The Cottage on the Corner (11 page)

“Curious or not, Gertrude, you shouldn't ask Max why they broke up. It's probably a sore subject.”

“It's been years. I don't think it's that much of a sore subject anymore.”

“Just—”

Max stepped up to Gertrude's window and looked into the car.

“You okay?” he asked as he met Charlotte's eyes.

“He asked if you're okay,” Gertrude nearly shouted, as if speaking loudly would help her pass along the message.

Not that Charlotte needed any help interpreting what he was saying. She could hear him just fine. That might change if Gertrude kept shouting right next to her ear.

“I'm fine,” she responded.

“Since you are, and since Max is here, I think I'll head back to bed and finish resting up for tomorrow. Tessa will be here around noon, and I don't want to be grumpy from lack of sleep.”

Charlotte had the feeling that Tessa would say her aunt was always grumpy. She kept the thought to herself. “Thanks for sitting out here with me, Gertrude.”

“Don't mention it, kid.” Gertrude patted her arm and climbed out of the car. “That's what neighbors are for.”

She walked to her house, offering a jaunty wave as she retreated.

“Is there room for one more?” Max poked his head in the car and smiled, the fine lines around his eyes deepening. Brett had had lines there, too, but they hadn't been from smiling. They'd been from squinting into the sun while he was driving his truck, the deep crevice between his brows from his nearly constant frown. By the time they'd been married a year, the ten-year age difference between them had seemed more like twenty.

Obviously trying to keep up with two wives and four kids was enough to age anyone.

Not a good place for her mind to be going.

She patted the seat Gertrude had abandoned. “I'm the only one here, so I guess there's plenty of room. Where's Zuzu?”

“I asked Ida to stay with her while I came over to check things out.” Max slid into the car.

He took up a lot more room than Gertrude had, his arm bumping Charlotte's as he settled into place.

“You woke Ida so you could come over here?”

He shrugged. “She was as concerned as I was, so I don't think she minded. Want to tell me what's going on? I heard the sirens and turned on my scanner. Sounds like you had an intruder.”

“I don't know if there was an intruder.” She explained everything just the way she had before. By midafternoon, the entire town would be talking about how she'd entered the house, heard the door slam, and run for her life. More than a few people would probably be saying that she'd been chased out of the house by a chainsaw-wielding murderer. She made a mental note to drink copious amounts of coffee before she left on her first delivery. It was that or wine. Since she couldn't drink and drive, it was going to have to be coffee. Hopefully the caffeine would keep her brain sharp, because she'd probably be answering a lot of questions. She'd stash a few candy bars in the glove compartment, too. Just in case.

“Elizabeth and Simon are in there, right?” Max asked, his gaze on her house. It looked like every light in the place had been turned on. “They'll take care of things.”

“Then why are
you
here?”

“I'm glad you appreciate my presence,” he said with a laugh.

“Sorry. I didn't mean that the way it sounded.”

“Didn't you?” He raised one sandy eyebrow.

“Okay, maybe I did,” she admitted. “I didn't really need you to come running to my rescue, Max. I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

“I came out of morbid curiosity, Charlotte. There isn't a whole lot of action in Apple Valley. When there is, I like to be around.”

“Oh. Well, then . . .”
I feel like a fool
didn't seem like the right thing to say, but she
did
feel like one.

“Of course, if it had been someone else's house,” he continued, “I probably would have stayed home. It's windy and cold, and I have Zuzu to worry about. I wanted to make sure you were okay, though. You helped me out today, and I owe you.”

“Owe me or want to make sure I stay healthy so I can watch Zuzu again?”

He laughed again, the sound rumbling through the car and landing right square in the center of Charlotte's heart.

Damn its fickleness.

She did not want to like Max's laugh.

She didn't want to go all melty when she looked in his eyes, either.

“No need to watch Zuzu. Ida is going to watch her tomorrow. Hopefully I'll be able to find a full-time sitter soon. Ida has her ear to the ground, and she said she'd let me know of anyone looking for a job.”

“Anyone?”

“Not literally, Charlotte,” he responded. “I'll be checking credentials before I hire anyone, but I work five or six days or nights a week, and I need someone reliable to be at the apartment when I can't be.”

“It sounds like you're preparing to have Zuzu for a while.”

“I'm hoping she'll be gone in a couple of days, but I
am
preparing. Just in case.”

“Isn't that part of the Boy Scouts motto? Be prepared?”

“Beats me.”

“You weren't a scout?”

“I was more of a gangster, but that's another story, and since it looks like Simon just walked out of your house, I think we'll skip it.”

Charlotte looked across the street.

Sure enough, Simon was making his way down the stairs.

