Читать книгу Her Mistletoe Man - Carolyn Greene, Carolyn Greene - Страница 10

He’d have to sleep somewhere. It might as well be here.

Willow Glen Plantation had seemed like a mansion to him the first time he had visited the massive house. It still impressed him with its sprawling front lawn, welcoming circular driveway, broad veranda, cheerful turrets and dormer windows. After spending the happiest times of his life here from age ten until college, Tucker had been devastated when Chris’s parents sold the place shortly after he and his friend went off to college. Will Carlton, the county’s antiques dealer, had done some minor remodeling on the home and turned it into a charming bed-and-breakfast inn.

An elderly gentleman, apparently just returning home from a Christmas shopping excursion, went in ahead of him and held the door for Tucker to follow him.

“If I were you, son, I wouldn’t wait out here too long. Dinner will be served soon, and believe me, you don’t want to miss it.”

Inside, garlands and running cedar were strewn from every conceivable surface: the front desk, the mahogany banister rail that led upstairs, even the chandelier that hung from the parlor ceiling.

Although modern fixtures and a front desk, complete with an antique cash register, had been added, the place hadn’t changed much over the years. It even smelled the same, like cranberries and pine and…what was that other smell? Tucker set his duffel bag down beside the curved-wood desk and closed his eyes while he inhaled the scent. In his mind, he could almost see Chris and Mr. and Mrs. Newland. He’d spent so much time in this house, sleeping here more than he’d slept at home, that he had become part of the family—so much a member of the family, in fact, that the elder Newlands had assigned him chores to perform. One Saturday a month, he and Chris were handed soft rags and a bottle of furniture polish to rub on the furniture, the banister and any other exposed wood, which constituted almost half the house.

He opened his eyes. That was the scent. Furniture polish. Maybe even the same brand.

An older woman, possibly more ancient than the gentleman who’d preceded him in, approached them. “Oren, dear,” she said, addressing the other guest, “it’s so good to see you again.” She kissed his cheek, leaving a peach lip print on the gray stubble. Nodding toward the parlor where a group of guests had gathered, she added, “Your wife has been anxiously waiting for you.”

The old man picked up his shopping bag and moved to join his wife.

Must be a regular, Tucker thought. The lady of the lip prints fixed her attention on him, scrutinizing him from head to toe and back again. “Well, aren’t you a fine-looking young man. I’m Aunt Shirley,” she declared.

That was a strange way to greet a guest, but he attributed the overfamiliarity to her advanced age. He gave her a warm smile. “Tucker Maddock, ma’am. I was hoping you’d have room at the inn for one more.”

Aunt Shirley opened her mouth and laughed, the infectious sound attracting the attention of the people in the parlor. “He wants to know if we have room at the inn,” she told them. They seemed to find it funny as well and laughed among themselves. One woman, a dark-haired beauty who appeared to be in her mid-twenties, caught his eye as she sat threading popcorn onto a string. Apparently feeling the heat of his perusal, she looked up. As they gazed openly at each other, Tucker felt the room grow suddenly warmer. He loosened the collar of his jacket.

A teenage girl followed the brunette’s gaze and peered around the arched doorway at him. When she caught a glimpse of him, she blushed and drew back.

The brunette seemed to be studying him curiously from her overstuffed chair, as if he looked familiar to her but she couldn’t place his face. But Tucker was sure they’d never met. If they had, he most certainly would have remembered her.

Her legs were drawn up beneath her in the chair. Long, slim limbs encased in charcoal-gray fabric that coordinated with the bulky gray-green top that seemed to swallow her small features. Her dark hair spilled in disarray over the plush material, bringing to mind an image of her cuddled in bed under piles of blankets.

Her brown eyes slanted downward at the outer edges, making her look as though she’d just awakened from a long, luxurious sleep, and her lips seemed to be made for kissing.

Tucker involuntarily drew the back of his hand across his mouth.

She watched his idle gesture and her chin came forward, causing her pale pink mouth to pucker invitingly.

Ruth pushed a wild and wavy strand of hair away from her face. She’d been working hard to make this—possibly their last— Christmas family reunion the best one ever. And this latest arrival, though unexpected, certainly promised to make it one of their most interesting family gatherings. The way the stranger’s gaze roamed over her made her feel almost intoxicated. She tried to still the crazy inner stirrings that made her feel decidedly light-headed.

