony yesterday to be with Johnny, since the only reason she’d left was because of Sebastian, who was . . . no longer a problem. And having befriended a kind, middle-aged nurse—who just happened to be an amateur artist—at the hospital, Cassandra was spending the next few days with Nurse Beverly and her husband to see if they might be a good fit. All thanks to a really sharp social worker who happened to be sitting in the hospital cafeteria doing paperwork and had overheard Cassandra telling Macie she would gladly move into a foster home if the couple were upbeat and encouraging like Beverly.

Seriously; what were the chances? Some might call it serendipity or perfect timing or all the planets moving into alignment, but Birch was putting it up there in the good old
miracle
category, since Beverly and John Hallstead had done the paperwork nearly a month ago to be foster parents and were actively looking for a downtrodden and discouraged girl like Cassandra.

Birch was still breathless from how fast the social worker had made it happen—which is why she now had the engaging and obviously bold woman on speed dial. And although she was over-the-moon happy to see Noreen and Macie and Cassandra getting on with their lives, she was finding the house felt eerily . . . silent.

“Birch? Are you here?” Hazel called from the kitchen.

“I’m in my office, Mom.”

Birch heard the screen door open and Mimi’s claws tapping on the porch, her mother appearing in her office doorway shortly after.

“They’re gone,” Hazel said, sounding as perplexed as she looked. “They must have left sometime in the night. Their beds were never slept in.”

“Well, shit,” Birch growled, not having to ask
who
was gone as she rushed out of the office and ran up the stairs, her mother following at a slower but just as urgent pace. Birch went into Francine and Emily’s room, stopped between the two beds, and looked around for . . .
merde
, she didn’t know what she was looking for. She went to the bureau and started opening drawers just as her mom came in.

“Everything’s still here,” Hazel said as she opened the closet. She frowned, and took down the purse hanging on the inside of the door. “Francine even left the purse Rana gave her. I don’t recognize the designer, but it’s definitely expensive.”

“They searched my bedroom last night,” Birch admitted.

Hazel arched a delicate brow. “While you were in it?”

“No, Mom. You know damn well I’ve been sneaking over to Niall’s the last three nights.” She dropped her head. “I’m sorry. I never should have left you alone in the house with them.”

“Oh,
bébé
,” Hazel said, tossing the purse on one of the beds, then walking over and pulling Birch into a hug. “I didn’t survive four years in hell to be taken out by a scrap of a woman and a thirteen-year-old child. You’re not the only one who owns bear spray.” She leaned away slightly and smiled. “And I wasn’t alone. Mimi might be infatuated with Emily, but she would have given them the business if they bothered me.”

“Mimi didn’t hear anything?”

Hazel stepped away and shook her head. “If she did, she never woke me. But then, she’s likely getting used to people coming and going all hours of the day and night around here,” she said dryly. She turned serious as she glanced around the room. “Do you suppose they finally found what they were searching for?” She turned to Birch, her expression hopeful. “If Claude is correct in assuming we were still in possession of something that belonged to Leo—to Jacques Rabideu, and Francine found it, that would mean this whole ordeal is over. There’s no more reason for anyone to want you out of the way, and Sam can stop playing the bodyguard under the pretense of being romantically interested in me.”

“What?” Birch said on an indrawn breath. “You think Sam’s been escorting you around to protect you?” She’d told her mom everything Claude and Niall had told
her
about Jacques Rabideu, but neither man had mentioned Sam’s role in this whole stupid mess.

“Really, Birch,” Hazel said, rolling her eyes as she walked out of the room and started down the hall. “Even I know a confirmed bachelor doesn’t suddenly become interested in a woman who swaps husbands as often as most people swap vehicles.” She stopped at the top of the stairs and shot Birch a smile. “Make that
two
confirmed bachelors, since Claude’s sudden interest is even more suspect.”

“But how come I didn’t realize what they were doing?”

“Probably because you’ve been rather occupied getting laid,” Hazel drawled, her muttered “and it’s about damn time” trailing behind her as she walked down the stairs with all the poise of a Shakespearean actress exiting the stage.

