To Love and Protect Page 7

  “Put it in a plastic zip bag,” he directed, turning his attention to the phone. “Hi. I’m reporting a break-in on Hidalgo Road.”

  * * *

  CHRIS NORTON COMMISERATED with Corie fifteen minutes later as he inspected the splintered door frame. “I’m sorry you were frightened.”

  “I’m not frightened,” she denied, lying just a little. “I’m just angry—and a little...creeped out. Chris, this is Ben Palmer, a friend. Ben, Chris Norton.”

  The men shook hands, seeming to measure each other. “You’re the cop from Oregon,” Chris said.

  Ben nodded. “I’m from a small town, too. I know word gets around. Other break-ins in this area?”

  “Not recently.” Chris looked around the living room then went into the kitchen. “Anything stolen?”

  Corie followed him. “I don’t think so. My TV’s still here and my computer is where I left it. Why would someone just throw stuff around but not take anything?”

  “Maybe he was looking for something. Drugs. Cash.”

  “I don’t have anything. Oh! Cash! I haven’t even checked the bedroom yet.”

  Chris gestured her to lead the way. “Let’s go look.”

  She headed down the hallway, the two men following. She reached her room ahead of them, pushed the door open and hit the light switch.

  And stopped dead in her tracks.

  Corie swallowed a gasp of shock and horror before the men could hear it. On her pink-eyelet pillowcase, a diamond necklace sparkled beneath the overhead light as only real diamonds could.

  It was Tyree’s wife’s necklace. Ben had taken it from her at his parents’ house in Beggar’s Bay and mailed it back to Tyree with the rest of the jewelry. A sixteen-inch strand with simple, graduated stones. She’d thought it the most beautiful of the necklaces.

  There was a policeman steps behind her and the man who believed she still had possession of Tyree’s jewelry.

  The men came through the door. Willing her heart to start beating again, she pointed to the wardrobe closet. “I keep the cash in there,” she said, “in the upper right pocket of the shoe holder.”

  As soon as their backs were turned, she took the crocheted throw from the foot of her bed and tossed it over the necklace.

  She watched anxiously as Chris dug into the pocket and turned to her with a few twenties splayed in his hand.

  She blew out a noisy breath. The men took it for relief—and it was—but not for the reason they thought.

  Corie and Ben followed Chris to the front door. He studied the splintered wood of the frame and the side of the door where a crowbar had broken the lock. “It’s odd that he broke in through the front rather than the back, where he would be less visible.”

  That was easy to explain. “There’s a big, noisy dog tied in the backyard next door that barks at everything. The intruder might have attracted more attention back there.”

  “You going to be okay here tonight?” Chris asked.

  “I’ll take care of the door,” Ben said.

  Chris smiled sympathetically at Corie. “I’ll see what I can do, but it’s a national statistic that only about thirteen percent of home robberies are solved.”

  She took that with more grace than she felt. She had to get him out. There was a diamond necklace on her pillow!

  “Thanks for coming, Chris.” She opened the damaged door wider.

  “Don’t forget the fabric you tore off the guy when he knocked you down,” Ben said, going back to the kitchen to retrieve it. He handed the plastic bag to Chris.

  “Looks like it’s from a work shirt.” Chris held it up. “Probably a million of them around here.” He grinned at Corie. “I’ll put a BOLO out for a guy in a work shirt with nowhere to put his cell phone. I’ll be in touch.”

  Corie waved him off then turned to Ben to thank him for his help and to encourage him to leave. But he’d taken out a pocketknife and was cutting away at the splintered wood so that the door could be closed.

  “Don’t worry about that, Ben,” she said a little brightly. “Thanks for helping. I think I’ll still be able to hook the chain.”

  “Maybe, but the door won’t be closed tightly and someone could reach in and unlatch it.”

  “But I...”

  He had gone into the living room, retrieved the scuffed maple coffee table and was putting it on its side to block the door. His eyes met hers. “I’m staying,” he said. “I’m not leaving you in a house you can’t secure.”

