a teen and regretted raising the issue. Abigail expected him to get tense or fly off the handle. Instead, he chewed his food, pondering his answer.
“Mostly, people steal because they’re desperate. Because they have to. It’s a rare few who steal for the fun of it.”
Until she posed the question, Abigail hadn’t considered that Nat might be the thief. Even after Merle explained his past, she didn’t make the connection, and she now had reason to be glad. If she’d suspected him, Abigail was positive Nat would have intuited it.
“Hope it stops soon, though,” he said. “Folks are getting nervous.”
“I thought nobody cared as long as it wasn’t their house.”
“There are only so many rental units on the island.”
It was a logical inference, a conclusion Abigail had been avoiding. What if the thief started targeting the places where people lived?
“Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“I’m not scared.”
“I’m sure you’re safe here.”
“Me too.” But Abigail wasn’t that certain.
It was Nat’s turn to change the subject. “I’ve had a lot of jobs. Never as an interior decorator. I can stick around and ‘arrange.’ Isn’t that the woman’s favorite part?”
“Pardon me?” The edge in Abigail’s voice was unmistakable.
He put his arms up defensively. “All I’m saying is I’m here.”
“Now
Rearranging the furniture was almost as taxing as moving it, yet far more fun for Abigail. Though she wasn’t going to tell Nat that. They tried positioning the settee at countless angles and turning the dining table again and again. They relocated the pair of wingbacks in every conceivable spot. Once they got the layout set, they finished by replacing the wobbly table that held the telephone with a sturdy, carved console.
“Looks good.”
Abigail agreed. With the new paint and furnishings, the living and dining area had the homey atmosphere of an inn. She couldn’t resist smiling.
“That’s a big fireplace. Brick’s original. You must get a lot of use out of it.”
Nat’s mention of the fireplace caused her smile to sink.
“Would you mind helping me in the study? I want to get the desk in the right spot, and I won’t be able to lift it on my own.”
Her shift in tone obviously confused him. “Uh, all right. No problem.”
With the desk centered under the bank of windows, Nat proffered the matching chair. “Want to take it for a test drive?”
“I can do that later.”
“Come on,” he urged, dusting the seat.
Reticently, Abigail sat down. The chair cupped her firmly. The height of the desk was a tailored fit.
“Looks like it was built for you.”
The desk and chair, she presumed, had belonged to Wesley Jasper. Abigail could picture a man sitting there gazing through the windows and making notes in the ledgers. She thought of the night the
“What’s wrong? You seem…sad.”
“Nothing, nothing.” Abigail hurried for the stairs as Nat pursued her. “I, um, remembered I wanted to show you something.”
From the kitchen, Abigail produced the bags of plates and pots she’d culled from the cupboards. “It’s not bone china and Waterford crystal. But it’s not broken.”
Nat peeked in at dishes. “Hell, I’ll take ’em.”
“Super-duper. I’ll bring these bags to your truck.” Abigail couldn’t get out of the caretaker’s cottage fast enough. She was suddenly brimming with worry. Had she made a mistake bringing Mr. Jasper’s possessions up from the basement?
Bewildered, Nat grabbed a bag himself, saying, “Super-duper? That’s quite the word, Ms. Dictionary.”
Outside, the day was darkening. The clouds threatened rain. Wind was flogging the trees.
“You heard about the storm?” Nat asked, putting the dishes on the passenger seat of the truck.
“What storm?”
“It’s hurricane season. Since you don’t have a TV, you should always listen to the radio for weather reports,” he cautioned. “It’s been on the news. They’re predicting the storm will swing east, out to sea. Except a hurricane can turn tail in a heartbeat. You got candles and flashlights and water and such?”
