The Cottage on the Corner (17 page)

“Want some coffee?”

“If I drink any more, I might end up with caffeine poisoning,” he responded, looking up from the contents of the kit. He had beautiful eyes. Such a dark deep blue that they almost looked black in certain lights.

“I can make decaf.”

“No, thanks.”

“Orange juice?”

“I'm fine.”

“How about a couple of cookies?”

“Charlotte”—he laughed—“you don't have to feed and water me every time I cross the threshold.”

He had the best kind of laugh. The kind that could fill a room, a house, a heart if someone let it.

“Sorry. I know you're not livestock. It's just a habit.”

“No need to apologize. I just don't want you to feel obligated.” He took powder and a brush from the kit. “Want to help me with this?”

“You've been a police officer for a lot of years. I doubt you need my help dusting for prints.”

“Just because I don't need it, doesn't mean I don't want it. Like I said before, I enjoy spending time with you.” He dusted the doorknob carefully, his attention completely focused on the task.

She had the strangest feeling, though, that he was aware of her, tuned in to her, reading her reactions and responses despite the fact that he wasn't looking her way.

Her insides quivered in response, her body just begging her to move a couple steps closer. She could pretend that she wanted to help with fingerprinting, lean in close, and inhale the heady masculine scent that clung to him. She could put her hand on his broad shoulder, feel the hard muscles and warm flesh beneath his shirt.

Or she could run for her life.

She chose that option, nearly tripping over her own feet in her haste to retreat. She skidded to a stop in the kitchen, her heart pounding way too fast for the amount of effort she'd put into the run.

She needed to pull herself together.

Max was just a guy who happened to smell really good, look really good, taste really good.

“Stop it!” she hissed.

“Did you say something?” Max called from the hallway.

“No,” she lied.

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Good news! I found a couple of prints on the knob.”

“You did?” She peeked into the hall, watching as Max carefully pulled a section of tape off the doorknob. “Who do you think they belong to?”

“Who's been in your house?”

“Me, you, Zim, Zuzu.”

“We already have my prints. Zim's are on file. Thanks to his little indiscretion last year.”

“He returned the angel to the Rileys.” The figurine had been made by the wife of the first mayor of Apple Valley. Zim had been feuding with Gertrude and had taken it out of spite.

“We still have his prints. I'll take yours when I'm done. We can rule out Zuzu. The prints are definitely too big.”

“What if none of the prints match the ones you found?”

“Good question.” He pressed another piece of tape to the knob. “Is anything missing from your house?”

Nothing except the cupcakes, but they didn't count. Did they? “Not really.”

“Not really? Or no?”

“Remember the delivery I was making to Alma?”

“The crazy rat lady? Yeah. I remember.”

“I baked the cupcakes this morning. I didn't finish frosting them, so I left them on the counter. When I got home from the Fishers, I was missing a few.”

He looked up from the doorknob, his expression neutral. “So you're saying someone came into your house and took some cupcakes?”

“I'm saying that I thought I counted accurately, but I came up short. I've never had that happen before.”

“Did you leave the front door unlocked when you left this morning?”

“No. The back door was locked, too. I double-checked.”

“Anyone have the key?”

“Zim has one. Gertrude and Tessa do, too.”

“Hmmmm.” He gently removed another piece of tape from the doorknob, pressed it to what looked like an index card, and closed the fingerprint kit. “Wonder if Alex was over here. He likes sweets, and he's smart enough to find a key and take it if he decided he wanted to.”

True, but she couldn't believe that he'd enter her house without permission or take something that didn't belong to him. “Alex is a good kid. He wouldn't come into my house and steal cupcakes.”

“He's a good kid, but he
is
a kid. They make mistakes and do stupid things all the time.”

“I guess I can talk to Gertrude or Tessa. Just kind of feel around and make sure they know where the key is and are sure it hasn't been used by anyone else.”

“If something is missing from your house, this is police business. I'll take care of things with the McKenzies,” Max said.

Take care of things?

As in . . . march over there and tell them their nephew was a thief?

Good God! Max was about to start a war over cupcakes!

“You can't go over there in your uniform and accuse—”

“Hold on.” He held up a hand. “I never said I was going over there or making any accusations. I just said I'll take care of it.”

“How are you planning to do that without starting an all-out battle with Gertrude? You know how protective she is of Alex. She'll be offended, and she'll hate me forever.”

“I'm not going to talk to Gertrude. I'm going to mention it to Cade. He's more diplomatic than I am, and he'll know exactly how to handle the investigation.”

“Investigation! It's a couple of missing cupcakes, Max. Not grand theft auto.”

“It's theft. No matter how small the item,” he said dispassionately. “Besides, I'm not planning to take the kid to jail. If he came in your house and took a couple of cupcakes, he can pay restitution, and we'll call it a day.”

“How about we just call it a day now? These are my neighbors. I don't want to spend the next twenty years avoiding them.”

“Tell you what,” he responded. “How about you hold off worrying until we have more information? It's possible Alex didn't have anything to do with your missing cupcakes. Come on. Let's go check out the attic.”

He opened the door and walked up the stairs.

She followed, because she didn't want him to comment on her irrational fear of attics again. Plus she really thought she should get over it. Maybe if she called the room something other than attic. Upstairs room? Sanctuary?

“Shit,” Max muttered under his breath, stopping short a half foot in front of her.

“Wha . . .” Her voice trailed off as she caught sight of the room. Every drawer in the dresser had been pulled out, the mattress on the bed flipped onto the floor. “Good God! What happened?”

“I'm going to take your reaction to mean that you had no idea the room looked like this?”

“None.”

“I need to call this in and get someone over here to help me process it. You want to go downstairs and wait for me there?”

Did she?

Not if some cupcake-stealing maniac was down there.

