Bachelor in Blue Jeans Read online

  Sure he would have. “Thanks just the same, but I’ve already had my quota for the day.”

  “Early riser, are you?”

  The question sounded like an accusation. In fact, everything he said sounded like an accusation. Zach’s edginess increased.

  Kristin cleared her throat. “I had an interesting call from Anna Mae’s cousin a few minutes ago, Chad. Apparently, all the legal issues have been wrapped up, and Mrs. Arnett’s now free to sell the house and its contents.”

  Hollister handed her a foam cup. “Bet she’s relieved to get on with it. She and her son have been back and forth a lot in the past few weeks.” He frowned wryly. “Weird people, those two.”

  Zach stilled. How many Anna Maes could there be in a town this size? “Are you talking about Anna Mae Kimble?”

  Chad took a cautious sip of hot coffee, then favored Zach with his attention again. “She was the department’s secretary for years,” he said sympathetically. “She passed away last month.”

  Zach felt a stab of regret as a childhood memory of Anna Mae moved through his mind, and once again he was grateful for her kindness. “What happened?”

  “It was an accident,” Chad said. “I don’t like speaking ill of the dead, particularly when the deceased was a good friend. But apparently Anna Mae had a little too much sherry the night she died. She fell in her home. Struck her head on a coffee table.”

  The entry bell chimed again, and a solemn, bow-tied, older man Zach recognized entered the shop. Harlan Greene was the town’s perennial tax collector, having served in that position for decades. According to Etta, he still held the job.

  Harlan waved to them, then frowning, perused the selection of Amish baked goods.

  Chad continued in a lower voice. “According to the coroner, Anna Mae died instantly.”

  “I’m sorry,” Zach murmured, meaning it. “She was a nice woman.” Nicer than a cocky teenage kid had deserved.

  Harlan carried a package of cinnamon rolls to the counter and handed Kristin several bills. The sadness in his eyes was unmistakable. “She was the salt of the earth,” he said. “Guess that Arnett woman will be sellin’ off her things any day now.”

  “Looks that way,” Chad replied, then glanced at Kristin. “I take it that’s why Mrs. Arnett phoned you this morning?”

  Kristin counted out Harlan’s change, then nodded hesitantly, wishing Chad had waited until Harlan had gone to bring that up. “She wondered if I might be interested in buying a few of Anna Mae’s pieces. I’m meeting her at the house this evening.”

  “Won’t find anything of value over there,” Harlan said huskily, pocketing his coins. “Leastwise, nothing that would work in your shop.” He picked up his rolls. “She liked frogs, was all. Frogs on her switch plates, frogs on the canister set, frogs all over the damn house.” As he turned to leave, a bitter tone entered his voice. “No, you won’t find anything worthwhile over there.”

  Kristin watched the door close behind him, then followed Harlan’s path past her multipaned bay window until he disappeared. Touched, she turned to Chad. “Did you know about Anna Mae and Harlan?”

  He nodded. “She liked him, but she didn’t like his gambling. Gave him his walking papers shortly before she died.” Chad glanced at the cuckoo clock on the wall. “Well, I’d better get to work. Dinner tonight?”

  Kristin stared blankly at him. Where had that invitation come from? She also wondered at the offhanded way he’d asked—as if they dined together often, which wasn’t the case.

  She felt Zach’s gaze on her, heavy and curious. Suddenly she was uneasy. “I’m sorry, but my plans with Mrs. Arnett aren’t firm. I’ll be touring the house at her convenience.”

  “Okay,” Chad replied, shrugging. “I’ll probably see you a little later anyhow. Maybe we can grab some ice cream or something.”

  “I…okay,” she answered, still feeling off balance. “Thanks for the coffee.”

  “My pleasure. Always.” But instead of leaving, Chad eased back against the counter to finish his coffee and sort through his keys. When he finally glanced up again, both his expression and tone had hardened.

  “Why don’t I walk you out, Davis? The sun’s shining. Too beautiful a day to be stuck indoors if you don’t have to be.”

  Zach’s eyes were gray steel. “Why don’t you walk yourself out, Hollister? I’m not ready to leave yet.”