Stop that! she commanded herself. It was sick to lust like this over a family member, no matter how distant the ties might be. No matter how tall and broad shouldered he might be. No matter how touchable his collar-length brown hair was or how his dark eyes seemed to penetrate right into her and read her very thoughts. Dragging her gaze away from him, she looked across the room at her sister. Vivian hadn’t yet noticed the newest addition to their family reunion.

Ruth smiled and returned her attention to the handsome stranger. He smiled back. This was one hunk her older sister wouldn’t snag. Unfortunately, he was off-limits to Ruth, as well.

She considered getting up and joining her aunt in greeting the family members who came here from throughout the state to attend their Christmas reunion, a regular event since they’d bought the former hotel eight years ago. Though she’d grown up in Willow Glen, it wasn’t until she’d moved into the old plantation house that she’d finally felt truly at home.

Aunt Shirley seemed to be holding her own. Now that the preliminary cleaning and cooking were done, she was in her element, reacquainting herself with family members from near and far.

Aunt Shirley turned back to Tucker. “You have such a wonderful sense of humor. Of course we have room. And we’d make room if we didn’t.”

“Uh, thank you, ma’am.” He reached down and picked up his duffel bag. “If you’ll point the way and give me a key, I’ll just head on to my room.”

“Call me Aunt Shirley. Everyone else does.” She went behind the polished counter and refastened a paper Santa that adorned the wall. “As for keys, you don’t need them here, honey. Nobody will mess with your stuff. Oren sleepwalks sometimes, but you can latch your door from the inside while you sleep.”

Tucker frowned. He was familiar with mom-and-pop establishments, but this one beat all. However, room security shouldn’t be a problem since he intended to be there the entire time. If the room didn’t have a VCR, he could buy one and numb his brain with action-adventure movies for the holiday. Escape into the happiness of the past until the relentless false cheeriness of the season had subsided. As he faced his first Christmas alone, it would be just the medicine he needed to revisit the place that had given him so many happy memories.

“Maddock,” Aunt Shirley said, rubbing the pale coral rouge from her left cheek. “I don’t seem to recall any Maddocks.”

Maybe she was asking if he’d been a guest at the inn before. Either that or she assumed—correctly—that he was from Willow Glen. In a town this small, everyone was either related by blood or marriage, or they went to school with one another. He wasn’t surprised she didn’t know his name. His parents weren’t originally from here, having come to Willow Glen shortly before he was born. After his mother died twenty-some years ago, his father drank all their money away and they’d lived on public assistance.

But he wasn’t going to tell Shirley all that. “I grew up not far from here,” he said. “I haven’t been back in more than ten years.”

The brunette narrowed her eyes at this revelation and joined them in the foyer. The older woman’s questions had seemed born of curiosity, but the younger one appeared somewhat skeptical.

“What are your mama and daddy’s first names?”

He chalked the question up to her being a true Southerner. Tucker knew that many Virginians could be obsessive about knowing a person’s lineage. So he humored her, glad for the opportunity to get a closer look at the lovely, gentle-eyed brunette as they spoke. “Helen and Bob.”

He loosened the top few snaps on his jacket.

Oddly, as if she weren’t aware of copying his action, she lifted her hand to the vee of her shirt. Tucker’s gaze followed her movement and lingered on the dip in her throat. He didn’t remember this house being so warm.

Tucker forced his attention back to Aunt Shirley. She pursed her bright peach-colored lips, making the lines around them form a miniature starburst pattern. “We have a Helen in our family, but I don’t remember any Bobs. Was Bob your mama’s second husband?”

“Huh?”

Oren called from the parlor. “Leave the boy alone, Shirley, and come in here so we can get this tree up.”

“Okay, okay. Just hold on to your knickers.”

Tucker shook his head, amazed by the easy familiarity the hotel staff had with most of the guests. He assumed some of the guests liked it here so much they had become regulars. It could be that after a while they started to feel like family. Must be something about this house, and the love that lingered here, that gave people a sense of belonging, he decided.

“Come on,” said Shirley. “I’ll show you to your room. I hope you don’t mind being on the third floor. I had considered putting in an elevator, but lately I’ve been thinking of more interesting ways to spend my money.”

“That’s okay, Aunt Shirley, I’ll show him the way.”

Although it would have been flattering to think the brunette’s interest matched his own, Tucker got the distinct impression that she had another reason for offering to show him to his room.

