Suspicion. Ginny Aiken

      Sheriff Benson crossed his arms. “You found something in the box?”

      Officer Donnelly faced the other man. “Crazy as it sounds, there was a twenty-dollar bill shoved behind the cuff.”

      “Huh?” Great! First she came across as the weak little victim who got knocked down, and now she sounded dumb. “I mean, money? There was cash inside the box?”

      Maggie nodded. “It was an old bill, so when we check it for prints I’m sure we’ll find plenty of them—too many, actually. And then, when I called Dawn Stallman from The Pines, thinking one of the seniors might have…oh, I don’t know, felt guilty and stuck it in there to make up for the broken box, she says no one would fess up. She did ask all the seniors who came in today.”

      “That is strange,” Steph said.

      The sheriff uncrossed his arms. “I don’t think the twenty’s a case of conscience. The folks out at The Pines wouldn’t do that. They’d take the box they broke right up to the counter and face Steph—er…Miss Scott.”

      “It wasn’t broken,” Steph said. “Someone cut into that box with a very sharp blade. Deliberately.”

      Maggie nodded.

      Sheriff Benson turned to Steph. “Who else came into the store today?”

      She groaned. “I can’t begin to remember. Let’s see…Miss Tabitha picked up her prescription, and I remember Mr. Holcomb stopping in for his little girl’s insulin…” Steph frowned, concentrated and eventually came up with a list of about ten customers. Then she shook her head. “I’ll have to check my records to see who else picked up prescriptions. We can look at the checks and credit-card slips in the deposit bag, too. That’ll give us a better idea who was in the store.”

      “Sounds good to me,” the sheriff said. He turned to the two police officers. “How about I follow her home? I can look at that bag. She—” he faced Steph “—you can make the deposit in the morning, right?”

      As strange as it seemed, Steph felt relieved to know the sheriff, even though practically a stranger, would come home with her. She just didn’t relish walking into her little carriage house behind the Farmer’s Supply Store alone. The local farmer’s co-op had turned the town’s century-old livery stable, a lovely, historic building, into the wire-and-feed-and-more store, but by this time of night it was also dark and empty. For the first time she realized how isolated her home, the original livery owner’s home, was all the way out on the edge of town.

      “I’ll stop by the bank on my way to work tomorrow morning,” she said, heading for her car. “And if it’s okay with all of you, I’d like to close up shop now.”

      Damp from the rain and shivering from an excess of nerves, Steph couldn’t wait to be rid of the whites she wore to work. Fortunately for her, Loganton was small. It only took seven minutes to get home. In no time, she pulled her car into the garage, snagged her purse and deposit bag and locked up her gas-efficient compact car. She waited for the sheriff just inside the garage door, then, once he met her, used her garage-door remote to lock up behind them.

      “I’m sorry to keep you so long,” she said as she went up the steps to the inside door. “This whole thing is just unbelievable…very unusual. But you can go on home now. I’ll get the list of customers to you in the morning.”

      He gave her his brief but sincere grin, which lit up his brown eyes and deepened the crinkles at their corners. “Don’t worry about it. We’re partners in the battle against drugs, remember? Partners help partners.”

      Steph stepped into her tiny kitchen, much too conscious of the tall sheriff’s presence at her back. What would he think of her home? It was, after all, an ultrafeminine nest by design.

      She shivered and her teeth chattered. Were the tremors the result of the dousing she’d gotten outside? Or did the adrenaline from her natural fight-or-flight response, to first the mugging and now the theft, get the better of her? Or was her sharp awareness of her companion’s striking presence to blame? She took a deep breath then gestured toward her glass-topped iron bistro table and the two chairs with their heart shaped backs—all she could fit in the small space. “Have a seat. Can I get you a glass of water? Iced tea?”

      “Iced tea sounds great.” He pointed to the deposit bag. “And I’ll get started with that list of customers while you change into dry clothes, so I can get out of your hair as soon as possible.”

      Steph handed over the blue simulated-leather pouch, poured the sheriff a tall glass of tea and then ran to change. She couldn’t stand another second in her clammy clothes. Five minutes later, she was back, dressed in dry khakis and a cream-colored sweater.

      “Sorry about that,” she said. “How many names did you come up with?”

      “Here.” The sheriff turned his notebook so she could read it. “It’s not a particularly enlightening list.”

      Steph scanned the names. “I see what you mean. I can’t picture any of these people vandalizing anything, much less beating me up.”

      Her thready voice must have betrayed her exhaustion because he gave her an appraising stare. “Are you sure you don’t want to go stay with your parents? Will you be okay here by yourself?”

      “I’m fine—tired, and sore from last night’s mugging, but that’s what ibuprofen is for, and I hear Scott’s Pharmacy has a good supply.” She smiled. “I’ve got an in there, so I don’t need to worry Mom and Dad. I’m okay.”

      An awkward silence descended on the room. Steph studied the list of her customers’ names, the most convenient place to keep her gaze. She’d never had a man in her home before. This felt very strange, especially since she didn’t really know Hal Benson very well, and even though he’d come in his official capacity.

      True, she remembered him from back in school; they’d graduated the same year. He’d been the class brain, while she’d been the one who stared out the window when the slightest thing distracted her, the one who made teachers despair. Then, after high school, she’d gone to UNC at Chapel Hill, where a kind and wise learning disabilities counselor worked with her, while Hal had headed for Princeton. How and why he became a sheriff after all that, she didn’t know.

      “Umm…I guess I’d better get going.” He pushed away from the table, making his chair’s metal feet screech against the ceramic tile underfoot. He winced. “Sorry about your floor. I’m outta here. You do need to rest.”

      She waved away his concern. “Oh, don’t worry about that. Tile is pretty tough stuff. But you’re right. I do need to rest.”

      He stood in place, looking around the room, his cheeks reddening, clearly disoriented.

      Steph chuckled. “Follow me. You don’t have to go out my back door. This is a funky little place, but it suits me just right.” She headed to the front. “Don’t try to tell my parents that, though. They’re convinced I should still be living at home.”

      His laugh warmed her almost as much as her dry clothes had. “Family around these parts has long strings, doesn’t it? My parents stopped guilt-tripping me only when they decided to buy one of the cottages out at The Pines. I’m too young to live over there.”

      At the front door, Steph turned and met the sheriff’s gaze. “Thanks again.”

      He dipped his head. “It’s all in a day’s work.”

      It struck Steph how shy Hal Benson really was. That explained a lot, like how they’d managed to go through school together and she still knew practically nothing about the man.

      The earlier awkwardness returned. A hunted look crossed the sheriff’s craggy features. Steph’s natural response was to reach out, to say something to put him at ease, but she realized this wasn’t the right time.

      Next time she saw the appealing sheriff, she’d make sure to reach out and make an