At the worst case, she would lie here on this cold, musty floor—at least it wasn’t dirty, thanks to the meticulousness of the forensic detectives and her cleaning up after them—until tomorrow morning, when Carl showed up for work…or, perhaps, that was the best case. After all, she had no idea whether her attacker would come back…or whether the ghost would have something to say about the situation.
Fiona shook her head hard, scraping it against the hardwood floor. She would not think that way. She would not. She would think about other things…nice things.
Clenching her hands, wriggling her fingers to keep the numbness at bay, she focused her thoughts on Gideon, and for a long moment, as she basked in the memories, warmth seeped through her. And then she remembered his phone call tonight, and, with a lurching stomach, realized that right now—at this very moment, whatever time it was—he could be with Rachel.
That path was not an attractive one for her mind to take, and she firmly steered it away.
She was just about to try and roll herself out of the closet in hopes of making her way to the phone when she heard a rattling at the front door. Tensing, fear shooting through her, Fiona followed her first instinct: to roll as quickly as she could back into the depths of the closet.
The door rattled again, then there was the telltale tinkling sound of the bells as it swung open. Her heart in her throat, Fiona inched her way into the farthest corner she could, out of the wavering light.
“Fiona?”
The sound of her name in a voice she recognized was enough to allow the tears to burst forth.
“Fiona, are you in here?”
She rolled again, this time toward the shop, out from under the stairs, as Ethan walked back into the shop, turning on lamps as he went. “Fiona!” He came to a screeching halt when he nearly stepped on her. “My God, what happened to you?”
In a flash, he was kneeling beside her, tearing the tape none-too-gently from her face and helping her to sit up. She couldn’t help the tears that gushed from her eyes, and her running nose, and she buried her face in his coat.
My brother. My big brother.
“Oh, my God, Fi—Let me get something to cut you loose with, Fifi—I’ll be right back.” Ethan hurried away, his dark coat fluttering behind him. He was back almost immediately with a packing knife, and made short work of the ropes.
Fiona could not stifle a groan as her arms were freed and fell forward back to her sides. Her wrists and shoulders screamed with pain, and her skin was chafed from the rough bonds. Her head still pounded, pain resonating through her forehead, and she reached up gingerly to touch the tender spot at her temple. When she tried to talk, to thank Ethan, nothing would come from her desert-dry mouth except a little mew.
He dashed away and was back with a cup of water, which she drank thirstily. “I’m going to call Longbow,” he said, fishing out his cell phone as she gulped the water.
Fiona nodded, and, setting the cup aside, began to rub her ankles with numb fingers. “What are you doing here?” she croaked as he hung up the phone. “You’re supposed to be in Chicago.”
“You found a skeleton in your shop,” he said as if that explained everything. “And you didn’t call me. I had to hear about it on the news—anyway, I tried to call you on my way back from Chicago, and you never answered your cell phone—so I drove by here on the way to the cabin to see if you were still working. I saw your car out front, but realized that none of the lights were on in here, and I thought that was funny because I knew you always left something on since that break-in—so I thought I should check. When I opened the door—which was unlocked—I nearly tripped over that big-ass bag of yours, and I nearly had a heart attack. By then, I knew something was definitely wrong.”
She nodded wearily. “Thank God you came by, or I’d have been stuck here all night.” Her voice was a little better now. “What time is it?”
“Almost midnight.”
Officer van Hest had arrived, and her smooth competence and neat professionalism were a balm to Fiona’s nerves. She described her experience, acknowledging the fact that she was lucky to be relatively unhurt.
“But I’ll take her over to the urgent care center to have her looked at,” Ethan said, giving her a quelling look. “And she’s not coming to work tomorrow.”
Fiona didn’t protest, for she was no martyr—and her head still made the room spin when she tried to stand. In fact, she was more than glad to rest herself against her brother’s solid, comforting body, his arm around her waist, as he helped her to his car.
“Ms. Murphy.” Helga hurried out after them, just as Ethan was ready to slam the door shut. “Have you seen this before?”
She handed Fiona a white sheet of paper—it was the back of one of her invoices—and on it, someone had scrawled three ugly words:You’ll be next.
Thirteen
Nancy Drew never fainted,Fiona rebuked herself. No matter what she went through—whether it was being tied up and left in the path of a black widow spider or a scorpion, or thrown in an abandoned ski lodge—she never lost her consciousness…or her cookies.
Fiona rolled her eyes, crimping her mouth, disgusted with her own weakness. Having done both last night after seeing the threatening note Helga van Hest found, she knew she was no Nancy Drew—nor did she want to be.
“Oh, good, you’re awake. How do you feel, Fifi?”
She turned her head—which still ached like crazy—to see Ethan. To her surprise and delight, behind him was Diana. The latter walked into the bedroom, and was carrying a steaming pot of tea on a tray with some food.
“Diana! When did you get here?” Fiona asked, struggling to sit upright in the bed. Crashing waves of pain in her temples slowed her movements, and she stifled a groan. “And, actually, bro, I feel like shit. Thanks.” She forced a wan smile.