She led him up the mahogany staircase to the third floor, pausing a couple of times after the first level as if to give him an opportunity to catch his breath. But he had no trouble keeping up with her. With a view such as she offered, he much preferred to enjoy it from close range.

Upstairs, Tucker stepped into the room, and it felt as if he had retreated into the past. He set the duffel bag on the floor and let the sensations wash over him. The curtains, handmade patchwork quilt and scatter rugs were different from his childhood recollections, but they retained the flavor of the era. However, the curved sleigh bed and matching chifforobe had apparently been included in the sale of Willow Glen Plantation. Bending closer, he saw that the tiny carved initials, R.T.M., for Robert Tucker Maddock, had remained. Mrs. Newland had blown a gasket when she’d seen what he’d done, but after giving it some thought she’d promised to let it stay. At the time, Tucker didn’t understand his surrogate mother’s change of heart. In retrospect, he saw that she had kindly allowed a scared, lonely boy to make his mark in her home, on her family and in her heart.

Apparently unwilling to relinquish her hostess duties, Aunt Shirley joined them in the small room. “It is so good to have you join us for Christmas.”

The brunette responded with a tightening of her softly curved lips, walked past him and pushed open the white lace curtains to allow in the meager late-afternoon sunlight. When she was done she turned and scrutinized him thoroughly. After a long, uncomfortable moment, she reluctantly announced, “Yes, I suppose you do have the eyes.”

He had no idea what the young woman was talking about, but he supposed that his features may have stirred up a previously forgotten memory of having met his father. In a town this size, most people knew everyone else, even if only in passing. “People say I have the Maddock eyes,” he said.

If he’d had a choice in the matter, he would rather forgo the dark, devilish feature that attracted so much attention than have even that one small remaining link with his deceased father.

Aunt Shirley stepped forward, her arms open, and took him in a motherly hug. Pressing a light kiss to his cheek, she said, “We’re so glad to have you in our family.” Moving to the door, she added, “If there’s anything you need or want, just let one of us know, and we’ll see that you’re taken care of.”

With a wink and a wave, she exited the room and closed the door behind her.

The younger woman stayed where she was, arms across her chest, assessing him.

Still stunned by the older woman’s unexpected gesture, Tucker stood rooted to the faded blue throw rug, absentmindedly lifting a hand to his cheek where she had kissed him, and wondered if the woman before him might follow suit. He sure hoped so. He had heard that these bed-and-breakfast places sought to make their guests feel like members of the family, but in his estimation, the elderly woman took this home-and-hearth stuff a tad too far.

The door swung open again, and Aunt Shirley popped her head in. “I almost forgot…hurry and unpack. We’ll be waiting for you downstairs to help put up the Christmas tree.”

He’d better nip this in the bud. If he didn’t stop her now, she’d have him singing carols and baking Christmas cookies with the rest of the guests.

“Uh, Ms., I mean, Aunt Shirley, I’m not really up to trimming a Christmas tree this year.” Although he was finding comfort in returning to the memories in this house, the Christmas traditions only served to remind him of all the loved ones he’d lost at this time of the year.

“Oh. It would present a bit of a problem if you don’t join us. You see, Aunt Shirley isn’t up to having a big crowd here after this season, so I’m trying to make this last one our best Christmas ever. It would really mean a lot if everyone would participate.” The young woman looked thoughtful for a moment. “Would you rather put up the wreath or string Christmas lights instead?” The two of them seemed determined to have him participate in the festivities.

He sympathized with their business plan to cut back their tourist season. It must be difficult sacrificing their own Christmas activities in order to take care of a bunch of guests. But he still had no desire to change his plans in order to be with strangers. He solemnly shook his head.

Aunt Shirley grinned. “Holding out for hanging the mistletoe, eh? I figured you for a romantic, right from the start.”

At the word romantic, his gaze veered back to the pretty brunette. Impulsively, he asked, “Are you going to help?”

“Of course,” she said, as if the answer should have been obvious.

He scratched the whiskers on his chin and took in her fair, flawless complexion. “Maybe I can come down for a short while.”

“Good,” said Shirley. “I’ll tell everyone to wait for you.” This time when she left, the older woman hooked the brunette’s arm and steered her out of the room before her.

Downstairs, Ruth pulled out the dusty old Bible, her curious cousins, aunts and uncles gathering around her as they traced the family’s lineage.

“He’s cute,” said fourteen-year-old Brooke.

“He’s too old for you,” Vivian stated, as if it weren’t already apparent to everyone in the room. “I’m sure he’d prefer someone closer to his own age. Like me.”

