She stood holding her clothes, dressed only in the boots he hadn’t been able to get off—and the necklace he’d given her. And made him want all over again.

“The house is a draw, I give you that one. Maybe that’s the reason I have sex with you.”

He just smiled. “Crazy about me.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m going to grab a shower.”

“Good idea.”

The look in his eyes as he got up had her backing away.

“Just to clean up. Do you want to eat tonight?”

That look stayed in his eyes. She found herself laughing as she dashed away. He scooped her up halfway up the stairs.

Dinner was very late.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Darby got in most of a day’s work before afternoon storms banged and boomed over the mountains. Rain meant switching from outdoor, client work, to indoor, personal work.

After a trip to the hardware store for paint.

She’d gone bright and cheery in her kitchen with canary yellow walls, bold blue shelves and cabinets. Because she accepted she wasn’t quite that handy, she’d hired a local to replace the ugly countertops, opting for pure white to pop her colors.

Eventually, she promised herself, she’d replace the hideous flooring. But when she let herself into the kitchen, out of the rain, she could look around with considerable pleasure.

She’d found a cute little bistro set at the flea market just outside of town, had painted it the same blue as the cabinets with some yellow trim. All that color after the gray rain said happy.

She stripped off her wet hoodie, her work cap, hung both on one of the three sunflower hooks she’d screwed into the wall, then took off her boots. Her herbs—mostly for looks and scent rather than cooking—sat in their little white pots on the windowsill over the sink. After testing the soil, she gave them all a drink.

She started to grab a Coke out of the fridge, stopped, frowned. She’d have sworn she’d had four bottles, but only three stood next to her quart of milk. With a shrug, she took out her phone, added Cokes to her shopping list.

After sticking her bottle in the cargo pocket of her pants, she carried the paint and primer to the living room. Or what would be the living room one day.

At the moment it served as storage for paint and painting supplies, household tools, some planters and other garden accessories she’d picked up on sale, all organized by category.

She grabbed her painter’s tape, a tarp, then stood baffled.

Why in the world would she have put the fairy statue—one she intended for a fairy garden she’d plant the following spring—over with paint supplies? And what was the wind chime, still in its box, doing in tools?

More annoyed with herself than disturbed, she put things where they belonged, then hauled the tarp, the tape upstairs.

She still had to deal with the short hallway, but her bedroom, like the kitchen, hit the more-than-acceptable level.

She’d chosen a soft, misty blue there with a creamy trim. No actual bed yet, she thought, but the white duvet and lots of colorful pillows made it all homey and inviting. Sooner or later she’d paint the flea market dresser, but she’d scored with the big mirror over it with its iron frame of twining vines.

Probably needed a rug, and she’d get to that, but she loved the trio of watercolors—the lake, the mountains, a fanciful garden—she’d hung on the wall.

She stepped into the tiny bathroom. When she’d killed and stripped off all the fish, she’d found dingy white walls. She intended to use the palest of pale greens, walls and ceiling, with the same trim color as the bedroom.

Once she’d taped off the trim, she tarped the room. With the rain drumming, the occasional strobe flash of lightning and rocking boom of thunder, she dug out what she’d designated as paint clothes. As she changed, she considered her painting playlist. Maybe classic rock, a good, hard beat.

She opened the top drawer of the dresser to get a bandanna to protect her hair from paint splatter.

And froze.

“That’s not right,” she murmured, took a couple careful breaths. “No, that’s not right.”

Carefully, she backed away from the dresser, and heart hammering, body braced, yanked open the closet door.

Nothing but clothes, she noted as the blood roared in her brain like the thunder outside.

But not right. Not quite right.

She dug her keys out of her pocket, slipped one, point out, between her clenched knuckles, and did a search of the house.

When she’d finished, assured she was alone, she pulled out her phone.

“Lee, it’s Darby. I think someone’s been in my house. Yes, I’m here now. No, I’ve been through it. No one’s here, but—Thanks. Yeah, thanks.”

She slid the phone back in her pocket, and while she waited for the police, began a more thorough search.

Lee arrived in minutes, but she already had a list going in her head. She let him in the front with the rain drumming at his back.

“Thanks for coming, and so fast.”

“That’s what we’re here for. Are there signs of a break-in?”

“I didn’t find any.”

“I’ll take a look.” Standing on the inside mat, his black slicker dripping a bit, he scanned her living room. “What makes you think someone’s been inside?”

“Some of this is going to sound silly, but … Well, we can start right in here. I’m using this for storage right now. I’ve got things together by category.”

“I can see that right off. You’re a tidy soul, aren’t you, Darby?”

“Yeah, plus, time management. If things are in their place, you don’t waste time looking for them. But some of the things in here weren’t in their place. I came home to paint the bathroom upstairs, so I was getting the tarp and tape before I came back to get the pan, the roller. And some of the garden stuff was mixed in with the paint stuff. I don’t do that. I know it seems like anybody could do that and forget, and I initially brushed it off, but…”

She could hear herself, the nerves in her voice, so worked to steady it. “When I came down to look again, I realized a couple of tools were in the garden section. And that box? I know I didn’t open it yet—it’s the shower curtain and all that for when I finish the bath. I hadn’t opened it, but it’s been opened.”

“Okay, honey. Did you notice anything missing?”

“A Coke. And I know how that sounds, but I know I had four in the fridge, but there were only three.”

“There’s one in your pocket,” he pointed out.

“That’s one of the three.” Taking it out, she twisted the cap off, twisted it on to keep her hands busy. “Lee, when I go below four, it goes right on my shopping list. It’s habit. I brushed that off, too. I just shrugged it off, but upstairs…”

Shoving the bottle back in her pocket, she let out a breath. “I’ll show you.”

As they started upstairs, she continued, “I wanted a bandanna for my hair before I started priming the walls because I didn’t want to get paint on the logo cap. But when I opened the drawer…”

She gestured to the one she’d left open. “Here’s the thing. I keep underwear, socks and bandannas in the top drawer.”