“Not that I can remember, except they’ve usually been later at night. After ten for sure, sometimes later.”
“You’re a night owl.”
“Guilty as charged.”
“What about days of the week?”
She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I can’t remember what days I saw the others. I’ve only noticed the lights three or four times.”
“No worries. There wasn’t any reason you should have committed that information to memory.” He brushed off his hands. “I’m going to walk down the path a ways and poke around before I talk to Steven and Natalie. But first—can we reschedule our dinner?”
The corners of her mouth rose. “I thought you’d never ask.”
“Why don’t we try for Wednesday next week?”
“I’ll pencil it in.”
“Write it in ink.” He stood and held out the cookies. “You keep the rest.”
She took the bag without argument. “Trust me, they won’t go to waste. Or rather, they will. Tomywaist.”
“An occasional indulgence never hurt anyone. And you look great to me.” He gave her a slow, appreciative once-over that heightened her color.
A sudden urge to kiss her surged through him, too strong to resist. And since she’d initiated the last lip-lock, how risky could it be to take the lead today?
Without giving himself a chance to get cold feet or weigh pros and cons, he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. Lingered. Pulled back at her sweet response before he overstepped.
“I’ll call you this weekend.” The promise came out hoarse, and he cleared his throat.
“Please do.”
At her breathy encouragement, he almost succumbed to the temptation to claim another, more intense kiss. But somehow he managed to resist. Rushing this relationship would be a mistake, in light of their backgrounds.
He backed away, then turned and strode down the path toward the lake, glancing over his shoulder at the edge of the woods.
Cara was standing by the chairs, cookie bag clutched in her hand, fingers pressed to her lips. As if she was relishing the kiss as much as she had the other sweet treat he’d given her today.
The feeling was mutual.
But as Brad continued down the path, in the direction of Cara’s mysterious sightings, he switched mental gears. Hisfocus for the remainder of his visit had to be on the death of an innocent man.
Because all the troubling evidence that continued to accumulate was more and more suggesting that while the cause of Micah’s death had been drowning, the manner may have been murder.
WHY COULDN’T HIS GRANDFATHERhave been more clear about the location of the treasure?
Steven tossed back the dregs of his scotch, pulled out the bottle he’d tucked into his overnight bag for this weekend visit with Natalie, and refilled the glass.
A map would have been far more helpful than the reference to “tucked somewhere safe, down in the dark” that had led him on a fruitless, weeks-long search of Natalie’s basement, poking into every nook and cranny and box and chest filled with decades of junk while his cousin slept at night.
Until the lightbulb had gone off in his head the day he’d shown Cara the hiking trail.
Of course his grandfather had meant the cave. Limestone caves were cool, dark, and dry. That’s why the Nazis had stored much of their looted art treasures there during the war. Why the US government had warehoused vital federal records in caves for decades.
They were the perfect place to hide and preserve valuable objects.
Like the paintings and jewelry his grandfather had taken from an estate in Germany during World War II after the US Army moved into the area and the owners fled.
And since lore pegging the place as haunted would discourage unauthorized exploration, he was free to roam about in the cave without fear of discovery.