Ruth drew a finger down the page, searching for the Maddock name in the birth and marriage listings. “You’re both being ridiculous,” she said without lifting her head. “If he’s a relative—which I doubt he is—he should be treated like any of our other cousins.”

Brooke giggled. “Maybe he’s a kissing cousin.”

Ruth pushed her hair behind her shoulders and tried unsuccessfully to ignore her young cousin’s remark. “Just as I thought. I don’t see a record of a Maddock anywhere in here.”

Oren nudged her aside with his cane and bent over the book that lay open on the coffee table. He turned a page to the crowded family tree. Lilly Babcock, now deceased, was the matriarch of their close-knit family. Although Lilly and her husband Clem’s daughters had married, introducing new surnames to the family tree, the subsequent generations still considered themselves Babcocks.

After a moment, Oren pressed his finger to a box with a line drawn from Ruth’s great-grandmother Lilly. “There’s a Helen in here who married a third cousin, but I don’t see any sign of a Maddock or her giving birth to a Tucker.”

Aunt Shirley joined them, leaning over the brittle pages. Her elderly boyfriend stood and moved beside her, taking her fingers in his own.

Ruth watched the exchange and was thankful once again that her aunt had found someone to love and who loved her so much in return. She hoped that someday she’d find a special man who made her as happy as Boris made Shirley.

The thought occurred to her that perhaps Boris was the reason Aunt Shirley had decided not to hold the Christmas family reunion again after this year. Such an event was an awful lot of work and planning, and it was understandable that her aunt would want to spend her time and energy on her personal pursuits. And that was why Ruth had stepped in and shouldered most of the hostessing duties this year. By making this their most perfect Christmas ever, she would relieve her aunt of much of the work while convincing her to give it a go again next year.

Their yearly reunion helped solidify Ruth’s sense of family togetherness. Having lost her parents at a very young age, it was important to preserve and nurture her family ties. And someday she hoped to marry and add lots more names to their Bible.

Turning her attention back to the book, she recalled her great-aunt’s earlier questioning of their handsome guest. “Do you suppose Helen remarried, Aunt Shirley, and you lost track of her?”

“If so, that would mean Tucker Maddock is only vaguely—and very distantly—related by marriage,” Vivian said with interest. “A step-cousin, of sorts.”

Ruth didn’t know why this possibility should please her so much. Or why it should bother her that her sister was so quick to pick up on their nonexistent blood ties.

“I don’t know.” Aunt Shirley idly rubbed the wattle of skin under her left arm. “I think Helen and her first husband are still together. But I could be wrong. I haven’t heard from them since right after Brooke was born, which would be about fourteen years ago.”

A trickle of concern flowed down Ruth’s spine, leaving goose bumps in its wake. Even if Helen had divorced and remarried a Maddock after that time, there was no way she could have a son who, by Ruth’s best estimate, was about thirty years old.

Ruth smelled a rat, albeit the best-looking one she’d ever laid eyes on. Although Ruth Marsh was normally an easygoing person—so easygoing, in fact, that her fourth-grade students had nicknamed her “Miss Marshmallow”—she could not sit idly by while some stranger with an ulterior motive invaded their home. Right in the midst of their Christmas celebrations, no less!

Like the rest of the Babcock family members, Aunt Shirley was a trusting soul, welcoming anyone and everyone into her life. In fact, it was that very generosity of spirit that had led the older woman to raise Ruth and her older sister after their parents had died.

Aunt Shirley had protected her when Ruth was a child, and now it was Ruth’s turn to repay the favor. She would not let this situation unfold like that roofing repair sham her family had fallen for. Or the unsecured-bond investment scheme Aunt Shirley had naively bought into.

“I don’t know, Aunt Shirley,” Ruth said. “Something doesn’t seem right about this particular long-lost relative. For all we know, he could be another shyster, or even an ax murderer.”

“Nonsense.” Aunt Shirley disengaged her hand from Boris’s grasp and closed the musty book. “I won’t have you talking about your own cousin that way. In every family there are three horse thieves for every prince. Regardless of whether his branch of the family tree is represented on a coat of arms or has a noose hanging from it, he’s still family.”

She straightened and addressed Ruth with an expression that made it clear she hadn’t learned the lesson taught by the roofer and investment crook. “I’m sure that nice young man has a perfectly reasonable explanation for his name not appearing in our Bible.”

