Sophie rolled onto her back so Hunter could rub her stomach.

  “Yes, it is,” Kirk nearly shouted. “You live alone and you’ve got no other neighbors. That makes it very different.”

  Hunter wondered whether he should present himself and say hello. Now might not be the best time. Without his luggage, he didn’t even have a razor. But he planned to talk to everyone eventually. That was what he did, how he found what he was looking for. Sometimes people held important pieces to a puzzle without realizing it. And he didn’t particularly care whether or not he impressed Kirk. The more Kirk raised his voice at Madeline, the more eager Hunter became to interrupt.

  “I can look after myself,” Madeline insisted, lowering her voice.

  Fortunately for Kirk, he lowered his voice, too. “Maddy, it doesn’t give the best impression, okay? Think what everyone at church will say.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “Yes, you do. You’re just not yourself right now. He can move to the motel.”

  “No. You’ve seen The Blue Ribbon. It’s a dive. He thinks we’re a bunch of rednecks as it is.”

  “Did I say that?” Hunter whispered to the cat.

  “Why do you care what he thinks?” Kirk asked.

  Standing, Hunter crossed the kitchen and leaned against the opening that led to the living room. From there he could see Madeline in the entryway, wearing a pair of white boxers covered with red kisses and a white tank. Her disheveled hair suggested that she’d just rolled out of bed. She was also barefoot, and she wasn’t wearing a bra. Hunter noticed immediately because the thin fabric of her shirt revealed more than he’d seen of a woman in two years.

  Madeline’s ex-boyfriend had his back to Hunter, but he looked approximately six-two, maybe 230 pounds. He wasn’t fat, but he was big, with massive shoulders and a head of fine dark hair.

  Madeline was too intent on the argument to see him, and Kirk didn’t turn around.

  “It’s easier to work together when we’re close by,” she was saying. “This isn’t a nine-to-five proposition.”

  “It’d better not be a proposition at all,” Kirk snapped.

  “How dare you say that! You and I aren’t even seeing each other anymore.”

  “That doesn’t mean I don’t care about you.”

  “If you still care, why didn’t you call when you heard that my father’s car was found?” she asked. “You had to know what that was like for me.”

  Hunter knew he should’ve broken in about five minutes ago, but he was interested to hear Kirk’s answer.

  “You told me not to call you again, remember?”

  “That didn’t stop you from marching down here the second someone told you I hired a private detective.”

  “I heard you’d hired a professional days ago,” he said. “I didn’t have a problem with it until I ran into Grace and Kennedy at breakfast this morning and they mentioned that he’s staying here. They don’t think it’s safe, either.”

  “He’s not some criminal. He’s a P.I., for heaven’s sake.”

  “Oh, that makes all the difference!” Kirk’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “You don’t know him from Adam. You could be raped or—”

  At that Hunter opened his mouth to object. He wasn’t going to touch Madeline. Especially without her permission. But Madeline was already responding.

  “He’s not interested in me, okay?”

  “How can you be sure of that? Is he married?”

  “No.”

  “So he’s single.” I knew it, rang through his words.

  “Yes, but he’s…young,” she said.

  “How young?”

  “Too young—for me, anyway.”

  Hunter felt his eyebrows shoot up. A thirty-two-year-old man was too young for a thirty-six-year-old woman? Why?

  She lowered her voice again. “You’re making a big deal out of nothing, Kirk.”

  “Like hell!”

  “Listen, he’s recently been through a rough divorce, okay? He’s not interested in me or anyone else. You’ve never met a person who’s so closed off.”

  Hunter didn’t want to hear any more about himself. So he coughed to make them aware of his presence and sauntered through the living room to join them in the entry.

  Kirk’s face darkened the moment their eyes met; Madeline’s lips parted but she didn’t speak. She was probably wondering how much he’d overheard about his “rough” divorce.

  “You’re a private investigator?” Kirk said.