She was almost sorry to see him.

She wanted to hear more about Max and his gangster days. Looking at him now, all clean cut and neat, she'd have thought he'd been a jock in school. The kind of guy that any father would be happy to see his daughter go to prom with.

She shoved her door open, would have climbed out and gone to meet Simon, but Max snagged the back of her coat.

“Let's wait here,” he murmured, tugging the coat so hard Charlotte tumbled back.

“Hey!”

“Sorry, but I don't want you out of this car until Simon gives us the all-clear.”

“Clear of what?”

“If someone was in the house waiting for you to arrive—”

“He wouldn't have slammed a door to let me know he was there the minute I got home,” she said, cutting him off because she really did
not
want to imagine someone hiding in her house, waiting for her to come home.

“Stranger things have happened, Charlotte. You wouldn't believe what I saw when I worked in L.A.”

She thought she probably could believe it. She'd spent most of her childhood on the outskirts of one of Chicago's roughest neighborhoods. By the time she graduated high school, she'd seen more than any kid should, and she'd seen most of it in her own home.

She shivered.

“Cold?” he asked, and started shrugging out of his jacket.

No way was she going
there
again. To that place where she was wrapped in his coat, his scent, his warmth.

“Not at all,” she lied. She
was
cold actually, the icy wind seeming to blast right through the station wagon's old windows. The tired heater pumped out warmth as quickly as it could, but it couldn't keep up with the frigid storm.

“Liar,” he murmured.

She didn't have time to respond, because Simon finally reached the car and knocked on her window.

She scrambled out, pulling her coat closed tight against the wind and ice.

“Did you find anything?” she asked.

“Your back storm door wasn't latched. It was blowing open and closed in the wind. You probably heard it slamming against the back of the house.”

That didn't sound right.

She'd heard a door. Not something slamming against the back of the house.

Before she could say that, Simon took her arm. “Let's go over to the house. You can listen to the storm door slam and tell me what you think.”

“Alright.”

He leaned into the car. “You want to drive this across the street for her, Max? The road is an ice slick.”

“I can—”

“No problem. Mind if I come in and look around when I get over there?” Max asked.

“It's not a problem for me. You may have to check with Elizabeth. You know how she is.” He shut the door and led Charlotte across the street.

Max waited until Charlotte and Simon made it across the street before he pulled out. The old station wagon chugged across the road, the tires spinning on the thick sheet of ice.

Not good.

They'd have worse weather before they had better, and Charlotte made a lot of deliveries. Not that it was his business, but he hated to think of her driving around on bald tires.

He checked them when he got out, cringing at just how bare they were. She needed new snow tires. Preferably ones that were studded or chained. He doubted she'd want to hear it from him, but he'd probably say something anyway. He owed her, and he planned to pay her back. One way or another.

She and Simon were already inside, so he jogged up the porch stairs and walked in. He didn't bother ringing the doorbell or knocking. He knew
exactly
how Elizabeth was. Protective of her jurisdictions. Not that there really were such things in Apple Valley. The police force was small enough that one person's case was just as much someone else's. They worked together on things. That was part of what Max loved about working for Apple Valley PD.

Charlotte's living room was empty, a blanket lying in a heap on the floor. Zuzu's from the look of it. He didn't touch it. Just in case Elizabeth decided to process the house as a crime scene.

Voices drifted from the kitchen, and he followed the sound, the old wooden floor creaking under his feet. He'd never thought much about houses. He'd lived in dive motels and roach-infested apartments for most of his youth. When he'd moved to his grandparents' two-bedroom rancher on the outskirts of L.A., he'd thought he'd died and gone to heaven. Morgan's house had been even bigger. Three bedrooms, two baths, a large recreation room in the basement, and an attic that had been converted to a bedroom. He'd liked it, but he'd known he could live in something smaller and dirtier and still be fine. The apartment was much smaller, but it was clean and nice. He liked his landlady, liked the little piece of property the apartment sat on. He was content, but he'd learned to be that a long time ago.

Still, if he were going to choose any place to live, he'd probably want to be in a house like Charlotte's. Not too big or too small. Old wooden floors and trim. Old single-pane windows that let the sound of the wind seep in. He even liked the radiators, painted white sometime in the distant past.

Elizabeth peered out of the kitchen. “What are you doing here, Max?” she snapped, her dark brown eyes flashing with irritation.

“I heard there was trouble. I thought I'd check things out.”

“Because you didn't trust us to do the job ourselves?” she demanded, her hands on her narrow hips.

“Because Charlotte is a friend of mine.” Sort of. “And I wanted to make sure she was okay.”

