Marci waited for him to leave, but once he got in the car, he focused on the dash, as if he was adjusting his radio. Finally she went in, deactivated the alarm, and relocked the door.
By the time she looked out again, he was gone.
After dumping her tote bag and notes in the kitchen, she called Ben.
“I’ve been waiting to hear from you. Any problems tonight?”
“Other than a dead battery, no.”
“Bummer. How did you get home?”
“Charley dropped me off. I’ll call Marv at the body shop in the morning and have him give me a jump.”
“I could pick you up and do that if Nicole continues to lay low.”
“Still no sign of her?”
“No. I talked to Lexie, and she said the patrol officers haven’t spotted her car.”
“I’ll take that as a positive sign. If the coast is clear and you want to swing by tomorrow, that would be appreciated.”
“I’ll give you a call about eight—unless that’s too early.”
“Nope. I’m always up long before that.”
“Is your alarm system armed for the night?”
“Not yet. I’m downstairs.”
“Why don’t I wait while you go upstairs and set it?”
“She really has you freaked out, doesn’t she?”
“You’d feel the same if you were in my shoes.”
“Okay.” She gave him a recap of the meeting as she shut off the downstairs lights. “I’m climbing the stairs now. The alarm”—she punched in the numbers—“is also armed.”
“I hear the beeping. I’ll sleep better knowing you’re safe.”
“I will too—based on everything you’ve told me about her.”
After a lingering goodbye, Ben ended the call.
Marci put her phone in the charger beside her bed and ambled over to the window. As she’d done the night Ben had attempted to rescue Annabelle, she peeked through the shades.
Same as on that occasion, she saw nothing. The pools of illumination from her security lights were empty. The only sounds filtering through the screen in her open window were the wind in the trees and the plaintive hoot of an owl.
It was a night like any other here in Aunt Edith’s cottage.
But unlike her distant relative, who’d never married, she might not live out her days here alone—thanks to the arrival of an ex-army doctor who’d traveled thousands of miles to claim a surprising inheritance.
And if all went as she hoped, maybe she’d alter the plans for that detached garage she was planning to build from single car to double.
What was that sweet scent?
Rachel gave a contented sigh and snuggled deeper into her pillow.
Mmm.
It smelled like roses.
What a lovely dream.
Her nose began to tickle, and she wrinkled it. Something soft was grazing the edge of her nostril, and she lifted her hand to brush away the . . .
“Happy birthday, sleepyhead.”
Her eyes popped open.
A mass of velvety, crimson petals filled her vision.
She might be in bed—but that heavenly scent hadn’t been a dream.
It was as real as the man whose handsome face appeared above her once he moved the vase of roses aside.
She scrambled into a sitting position and touched one of the perfect petals.
“Wh-where did you get these?”
“Budding Blooms on Main Street. They opened early for me. And there’s more.” He set the vase on the nightstand and disappeared out the door.
She was still gawking at the gorgeous bouquet when he returned with a tray bearing two mugs of coffee, another small vase bearing a single rose, a plate of melon and strawberries, and two Sweet Dreams cinnamon rolls dripping with icing.
“I thought you deserved breakfast in bed on your birthday.” He set the decadent treat on the bed beside her and pulled up the straightback chair that sat against the wall. “With company.”
The room blurred, and she groped for a tissue from the box on the nightstand. Never in a million years had she expected him to indulge her like this on her birthday.
Truth be told, she hadn’t been certain he’d even remember the occasion, after all they’d been through.
“Hey.” He touched her cheek. “No tears today. We have a packed agenda.”
“Like what?” She dabbed at her eyes.
“Like that picnic in Shore Acres State Park I mentioned last week. The gardens there are blooming, our lunch is packed, and Charley told me about a perfect, secluded stretch of beach we’ll probably have all to ourselves for our picnic.”
“Sounds like a perfect birthday.”
“That’s what I’m aiming for. Now let’s eat or these rolls will get cold. I picked them up while they were fresh from the oven.”
Within fifteen minutes, every scrap of food on the tray had disappeared.
“I guess breakfast was a success.” Greg removed the tray from the bed and stood. “Let me get rid of this before the next surprise.”
“What surprise?” She called out the question as he disappeared down the hall again.
“Stay put. I’ll be back in a minute.”
Hmm.
A dozen long-stemmed roses with baby’s breath. Breakfast in bed. A romantic picnic.
What more could he have up his sleeve?
He didn’t keep her in suspense long.
In less than a minute, he returned with a flat box wrapped in silver paper.
“I’d sing ‘Happy Birthday,’ but as my high school music teacher told me, my superb breath control would be better applied to a wind instrument than to voice.” He grinned at her and handed over the box.
“You didn’t have to get me a present too.”
“Yes, I did. Especially this one.”
She weighed the box in her hand. Too large for jewelry, too small for clothing.
What could it be?
“Go ahead. Open it.” Greg sat back in the straightback chair beside the bed and folded his arms.
She ripped off the paper and lifted the lid.
Nestled in tissue paper, she found a file folder.
She peeked over at him.
He crossed an ankle over his knee. “Remember—good things come in small packages.”
In silence, she pulled the folder free of the tissue and flipped it open.
Inside was a stack of clipped pages. Printouts from various websites, based on a preliminary skim.
University websites.
All of the material in the file related to journalism degrees.
She looked up at him.
He
