Diane nodded. “Before I lived in New York,” she began, “I lived in Los Angeles. I was a copy editor for the LA Times.”

  Grace tensed. The idea of where this was going made her want to run from the room before Diane could say another word.

  “My boyfriend was an up-and-coming reporter hell-bent on making a name for himself.” She closed her eyes a moment. “Joe Pierce.”

  Grace’s hand went to her mouth. No.

  “He was a jerk.” She shrugged, still not looking at Grace. “And when I found out he’d hired this college kid to help him try to lure a killer, I was furious. I dumped him. But the worst part is, the girl was someone I’d introduced him to. She’d spent a few weeks interning with me. Anyway, I left and never looked back. And I never heard from him again. Apparently, he’d been following my blog the past few years and realized I was in this area. When he received that anonymous note, he thought I’d sent it to him. He caught me at the market this morning, and we had a terrible argument in the parking lot. I accused him of trying to use me again to get to a story. But he swears he only came because of the note and because he thought I was the one who sent it.”

  Maybe Grace was a fool twice over, but she believed Diane. “Thank you for telling me. I know you would never do anything to hurt Liam or me. I’m certain this is just as you said.”

  “Diane,” Rob said, his attention focused on Gibbons, “has been living in the area for a year now. There have been zero complaints about her.”

  “I was already living in New York when the Locke case happened,” she hastened to add. She turned to Grace then. “And you’re right. I would never do anything to harm you or Liam. That’s why Pierce and I argued at the market. I wanted to know what the hell he was doing here and what his intentions were. He only said he’d been invited.”

  Grace suppressed a shudder and somehow managed to work up a smile for her friend. “Thank you for trying to protect us.”

  “I believe,” Gibbons said then, “that it would be best if you, Diane, and the other employees of the inn remained here until this situation is straightened out. At this point we don’t know who or what we’re dealing with. It will be easier to see that everyone is protected if we’re all here together.”

  “I agree,” Grace said. “If that’s all right with you,” she added, looking to Diane.

  Diane nodded. “Whatever I need to do.”

  Grace made a face. “Wait. That may be a problem for Cara. She sees after her elderly grandmother.” Grace remembered the call from Paula. “And the Wilborns are home with the flu, so they’ll need to stay put.”

  “Very well.” Gibbons stood. “We’ll talk again when we have more information.”

  “We’re awaiting fingerprint analysis from the crime scene where Locke’s body was found,” Rob explained.

  Gibbons looked from Grace to Diane and then to Rob. “I’m sure you will all be happy to provide your prints for comparison.”

  The silence in the room was deafening.

  Chapter Eleven

  6:00 p.m.

  The guests—except for Pierce—had wandered into the dining room. Grace had insisted that Rob tell his deputies to stop by as they were able and have dinner. They were all working overtime because of her. It was the least she could do.

  Gibbons had left after Sergeant Snelling collected Grace’s, Cara’s and Diane’s prints. Rob had told him not to bother the Wilborns under the circumstances. The couple had lived in the area for decades. To ask for their prints in this situation was ludicrous.

  Grace watched Liam ride the tricycle he’d only just learned to pedal around the lobby. He’d gotten very good at avoiding the furniture. Her heart lifted watching him play as if the world weren’t crumbling around them. She was so thankful for his innocent bliss.

  The blaze of the fire on the far side of the room somehow gave her comfort. She remembered seeing that massive stone fireplace for the first time and how it had reminded her so much of the one at her father’s home in Lake Tahoe. She had known then that this was the place she and Liam would call home.

  How had everything fallen apart so fast?

  Because of Adam. Anger, hatred and frustration roared inside her. Even in death he tormented her.

  She pushed the thought away and focused on the upcoming weekend’s calendar. Two more guests were arriving on Friday. She sure hoped this was over by then, but she had a terrible feeling it wouldn’t be.

  The phone rang and she answered with the usual greeting. “The Lookout Inn.”

  “Hello. Grace Myers, please,” the male voice said.

  Grace braced for trouble, no matter that she received calls like this all the time. “This is she.”

  “Hello, this is Allen Warren of Warren Hardscapes. I’m calling to confirm our start date of Monday, the twenty-sixth, for your project. I’ll need to stop by tomorrow and pick up your deposit.”

  Grace went stone still. “I’m sorry—who is this again?”

  “Allen Warren,” he repeated. “I did an estimate a few weeks ago for a backyard redo at your inn. You agreed to the estimate and we scheduled the start date—the twenty-sixth.”

  “I—I’m sorry. I have no idea about this. Are you sure it was me you spoke with?”

  “Ms. Myers,” he said, his tone going firm, “I don’t know what’s going on, but I’ve scheduled my entire team on your job for five days. I have other customers who are waiting.”

  “I’m really sorry, Mr. Warren.” Her heart was pounding now. “If you can just give me some time to sort this out... Perhaps you can move one of your other customers up and then we can discuss this further. Right now, there’s an official police investigation at the inn.”

  She hated, hated, to resort to using a murder investigation as an excuse, but she didn’t know what else to do.

  The dead air on the other end had her tension escalating.