  “I seem to be getting that reaction a lot lately,” Hunter replied wryly. He told himself not to look at Madeline again, but he couldn’t help it. Obviously, she’d come from a warm bed, which explained why she was dressed so scantily, but it was chilly in the house. Her body was showing the effects of it and, much as he wished it wasn’t so, his body had definitely noticed.

  “Hunter, this is Kirk Vantassel, my ex-boyfriend,” she said, chafing her arms to ward off the cold. “Kirk, this is Hunter Solozano.”

  Kirk made no secret of the fact that he wasn’t feeling particularly friendly. “How long have you been in the investigative business?” he asked, sizing Hunter up.

  “Long enough to know what I’m doing,” Hunter responded but he smiled to soften his words and held out his hand. He wasn’t trying to pick a fight. He only wanted to let Madeline’s ex-boyfriend know that he wouldn’t be pushed around. “Nice to meet you.”

  Kirk didn’t respond immediately. It took a nudge from Madeline to goad him into a handshake. Even then he made the contact brief. “Nice to meet you, too,” he muttered, and his eyes cut back to Madeline. “I was just telling Maddy that they have a vacancy at the motel, where you’d be within walking distance of the pool hall and the restaurants in town. You might be more comfortable there.”

  “I’d be more comfortable?” Hunter repeated. “Or you’d be more comfortable?”

  “Madeline’s grieving,” he said. “She’s not thinking clearly.”

  Madeline protested but Hunter spoke over her. “I don’t have any objection to moving.”

  “Great,” Kirk said.

  “Does that mean I should send you the bill?” he asked.

  The question took Kirk by surprise. “What?”

  “For my expenses,” Hunter clarified. “The motel won’t be free.”

  Hunter wondered if Kirk wanted him out of Maddy’s house badly enough to pay the motel bill. At first he didn’t think so. It was one thing to pick up the tab on behalf of a girlfriend, another to pick up the tab on behalf of an ex-girlfriend.

  But Kirk shrugged. “Sure, I’ll pay. No problem. Get your luggage and I’ll drive you over.”

  “No!” Madeline stepped closer and Hunter could smell the perfume he’d noticed in his room last night. “I brought Hunter to town and I’ll take care of his arrangements. He’s fine where he is.”

  Hunter wished she’d go put on a robe. His eyes were drawn to her breasts like magnets to steel. And he could tell that Kirk was having the same problem. But he knew she wouldn’t risk leaving them alone, even for a few minutes. There was so much tension in the room, it felt as if they were squaring off. Hunter suspected this could get out of hand.

  “It’s already settled, Maddy,” Kirk said.

  She stubbornly held on to Hunter’s arm. “No, it’s not. This has nothing to do with you, Kirk. So stay out of it.”

  “I don’t want him here!” Her ex scowled in obvious frustration. “And go put on some damn clothes!”

  “Just as soon as you leave,” she said.

  With that, Hunter decided to give her a hand by opening the door. Kirk had made his wishes known, but it was Madeline’s decision. “Maybe you should give her a call once you’ve cooled off,” he suggested.

  Hunter thought Kirk might take a swing at him—he could tell Kirk wanted to. But he didn’t. He faced Hunter, nostrils flaring. Then he wrenched the door away and slammed it shut behind him.

  “I’m sorry,” Madeline said as the reverberation echoed through the house. “I didn’t see that coming. He hasn’t called me or come by since we broke up.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Those things happen.” Now that Kirk was gone, it was even harder not to let his eyes slip down to what her shirt revealed.

  He knew she’d caught him when she took a step back and folded her arms over her chest.

  “If you’re going to walk around like that, it could be a problem,” he admitted, listening to his heart pound as their eyes met.

  She seemed to collect herself. “Let me put on some sweats and I’ll make you breakfast.”

  “Sounds good.” Hunter started into the kitchen but, at the last minute, he turned back to watch her climb the stairs.