Ruth shook her head at her aunt’s complete trust in other people. The older woman had a reputation around Willow Glen as being wealthy and more than a little eccentric. She hated to think that another unscrupulous person might try to take advantage of that trust.

“Cousin Tucker is a fine fellow,” Aunt Shirley said, trying to reassure her. “Just give him a chance.”

Give him a chance to do what? Rob them blind? Murder them in their sleep? It was clear she would get nowhere with her family, so she let the subject rest for now. With a few well-chosen questions, she would soon ascertain the newcomer’s genealogical background as well as his intentions.

As Tucker came down the curved staircase, he saw the group huddled over a large Bible. They were probably reading the nativity story. He had serious doubts about his own sanity, agreeing to join in the Christmas celebrations when that was specifically what he’d been trying to avoid this year. If it weren’t for the brown-eyed brunette, he’d be in his room reveling in a game of solitaire right now.

If he’d been a suspicious man, he would conclude that certain women have the ability to zap men with a mysterious pheromone that robs them of their reasoning powers. If that were the case, he must have been hit with a double dose of the stuff.

By the time he entered the parlor, the group had finished their discussion or prayer or whatever, and all turned as one to face him. Discomfited by their scrutiny, Tucker glanced down to make a quick assessment of his appearance: turtleneck tucked neatly into jeans, zipper up, and both socks matched. Nope, nothing wrong there.

When he looked up, they were still staring at him. Especially the brunette. Only she seemed to be studying him harder than the others.

The sandy-haired teenager with too much makeup spoke first. “Hey, cuz.”

Tucker wrinkled his eyebrows. Cuz? He wasn’t up on teen slang, but he hoped it was a compliment.

“Glad you could join us,” said Aunt Shirley.

Oren spoke next. “She didn’t twist your arm, did she? Shirley is the bossiest woman I’ve ever had the misfortune to know.”

Rather than coming to her defense, the others smiled and nodded their agreement. Aunt Shirley smiled, too, as if she were proud of the distinction.

“No,” Tucker said, “my arms are just fine.” It was his brain he had to work on. He had come here to be alone, so why on earth was he standing amid ten strangers with the intent of celebrating the very holiday he’d been trying to avoid?

“Good,” said Aunt Shirley, “then you can climb that ladder and use those arms to string the electric lights on the tree.”

“There she goes again,” Oren griped. Turning to the proprietress of the inn, he added, “The least you could do is introduce him to everybody before you start bossing him around.”

The brunette stepped closer to Tucker. “That’s okay, I’ll take care of it.” Then she rattled off their names, pointing to each as she did so.

Aunt Shirley, he already knew, and her boyfriend Boris Schmidt. Then Oren Cooper and his wife Ada May. And their son, Dewey, who appeared to be in his fifties. Eldon and Rosemary Givens, and Brooke, their teenage daughter. The brunette’s sister, Vivian Marsh, with blue eyes so enormous she reminded him of a Siamese cat.

And, finally, the brunette.

“I’m Ruth,” she said, extending her hand.

Her hand was small yet strong. Just like the rest of her, he suspected. He couldn’t help wanting to get to know her better. Much better.

“Any of these names ring a bell?” she asked, sweeping a hand to indicate the people she’d just introduced.

Schmidt, Cooper, Givens, Marsh. He didn’t recognize the family names, but it had been a long time since he’d been home to Willow Glen. Even so, most of these people were older than his own thirty-one years, save the Marsh sisters, who appeared to be about his age or a little younger. And Brooke. Tucker shrugged, giving a gentle shake of his head.

A question niggled at the back of his mind. Assuming these people were all from Willow Glen, which was what Ruth had led him to believe by her implication that he should know them, why were they here instead of celebrating Christmas in their own homes?

Well, they’d been grilling him about his family. Now it was his turn to ask a question or two. “I’ve heard of people whose Thanksgiving tradition is to drive to the Checkered Tablecloth on the other side of town for a turkey dinner with all the trimmings. Is gathering at Willow Glen Plantation a new Christmas tradition around here?”

Ruth quirked her mouth, her lips pressing firmly together as if she weren’t satisfied with his negative response. Or the question he’d lobbed at her. “Something like that,” she said as if he should have known.