  No. He couldn’t stay. He’d find the necklace and then he’d never believe she hadn’t somehow intercepted the box of jewelry.

  “That’s not necessary. I’m perfectly—”

  “I’m staying,” he repeated. “Why don’t you relax and try to get some sleep? But could you toss me a blanket and a pillow?”

  She hesitated, searching her brain frantically for some way to get him to leave, when he added, “But not the pillow the necklace is on. It’s a little pink for me.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  CORIE TURNED BACK to Ben. He watched her, hands in his pockets.

  “You saw?” she asked, caught between confusion and irritation. He had a gift for making everything harder for her than it had to be.

  “I did. Kudos, though, for quick thinking.”

  “I have no idea how it got there.”

  “Really.” The note of disbelief in his voice was clear. “I’ll just bunk on the floor like I did the last time. I’ll replace your door in the morning.”

  She walked toward him, anger simmering. “Are you some kind of Jekyll-and-Hyde split personality sent to torment me? Sweet and charming one minute and disdainful and distrustful the next?” She poked a finger into his chest but regretted it when she withdrew it and felt as though it was crinkled. “I did not keep or intercept Mrs. Tyree’s jewelry. I do not know where the necklace on my pillow came from!”

  She folded her arms, finding a comforting release in yelling at him. “How do I know it wasn’t you who put the necklace on my pillow and ran out of the house, knocked me down and then pretended to just arrive and help me up, being all sweet and kind and... He was about your height, your weight. How do I know you didn’t have Grady mail the junk jewelry and you kept the good stuff for yourself? Huh? How do I know?”

  He seemed unaffected by her tirade. “Because I’m telling you I didn’t.”

  “Yeah, well I’ve been telling you I didn’t take the jewelry for two days and you don’t believe me. Why should I believe you? Maybe you didn’t come for the truth as you claim. Maybe you came to plant the necklace on me and set me up to take the blame for the theft. What do you have to say about that?”

  He indicated the green Henley he wore. “You’ll notice I’m not missing a blue pocket. And...you did steal the jewelry originally. You should take the blame.”

  The fire went out of her argument with that obvious detail. Before she indulged an impulse to punch him, she walked past him into the kitchen with no real plan on what she intended to do there. She finally just sank onto a chair at the table. Her head was throbbing.

  He followed her and went to the half-full coffeepot, the warmer plate long since turned off.

  “Do you mind if I microwave a cup of this?”

  “No,” she said flatly. “Cups are over the sink.”

  “Want some?”

  “No, thank you.”

  She put her head in her hands and heard him open the cupboard, pour cold coffee and then open and close the microwave. It began to whir.

  “So, it seems you weren’t robbed at all,” he said, pulling out the chair opposite her. “You were given something. The necklace.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Maybe somebody tossed things around a little so you’d call the police right away, then
while they were looking around, they’d find the necklace. In your possession.”

  She looked up in bewilderment. “You think?”

  The timer dinged. He retrieved his cup and came back. “I’m not sure. But I think this suggests someone knows you took the jewelry in the first place.”

  Something else occurred to her. “And doesn’t this prove that I didn’t keep the jewelry or somehow intercept it?”

  He thought about that and finally nodded. “I believe it does. And, so, to relieve temptation, why don’t you give me the necklace to hold?”

  Thinking that hurting him would be so satisfying, she barely suppressed the impulse and stood.

  “If you saw me cover the necklace, why didn’t you just tell Chris it was there?”

  “Because Jack risked everything to keep you out of jail. I’m not going to be the one to put you in.”

  With an audible growl, she left the kitchen and returned as far as the living room with a pillow and a blanket. Not the pink pillow. Then she marched into the kitchen and slapped the necklace on the table in front of him. She’d put it in a gauzy little bag that had once held potpourri.

  “Now do you trust me?” she demanded.