“I'm fine here.”

“Charlotte, I don't think you understood me.” Max spoke slowly and enunciated every word. “I want you to wait for me downstairs.”

“But—”

“Go on,” he prodded, giving her a gentle nudge toward the stairs. “You hate attics, anyway. Remember?”

Of course she remembered.

“And I have to do a little work up here.”

“What kind of work?”

“Normal police stuff. Dusting for prints. Looking for evidence.” He glanced around the room and frowned. “The place is ransacked, but nothing looks damaged.”

“Are you going to call in CSI?”

“Not in a town this size, and not for a crime that seems fairly petty. I am going to call Cade, though.”

“Maybe—”

“You know what? I need to get a couple things from my squad car. I'll walk you down.” He took her arm, his fingers curving around her elbow. She hadn't removed her coat, but she felt his touch all the way to the depth of her churning stomach.

He was a solid mass of masculinity. Not a bit of panic in his voice as he called Cade and reported what had happened. No hurry, no rush as he walked her into the kitchen. He glanced around the room, his gaze lighting on the container of cupcakes she'd pulled from the freezer.

“Those look good enough to eat.”

“Have one.” She grabbed the container.

“I like frosting. Lots of it. Chocolate. Just pile it up on one while I check things out in the attic.” He handed her the bag of chocolate frosting. “Cade will be here in a minute. Can you let him in when he gets here?”

“Sure, but didn't you have to get something out of your squad car?”

“I changed my mind.” He walked from the room, left her with the bag of frosting in her hand and the feeling that he'd take care of everything if she let him.

“You're not going to let him, darn it,” she muttered, snagging a cupcake and layering it three inches high with frosting. She did the same to all the rest, placing them on a plate and setting them on the counter. When she finished, she took out the ingredients for the lemon bars and oatmeal squares Emmett Lawrence had ordered for his wife's birthday party. Charlotte hadn't planned to make them until after she met with Nick. She'd had to cancel that to come home and see what was going on in her attic.

A sucky turn in an otherwise pretty good day, but she'd deal with it.

An hour and a half later, the bars were baked and cooling, their sweet scent filling the room. She glanced at the clock, wandered into the hallway. Cade and Max had been in the attic for a long time. Maybe they'd found something worse than fingerprints.

Bloody handprints on the wall or a threatening note?

A headless doll? A body?

There were a heck of a lot of things that could be hidden in an attic. Even an attic that was bright, clean, and pretty.

She stood in the attic doorway, looking up into the well-lit room. “How's it going up there?”

Cade appeared at the top of the stairs. “We're just about done.”

“Find anything?”

“Nothing to write home about.” He walked down downstairs, inhaling deeply as he stepped into the hall. “Smells good in here.”

“I was baking.”

“And here I thought you were shellacking furniture.” He smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You doing okay?”

“Right as rain.”

“No, you're not.” He gave her a quick hug, patted her shoulder the way he had a dozen times before. He was a good guy. The kind that existed in a few little corners of the universe and that some deserving woman always snagged up and held on to forever.

“Okay. Maybe I'm not,” she admitted. “Someone was in my house, Cade. I'm not happy about it.”

“We've collected a few fingerprints. We'll see if there's a match in the system. Max said all the doors were locked.”

“They were.”

“From the look of things, the locks weren't jimmied. Anyone besides Tessa have the key to your house?”

“Just Zim, and I don't think he'd be interested in going through my stuff.”

“He's been known to skirt the law on occasion,” Cade said, walking to the back door and studying the lock. “But I think after he took Miriam's angel last year, he's repented. No more pilfering things that don't belong to him. This lock isn't very sturdy. I bet I could open it with a credit card. Hold on.”

He stepped outside and closed the door.

“Go ahead and lock it,” he called.

She did.

Ten seconds later the door swung open.

“See?” Cade said. “Easy as could be.”

“What was easy?” Max walked into the room, his blond hair a little ruffled. She wanted to smooth it down, rub the tension from his neck, feed him lunch and dinner and maybe breakfast.

God, she was a mess.

“Getting inside.” Cade gestured to the back door. “Charlotte needs a new lock. A bolt would be best.”

“Yeah.” Max leaned in to take a closer look, the subtle scent of his cologne mixing with the homey scent of lemon and sugar. “I see what you mean. I'll stop by the hardware store when I finish my shift. It'll be late, but I can install it for you tonight.”

“I'll figure it out.” Because there was no way she wanted to start relying on Max. He was the kind of guy who'd mean well but break her heart anyway. One broken heart in a lifetime was plenty.

“Thanks for the offer, though,” she added.

“You sure?” He eyed the cupcakes on the counter.

“Because it wouldn't be a favor. I'd want a few cupcakes as payment.”

“I was already planning on giving you a cupcake,” she reminded him. The last thing she wanted was Max hanging around her house late at night when she was loneliest and the most likely to notice just how nice it was to have a man around.

“Right.” He snagged a cupcake from the plate. “But what about Zuzu? She loves your cooking.”

“Who doesn't?” Cade asked, grabbing a chocolate frosted vanilla cupcake and biting into it. “You need to give Tessa the recipe for these.”

“Would she make them if I did?” As far as Charlotte knew, Tessa wasn't a cook.

“No, but she might buy a few dozen from you and tell me that she made them. Just to impress me.”

“I think Tessa impresses you without even trying, and I think she knows it.” Charlotte laughed and handed Cade the entire plate. She could make more, and she loved knowing that people enjoyed her food. That had been one of the nice things about working at a convalescent center: The people there had been so thankful for every dish she served. “Why don't you take these home? You can come back for more anytime.”

“You know I will. Now that I live across the street, there's nothing stopping me from pilfering cupcakes anytime I want.”

“Nothing but the law,” Max muttered.