“Hmph!” Elizabeth responded, obviously not convinced. That was fine. He hadn't come to step on toes, and he didn't plan to. If he did, Cade would hear about it when he got back in. Not that Max was concerned about what his friend and boss would say. It was more that he didn't want Cade to have to deal with in-fighting the minute he stepped back into the office.

“Would you prefer that I wait outside while you finish up in here?” he asked, making sure that his voice was pleasant and his smile at least halfway real.

“As a matter of fact—”

A muffled thump interrupted her words. She glanced back over her shoulder. “That was it, Charlotte, right? The banging door?”

It didn't sound like any banging door Max had ever heard, but he decided not to mention that.

He followed her as she walked into the kitchen.

Unlike the rest of the house, this room had been updated with modern appliances and some fancy type of countertop. At the far end of the room, a door opened into what looked to be a pantry lined with food and equipment. Charlotte and Simon stood beside it, their heads cocked to the side.

Thud!

The storm door slammed against the siding again.

“Well?!” Elizabeth demanded. “Isn't that what you heard?”

Talk about leading a witness!

“I don't think so,” Charlotte said with a frown. She walked into the pantry and opened the door, snagging the storm door as the wind blew it closed again. “Besides, I keep this locked because it does bang open when it's windy out.”

“Is it possible you forgot to do that today?” Simon asked. A good question. Especially because Charlotte had had Zuzu at the house.

“It's possible. I had a couple of people here. They were out in the backyard for a while.” Her gaze shifted to Max, but she didn't mention Zuzu.

He wasn't surprised. Charlotte wasn't the kind to gossip. He
was
pleased, though, glad that his assessment of her had been correct.

“And you didn't check the lock on either door when you left this evening?” Elizabeth asked, her fingers drumming against her thigh. She had a wedding ring and an engagement ring, but she wore them on her right hand. Max had never figured out why. Some people in town said that she'd been married to a Marine and that he'd gone missing in Iraq several years before. Others said that she hadn't ever been married and wore the rings to make people think she was a widow. She had two teenagers, but Max didn't think she'd care one way or another what people in town thought about her being a single parent.

“No, I didn't.” Charlotte blushed. “But I can tell you for sure that I heard a door slamming, and the house was icy cold when I got home.”

“Hmmm.” Simon pulled the door so that it was not quite closed, then stepped away. The wind sucked it open a couple of inches, then slammed it closed. “Is that what you heard?”

“I think so,” Charlotte admitted.

“It looks like someone left the door cracked open. When you walked into the house, it might have created just enough of a vacuum to slam the door closed.” Elizabeth nodded, obviously satisfied with what they'd found.

“I'm sorry for calling you out for nothing.” Charlotte touched the door, her hand resting against white paint. She had faint white scars on her knuckles that Max had never noticed before.

“We were glad to come and check things out for you.” Simon smiled gently, and Charlotte returned it with a smile of her own.

Max liked Simon. He was a nice guy who'd apparently had a great marriage until his wife's death from a prescription drug overdose. Charlotte was a young widow. She understood about relationships and grief and all the stuff they'd both lived through. They'd be perfect for each other.

For some reason that annoyed Max.

“It's always better to be safe than sorry,” Elizabeth intoned, but she looked irritated, her short-cropped blond hair shoved under her uniform hat. “If you have any more trouble, give us a call. You ready, Simon?”

She was out the door before Simon had a chance to answer. Typical Elizabeth. She was a good cop, but she wasn't all that pleasant to be around.

“I guess that's that, then.” Simon's gaze lingered on Charlotte for a few seconds longer than Max thought was necessary. “Take this.” He pulled a business card from his wallet and handed it to her. “If anything comes up, give me a call.”

Charlotte took the card and followed Simon as he walked out of the kitchen.

Nice guy.

Nice girl.

The perfect couple.

And that really pissed Max off.

He'd never been nice, didn't plan to be nice. He tried to be fair, tried to play by rules that others could live with. Especially when it came to relationships. His father had been a bastard. Every man who'd ever been in his mother's life had been the same. Users who'd taken what they wanted and left. He'd sworn that he'd never be that. He'd been a lot of other things, but he'd never treated a woman with anything other than respect. Even women like Morgan.

He opened the fridge, listening as Simon murmured something to Charlotte. She chuckled, and it was all he could do to not go into the living room. It wasn't his business if the two got chummy.

But damn if he didn't want to make it his business.

He scowled, closed the fridge, and stalked to a cookie jar that sat on the counter. Shaped like a pig with shiny pink cheeks and a round body, it had chips and scratches and looked like it had come from the junk shop Tessa's sister and brother-in-law had run before they were killed in a car accident.

The shop had been failing miserably when Tessa arrived to take care of her nephew Alex. Now it was thriving.