  “All right. I’ll contact you next week to reschedule. Meanwhile, I suggest you review your contract. Good evening, Ms. Myers.”

  The call ended.

  Grace placed the handset back in its cradle and quickly searched her computer for anything related to Warren Hardscapes. Her heart dropped when she discovered a string of emails, including a digitally signed contract for more than twenty thousand dollars in exterior work.

  Her fingers numb, she closed out of the emails and shut off the computer. It would be nice to update the rear patio areas, that was true, but she hadn’t anticipated doing it this year. She could scratch up the necessary payment. It would drain her working capital, but there was a contract. She had little choice. Unless she could prove there had been a mistake.Moving on autopilot, she stepped from behind the desk and walked over to where Liam had stopped riding and was pretending to work on his tricycle. The little plastic tools he kept in the basket made her smile. He so loved watching Karl Wilborn work on the lawn mower. For two years now, Grace had felt comfortable and safe here. She’d thought nothing of allowing anyone on her staff to see after Liam. Now, suddenly everyone around her was a suspect. Not in her eyes—not really, she insisted—but in the eyes of the law.

  Would this nightmare ever be over?

  The bell tinkled, heralding an arrival. Grace turned to see who’d walked in. There were no new guests scheduled, as far as she recalled, which wasn’t saying much.

  Detective Gibbons.

  He was back.

  She’d expected he would return eventually, but a part of her had hoped never to see him again. Ha ha. Like that was going to happen anytime soon.

  “We need a private meeting, Ms. Myers,” he said without preamble, his expression more smug than usual. “Is Deputy Vaughn here?”

  Grace swallowed at the lump that rose in her throat. She wanted to ask what now, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good. Nothing associated with this man and her past was good.

  “He’s in the kitchen talking to his deputies.” She reached for Liam. “Come along, sweetie. We need to find Miss Diane or Miss Cara.”

  Gibbons walked quickly toward the kitchen. Grace watched him go; her heart had already started to pound. The way he’d called her Ms. Myers and the knowing look on his face spelled trouble for her.

  She and Liam found Diane in the reading parlor. She was putting books back on shelves and tidying magazines.

  “Is it okay if Liam stays with you for a bit?” Grace felt terrible having to constantly put her son off on others, but she was reasonably certain that nothing Gibbons had to say would be good for Liam to hear.

  “Of course.” Diane held out her hand. “Come along, my little friend, and we’ll find that book you love so much.”

  Liam’s eyes lit up. “Berry tales!”

  “That’s right.” Diane grinned. “Fairy tales.”

  Close enough, Grace thought. Her son was never at a loss for answers or words, even if he had to make them up.

  Grace closed the double pocket doors as she exited the parlor. She hurried to the main hall and then to the kitchen. The deputies were all gone, except Rob and, of course, Gibbons. Cara was loading the dishwasher.

  Grace was so thankful for these women. They were true friends.

  Rob smiled and gave her a nod. To Gibbons he said, “Grace and I need a moment.”

  Gibbons waved his hand as if to approve the request.

  Anger stirred inside her, pushing aside some of the other emotions tugging at her.

  Rob touched her elbow, guiding her from the room. He didn’t stop until they had reached her private quarters. Inside, door closed, she said, “I’m almost afraid to ask what’s happened now.”

  “Let’s sit down,” Rob offered.

  The fear was back with force. She shook her head. “Just tell me, Rob.”

  “The fingerprint comparisons came back with one match.”

  She held her breath. Prayed that the people she adored—the people she trusted—were not somehow caught up in the bastard’s murder.

  “You.”

  Grace blinked. “What?”

  “Your prints were found at the Cashion crime scene.”

  No. “That’s impossible. I don’t even know where they live beyond what you told me. How could I have been there?” This was crazy!

  “That’s exactly what I said,” Rob said. “There were only three prints belonging to you. I’ve asked Snelling to further analyze them to determine if they were forged.”

  This was too much. “What does that mean? Forged?”

  “There are techniques a person can use to lift prints from a surface and then to transfer them to another. It’s not that difficult. The difficulty lies in making them look authentic. Some people and some techniques are better than others. These, according to Gibbons, are very good.”

  Hope flared. “Then he knows my prints were, as you say, forged. I wasn’t at the crime scene.”

  “He knows that’s a possibility because I told him your being there was impossible.” He exhaled a breath, shook his head. “Until Snelling gets back to us with a call one way or the other, Gibbons can act on what he has. He’s gone over my head and requested a search warrant for the inn and the grounds.”

  “Can he do that?”

  Rob nodded slowly. “I spoke to the sheriff a few minutes ago. She called me right before Gibbons arrived to warn me about what was going down. I told him you would be more than happy to cooperate with a search.”

  “Of course.” She shook her head. “It’s the prints I can’t get past. I was not there.”

  “I know you weren’t. But the quickest way to defuse this is to cooperate. You have nothing to hide.”

  Grace felt suddenly sick. “Something else happened.” God, she hated to tell him this. He believed in her. She wanted to believe in herself, but that confidence was slipping. Through the tightness in her throat, she told him about the call from Warren Hardscapes. “I found the contract in my email. It looks as if I made the deal and scheduled the work.”