  Startled, utterly bewildered, Kristin cast about for something to say, then hit the release lever on her cash register. The drawer dinged open, the tinny ring momentarily breaking their face-off. Whatever was going on here—idiotic male muscle flexing or a burst of rivalry from their past—it made her uncomfortable, and she wanted no part of it.

  “You two do what you want,” she said briskly and closed the cash drawer. “Stay or leave. I need to get some change from my safe and make a phone call.”

  Neither man commented, but Zach watched her go, shamelessly enjoying the view until she’d closed the door behind her. A sweet, wild wind stirred inside him.

  “Pull your eyes back in their sockets, hotshot. You had your chance thirteen years ago, and you screwed it up.”

  Slowly, Zach turned to face Hollister again. “So you’re the guy now?”

  “That’s right, I’m the guy.”

  “Fine with me,” he replied, shrugging. “But I’ve noticed that she’s not wearing a ring. I keep wondering what that means.”

  A nerve leapt in Hollister’s jaw. “It means that Kristin and I have an understanding. For you, it means that you’d better observe all posted speed limits and put money in the parking meters. It also wouldn’t be prudent to cross the street anywhere but at a crosswalk.”

  He glanced toward the door, then offered Zach a nasty smile. “You know, as I came inside, I noticed a black truck with Carolina tags parked out front. Think I’ll run a check on the license plate—make sure the owner has no outstanding warrants. I might even glance at the inspection sticker.”

  “What’s this?” Zach asked, trying not to laugh. “Police harassment?”

  “Not at all. It’s just a warning to an out-of-state visitor that when laws are broken in this town…I act.”

  This time Zach couldn’t stop a smile. “And I’ll bet you do a damn fine job of it.”

  Hollister’s face turned crimson. “Just watch your step,” he said coldly. “You don’t want me for an enemy.” Then he was stalking out of the shop, leaving Zach to wonder if Chad’s blustering was a territory-marking thing…or insecurity because he had no hold on Kristin.

  Not that he cared, either way.

  Kristin said goodbye to Mildred Arnett, drew a tentative breath, then slowly opened the door to her office and looked around. The silence was an enormous relief.

  Grateful that they’d gone, she added change to her cash drawer, retrieved her glass cleaner and paper towels from beneath a counter, then walked to her bay window. There, dolls in Victorian costumes sat at a mock tea party, flanked by a profusion of plumed hats, Bavarian china, flowers and silk. She stepped up into the display, squirted a few tiny glass panes, and started to wipe.

  A low deep voice shattered her composure.

  “What’s this? A jewelry box?”

  Kristin turned around slowly to see Zach standing beside a tall armoire with his back to her. An unwelcome warmth flowed through her as he reached for an antique music box on a high shelf, and she watched the subtle play of muscle and sinew beneath his shirt.

  “It…it can be,” she replied, swallowing. Setting her cleaner and paper towels aside, she stepped down from the display. He was a customer, she told herself again. She would show him what he wanted to see—then she would show him the door.

  Zach raised the footed box’s filigreed silver lid, then closed it and turned it over in his hands.

  Kristin took it from him, slid the hidden key from a slot, then wound the mechanism. A haunting, old-fashioned melody began to play…an unnerving, awareness-building melody that captured the shop’s
cozy ambiance and heightened her awareness of the man beside her. She handed the box back to him.

  “Pretty,” he said.

  “I think so, too.”

  Maybe the music was to blame for the moody shift in the air. Or maybe the shop was too warm. Or maybe old lovers with good memories shouldn’t risk being alone in quiet places. Whatever the reason, Kristin felt herself grow jittery as the box continued to chime out a tender minuet, and the stirring smells of warm man and musky aftershave filled her nostrils.

  He’d hurt her badly. Yet as her gaze fell from his eyes to his mouth, she was suddenly remembering kisses that tasted like sun-ripened strawberries and the smell of summer hay. Remembering the tingling touch of a boy who’d become a man in his aunt’s hayloft…

  Kristin reached out and slammed the lid, silencing the music and widening Zach’s gray eyes. “That should give you some idea,” she blurted, thankful she hadn’t knocked the box out of his hands. “Actually, it’s one of my favorite pieces—nineteenth century English sterling. Which also makes it very expensive.”

  Zach assessed her for a long beat, then glanced at the price tag and gave the box back to her. “I’ll take it. Do you gift wrap?”