  Did she really think she was too old for him?

  Madeline couldn’t stop brooding over Kirk’s visit—but that didn’t surprise her. She always had trouble letting go of people, places, even things. Which was why she’d stayed with him for so long. She’d known from the beginning that they made better friends than lovers. She’d tried to tell him on a number of occasions. But he tended to accept what came easily without bothering to fight for more, so he’d never been willing to acknowledge the lack of intensity in their relationship. Ending it had been entirely her decision, not his.

  Anyway, considering her own problems, she couldn’t complain about his lack of decisive action. She had a garage, a basement and two sheds stuffed full of junk. No doubt her penchant for hanging on to everything that came into her life stemmed from losing her mother and father so early. But she had to overcome that compulsion. Hoarding affected too many aspects of her life. How could she be decisive about ending a relationship when she couldn’t even part with simple, almost worthless items that others discarded every day—receipts, advertisements, tin foil, sacks, old yarn. She was careful to avoid the stigma that went along with being a pack rat, and stored it all out of sight, away from the main part of her house. But hiding her problem didn’t solve it.

  “You okay?”

  Madeline glanced up from her plate to find Hunter watching her. He sat across the table, apparently finished with his meal. “I’m fine,” she said. But the panic she’d managed to hold at bay since she and Kirk had broken up was rising inside her, making her heart pound and her palms sweat. Loss…Nothing frightened her more. And she cared about Kirk, loved him in many ways. They’d known each other most of their lives. What if she regretted her decision later on?

  “You’ve only eaten a few bites.”

  Madeline put down the fork she’d been using to push her eggs around her plate. “I’m not hungry.”

  “Are you upset?”

  She was having an anxiety attack. Did that count? In any case, she didn’t want to explain so she shook her head.

  “Maybe you should call him,” he said.

  “No.” She was cleaning out her emotional closets. She wished Molly could do it for her, the way she’d gotten rid of old furniture and other junk by having a yard sale when she was here last. But this was something Madeline had to do for herself.

  She eyed the ring Kirk had given her for her birthday a year ago. It had two small diamonds beside her birthstone. He was a good man. Should she settle for a mediocre relationship? Allow him to settle, as well? So what if he didn’t want kids? Maybe she could live without becoming a mother. She was thirty-six. There wasn’t much more time…

  “Will you be able to concentrate on what we need to do?” Hunter asked, drawing her attention again.

  His words sounded ominous. “What we need to do?” she repeated.

  “It’s time to take a stroll down memory lane.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’d like you to show me your old photo albums, scrapbooks, letters, anything you might have from your parents, Irene, Clay, Grace, Molly—anyone associated with the family.”

  “What about the police files?” She’d thought he’d read the files and then interview people, start piecing the puzzle together that way.

  “They haven’t led anyone to your father’s killer so far, right? Something must be missing, which might mean they’ve been looking in the wrong place.”

  “You don’t even want to see the files?”

  “I’ll go through them eventually.”

  She wanted a shower. But she had a very expensive private investigator sitting in her kitchen, ready to work, and she couldn’t afford to keep him waiting until she could come to grips with the upset caused by Kirk’s unexpected visit. “What do you think my old photo albums will tell you?” she asked.

  “They’ll give me a feel of who you are, who your father was, maybe even a sense of Irene, Clay, Grace and Molly.” He rested his elbows on the table. “You have a few old photo albums, don’t you?”

  She had more than he’d ever get through. She was the queen of memorabilia. To someone who prized tin foil, pictures were nearly sacred. “I also have my father’s belongings.”

  When Clay had dismantled the office in the barn last summer, he’d said he’d be willing to store everything he’d packed up for her. But Clay hadn’t just cleaned out the place. He’d ripped off the wall paneling, torn out the air conditioner that had filled one side of the window, even removed the carpet. If her father’s personal effects couldn’t be in their rightful place, waiting for him to return, then she wanted them close to her, not sitting on a concrete floor in a room she no longer recognized.