In the next few minutes, the previously tidy parlor was strewn with ornaments, bows, lights and tinsel. Ruth reeled out the seemingly endless strings of lights as he attached them to the tree. The task threatened to overwhelm him with memories of the Newland family decorating a fresh-cut tree in this room so many years ago. Stringing the lights had been Mr. Newland’s job, and he and Chris had hung the ornaments while Mrs. Newland stood back and pointed out bare spots. The only thing that kept him from bolting from the room was the woman who stood at his elbow, patiently handing up lights. And every time their hands touched, he had to fight the urge to pull her to him and kiss her breathless.

All the while, she kept firing questions at him. The only explanation he could imagine was that she thought he looked familiar and was trying to establish how they may have first met.

He could have come right out and told her they’d never seen each other before this evening, but he liked the sound of her voice. Despite his earlier need for solitude, he found himself enjoying the company of the tiny woman with the giant curiosity.

When he claimed no knowledge of the various names she threw at him, her attitude seemed to change from curiosity to misgiving. Maybe she was finally figuring out that, although he might look familiar, they’d never met before today.

By the time they finished the tree, they’d settled into an uneasy silence. Tucker didn’t know what had derailed their conversation. He didn’t think he’d said anything out of the way. He’d tried asking her a few questions, like what part of Willow Glen she was from, but that seemed to make her even more edgy. So he turned his attention to the other guests and surprised himself by having a good time. For a brief while, the laughter and joking made him forget why he’d come to Willow Glen…and Willow Glen Plantation in particular. After the tree was finished and he’d helped put away the excess decorations, he excused himself and returned to his room.

Ruth watched him go up the stairs.

“The rear view is just as interesting as the front, eh?” Vivian teased.

“Yeah, but he has no business being here.”

“Are you still on that?” Vivian put a hand to her perfectly styled bottle-blond hair. “Why can’t you just leave the guy alone? He seems really nice. Very charming, if you ask me.”

“So did Ted Bundy, but I wouldn’t want him crashing my family reunion.”

“Who’s crashing our family reunion?” Brooke demanded. “Cousin Tucker?”

“He’s not our cousin,” Ruth insisted.

Brooke smiled broadly. “Cool. I call dibsies on him.”

Ruth rolled her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. For all we know, he could be an escaped convict.”

“Or maybe he’s with the Internal Revenue Service, and he’s snooping around for unreported income,” Vivian suggested. She smoothed her soft red sweater over her slim hips. “I wouldn’t mind him looking over my form. In fact, he can audit me anytime.”

Brooke giggled, but Ruth wasn’t amused. “You two may think it’s funny, but something about that guy bugs me.” He seemed to her like a man on a quest, but she wasn’t sure what he wanted from them. She glanced up the stairs, wondering what would motivate a perfect stranger to insinuate himself into their home for the holidays. Well, the others might be willing to swallow the notion that he was a family member, but Ruth knew otherwise. And she was determined to get to the bottom of it. “I’m going up there and see exactly what he’s doing.”

Vivian laughed. “Probably changing his clothes, if you’re lucky.”

Ignoring the laughter of her sister and young cousin, Ruth mounted the steps, taking care to avoid the creaky ones. If Tucker Maddock was truly up to no good, she doubted he’d be so careless as to let her catch him at it. Even so, the least she could do was confront him about his identity and his intentions. She hadn’t wanted to do so downstairs in front of the others, partly to keep from putting him on the spot in case he actually was related in a way she had overlooked, and partly because she knew her gullible family would rise to his defense even if he was an imposter as she suspected. After he’d charmed his way into her family members’ hearts, joking and laughing while decorating the tree, they were convinced he could do no wrong.

As she climbed the last few steps to the third floor—the same level her room was on—she heard what sounded like something being scraped across the floor. Quietly, she made her way down the hall, glancing at the room numbers that remained from the house’s brief bed-and-breakfast days. Ruth tapped lightly at the door of number nine. When no answer came, she turned the knob and peeked inside.

The room was empty.

Closing the door, Ruth went to her own room and checked to see if anything had been disturbed, but it looked the same as she’d left it earlier today. A glance around the empty hallway revealed that the attic door stood ajar several inches.

Ruth walked closer and saw that the attic light was on. Then she heard the sound again…a bump and a dragging scrape. Somebody was up there, and she had a good idea who it might be.

Moving quietly up the rickety stairs, she was at once shocked and yet not quite surprised to find their dark-haired houseguest running his hands over the loose floorboards where Aunt Shirley’s trunk once sat. It was obvious he was searching for something.

Ruth placed her hands on her hips, enraged by the stranger’s audacity.

“What do you think you’re doing?”