He abandoned the search. It was hopeless. There were just too many places the old video could have been hidden in the house—always assuming that Sara had found it in the first place.
He took a deep breath and tried to think. He was running out of time. Since he could not find the video, he was left with only one option. He had come prepared tonight. The can of accelerant was waiting downstairs.
He hated to burn down the house. It really was a jewel. True, it was too small for the client who intended to build a French château and a walled courtyard complete with swimming pool and tennis courts. Nevertheless, the old Craftsman would have made a picturesque guest cottage on the estate. But the bottom line was that it was the size of the property and the location that were worth a fortune to the client—not the small house.
He went out into the hall, the narrow beam of the penlight spearing through the shadows.
Somewhere in the darkness of the first floor, a door squeaked on its hinges. A draft of night air shifted in the atmosphere upstairs. No one turned the lights on. Whoever had just entered had no more right to be here than he did.
Belatedly, he remembered to switch off the penlight. Footsteps sounded on the stairs. The beam of a flashlight bounced in the shadows. Nolan knew there was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. He switched his own light back on in self-defense.
He pinned the intruder at the top of the stairs and breathed a sigh of relief. Instinctively, he fell back on his only real talent—a talent for sales.
“I should have known,” he said. “I suppose you’re here for the same reason I am. Let’s talk. Maybe we can figure out how to deal with our mutual problem.”
24
They took their time over coffee and dessert. It was late when the four of them left the restaurant. Main Street was quiet at that hour. The boutiques and shops were dark. Teresa and Rafe expressed a desire to get together again before Lucy left town and then got into their car and drove off.
Mason put an arm around Lucy’s waist. She did not pull away. He tugged her a little closer, savoring the thrill he got every time he touched her. The pretty dress she wore somehow managed to look demure and seductive at the same time. In the silence, the high heels of her sandals tapped a blood-heating staccato on the sidewalk.
He considered his options. The last thing he wanted to do was take her back to the inn. But, as he had been forcibly reminded last night, there were not a lot of places a couple could go and be assured of privacy in such a small town. He doubted that Lucy would appreciate being invited to engage in a little foreplay and possibly more in the backseat of his car.
Not that he would care. He would have been delighted to have sex with her anywhere, under any conditions. But a man had his pride. He wanted to impress Lucy. That was hard to do in the back of a car. There was a motel on the edge of town, but he was pretty sure that would sound like a tacky idea, too. There was also the strong possibility that someone would drive past and recognize his vehicle.
If, on the other hand, they drove a little farther—say, to Healdsburg or Santa Rosa or even over to the coast—they might be able to find a suitable motel. Surreptitiously, he checked his watch. It was after ten. It would be close to midnight before they found an anonymous place to spend the night, always assuming Lucy would go for the plan.
And then there was the problem of how to handle returning Lucy to the Harvest Gold Inn tomorrow morning. He did not want her feeling as if she was doing the walk of shame when he brought her back. But half the town was sure to find out that she had spent the night with him. Would she care? Would she even go for the idea in the first place?
Decisions, decisions.
The inn was only one block away now. He had to come up with a plan, and fast. He wondered if Lucy was also contemplating the possibility of sex.
“I thought it was interesting that Teresa mentioned Jillian as one of the people who seemed relieved when Brinker disappeared,” Lucy said. “Did you see her after I left town?”
Mason stifled a groan. That answered one question. Lucy had not been contemplating the prospect of having sex with him in an anonymous motel. He pulled his thoughts back from the edge and called up memories.
“Jillian? Sure, I saw her around town a few times, but I think she deliberately steered clear of me after that night at the park.”
“Not surprising. She would have known that you blamed her, at least in part, for what nearly happened to me.”
“Brinker must have used her to lure you there. She was his accomplice.”
“That’s harsh. She probably didn’t know what Brinker intended.”
“She knew.”
A siren shrieked somewhere in the distance, shattering the silence of the darkened town. He felt Lucy flinch under his hand. He tightened his fingers on her hip. She relaxed.
“In the city you become so accustomed to sirens you tune them out,” she said. “But when you hear one in a small town, it gets your attention.”
A second siren screamed in the night.
“County fire trucks,” Mason said. “Must be something big.”
He stopped, forcing Lucy to halt, too. He turned partway around, following the sound of the blaring sirens. The rows of shops that lined Main Street blocked his view, but his intuition kicked in fast.
“Damn,” he whispered.
Lucy stilled. “Good grief. You don’t think—”
“Those sirens are definitely heading toward the road that leads to your aunt’s house. Only one way to find out for sure.”
He released her waist and grabbed her hand. Together they sprinted for his car. He wondered briefly how a woman could run in high heels, but there was no time to reflect on the particular skill set required for the task.
He had the engine revving and was pulling away from the curb before Lucy finished fastening her seat belt. She sat tensely beside him.
“It could be something else,” she suggested. “A barn, maybe.”
“Maybe.”
“But it isn’t going to be a barn, is it?”
“I don’t think so.”
The house was engulfed in flames. The fire roared through both floors. Black smoke billowed into the night sky. Fire trucks, police vehicles and an aid car crowded the driveway. Hoses coiled like pythons on the ground. Streams of water ran down the driveway.
Mason found a place to park on the side of the orchard lane. He and Lucy walked toward the scene. The heat was intense, even from a distance.
Mason approached one of the cops.
“This is Lucy Sheridan,” Mason said. “She owns the house.”