  He met her molten gaze. “Do you trust me?”

  She considered lying but simply didn’t have the energy. “I hate to admit that I do,” she replied wearily. “I dislike you with a purple passion, but I trust you. We’re due back at Teresa’s early in the morning. You’d better get some sleep, too.”

  “Right. Corie?”

  She turned in the act of walking away. “Yeah?”

  “I saw Tyree’s security tape today. That’s what I came to tell you.”

  Interest stirred despite her fury with him. “How’d you do that?”

  “Local newspaper. You can’t see anything definitive. I’m pretty sure we’re all in the clear.”

  “Great.” She heaved a sigh. “Yet someone knows I did it.”

  “Yeah. But the police don’t, so we’ll just figure out who it is and beat them at their own game.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know yet. Get some sleep. We’ll work it out tomorrow. Kids are in school, so it should be quieter at Teresa’s, easier to get things done.”

  “Sorry. Monday and Tuesday are teacher in-service days. The kids will all be there.”

  He ran a hand down his face. “Fine. It’s all good. We’ll figure this out.”

  She walked off to bed, hoping that he had an idea how they’d accomplish that, because she sure didn’t.

  * * *

  CORIE AWOKE TO the aroma of...pancakes? She sniffed the air and caught the subtle sweetness of maple. It took her a moment to remember what had happened last night. Ben was here. The necklace. She’d been mired in fear and depression.

  But the sunny morning and the smell of pancakes made her feel as though she’d blundered into a parallel universe. One where she felt just a little more cheerful. And where Ben could cook?

  Famished, she pulled on jeans and a pink T-shirt and padded barefoot out to the living room. She stopped with a gasp at the sight of two young men in Wolf’s Hardware coveralls installing a new door—a pretty one with a stained-glass fan window at the top. She went on into the kitchen.

  Ben wandered around the small room, his cell phone in one hand, the other carrying plates stacked with utensils and napkins. He placed the pile on the table.

  He jutted his chin at her in greeting and pointed to the plates as he walked away, telling her, she concluded, to set the table. Bossy, she thought, even with gestures.

  “Yeah,” he was saying to whoever was on the other end of the call. “I imagine ten yards will do it. I need an uncompressed depth of twelve inches. You’re sure pea gravel is better than bark chips?”

  Corie looked up from arranging the plates to raise an eyebrow in question. He reached to the counter and handed her a butter tub. “Ah... I don’t know. Hold on. Corie, are there copperhead snakes around here?”

  She was stunned by the question. “Um, I’ve never seen one, but I understand this can be their habitat.”

  “Maybe,” he said into the phone. “Okay, well, we don’t want snakes hiding in it... Yeah, right. Pea gravel can’t catch fire or cause splinters.” He listened for a minute then frowned. “So, what do you do if a kid gets pea gravel stuck up his nose? No—no recycled rubber. Smells awful and if it starts to burn it’d be hard to stop... Yeah. Okay, pea gravel, it is.”

  He listened awhile longer, handed Corie a bottle of syrup, then asked the person at the other end, “When can you deliver? Good...the equipment’s coming next Monday. That’ll be perfect. We’ll have the base down before it arrives... Okay. Yeah.” He read out a credit card number, the expiration date and the security code. “Great. Thanks.”

  When he hung up the phone Corie didn’t know which question to attack first. Since she was hungry, she went with food. “You made pancakes?” she asked. “I thought Sarah took care of you and Jack when your folks were away because neither of you has any kitchen skills.”

  He poured a cup of coffee and handed it to her. “I can make coffee. Though I have a Keurig at home. But, no, I did not make pancakes. Hector’s wife did and delivered them.”

  “What? How did she have time to do that?”

  “Apparently her oldest boy, Emilio, is driving now,” he said, clearly pleased to have knowledge she didn’t. “I called to see if she could make breakfast for us and told her I’d pick it up. Emilio happened to be there and she had him deliver. He’s out and around picking up Christmas decorations for the café. She was happy to help.”

