Danger on Her Doorstep

“Yes. How much have you been told about what happened?”

“I—I—” Maggie faltered, looking around, trying to think. What had Gideon been doing at the house on Shady Oak Lane that Saturday morning? “They haven’t told me anything, really, just that he had a broken neck. I wasn’t looking for details.”

That seemed to censor him. “Sorry to bring it up. I just didn’t want there to be any awkwardness if I’m going to be working here with you.”

Maggie told herself to resume breathing. “It’s okay. Obviously reminders of him are everywhere.” As if to make her point, her eyes traveled toward the back of the house, where the door to the cellar where her father’s body had been found was located just out of sight.

Gideon turned to glance in the direction where she was looking. “Have you been to the basement?”

“Only once.”

“Would you like to start there?”

Maggie felt her heart give a little squeeze. Did she want to revisit the place where her father had died? No. She wanted her father back alive, but that wasn’t an option. She looked up at Gideon and was surprised by the less-than-fierce expression on his face. Was that kindness behind his eyes?

She took a gulp, stepped toward the back of the house and tried to interject a casual tone into her voice. “Sounds like as good a place as any.” Judging by the way the words faded before she finished her sentence, she knew her attempt at nonchalance had failed.

Maggie led Gideon through the cavernous rooms to the narrow back stairwell that descended to the basement. They stepped down into the musty dark. Two sets of stairs led into the subterranean space. The narrow stairs they’d used came down from inside the house near the kitchen. The other set came in from outside the house in the backyard. A sliver of light marked the opening to the wide cellar doors that led outside—the stairs where her father had died.

With a pull on the chain of the lone lightbulb that dangled from the low ceiling, sickly yellow light filled the room. Unable to look at the door or the floor, Maggie turned her attention to Gideon.

He seemed furious. “They didn’t even clean up?”

Maggie glanced down at the broken pieces of porcelain tiles that littered the floor. She understood her father had been carrying a box of tiles when he’d fallen, which had split open and shattered upon impact with the floor. “Who?”

“The investigation team. They should have at least swept up the pieces of tiles once they were done with the site. That’s just common courtesy.”

“What investigation team?”

“From the sheriff’s office.” Gideon bent down and started scooping broken tiles into a pile.

Maggie bent to help him in slow motion, her mind stuck on what he’d said. “Why did they need an investigation team?”

“To determine whether his death was an accident or—” Gideon’s hands swept close to hers, and he looked up at her. His mouth clamped shut.

“Or what?” Maggie looked at him quizzically. She’d never heard that there was ever any question about how her father had died. “Gideon?”

He looked down at the pile of tile pieces between them, the shiny fragments a stark contrast to the dull cement floor. Slowly, he let the last few chips in his hands drop into the pile with tiny clinking sounds. “Was your father’s death ruled accidental?”

“Of course.”

“Then pretend I didn’t say anything.” He rose and dusted his hands off on his dark jeans. “Is there a broom upstairs?”

Maggie didn’t feel at all comfortable about his sudden change of subject, but she went ahead and answered his question. “Not that I know of, but I saw one in the garage earlier.” She stood, dusting her hands off, as well. “Here, you can go out through the cellar door.”

They both moved toward the wooden double doors that closed off the outside cellar stairs from the inside. Maggie froze as she reached for the drop bar that secured the door. “Wait a second.”

The door hung loosely on its hinges. The two-by-four that had been used to bar entry had been pushed in. Bolts protruded between the wooden door frame and the brick-and-mortar foundation, as though the door had been forced open from the outside.

“Was the door like that before?” Gideon asked from behind her.

“No.” Maggie didn’t have to think about her answer. She’d stood in that exact spot the day before and leaned on the drop bar while she wept for her father. Though her eyes had been blurry with tears, she had no doubt the door she’d seen and leaned on then had been securely attached it its frame. Now it was pulled ajar, dangling loosely, as if someone had rammed it open in order to gain entry.

Gideon stepped past her and gave the frame a gentle tug. It gaped inward a good foot or more—plenty wide enough to allow a person to enter through the space. “Let’s get upstairs,” he whispered suddenly.

“Do you think someone broke in?” Maggie asked.

“Looks like it.” Gideon’s hand fell to her arm, encouraging her back toward the narrow staircase that led to the kitchen in the back of the house. “And for all we know, they could still be in here.”

TWO

Gideon didn’t want to frighten Maggie, but he needed first and foremost to ensure her safety. Obviously the basement wasn’t secure, not with the door hanging from its frame. And for that matter, neither was the rest of the house. If someone had broken in, they could be hiding anywhere in the sprawling dwelling. Gideon had his own theories on how Maggie’s father had died. If he was right, there was a killer on the loose.

“Why don’t we head outside?” he asked as they stepped into the sunlit kitchen.

“We can go out the back door and see what the cellar doors look like from out there,” Maggie said with only a faint tremor running through her words.

Gideon’s heart clenched. Poor thing. She was holding together pretty well, considering. “Excellent idea,” he encouraged her as they stepped out onto the aged brick patio and turned toward where the triangular cellar doors let out from the basement. He groaned as they approached.

The hinges had been pulled free of the aging wood. The break-in job probably hadn’t been very difficult—a crowbar would do it. But what disturbed him even more was the fact that whoever had made entry into the house hadn’t even tried to hide what they’d done.

Why weren’t they more careful? Why weren’t they afraid?

“Gideon?” Maggie’s voice came out too highpitched.

He turned his attention back to her and realized the situation was catching up with her. This couldn’t be easy for her to see. “Let’s have a seat a second,” he suggested, taking her by the arm and guiding her toward an old double glider by the garage. The rusty old swing had obviously spent too many winters outside, but it looked sturdy enough to hold them.

Gideon sat down beside her.

“What was it?” she asked, the fear in her blue eyes magnified by the curvature of her thick-rimmed glasses. “Why was there a team investigating my father’s death? Do you think someone may have killed him?”

So she’d put two and two together already, had she? Gideon recalled from their school days that she was pretty bright. She obviously hadn’t missed anything this time, either, though he wished he could go back in time and replay his first phone call to her. If he’d had to do it over again, he’d have told her from the beginning that there was some possibility her father had been murdered.

Because if anything, it was worse having to tell her now.

“We suspected he may have been murdered.” He watched her carefully as she absorbed the news. No screams, no crying, not even a gasp. She just kept staring at the broken cellar door.

After a minute, she took a gulp and asked, “And the fact that somebody broke into the house?”

“It’s hard to say at this point,” Gideon said, tempering his response, “but there’s a very good chance the two are related.”

She nodded slowly. “Why would the murderer re turn?”

“I don’t know.” Gideon didn’t want her getting any more worked up than she already was. Besides, they needed to call the sheriff’s office. If it had been his house, he’d have placed the call already. But then, his house, though only a couple of blocks from this one, was inside the city limits, and the Holyoake cops would have answered the call. The house on Shady Oak Lane was outside of town, and therefore in the sheriff’s territory.

Since he wasn’t supposed to have anything to do with the ongoing sheriff’s investigations, he needed to leave well enough alone. The last thing he wanted to do was make it look as though he was trying to heavy-hand a case. If he ever wanted to be sheriff again, he needed to respect the boundaries that had been erected. Which meant Maggie would need to place the call.

“Do you have your phone on you? Can you call the sheriff’s office to come investigate?”