“You’ve done this before. You’ve been through my shop.” The words slipped out before she could stop them.
He merely grunted and continued working, no threat about breaking her jaw. He pulled pieces of paper out here and there, folded them precisely into quarters, and stuffed them into his pockets. But he must not have found whatever he looked for, because he still kept searching.
She twisted her hands against her bindings. With him on the other side of the desk, nothing blocked her path to the door. If she could just get free, then she could run for Isaac. Hadn’t the man said he was down at The Pretty Penny? But the more she struggled, the tighter the ropes seemed to get.
He shoved a stack of papers down onto the desk and looked up at her, eyes narrowed. “Where’s the map?”
She blinked. “What map?”
“The one from my coat pocket.”
Another blink, this one accompanied by a swallow. “The coat you dropped off at my shop?”
His gaze turned dark. “That’d be the one. Now what did you do with the map?”
She shook her head. “I don’t remember any map being in your pocket.” But even if she’d found one, did he know how many coats she’d fixed? How many papers and trinkets and coins had ended up on her floor? She’d always stuffed things right back into whatever pocket they fell out of and went on mending.
“Don’t play stupid with me. The sheriff and your husband are searching the woods, asking too many people too many questions.”
She shook her head and moved her wrists slowly against the bindings. At least with her hands tied in back of her, he couldn’t see her work at the ropes.
“Who’d you give it to, your husband? Is that why I can’t find it?” He rummaged through the papers again, but it was moreerratic this time. He crinkled the top two papers of the stack he grabbed, then left another lying in the center of the desk.
“I never gave Thomas a map. I just told you, I never even found a map. People left things stuffed in their coat pockets all the time. If something fell while I was replacing the buttons on your coat, I would have put it right back.”
“The sheriff then. Where’s the map you gave him?”
“I never gave anyone a map. I never found any map at all.” Frustration edged into her voice. Was he truly going to keep her tied up here, interrogating her over a piece of paper she’d never seen?
“Well, the map wasn’t in my pocket when you gave me back my coat, so either you’re lying, or you’re a fool and stuffed it in someone else’s coat.” He stopped his searching and stared at her, his jaw moving back and forth. “Suppose I don’t got no choice either way. Probably didn’t have much choice after you strolled in.”
The dull, matter-of-fact tone to his voice caused her heart to hammer and a chill to skitter down her spine. “No choice for what? What are you talking about?”
He took the unlit lamp from the shelf behind Isaac’s desk, then came around the desk toward her.
“No choice about this.” He threw it at the bottom of her chair. The glass crashed, splintering over her feet and the wooden legs.
She squealed and jerked her legs up, but she could only move so far with being tied to the chair.
“I told ya no screaming. Not unless you want me to break that pretty jaw of yours before I kill you.”
Kill you.The words sent a wave of fear crashing through her. He’d probably been intending it all along, probably was right about not having a choice now that she knew he’d been in Isaac’s office looking for a map.
“Please, no,” she rasped through a shaky voice. “I promise I won’t say anything, ever, to anyone. Not about seeing you here or about any map or about anything at all. Just let me go. You’ll be safe, I swear.”
He grabbed the lamp hanging by the door and threw it at her feet.
She didn’t dare make a peep, not even when a shard of glass bit into her shin.
The man reached for another lamp. “Just in case the sheriff gets all picky about where the fire starts again.”
“Fire? Again?” She twisted her sweaty hands against the bindings. What did he mean byagain? Unless…
All Thomas’s talk about arson flooded back to her. She’d barely paid attention to him, not when she’d been so upset over losing her shop, so sure the fire had been due to her own negligence.
“You started the last fire.” Her voice wobbled as she spoke. “Why?”
He shattered a lamp against the wall by the door, causing the scent of kerosene to overpower the aroma from Tressa’s ruined dinner. “I don’t owe you any answers.”