The floorboards creaked as he peered into the chunky pig. It was empty.

Damn it!

“Looking for something?” Charlotte asked, walking into the kitchen, her dark hair bouncing, her face soft. She looked beautiful and young and just a little too naive for someone like Max.

“Cookies,” he growled, because he'd been spending way too much time thinking about Charlotte. There were plenty of other women he could think about, and most of them would be very happy to have him thinking about them.

“Sorry. I don't usually keep cookies around the house. Too tempting. I have some chocolate bars in the freezer in the pantry if you want one.”

He snagged her hand as she walked by. “Candy bars can't compare to your cookies. And what's wrong with being tempted?”

“Nothing. Until I look in the mirror and find out I'm fifty pounds heavier.” She laughed.

He loved the sound of her laughter and the way her eyes sparkled when she was amused. He loved standing in her kitchen, his fingers around her wrist, silky skin beneath his palm.

“You'd make fifty extra pounds look good,” he said, knowing he was flirting.

Her eyes widened, her cheeks flushed pink. “I bet you say that to every baker you know.”

“Only the ones that feed me meatloaf and mashed potatoes.”

“I fed the same thing to Zim and Zuzu,” she pointed out, but she didn't pull away. She could have. He kept his grip loose, slid his thumb along the heel of her hand. “I'm sure they'd both flirt with you, if they knew how to flirt.”

She laughed nervously and slid her wrist away.

“It's the strangest thing,” she said, walking into the pantry and opening the back door again. “Zim doesn't seem like the kind of guy to leave a door open. He's probably the only one in Apple Valley besides me who locks his windows and doors religiously.”

She had a point. Zim was one of the least trusting people Max knew. If rumors were true, he kept his money on his property because he worried that banks would run away with his hard-earned cash. Max didn't know what he'd done as a young man, but now that he was older, Zim dabbled in real estate. He owned several properties in town and rented them to local businesses for a fair price. They were the only businesses on Main Street with security cameras on the premises.

Yeah. Zim definitely wasn't the kind of guy who'd forget to close a door.

“Is the door hard to close?” He pulled it shut. It fit like a glove, snapping into place and staying solidly there. “It's definitely a tight fit. If he shut it, it wouldn't have opened.”

“That's what I was thinking.” She brushed back her bangs, and he caught a quick glimpse of her scar. He almost ran his finger on the ragged edge, just to see how far into her hair it went. “But Zim was carrying Zuzu when he came in. He probably did just forget to pull the door closed all the way.”

“You don't sound convinced.”

“I am. It's a perfectly reasonable explanation, right?”

“Right.” But if she was worried, he was worried, too. Not that his coworkers hadn't done a thorough job of searching for an intruder, but he didn't think it would hurt to go through the house one more time. “How about we do a walk-through? Just to make sure the windows are locked.”

“I . . .” She sighed. “Won't sleep a wink if we don't, so I guess I'm going to agree.”

“That makes things a lot easier. Lead the way, Charlotte.”

“The house isn't all that big. Just the rooms down here and the attic bedroom upstairs. It was converted after the house was built, I think. There's a second bathroom up there, too.”

“Do you use the attic as your bedroom?”

“No!”

“That's a pretty strong reaction, Charlotte,” he commented as he followed her into the living room.

“I've never been that keen on attics,” she responded.

“Why's that?”

“Too many horror movies, I guess.” She shrugged as if it didn't matter, but he had a feeling there was a story there just begging to be told.

“You watch horror movies?”

She hesitated, and then shook her head. “No. I hate watching hapless victims walk into danger. Plus the music is always as scary as the dark creepy basement or box-cluttered attic. How about you? Are you a horror movie fan?”

She was changing the subject. That was fine. He'd figure out why she was afraid of her attic eventually, because he found himself wanting to know that and a lot more about Charlotte. “I'm more a romantic comedy kind of guy.”

“No way!” She eyed him suspiciously.

“It's true. I'm a big fan of anything that will make my dates happy and weepy all at the same time.”

“Now
that
I believe!” she said.

He didn't bother asking what she meant. He knew his reputation.

They checked the living room and dining room windows, the wind buffeting the single-pane glass. Everything was locked up tight in the main living areas. The bedrooms were smaller than bedrooms in modern houses. One was empty but for a large dresser that looked like it had been there for as long as the house had been around.

Charlotte hurried to the lone window and checked the lock.

“This one is locked too,” she said as she sidled past him and walked back out into the hall. She seemed to be getting more nervous by the minute, her shoulders tense, her movements quick and stiff. “I feel really silly about this, Max. Why don't you go ahead home? I'm sure that Ida wants to get back to bed.”