Till Death(9)

“Understandable.” He twisted sideways as he reached into his front pocket and pulled out a small notebook.

The door to the inn opened. Mr. Adams stepped out onto the porch, one half of the elderly couple. “Mrs. Keeton? I’m sorry to interrupt, but the TV in our room isn’t working. We tried calling the front desk, but there was no answer.”

“I’ll be right there,” Mom yelled and then turned back to me. “I’m sorry, but I have to take care of this.” She paused, winking at Officer Bradshaw. I closed my eyes briefly and started counting again. “Even though I’m sure the TV just isn’t plugged in,” my mom added in a hushed voice.

Officer Bradshaw chuckled, and again, I was hit with a weird sense of familiarity. He laughed like Cole. A deep, sexy chuckle. “That’s okay.”

I felt like I needed to thank God for the interruption. I waved my mom off as I focused on the officer.

He was bent at the waist, looking inside the car. “Did you notice anything stolen, Miss Keeton?” He turned his head toward me. “It is miss, right?”

I nodded. “Not married.”

“Interesting,” he murmured.

My brows flew up. Interesting? There was nothing remotely interesting about that. I crept closer to the car. “I honestly haven’t checked. I found it this way this morning—oh!” Remembering why I’d come out in the morning, I walked around the back of the car. “I left a tote in the car last night and I’d come out this morning to get it. That’s when I noticed the windows broken out.” Bending over, I peered in the car. Surprise shot through me. “It’s in there! My bag. Right on the backseat. There’s no missing that.”

“Yeah, you can’t miss it. Even in the dark, I’m sure the fuchsia would stand out,” he commented dryly as he peered over my shoulder.

I started to reach for the car, but stopped. “Can I open the door?”

He nodded. “I’m going to be honest, for something like this, we probably won’t be dusting for prints unless something major was stolen out of the car.”

I wasn’t insulted by the honesty. It was just a car and no one was injured. Opening the door, I reached in and carefully grabbed the straps of the tote. Glass pinged off the seat as I lifted the bag and stepped back from the car.

As Officer Bradshaw walked around the front of the car and along the other side, I opened the tote, hoping no one had stolen my makeup. If I had to make a trip to Ulta to replenish my stock, I’d be leaving with at least two hundred more dollars’ worth of makeup than what was stolen.

Biting down on my lower lip, I pried the tote open. “What the . . . ?”

“Yes?” Officer Bradshaw straightened and looked at me over the roof of the car.

“My MacBook is in here! With my makeup. I left both of them in the car.” Stunned, I touched the laptop just to make sure it was in there. Then I touched the makeup bag.

Officer Bradshaw headed my way. “Anything else that was left in the car?”

Shaking my head, I stared in the bag. “I forgot I’d even left that in here,” I murmured, lowering the tote. I turned to him. “Why would someone break into my car but not steal a laptop? The makeup bag I understand, but the laptop?”

“That is fairly uncommon.” He scribbled in his little notebook as static crackled from his radio. “But that’s usually a sign that the vehicle wasn’t broken into.”

I lifted a hand and gestured at the car. “Uh . . . ?”

“If there is damage but nothing stolen, especially valuable goods, then it’s usually a case of vandalism.” His pale blue eyes met mine. “You just arrived yesterday, right?”

A wiggly feeling returned to my stomach. “Yes.”

“And you’ve been gone about ten years?”

The stiffness started to seep back into me. “Yeah. Just about.”

“Did anyone know you were returning to town?” he asked, his gaze holding mine as a woman’s voice spoke from his shoulder radio. “Besides your mother.”

Brows pinching, I slowly shook my head as my mouth worked. “I . . . just my friend Miranda—um, Miranda Locke. I don’t think she told anyone.” I nibbled on my lip as I held the tote close to my chest. “My mom would’ve told the staff.”

He nodded as he scribbled into the notebook and then he flipped it closed, shoving it into his front pocket. The pen followed. “Is it possible that someone would want to damage your car?”

My lips parted. “Like on purpose?” That sounded stupid. Of course he meant on purpose. “I mean, as in someone who came out here and did this because of me?”

“It’s possible.” He held up his finger as a code was called out from his radio and then he pressed a button on the radio. “This is Unit 59. I’ll be 10–8 from the Scarlet Wench in a few minutes.” His gaze pierced mine. “There’s no polite way of saying this, but you have a history in this town.”

Anger flushed my system like a swarm of angry fire ants. “A history that wasn’t my fault.”

“Of course,” he quickly added. “I didn’t mean it like that, and I apologize if it came across as that. What I meant is that you’re . . . well known and for reasons that might make some people uncomfortable.”