He held her hand, and she bowed her head. He gave her a moment to speak if she wanted to, then said, “Dear Jesus, please protect little Charlie-Bear and help her sleep.”And help her trust me. And help me keep her safe.
He kissed her forehead. “I’ll be downstairs. All the doors are locked. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
She placed one tiny palm on his cheek and studied his face while he tried to convey so much with his look—that he loved her, that he’d protect her, that he would never let anybody hurt her.
And then she curled onto her side and tucked her little hands beneath her cheek.
He tugged her ratty crocheted blanket—the only thing she’d brought with her when she’d come to live with him—up over her. “See you in the morning, beautiful girl.” Before he left, he slid the curtains closed in front of the blinds, hoping that, if no light peeked in, maybe she’d sleep later than usual. She needed the rest.
God willing, today he’d find a nanny to help him take care of her.
He crept out, leaving the door open a crack, and headed downstairs.
Mason and his partner were on the patio beyond the French doors. Mason was crouched but stood when Noah neared. “You want to look?”
Deep down, Noah had held out hope that he’d imagined those footsteps. That the shadow moving in the garden had been nothing. That the doors had opened on their own. If not wind, then…ghosts, maybe. Somehow, that seemed less menacing than the alternative.
But he stepped outside and crouched down.
“Looks like someone picked the lock.” Mason angled a flashlight so he could see.
Noah had no idea what he was looking for. He’d take the expert’s word for it. He stood and faced the cop. “Have there been other break-ins in the area?”
“Burglaries, sure. But not robberies or home invasions. Nothing when people were home.”
“What’s your theory?”
Mason shrugged. “Don’t have one. Do you? Anything valuable in the house? Anything worth risking prison for?”
Those were two different questions. Yes, there were valuables. Mom’s silver, Dad’s rare coins. But only Noah and Jasper knew about them, and Jasper had a key.
Anyway, it didn’t matter how much their possessions were worth. None of them seemed valuable enough to risk prison.
“Where’d the girl come from?” Mason asked.
Since it wasn’t his story to tell, he said, “Is there anything else?” He understood the gossip mill well enough not to dump his news into it.
“I’m not trying to get juicy tidbits to share at the barbershop, Noah.” Mason’s use of his first name—as if they were friends—grated on his nerves. Mason’s friendship with Jasper didn’t raise the man’s stature in Noah’s book. Exactly the opposite, as a matter of fact. “There were footprints in the dew. Someone broke into your house while that child slept upstairs. If you have any idea?—”
“You think I wouldn’t tell you? I have no idea who it was.”
“Maybe it has something to do with the kid.”
“Maybe it does. Again, I don’t know.”
“If you tell me who she belongs to?—”
“Why don’t you talk to your old friend about it?”
That had Mason’s eyes widening, then narrowing. “Okay, gotcha.” The words came slowly, as if he were processing the information. “What about her mother?”
Noah sighed. “My understanding is that she doesn’t want anything to do with her.” He wasn’t about to tell Mason that Charlotte had been taken away from her mother.
The whole town didn’t need to know the ugly details, and he didn’t trust anyone to keep his private life private.
“Don’t you think this was a robbery attempt?” Noah asked. “Why do you think it’s anything else?”
Mason looked up from his notebook. “Just covering the bases. Let us know if you hear from the mother or if anything seems amiss.” He nodded toward the yard, where the sun was turning the darkness into gray. “The footprints aren’t pronounced enough for us to tell if they were made by a man ora woman. Could’ve been a kid, even. I’ll write up a report. Let us know if you discover anything missing.”
