Maybe.
But the sudden shiver that rippled through her despite the lingering heat of day wasn’t reassuring.
Aiming her flashlight at the path ahead, she picked up her pace and tamped down her feeling of unease. Logically, there was nothing to fear here. Natalie had lived on this land for decades with nary a problem. If the light had been real, it was probably the groundskeeper she’d mentioned—though why he’d be roaming around in the dark was a mystery.
Whatever the explanation for that terrestrial light, however, she could avoid future unsettling sights by going back to the cottage before nightfall.
She stopped at the door, key in hand, and scanned her surroundings. All appeared calm.
After slipping inside and sliding the lock into place, she flipped on a light in the single-room structure and surveyedthe furnishings. A queen-sized bed with what appeared to be a handmade quilt. A tiny kitchenette and café table. A comfortable reading chair, with a lamp beside it. And the generous desk Natalie had once used. All more than adequate for her needs as she and her hostess dived into the journals that would hopefully offer her a unique peek into the culture that had flourished in this remote, isolated area for almost two centuries, until the world intruded.
A surge of excitement set off a tingle in her nerve endings, and her mouth bowed as she crossed the room and pulled her sleep shirt out of the dresser. Only a historical anthropologist would get pumped at the prospect of spending a fall delving into old journals.
One thing for sure. Her work here would never be great fodder for scintillating, date-worthy conversation, even if a dating prospect was on the horizon.
An image of the sheriff appeared unbidden in her mind, and she huffed out a breath. Thinking about him in dating terms was silly. In all likelihood, the man had a significant other. And she wasn’t here to date, anyway.
Nevertheless, meeting a handsome man in the first few minutes of her stay had been a pleasant surprise.
And Natalie’s revelation about her background had been fascinating, capping off an unexpectedly eventful day.
All of which led her to ponder one question as she prepared for bed.
What other surprises lay in store for her during a research trip that was shaping up to be not only a career booster but an adventure?
THREE
NATALIE WAS LATE.
As the clock on the study wall inched toward nine ten on Thursday morning, Cara rose from her seat, crossed to the doorway, and peeked down the hall.
No sign of life.
Could the older woman have overslept?
Maybe ... but she’d been punctual, down to the minute, for their journal session and shared dinner yesterday.
Would a knock on the door be too pushy?
Hard to tell. Natalie had been open about many things, but it was clear she valued and guarded her privacy and independence.
Yet in light of what had happened Tuesday, investigating her tardiness seemed prudent.
Taking a deep breath, Cara walked down the hall, stopped in front of the master suite, and gave a soft knock on the door. “Natalie? Are you all right?”
No response.
Pulse picking up, she knocked harder. “Natalie? Do you need any help?”
Muffled sounds came from inside the room, but they were impossible to identify.
“Natalie, I’m opening the door.” Without waiting for a reply, Cara twisted the knob and peeked in.
The older woman was sitting on the edge of her bed, a robe thrown over her shoulders, the white hair she wore in a neat chignon mussed from sleep.
“Cara?” Natalie peered toward her, though the woman had her glasses on and the light in the room was more than sufficient to offer a clear view.
“Yes.”