  “Did you talk about possibly doing landscape work with anyone?”

  “Sure.” She shrugged. “I’ve talked all about the things around here I’d like to do to anyone who’d listen.” Everything was crashing down around her. “I don’t know what to think anymore.” She fixed her gaze on his. “At what point do I admit that maybe I’ve already lost control and I’m having blackouts or something like that?” Her heart sank with the words.

  His strong fingers closed gently around her arms. “We take this one step at a time, one issue at a time. Right now, the search and your prints are the most pressing ones. This other stuff will have to wait its turn. Like I told you, I’m here. I’m not going to let you down.”

  She wondered how long it would be before he understood what an error he had made trusting her.

  She took a deep breath. “Okay. I’ve put Mr. Warren off for now.”

  “Good. Let’s deal with Gibbons. He and two of my deputies will conduct the search, and then we’ll see what happens next. Snelling will get back to me as soon as he’s confirmed the prints were forged.”

  He stated it all so confidently.

  Grace hoped he was right.

  9:00 p.m.

  ROB STATIONED REYNOLDS in the kitchen with Grace and Cara. Diane was with Liam watching television. Rob followed every step Gibbons made. He ensured every single thing touched was put back exactly as it had been found.

  The only rooms or cabins off-limits were those currently occupied—except for Pierce’s. He remained AWOL, so his room was fair game.

  Thankfully, by the time they returned to the lobby to start the search of the common areas, the other two guests were either in their room for the night or out for the evening.

  The lobby went relatively fast, as did the reading parlor and the office. Grace’s quarters took some time. Liam and Diane had moved to the reading parlor to play hide-and-seek. It was past the kid’s bedtime, but until they were finished with the private quarters, Diane would need to keep him occupied.

  Rob had to grit his teeth when the search through Grace’s closet and dresser drawers went down. He didn’t like anyone—not even his deputies—touching her private things. He’d wanted to offer to search her quarters, but he’d known Gibbons would never let him. He had figured out Rob had a soft spot for Grace. What he had was a lot more than that, but it was none of the man’s business.

  A deep breath was impossible until they were out of Grace’s bedroom. By the time they’d exited her private space, he was ready to go off on Gibbons. The man had to see that Grace was innocent. Why was he making this harder on her than necessary? He should be glad Locke was dead.

  Except Rob knew what he was after. He was still stinging from the idea that someone had given Locke help before his arrest as well as after. He believed that someone was Grace, but there was no way that was true.

  Rob trusted her. He believed in her. Whatever she had missed before Locke’s arrest, she would not have helped him after. There was no way she’d put Liam’s future at risk. No way.

  They moved to the dining room and finally to the kitchen.

  “I’d like the deputies to get started out back,” Gibbons said. “I’ll finish up in here.”

  Rob gave Reynolds and Carter a nod and the two headed out the back door. The outside space wouldn’t take that long. There was an old shed but it wasn’t that large. The rest was mostly open space with flower beds and seating areas, then the bluff that overlooked the valley below. An iron fence crossed the property at the bluff line.

  It was well past dark, so seeing anything beyond that six-foot iron fence would be impossible.

  Grace and Cara stood at the island, arms crossed over their chests, and watched as Gibbons checked each cupboard and drawer, the appliances...every damned thing.

  When he’d stopped searching and stood surveying the room at large, Rob asked, “Seen enough?”

  Gibbons made a face, then turned back to the sink. He crouched down and opened the doors beneath it. He’d already dug around under there once.

  Cara shook her head. “This is ridiculous.”

  Grace looked horrified.

  Rob wished he could save her from all this nonsense.

  Gibbons stood, a box of cleaning pads in his gloved hand. He placed the box on the island and peered inside the open flaps. He looked up at Grace, something almost sinister in his expression.

  Then he reached inside and pulled out a plastic bag.

  The bag was dark... No... Rob’s heart skipped a beat. It was rust colored.

  Bloody.

  Gibbons placed the bag on the counter. Rob moved closer. Inside the gallon-sized locking storage bag was a fixed blade knife.

  With a bloodied handle and bloodied blade.

  “What’s this, Ms. Myers?” Gibbons asked, his narrowed gaze focused on his prey.

  Rob felt sick. This was not good.

  “I have no idea,” Grace said, her head moving from side to side.

  The back door burst open and Reynolds stood in the doorway. “Rob, you need to come outside.”

  The look of dread on his deputy’s face, combined with the fact that he’d called him Rob, warned that there was something really bad outside as well.

  Gibbons whirled on Reynolds. “What did you find?”

  Reynolds glanced at Grace and Cara. “It’s the missing guy. Pierce. He’s in the shed. He’s been stabbed multiple times.” He glanced at Grace again before lighting his gaze on Rob once more. “Like the other victim.”

  “Call Snelling,” Rob said, his voice far steadier than he’d expected. “And the ME. I’ll be right there.”

  Reynolds gave a nod and went back outside, closing the door behind him.

  “Well, Deputy Vaughn,” Gibbons said, “I think we have ourselves a dilemma here.” He set his attention on Grace. “Are we going to find your prints on this knife and with this dead man?”