“Someone killed her, Shane.”
She looked up at him, eyes pleading with him to believe her. The entreaty on her face threatened to shatter the last of his doubt, and a seed of tension sprouted in his gut. He didn’t like where this was headed. If she believed there’d been foul play, she’d be a one-woman vigilante team, forging ahead with unstoppable zeal, determined to bring her sister’s killer to justice.
He draped an arm across her shoulders. A good seven or eight inches shorter than he was, she fit there perfectly. A sudden sense of protectiveness surged through him, taking him aback. Maybe it was her small stature. Or the knowledge that, with her sister gone and her mom having disappeared, she was all alone. Whatever it was, it wasn’t from any misguided notion that she actually needed him. Because nothing about Jess was weak or needy.
“You don’t know that.” His tone was heavy with a conviction he didn’t feel. “Everything points to suicide. The house was locked up tight, and her prints were all over everything.”
“But how do you explain the gun and the weapons class?” Suddenly she stepped away. “Wait, how did you know that?”
Dread settled over him, lining his stomach with lead. What was wrong with him? He was losing his edge. Without thinking, he’d blurted something he shouldn’t have known. “It’s common knowledge. It’s all over town.” At least he hoped it was.
He wrapped an arm around her again. “I’m urging you as a friend, let it go. I know you want to vindicate your sister. But if you’re right, if there was foul play and you keep pushing, you could be next. Let the police take care of it.” Let me take care of it. Of course, she’d be more willing to do that if she knew who he was.
For several moments, she studied him. Finally, she gave a brief nod that he was sure had nothing to do with acquiescence. After she walked from the room, he followed her down the hall, shaking his head.
Bold, beautiful, impetuous Jess.
If only he could keep her from getting herself killed.
Chapter Four
BethAnn’s Fabrics and Crafts.
Jessica eyed the sign hanging over the shop nestled between Harvey’s New and Used Books and the Hometown Cafe. The bookstore had been there forever. So had the cafe. The fabric store was new.
For the past two hours, she had worked her way down Main Street on foot, checking each of the shops to see if they were hiring. She only needed something short term, a temporary job to keep the bills paid until she could wrap up Prissy’s affairs and head back to Miami.
Some of the people she’d spoken with this morning she’d known. They’d each offered condolences and expressed shock over Prissy’s suicide. Though Jessica had asked, no one had been able to offer any insight.
She and Shane hadn’t found anything at the house, either. At least nothing of value. They’d learned that Priscilla liked expensive clothes, romantic suspense books and a variety of movies. And she was sloppy with paperwork. Her check register was horribly out of date, and the stacks of bills sitting on the computer desk showed no indication of whether they’d been paid. Nothing in the whole place hinted at who might have wanted to see her dead.
She hadn’t learned anything more about Shane, either. Though they’d worked on the house together the past two days, she still had her doubts about him. He seemed nice enough—personable, helpful and totally harmless. But there were too many unanswered questions, like what really brought him to Harmony Grove, and how they’d arrived within a few hours of one another but he’d somehow obtained information that she hadn’t. When she’d questioned him about it, panic had flashed across his face, so brief she might have imagined it.
He’d said the fact that Prissy’s prints were all over everything was common knowledge around town. She didn’t buy it. Her choices in men hadn’t always been the best—actually they’d been horrible—but she knew when a man was holding out on her. And Shane was a man with secrets.
Jessica released a sigh and swung open the door to BethAnn’s Fabrics. She’d gone to school with a BethAnn Benson. Though they’d never socialized, they’d known one another, even had some classes together. The BethAnn she knew had left Harmony Grove a couple of years before Jessica had, but how many BethAnns could there be?
When she walked inside, the store seemed to be unmanned, but voices came from somewhere near the back. Jessica moved to a display that held a variety of knickknacks and scanned the shelves, waiting for someone to appear. Finally, a woman stepped from one of the aisles and walked to a U-shaped counter carrying two bolts of fabric. After dropping them on its end, she stepped into the center.
As Jessica watched, she flipped the top bolt over and over until she had unwrapped a sizeable amount of fabric, then measured off what looked like three one-yard lengths. Corkscrew curls bobbed as she worked, and even in profile, her smile was obvious.
Yep, definitely BethAnn Benson. Jessica pressed her lips together. When it came to looking for work, knowing the decision makers wasn’t necessarily a good thing.
BethAnn cut the length she’d measured off, then let her gaze drift to the other side of the store. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear—” The words died as recognition flitted across her face. “Jessica?”
Jessica approached. “Yeah, it’s me.”
“I thought you might make a trip up here.” BethAnn gave her a sympathetic smile. “I’m so sorry about your sister. It was such a shock.”
“I know.” She ran her hand over the smooth laminate surface of the counter. Shock. It was a word that had come up again and again during the conversations she’d had. “I still can’t believe it. This seems totally out of character for Prissy.”
“The night before this happened, Melissa and