  “Here, in the house?” Hunter asked.

  “In the basement.” She stood. “I’ll get them.”

  “Wait till you’re finished eating.”

  “I’m done.” After depositing her plate on the counter, she headed down to the basement. She hadn’t expected Hunter to follow her but he did. She got the impression that he was taking in every detail of what he saw and heard, cataloging everything in his brain.

  So what would he make of the fact that she decorated with bright, primary colors? Would he decide she was basically cheerful and loved the sun?

  Or that she was terrified of suffering from the kind of depression that had afflicted her mother?

  She wasn’t sure, but she was fairly confident that visiting the basement would give away more about her particular neurosis than she wanted. Molly always made a huge fuss about all the clutter; that was why Madeline had never admitted how difficult the yard sale had been for her. Molly probably suspected, since Madeline had ducked out midway, but they hadn’t discussed it.

  They all had their problems. Molly couldn’t stay in town longer than a week for fear she’d never be able to leave. She said coming here was fun for the first few days, that she liked seeing her family. But any longer than that and Stillwater began to feel like quicksand, sucking at her ankles. The fact that Madeline had never escaped their hometown, never gone on to become the Washington Post reporter she’d once hoped to be, no doubt made Molly’s phobia worse.

  “I’m not getting anything that’s very heavy,” she said, standing in front of the basement door. “Why don’t you wait in the living room?”

  “Is it only one box?”

  “No…” There were several and she couldn’t carry them all at one time. It made more sense to let him help her. But she didn’t want to see her problems through his eyes. Especially now…

  She’d clean out her storage areas when she was back on stable ground. Maybe once she knew what had happened to her father, she could stop looking back. Then she’d be able to let go of everything she felt so compelled to save. She hoped. One problem at a time, right?

  “Is there any need to bring them all up?” she asked.

  “There’re two of us. Why not bring up a couple, at least?”

  Arguing would draw more attention to something that didn’t really matter, she told herself. Why obsess over what Hunter might think? He was here for only one reason—to solve the mystery behind her father’s disappearance. Afterward, he’d go back to California and she’d never see him again.

  “Fine.” Bracing herself for what he might say, she opened the door.

  Chapter Nine

  A pale light slanted into the basement, reaching only halfway down the window and not all the way to the middle of the room. Madeline pulled the chain on the bulb overhead to banish the shadows, then stiffened as Hunter whistled.

  “What is all this stuff?” he asked.

  “Just…storage.” Acutely self-conscious, she began stepping over the boxes and baskets piled on the steps.

  “What are you storing?” She could hear the creak of the stairs behind her. “Food and clothing for the entire town for a year?”

  “There’re some canned goods here.” There were a lot of other things, too—things no one else would bother to store.

  Hunter lagged behind as she wound through the walkways, which became progressively narrower. She knew he was inspecting the place, marveling.

  Finally, she reached the area under the stairs where she kept her personal mementos, as well as her father’s belongings. This seemed the safest place because it was away from the windows and the moisture that occasionally seeped in, away from the paths where she’d had to shove this or move that.

  She motioned for Hunter to take the top box, and grabbed the one underneath. Carrying the boxes made getting out of the crowded basement more difficult than getting in, but Hunter led the way, using his knee to widen the paths. When they emerged into the living room, Madeline shut the door with a resounding bang.

  “What’s the point of all that?” Hunter asked, watching as she set her box on the floor by the sofa.

  She pretended not to understand. “What are you talking about?”

  “You have boxes and boxes and boxes of…what?”

  “I told you, storage.”

  “What kind of storage?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  She could feel his gaze resting on her but refused to meet it. Shrugging, she said, “It’s nothing.”

  He didn’t press her beyond that, but only because she’d already pulled out a scrapbook.

  “What do you want to see?” she asked, sitting crosslegged on the floor and staring at a photograph of herself as an infant.