  Surprise joined her flustered emotions. “Business must be good.”

  “I do all right.”

  Apparently so, she thought, moving to her register. She retrieved a gift box, tissue paper and ribbon from under the counter, suddenly all thumbs. What in the world was wrong with her? Chemistry again? Need? It had been a long time since she’d been with a man, but that was no reason to fall apart at the first sign of sexual interest.

  She worked quickly, wanting to hurry, acutely aware of Zach’s gaze on her. But pride wouldn’t allow her to do a less-than-perfect job on the package. Finally, she was slipping it into a white bag printed with a watercolor of an old mill, annoyed with herself for wondering who would receive it.

  She was about to take his credit card from the counter when Zach trapped her hand beneath his. It was warm, firm, and had her heart beating fast again. “Etta thinks we should talk,” he said soberly. “She said we need ‘closure.’”

  The memory of that June night rushed back, crystal clear, wiping away those jittery feelings of awareness.

  Kristin yanked her hand away, snared his credit card and started the transaction. It was amazing how easy it was to remain sensible when she recalled the pain, not the pleasure.

  “Your aunt’s a sweet woman, but maybe you should tell her that we’ve had closure for a long time.” She handed him the receipt and a pen for his signature, waited for him to comply, then tossed his copy into the bag and handed it to him. “Now, I really do have to get busy.”

  If her shortness struck a chord in him, it didn’t show.

  “Me, too. The sooner I get Etta’s house repaired and on the market, the sooner I can get back home.”

  Zach’s inscrutable gaze moved over her face and hair, noted the small silver-and-turquoise posts in her earlobes, then slid down the front of her gray suit to her waist. “You look good, Kris,” he said simply, meeting her eyes once more. Then without another word, he pushed away from the counter and walked out of her life again. Which suited Kristin just fine.

  Chapter 3

  A t eight that evening, Kristin pulled her van into Anna Mae’s driveway and parked beside a dark blue sedan. Angry voices drew her attention before she even shut off the engine. Sighing, she glanced through her open window. Her luck was certainly holding. Zach had made it a stressful day, and apparently, it was going to be a stressful night.

  Standing beside a front lawn overrun by pinwheels, ceramic frogs, skunks and other lawn ornaments, Mildred Arnett and her middle-aged son were in the middle of an argument.

  Kristin got out and slammed her door to alert them to her presence. But the short, plump woman with the Einstein frizz of hair and pink polyester pantsuit either didn’t hear it or didn’t care. Neither, it seemed, did her tall, heavyset son.

  Will Arnett looked nothing like his mother. Where Mildred’s complexion was powder-pale, Will’s olive skin, thinning black hair and brushy mustache hinted at Greek or Italian ancestry. His khakis and yellow polo shirt looked expensive.

  Dredging up a smile, Kristin called out a hello as she closed the distance between them. “Mrs. Arnett?”

  Anna Mae’s elderly cousin came forward and stretched out a hand. But as Kristin attempted to shake it, the woman slapped a set of keys into her palm. “Call me Mildred,” she said, her sharp bird eyes taking in Kristin’s white sweatshirt and jeans. “Just go on inside and do whatever it is that you do.”

  Kristin hesitated. “You aren’t going with me?”

  Will Arnett answered irritably, “Mother refuses to go inside Anna Mae’s home after dark, and of course, it will be dark soon.” He sent Kristin a deadpan expression and wiggled his fingers in the air. “Ghosts, you know.”

  Mildred scowled at her son, then spoke to Kristin. “I don’t like thinking of Anna Mae dying in that house all alone, without someone to guide her spirit to the next level. I—I hear things in there.” She cast a brief, nervous eye at the stately maples close to the house. “I’ve been trying to contact Ellysa all day, but I haven’t been able to reach her. She’d know what the sounds mean.”

  Mildred seemed to expect a reply, so Kristin ventured, “Ellysa?”

  Will rolled his eyes. “Ellysa Spectral, Mother’s voodoo medium from the psychic hotli—”

  “Ellysa is my spiritual advisor,” Mildred cut in sharply.

  “And she’s draining your bank account. Every time you consult with her it’s $5.95 a minute. What a colossal waste of money!”

