“Did anyone know you were returning to town?” he asked, his gaze holding mine as a woman’s voice spoke from his shoulder radio. “Besides your mother.”
Brows pinching, I slowly shook my head as my mouth worked. “I . . . just my friend Miranda—um, Miranda Locke. I don’t think she told anyone.” I nibbled on my lip as I held the tote close to my chest. “My mom would’ve told the staff.”
He nodded as he scribbled into the notebook and then he flipped it closed, shoving it into his front pocket. The pen followed. “Is it possible that someone would want to damage your car?”
My lips parted. “Like on purpose?” That sounded stupid. Of course he meant on purpose. “I mean, as in someone who came out here and did this because of me?”
“It’s possible.” He held up his finger as a code was called out from his radio and then he pressed a button on the radio. “This is Unit 59. I’ll be 10–8 from the Scarlet Wench in a few minutes.” His gaze pierced mine. “There’s no polite way of saying this, but you have a history in this town.”
Anger flushed my system like a swarm of angry fire ants. “A history that wasn’t my fault.”
“Of course,” he quickly added. “I didn’t mean it like that, and I apologize if it came across as that. What I meant is that you’re . . . well known and for reasons that might make some people uncomfortable.”
“Uncomfortable?” I repeated as my head cocked to the side. Thank God my mom was not outside to hear this conversation. “Other than me, I have no idea why it would make other people uncomfortable.”
“I get what you’re saying and I don’t think you have a reason to feel uncomfortable, because like you said, what happened wasn’t your fault.” Officer Bradshaw got some brownie points for that statement. “I honestly don’t think it has anything to do with what occurred back then, but it is something we have to take into consideration. Just to keep in the back of the head kind of thing, okay?”
I wasn’t sure how to feel about that as I scoped out the yard. Yesterday I’d felt like someone had been watching me. I’d chalked it up to my imagination and mostly forgotten about it, but what if someone had been out here watching? What if someone was pissed enough that I was back in town that they’d vandalized my car?
No. That didn’t even make sense. Nothing that had happened a decade ago had been my fault. Or any of the victims’ faults, so why would someone have a problem with me coming back home?
“Most likely this was just a case of random vandalism,” he said. “Probably some kids bored with nothing better to do with their time and everything else is coincidental.”
I nodded absently.
“But if you have any more problems or think of anything related to this, please call us and ask for me,” he said. “I’m going to file a vandalism report, so make sure you let your insurance know. Okay?”
“All right. Thank you.”
Officer Bradshaw nodded and then walked back to his cruiser. He stopped at the driver’s door. “Wish it could’ve been under different circumstances, but it was nice meeting you.” He gripped the car door as he twisted toward me. Our gazes locked, and a cold shiver raced down my spine. “But I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again.”
Chapter 4
After calling the insurance company and setting up a time for an inspector to come out the following week, I cleaned up the glass the best I could and then moved the car into the carriage house.
I managed to do this all without ending up with glass sticking out of very sensitive places, so I considered that a win.
With James coming in shortly to begin work on the evening dinner service, I helped the blonde and bubbly Angela Reidy tidy up the reserved rooms.
Angela was several years younger and an adorable chatterbox. Immediately, I got why Mom thought she was flighty. She’d talk about one thing, stop in the middle of a sentence and switch topics. She talked about how she was taking night classes at the community college in nearby Hagerstown. She wanted to become a teacher, focusing on pre-K. Angela had a boyfriend named Ethan. They’d been together for three years.
I liked listening to her even though I didn’t get a word in edgewise. Letting Angela take full rein of the conversation as we moved from room to room stopped me from dwelling on what happened this morning. I might as well give myself the break since my imagination was going to take it to the worst-case scenario as soon as I had the downtime.
And that would be that someone targeted my car.
Didn’t make sense to me, but I knew crazier things were possible.
Finishing up the elderly couple’s room, we walked into the laundry room, which used to be a bedroom. I grabbed an armful of warm towels out of the dryer and dumped them onto a clean worktable.
Angela grabbed the dirty sheets, humming under her breath as she shoved them into the washer. “There is only one thing I hate in this world and that’s folding sheets.”
I grinned as I started folding the towels. “It’s because folding sheets is impossible.”
“So true.” Angela grabbed a bottle of detergent and measured out a cup. “How does it feel being back here?” she asked after a moment.
Creating a small stack of white towels, I shrugged. “Not sure. I mean, it’s good. I’ve missed . . . this.”
“Really?” Doubt colored the younger girl’s tone as she moved on to the fabric softener. “You’ve missed picking up after people and doing laundry?”
I laughed. “Not exactly, but this is my family’s legacy and . . .” I looked up as my hands smoothed across a towel. “I was originally going to do this, the whole followin-the-family’s-footsteps kind of thing. I wanted to do that.” And that was true. When I was younger, it had been my dream to take over the inn. That dream had changed—no. That dream had been stolen. “I liked doing what I did in Atlanta, and this—folding towels—isn’t exactly exciting, but this, all of this, belongs to my family—to me, and it’s hard to explain, but it feels right.”
Angela studied me for a moment and then smiled. “That makes sense. Kind of how I feel about teaching the little ones.” She screwed the lid back on the softener and then stretched up, placing the bottle on the shelf above. After turning the washer on, Angela practically bounced her way over to where I was. She picked up a towel. “It had to be so hard coming back here after what happened. I don’t think I could do it.”
My gaze shot to the younger girl.
Angela was focused on her own pile of towels. “Every time I head down Route 11, I drive right past the old water tower and it’s all I think about.” Angela shuddered, and acid churned in my stomach. “It’s horrible to think about, but I didn’t live it like you did. I can’t even imagine what you’ve gone through—”