•   •   •

Niall sat at his desk with his fingers laced together behind his head as he rocked back in his chair and grinned like the village idiot, feeling quite pleased with how his courtship was coming along—even though Miss Callahan likely wasn’t even aware she was being courted. Hell, for all he knew the lass thought
she
was courting
him
—only as a longtime lover, not a husband. But he really didn’t see Birch changing her views on marriage anytime soon, considering the less than stellar examples she’d had since . . . well, since birth, apparently.

But unlike his modern clansmen, several of whom had given their women only
days
to get used to the notion of becoming wives, Niall was glad he was a patient man. That he happened to be living in the twenty-first century certainly helped, seeing how it was no longer frowned upon—much less considered a crime—for a man and woman to live together outside of marriage. But even though he would openly live with Birch if that was the only way he could have her, Niall knew he still had the mind-set of a twelfth-century highlander, which made him guilty of wanting her complete surrender.

Hearing stilted footsteps accompanied by prancing claws on the station stairs, Niall sat forward with a snort, thinking that besides requiring patience waiting for Birch to embrace a vow-and-ring commitment, he was also going to need nerves of steel.

“Don’t you ever feed your dog, MacKeage?” Sam asked as he walked in carrying a box sporting the Drunken Moose logo. Niall sighed when he heard a loud grumbling as Sam quickly closed the door, leaving Shep on the
wrong
side of it. “You do know we sell dog food at the store, don’t you?”

“Despite how fast he goes through fifty-pound bags, he’s still the cheapest officer on my payroll,” Niall said with a chuckle, only to sober when he noticed the large envelope tucked under Sam’s arm. “You’ve heard back from your contact.”

“In spades,” the man said, setting the box on the desk and opening the cover to reveal what had once been half a dozen warm cinnamon buns but were now only four—one of which was likely in Sam’s belly and the other in the belly of the greedy beggar still grumbling out on the porch. “You eat, I’ll talk,” Sam continued as he pulled a chair up to the desk and sat down. He dropped the reading glasses perched on his head to his nose, took the envelope from under his arm, and pulled out a handful of papers.

“Edward Leopold,” he began reading, making Niall stop reaching for a bun and lean back in his chair, “is the recently ordained patriarch of the Leopold dynasty, which at last count consisted of one hundred seventy-three adults and fifty-eight children spanning four generations. The respectable side of the family business is overland shipping, both truck and railroad, as well as controlling interests in a couple of hydropower companies and a corporate-sized cattle ranch in Saskatchewan.”

“Ye got all that from a ring?” Niall asked when Sam looked up.

Sam grinned and shuffled through the papers, then set one of them on the desk facing Niall—a photo of the ring accompanied by a description. “Seems Birch does know a thing or two about jewelry,” Sam continued, “because what she told you was pretty much spot on. The ring in the photo is definitely old and eastern European, and that’s definitely the family crest. But the man in Canada to whom I sent pictures of the ring you gave me said ours is a high-quality,
exclusive
reproduction of the original ring Ivan Leopold was wearing when he stepped off a boat in Nova Scotia ninety-three years ago. There are two versions of it still being reproduced today in very limited quantities; one sized for a male and the other for a female. Every Leopold gets his or her ring after completing a rite of passage and, according to my contact, it’s always worn on the . . . ah, right middle finger.” Sam grinned again. “So I guess what Birch saw the day of her accident holds with tradition.”

“And the non-respectable side of their family business?” Niall asked, undecided which amazed him more: that Sam had gotten all this information from a ring or that he’d gotten it in two days.

Hell, he felt his debt to Telos growing with every word Sam spoke.

“Another Leopold tradition that apparently crossed the Atlantic with Ivan,” Sam went on, “is adding to the family wealth by swindling unsuspecting chumps out of
their
wealth. That rite of passage I mentioned? It’s when a family member succeeds in pulling off his or her first million-dollar scam.”