The man was as skittish as the deer she’d run into on the path from the house to the cottage on occasion.
Suggesting that everyone’s take on him was accurate.
He was harmless, and more prone to run from people than to cause them trouble.
Picking up her pace, she continued down the path to the cottage and let herself in. Locked the door behind her. Set the laptop on the desk and changed into her sport shoes. With Micah occupied in the house, this would be an excellent opportunity to take a brisk hike around the lake on the trail Steven had shown her yesterday without having to risk running into the reclusive groundskeeper.
Not that she should worry about such a chance encounter, anyway. Everyone considered him safe.
So the best plan was to trust the opinions of people who knew him far better than she did, focus on her work withNatalie and the academic paper she was in the early stages of writing ... and remain vigilant.
Just in case the strange vibes she’d been picking up on occasion here in the hinterland morphed into something more dangerous.
“NATALIE’SBEEN HAVING MOREthan her share of problems lately, hasn’t she?” Becky turned from the fridge and held out a bowl of potato salad.
Paul took it. “Yes.”
“She’s lucky that fire wasn’t any worse.”
“I know.” He set the bowl on the table. “What made you bring that up?”
“I saw Micah in town today ... from a distance.” Becky crossed back to the stove. “He was going into the hardware store. I assume he was getting supplies to do repairs at the house.”
“There must not have been much damage if he could handle it.”
No point in telling Becky that Brad had called him this morning at work with questions about his visit yesterday.
Questions that suggested the sheriff might be buying Natalie’s claim that she wasn’t the one who’d put the potholder in the trash.
But the odds of him pinning the fire on anything more than an accident were negligible. At Natalie’s age, and taking into account her recent dizzy spells, her memory could be unreliable.
“Paul?” Becky stopped stirring the sloppy joe mixture and angled toward him. “Are you listening?”
“Of course.” Sort of. “I expect you’re right. If the damage was too extensive, she’d have to hire a carpenter or builder to do the repairs.” He filled two glasses with water from thedispenser in the fridge. “Sorry if I seem distracted. I’m thinking about the interview tomorrow with the St. Louis paper.”
“Me too.” She began dishing up the sloppy joes. “I’m not looking forward to it.”
“Me neither. But we should be fine. Dan gave us an excellent briefing.”
“I wish I had your confidence.”
“All we have to do is tell them what a wonderful son he is and brag on all his accomplishments. Talk about how civic-minded he’s always been, back to his Eagle Scout days.”
“Bragging, I can manage—but what if they ask hard questions?”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Like ... what if they dug deep and found out about that fender bender he had when he was seventeen, or the two speeding tickets he got as a teenager?”
“If that’s all they can come up with to discredit him, he has an easy ride to victory. The media’s been full of stories about how his opponent tried to buy alcohol with a fake ID on more than one occasion before he was legal age, not to mention the more recent rumors of an affair he had with an intern. Dan will be fine.”
Especially if the later journals Natalie hadn’t yet parted with, which could resurrect a ghost or two best left in the dust of history, were out of the picture.
Another reason to get them in his hands ASAP.
“I hope so.” Becky carried their plates to the table and sat beside him. “But I’ll be glad when this election is over.”
“You’ll also be proud when we stand in the audience and watch our son be sworn in as a congressman, though.” He took her hand. Gave it a squeeze.
