White Ginger by Susanne Bellamy Page B

confused, indignant and unsure, all at the one time. Insufferable woman.
    Amelie drove along the twisting road that led to her cabin. Indignation at Marita’s suggestive tone and attitude overcame her worry. Maybe she was reading too much into the casual remarks.
    She pulled up in front of her cabin and climbed out of the car, stretching muscles tight after the long day of driving and the stress of last night’s discovery. She needed a couple of hours of calm rest to gather her thoughts to convince Arne to take her out on the Leilani with him.
    Hauling the groceries out of the trunk, she barely paused to appreciate the vista of moonlight on water. A long, relaxing bubble bath beckoned as she climbed the topmost step and turned to open the screen door. It hung drunkenly off its hinges.
    Silently, heart pounding, she bent to place her grocery bags on the wooden floor of the veranda, then crept forward to peer into the front room. Her hand shook as she gripped the door frame and she caught her breath at the devastation revealed by moonlight streaming through the large, south-facing windows.
    The contents of cupboards had been upended onto the floor, over the table and sofa. Her paint supplies lay strewn across the rug. Streaks of vermilion and royal purple were mashed into the pile of the rug where a foot had crushed them and walked the color across the floor. Canvases lay in a heap in the far corner.
    Amelie clamped a hand over her mouth to choke back a scream and backed away on shaky legs. Grimly, she told herself that whoever had perpetrated this outrage on her property had been too late. Certain they had been seeking Arne’s camcorder, now safely in police custody, fear morphed into anger and she became even more determined to accompany him to the reef.
    A vague plan began to form, though she wasn’t sure if she was actress enough to carry it off. Arne was in danger and she might be the only person who could do anything to protect him, feeble though her protection might be. She’d never live with herself if she let him head into danger without doing all she could to keep him safe.
    As she surveyed the destruction of her lounge studio, Arne’s jeep pulled up beside her new Subaru. Slowly, she walked out to the railing and placed her hands on it, her arms stiff and her body taut.
    * * * *
    “Glad to see you got home safely.” Arne pulled a bag of takeaway food from the back seat and grabbed his jacket. Turning back to Amelie, he took two steps and stopped abruptly at sight of her face.
    Her pallor and wide eyes were lit by the moonlight and every line of her body was rigid. He sprinted up the three steps in a single bound, throwing the food and jacket to the floor in his haste to reach her.
    “What is it? What’s happened?” He grabbed her upper arms, desperately checking that she was unharmed. Wordlessly, she half turned her head to indicate the room beyond them.
    Reluctant to let her go, he glanced through the door and his gut tightened. Anger surged through him, then anxiety for Amelie, then, overriding all, his urgent need to protect her from the madness that seemed to have been loosened. This was his fault. Whatever was going on, it had to do with him.
    She hadn’t spoken a word.
    “Amelie? Are you hurt? Did you–was someone here?” Finally, she shook her head.
    There was no way he was leaving her alone here tonight, vulnerable and unprotected. “We’ll pack a bag for you and go back to my place, okay?” She nodded without speaking.
    Taking her firmly by the hand, he led her through to her bedroom. He grabbed an overnight bag from the cupboard and thrust it into her hands.
    “Get a change of clothes and a toothbrush. I’ll call the police.”
    He paced with the phone to his ear while Amelie moved automatically around her room, stuffing pajamas and fresh underwear into her bag. He watched her every move while trying to focus on the conversation with Sheriff Jessup. Amelie stopped and stared into her