about the fish they fried each night, how it tasted better than any fish he’d had since.
Jane’s expression fell. “I hate the thought of calling Bob and Ned.”
I grimaced. His two best navy buddies were going to be heartbroken when they heard the news.
“If you’d like, I can be with you when you make the calls.”
“Thanks,” she said. “I’ll think about it.” She sat back in her chair. She looked exhausted and it was barely ten o’clock in the morning.
I was glad Jane hadn’t yet seen the worst of the destruction inside the house. It would only upset her more.
If all that damage had been caused by Jesse, I hoped he’d found what he was looking for. But if someone else had broken into his house looking for valuables, then I hoped the police would track them down to the ends of the earth. Because somehow something had gone terribly, tragically wrong.
I couldn’t think of anything of real value in the house, nothing worth tearing it apart. A crook might’ve taken the television set and the few electronics Jesse owned. But the television had still been there.
Whoever had broken into Jesse’s house wasn’t a conventional burglar. So who was it? And what were they looking for? If Jesse had died because of it, I called that murder.
* * *
While Jane met with Eric to answer some questions about Jesse, I waited on the porch with too much time to think. I had convinced Jane to spend the night at my house and had contacted Emily and Lizzie and Marigold to come for dinner. Jane wanted to be around people and I knew the girls would want to be with her. And I wanted a chance to talk about Jesse’s mysterious death.
After watching the coroner take Jesse away, I was overwhelmed with sadness again. I had more questions than answers and kept trying to recall if I’d seen Jesse at all over the last week or two. Was there really a hottie girlfriend? And if so, why had I never met her before? And when had Jesse stopped visiting Mrs. Higgins? It was his regular habit to walk across the street to kibbitz with her whenever she was in her garden, which was daily. They had been friends forever and enjoyed catching each other up on the latest gossip. They were a neighborhood staple. What had happened to change that?
And now the guilt seeped in because I had no room to judge Jesse for not being around lately. I hadn’t been, either. In the past few months, I hadn’t bothered to take the time to slow down and chitchat with my neighbors. Ever since I volunteered for the Festival Committee, I’d been pulled in every direction possible.
And in case anyone forgot, I did have a day job. Recently I’d taken on two new construction jobs that were starting to occupy what little time I had left in my day—not that I was complaining. Emily would close the deal on the old Rawley Mansion in a few days and she and I would conduct our first official walk-through. Even without the walk-through, I had already promised she would be able to move in within four months. That meant my crew and I would have to kick things into high gear and quickly but expertly renovate her kitchen, living room, and master bedroom and bath, and also make the exterior presentable enough for her to live there without shuddering every time she looked around. Once she moved in, we would continue renovating, one room at a time.
The only thing that would slow us down was if the ghost of Grandma Rawley decided to play tricks on us. I refused to jinx the project by mentioning that out loud. After all, there was no such thing as ghosts.
Emily was thrilled with my timeline, even though I’d warned her that after she moved in, my guys would continue working on the other rooms and the exterior until she was well and truly sick of us.
The second job promised to be just as challenging, although not quite as time-sensitive. MacKintyre Sullivan, the famous mystery writer, had moved to Lighthouse Cove a few months ago and purchased the old lighthouse
Jane’s expression fell. “I hate the thought of calling Bob and Ned.”
I grimaced. His two best navy buddies were going to be heartbroken when they heard the news.
“If you’d like, I can be with you when you make the calls.”
“Thanks,” she said. “I’ll think about it.” She sat back in her chair. She looked exhausted and it was barely ten o’clock in the morning.
I was glad Jane hadn’t yet seen the worst of the destruction inside the house. It would only upset her more.
If all that damage had been caused by Jesse, I hoped he’d found what he was looking for. But if someone else had broken into his house looking for valuables, then I hoped the police would track them down to the ends of the earth. Because somehow something had gone terribly, tragically wrong.
I couldn’t think of anything of real value in the house, nothing worth tearing it apart. A crook might’ve taken the television set and the few electronics Jesse owned. But the television had still been there.
Whoever had broken into Jesse’s house wasn’t a conventional burglar. So who was it? And what were they looking for? If Jesse had died because of it, I called that murder.
* * *
While Jane met with Eric to answer some questions about Jesse, I waited on the porch with too much time to think. I had convinced Jane to spend the night at my house and had contacted Emily and Lizzie and Marigold to come for dinner. Jane wanted to be around people and I knew the girls would want to be with her. And I wanted a chance to talk about Jesse’s mysterious death.
After watching the coroner take Jesse away, I was overwhelmed with sadness again. I had more questions than answers and kept trying to recall if I’d seen Jesse at all over the last week or two. Was there really a hottie girlfriend? And if so, why had I never met her before? And when had Jesse stopped visiting Mrs. Higgins? It was his regular habit to walk across the street to kibbitz with her whenever she was in her garden, which was daily. They had been friends forever and enjoyed catching each other up on the latest gossip. They were a neighborhood staple. What had happened to change that?
And now the guilt seeped in because I had no room to judge Jesse for not being around lately. I hadn’t been, either. In the past few months, I hadn’t bothered to take the time to slow down and chitchat with my neighbors. Ever since I volunteered for the Festival Committee, I’d been pulled in every direction possible.
And in case anyone forgot, I did have a day job. Recently I’d taken on two new construction jobs that were starting to occupy what little time I had left in my day—not that I was complaining. Emily would close the deal on the old Rawley Mansion in a few days and she and I would conduct our first official walk-through. Even without the walk-through, I had already promised she would be able to move in within four months. That meant my crew and I would have to kick things into high gear and quickly but expertly renovate her kitchen, living room, and master bedroom and bath, and also make the exterior presentable enough for her to live there without shuddering every time she looked around. Once she moved in, we would continue renovating, one room at a time.
The only thing that would slow us down was if the ghost of Grandma Rawley decided to play tricks on us. I refused to jinx the project by mentioning that out loud. After all, there was no such thing as ghosts.
Emily was thrilled with my timeline, even though I’d warned her that after she moved in, my guys would continue working on the other rooms and the exterior until she was well and truly sick of us.
The second job promised to be just as challenging, although not quite as time-sensitive. MacKintyre Sullivan, the famous mystery writer, had moved to Lighthouse Cove a few months ago and purchased the old lighthouse
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