  “You’d know all about wasting money, wouldn’t you? Maybe you should worry about getting a job instead of watching my bank balance!” Mildred swung a look at Kristin. “If there’s anything you want to buy, let me know. I’ve already tagged the things I want. As I said on the phone, the rest will be auctioned off and the house put in the hands of a Realtor.”

  The mention of auctions brought back the compelling image of Zach in a tux, but Kristin quickly and determinedly chased it away. “Thank you for your trust. Shall I bring the keys to the motel when I’ve finished?”

  “Yes, I’m in 103 and William’s in 104—but bring the keys to me.”

  Kristin murmured her agreement, not daring to look at Will. “I’ll see you in an hour or two. I’d like to take a good look.”

  “Whatever.” Mildred jutted her chin skyward. “Come, William. I’d like to take a nap before that police show I like comes on the TV.”

  His face livid, Will Arnett nodded curtly at Kristin, then seated his mother in the blue sedan. She could hear them starting up again as they backed out of the driveway and roared off.

  Kristin blew out a ragged breath. Chad hadn’t exaggerated. They really were a strange twosome.

  Not surprisingly, the inside of Anna Mae’s house was clean, but cluttered—primarily because the rooms were small, but partly because the woman had been a pack rat. Downstairs, Kristin found several pots and vases that interested her, along with a bookcase full of classic literature, two of them, first editions. As Harlan had mentioned, frogs in all sizes were scattered from the kitchen to the upstairs bedrooms.

  It was upstairs that she made her best finds, though the condition of the bedrooms disturbed her. The Arnetts hadn’t taken much care as they’d gone through Anna Mae’s things. Dresser drawers hung open, and most of the photos on the walls were askew. She tagged a pair of hurricane lamps and an old chest whose contents had also been tossed, then moved into the hallway to label a lovely old chair and occasional table before opening the door to the attic.

  Several pairs of shoes sat just inside, and metal curtain rods that had never made it to the upper repository stood upright in the corner. Kristin snapped on the dim light and ascended the narrow staircase. She glanced around as she neared the top, smiling when she spied a dressmaker’s dummy and several iron pipes hanging
heavy with dated coats and dresses.

  Suddenly glass smashed and the attic went dark. Kristin screamed as someone pushed past her and she tumbled midway down the stairs. She grasped for purchase, found the handrail, her mind on fire as footsteps banged down the remaining steps. The attic door slammed shut.

  Afraid to move, afraid to breathe, Kristin crouched, nerves rioting, in the stairwell.

  Something banged and bumped in the hall. Terrified, she backpedaled her way up several steps. She drew a trembling breath. He was moving furniture.

  The thin strip of light beneath the attic door went out.

  Kristin’s pulse hammered so loudly in her ears it was nearly impossible to pick out other sounds. But after several long minutes, she sensed that the intruder had gone. Could she leave now? Did she dare tiptoe from the stairwell and call the police? What if he came back? What if he thought she’d seen him—could recognize him—and came back for her?

  Dear God, he had to have been inside the entire time she was tagging merchandise!

  Kristin felt her way down the last few steps, then located the light switch and prayed that the intruder had merely turned the light off upstairs and the sound she’d heard hadn’t been the bulb smashing. But it had been.

  She tried the door. Her heart sank when she realized he must have wedged the antique chair under the knob.

  Frantic now, she pushed against it, shoved and pushed again—reared back and put her shoulder into it, banging until her arm ached. She dropped to the bottom step and thrust both feet against the door, again and again, harder, faster, harder.

  Kristin screamed as the vibration sent a shower of curtain rods clattering down on her head.

  They were a godsend.

  Quickly, she maneuvered one of the flat metal rods under the door and rammed it hard against a chair leg. The chair flew out from under the knob and fell to the floor. Kristin burst into the hallway, fumbled shakily for the light switch, then raced downstairs and out of the house to use her car phone.

  Patrolman Larry McIntyre was on the scene in less than five minutes, sirens wailing and lights flashing. After taking Kristin’s statement and asking if she needed medical attention, he disappeared inside Anna Mae’s little colonial home. Kristin was still sitting in her van when more headlights pierced the darkness and Chad brought his truck to a skidding stop behind the prowl car. He was in “civvies”—a gray sweatshirt bearing a police academy emblem, jeans and sneakers.