Bay Hideaway by Beth Loughner Page A

When he slackened his hold, she slumped back in the chair. How she hated the contents of the box that sat before her like an uncommuted death sentence. How she hated her weakness showing in front of Nathan. But rattled or not, she would not be fooled by his contrived concern. She couldn’t!
    “Judi, what’s going on here?” he asked, obviously altering his position to look at her more fully. Suddenly there was realization in his smoky gray eyes. “You really do have some kind of horrible letters in this box.”
    Judi stiffened. “You know it’s true.”
    He didn’t answer right away. He seemed to consider the matter. Without waiting, he lifted the flat lid, ignoring her halfhearted attempt to block his hands, and snatched the folded brown note on top. Quickly, he spread out the wrinkled sheet between his fingers.
    Judi watched as he paced the room, his eyes flitting across the page he held at arm’s length, his brows creased deeply in concentration. He stopped and leaned his back against the flat wall of deposit boxes before looking back at her.
    “I don’t understand.” Nathan was frowning heavily. “What does the note mean?” He began to read the note aloud. “ ‘I smell a rat. A dirty rat. Have you caught the smell of this rodent in the air? Remember The Olde Village Inn.’ ” He paused a moment to look at her questioningly before reading on. “ ‘Move on before this rat’s demise is your own.’ ”
    She felt numb, yet her throat ached fiercely and her eyes pricked with threatening tears. That menacing note had been particularly bad. It had come right before Christmas, expertly gift-wrapped with expensive decorative foil paper. Figuring Nathan had left her an early present, she’d eagerly torn off the paper and opened the equally decorative box.
    What greeted her when she lifted the lid sent her reeling. A swollen, dead rat, crawling with maggots, lay exposed. The sender had carefully wrapped the rodent in a sealed bag meant to burst open with the box lid, immediately spewing all its filthy, revolting sights and smells.
    “Judi?” Nathan’s voice drew her back. “What’s this letter about? What does the writer mean regarding the Olde Village Inn and a rat?”
    Judi drew a ragged breath and closed her eyes as tiny tears squeezed through her already damp lashes. “A dead… rat accompanied the note.”
    When she looked up, he was leaning over her, both hands on the table, his face a mixture of shock and puzzlement. She knew he was waiting for further explanation. When she remained wordless, his mouth opened to speak, but he slowly retreated instead, tapping the letter against his hand. Finally he shook his head and exchanged the note for another in the box.
    Once again he paced and studied the letter, thrusting one hand into his pocket. “ ‘Sugar and spice isn’t always so nice—is it?’ ” he read aloud. “ ‘Especially when a good Amish girl, her head full of curls, has her hand caught in the till. What a beautiful mug shot!’ ” Again his brow lifted in bewilderment when he turned to her.
    “That was the first letter to come,” Judy struggled to explain, her lips trembling, “right after the person filled the gas tank of the Volkswagen with sugar.”
    “What!” Nathan’s glance clung to her like hot oil. “You never said anything about this letter when that happened.”
    “I tried to tell you it was more than a prank,” she reasoned, endeavoring to ignore the confusion and anger battling in his voice.
    “Judi,” he went on, “don’t you think I would have taken it more seriously if you would have shown me the letter? Vandals out for kicks don’t leave mysterious notes behind, especially ones sounding like personal vendettas.” He quirked an eyebrow knowingly. “So that leaves me to assume that you wouldn’t, or couldn’t, show me these notes for two possible reasons. Either you suspected—why, I don’t know—that I was threatening you, or the author knew