  He heaped pancakes onto her plate.

  “Why on earth do you need ten yards of pea gravel?” she asked.

  “To build a playground.” He went to the refrigerator for milk.

  She stared at him in stupefaction. “For...?” He couldn’t mean...

  He put the milk in the middle of the table, sat opposite her and gave her a look of exasperation. “For Pimental and Bigelow, to give them something to do so they’ll leave you alone.”

  She rolled her eyes at him.

  “Well, silly question, Corie. For the kids, who else? The climate’s so warm here, they’ll be able to use the play equipment most of the time. And Teresa told me yesterday that she didn’t want the kids to worry about anything. She just wanted them to go to school and come home and have fun.”

  With her fork in one hand and her knife in the other, she continued to stare. This wasn’t the behavior of the Ben she knew as judgmental and unsympathetic. Last night had confirmed her Jekyll-and-Hyde theory. He’d helped her when he’d found her on the ground, but he still didn’t believe she was no longer a thief.

  Despite her ambivalence about him, a swell of emotion filled her at the thought of a playground in Teresa’s backyard. She had to look away. “How long are you staying?” she asked finally, making a production of buttering her pancakes.

  “The way you’re racking up impossible questions for me, I’d say the full month of my leave. At least. Until I find out who broke in, what’s going on with the necklace and what to do about Pimental, Bigelow and Tyree. So I may as well be useful while my brain’s working on the problem. We get the tree finished today, I’ll mow the back lawn tomorrow, they’re delivering the gravel the day after and the stuff comes next Monday.”

  “Did you talk to Teresa about the play set?”

  “While you were still sleeping.”

  She couldn’t stop staring at him. “What kind of stuff is coming next Monday?”

  He took the butter from her and passed the syrup, then pulled his computer closer, hit a command and turned it toward her. “The builder is a friend of my father’s and is giving it to me for a deal.” He hit another key and a picture of an over-the-top play set appeared
onscreen. He leaned toward her, obviously happy with the plan he’d chosen. “It has a big clubhouse thing on top with a lookout balcony, ladders, a ten-foot wave slide, monkey bars, a rock-climbing wall, lots of swings and a two-person glider.” All that was visible in the amazing pictures.

  She was both thrilled and worried over what the children could do with all those moving parts. “How high is the rock wall?”

  “Only five feet. No taller than you.” He grinned as he delivered the little dig.

  “I’m five one and a half,” she corrected, straightening her shoulders as though that would somehow prove it.

  “Yeah, yeah. Did I mention there’s a full-size picnic table on the lower level?”

  Excitement was edging out her concerns. “I see it. Wow. Does it come assembled?”

  “Yeah, right.” He dismissed that notion with a look. “No, it does not.”

  “How long will that take to put together? It’s huge.”

  “Chuck says two moderately skilled people can do it in about thirty-six hours.”

  “Are you moderately skilled at carpentry?”

  “A little better than moderately. I worked summers with my dad when I was in high school and college.”

  “But you’re only one person.”

  “Elizabeth Corazon,” he said, shaking his head at her. “Do you mean you wouldn’t help me?”

  “I’m happy to make some time to help you but, frankly, I am less than moderately skilled.”

  “I’ll take whatever help I can get. My Christmas present to the kids.” He said it so easily, as though it wasn’t a big deal. But she knew what it would mean to the children and it turned her heart to mush.

  “What,” she made herself ask, “if Teresa and the children do have to leave the house? You’ll have spent all that money and done all that work for nothing.”

  “No. I’m going to see that she gets that house without constant threats of eviction. On the remote chance that I fail—” he arched an eyebrow in a gesture she guessed was meant to mock his own lack of modesty “—the kids will have six or seven weeks of playing on good solid equipment that’ll give them hours of fun, burn off some of that steam, make them forget that their families are split up and their lives are in suspension. I don’t consider that ‘for nothing.’”