The Accused by Jana DeLeon Page B

against her bare skin gave her a bit of comfort and a tiny feeling of security.
    She wrapped the ends of the sheets around the flashlights, grabbed the blanket she’d laundered earlier and crept up the spiral staircase, looking around the edge of the big bundle to ensure she didn’t misstep on the winding stairs. The absolute last thing she needed was to have an accident. Her cell phone was in her pocket, but she’d bet her last dollar that the storm had knocked out any hope of reception.
    Her personal supplies were limited to what she could fit in her SUV, but she’d had enough forethought to pack a mattress cover. It was queen-size and the bed in her old room was full-size, but it would be no problem to tuck the extra under the mattress.
    Dust billowed out of the mattress as she lifted the edges to slip the ends of the cover over and dropped them back into place. She waved one hand in the air and covered her face with the other, trying to keep from inhaling the bulk of the flying particles, then alternated tugging one side and then the other until the mattress was completely covered.
    She made quick work of the sheets and blanket, then grabbed a flashlight and ran downstairs to snag a bottle of water and a protein bar. It wasn’t much of a supper, but it would do for tonight. Back in the bedroom, she shrugged off her jeans and polo shirt and, most important, her bra, in favor of yoga pants and T-shirt. As she lugged her suitcase off the bed, the edge of a folder peeked out at her.
    Frowning, she pulled the folder out of her luggage and stared at it for a bit. It had been complete impulse that made her copy the files from the case that had caused her more anguish and guilt than she could bear and had subsequently tanked her career. She’d made a mistake. Somewhere in that file had to be the thing she’d missed. The thing that could have prevented a child’s death.
    Before she could enter a courtroom again, she had to figure out what that thing was. Had to be certain she wouldn’t make the same mistake again. She placed the file on the nightstand next to the bed. The case file might be the only thing that could take her mind off the strangeness of the house, the caretaker and the flashes of memories that she hadn’t anticipated and wasn’t comfortable with.
    Lightning flashed right outside the balcony doors and she jumped. First thing tomorrow, she had to find something to serve as drapes. Ornate wooden rods were mounted over the French doors, so at one time they had been covered. Likely years of neglect had led to dry rot and the original drapes were long gone.
    Thunder rumbled across the sky seconds after the lightning, letting her know the storm was directly above the house. She was beginning to think the pounding would go on forever when she realized the thunder had trailed off and the pounding was coming from downstairs.
    She glanced at her watch. Nine o’clock.
    She couldn’t begin to imagine what someone was doing here so late and in the middle of the storm, but the pounding on the door didn’t appear to be slacking off. Amos would have let himself in, so the caretaker was out, and she couldn’t imagine the attorney making a trip here this late at night. No one else in Calais had business with her except the sheriff, and he’d already done his duty for the day.
    Grabbing her pistol and the flashlight, she hurried downstairs to the front door. “Who is it?” she yelled, hoping her voice projected through the thick wood and over the storm.
    “Carter!”
    Frowning, she placed the flashlight on the table next to the door and unlocked it.
    A burst of wind blew the door open the instant she turned the handle, and she struggled to keep it from banging into the wall. Carter hurried into the house, rain billowing behind him, carried by the wind.
    Alaina gave the door a final shove as soon as he cleared it and then stared at the dripping-wet sheriff. “You’re making a mess on my floor,” she said, pointing