Silent Warning. Kathleen Long

      “Who are you?” She was beginning to think that was the question of the day. Did everybody have a key?

      The cat rose to his paws and stretched, leaning into the side of her leg as she passed.

      “Edgar,” a female voice called from outside.

      Kelly squinted at the cat, which still studied her curiously. “Edgar?” He rubbed against her calf, stretched then kicked out his back feet as he headed toward the door.

      Opening the door to step onto the porch, Kelly let the cat saunter ahead. An elderly woman toting a large bakery box looked up from the bushes along the driveway.

      “Are you looking for your cat?” Kelly asked.

      The woman’s gaze narrowed as she spotted Edgar sitting at the screen door. “Oh, that bum. Was he bothering you?”

      “Not at all.”

      “You the friend from up North?” The woman walked to the bottom of the steps, the bakery box nestled in the crook of her arm, a lit cigarette dangling from the opposite hand. She paused to take a drag.

      “Kelly Weir.”

      “I’m Helen Carroll.” She waved the glowing butt over her shoulder. “Live across the street. Heard you were coming and thought you could use a welcome.” She waved the cigarette toward the cat. “Guess he thought the same thing.”

      “No problem. Would you like to come up?”

      “Thanks.” Helen dropped the cigarette and ground it out with the toe of a red high-top sneaker. A Surf Naked sweatshirt topped a pair of faded, black jeans. Wild spikes of snow-white hair framed her tanned, weathered face. She climbed the wooden steps with the nimbleness of a teenager, balancing the box in one arm and skimming the railing with the other. Her eyes remained lowered, focused on the steps. “I brought you some cinnamon buns. Figured you could use something sweet after your drive.”

      “Thank you.”

      “It’s a small town. We try to be neighborly.”

      “So I’ve heard,” Kelly muttered under her breath.

      As she reached the top of the steps, the woman raised her pale gaze to look at Kelly. “I’ll be darned.” Her features fell slack. “You look just like her.”

      “Everyone always thought we were sisters.”

      Helen slowly shook her head, staring intently at Kelly’s features.

      “You’re the one who found her, aren’t you?” Sadness flickered through Kelly as she spoke the words.

      Helen sighed, handing her the pastry box. “I’d like to forget that day. Haven’t walked on the beach since.”

      “I’m sorry.”

      “Well, I’m sorry about your friend.”

      “Actually—” Kelly took the box, doing her best to focus on the printed logo rather than the regret building inside her “—we hadn’t spoken in a long time.”

      “She told me.” Helen ran a hand through the front of her hair, a kind smile spreading across her face. “We’d talk sometimes.”

      “Did you know her well?”

      The woman shrugged. “I don’t think anybody knew her well. She was always out looking for a story.”

      Kelly warmed, remembering Rachel’s tenacity. “Her specialty.”

      “Hadn’t seen her in a while. Figured she had a hot one cooking.” A shadow passed across Helen’s face. She glanced down at her feet then up at Kelly, her lips parting as if she were about to speak. After a moment, she shook her head, apparently dismissing whatever it had been that had crossed her mind.

      She turned back toward the steps. “I’m sure you’ve got plenty to do to get settled in, and I’m missing my shows. Holler if you need anything. I’m across the way in the little gray shack.”

      “Thanks.” Kelly held the door as Helen stepped outside. “Want a sticky bun for the road?”

      The slender woman shook her head as she descended the steps and started across the driveway.

      “Do you know a man named Dan Steele?” Kelly blurted out the question before the woman was out of earshot.

      Helen stopped short and turned, her eyes wide. “You meet him?”

      “He was downstairs when I got here. Did he know Rachel?”

      “That he did.” Helen thought for a moment, then grinned. “Got a nice caboose, that one.”

      Kelly stood, stunned, watching the woman and her cat cross the street. A nice caboose?

      The man’s handsome features flashed through her mind, and she fought back her quickening pulse. Doing her best to ignore the attraction thrumming through her veins, she pulled open the screen door and slipped into the house. She had work to do.

      DETECTIVE JAKE ARNOLD steepled his fingers and leaned across Dan’s kitchen table. “Want to tell me what you were doing in Rachel’s house?”

      “I forgot some socks.” Dan shot an impatient glare at his friend. He didn’t have time for a full inquisition. The sooner he could send Jake on his way, the better.

      “Right.” Jake’s blond brows snapped together. “So why didn’t you tell our newest visitor that? Might have saved us all a lot of trouble.”

      Dan shrugged, not answering.

      Jake leaned back, lacing his fingers behind his head. “I’ll tell you why. You refuse to accept Rachel died accidentally, isn’t that right?”

      Dan remained silent, doing his best to keep his face emotionless.

      Jake nodded toward the glass sliders and the roaring ocean outside. “Hell of a riptide out there this time of year. People swim alone. Sometimes they drown.” He pursed his lips, stood and took a step toward Dan. “Forget Rachel Braxton and leave this friend of hers alone.”

      Dan straightened, growing annoyed at Jake’s condescending attitude. He plucked a photograph from the stone mantel. “Her investigation had to do with Diane.” He thrust the frame toward Jake.

      Jake narrowed his gaze, his jaw stiffening. He took the frame, touching a finger to the image beneath the glass. “I loved your sister.” He met Dan’s stare, the edge gone from his blue eyes. “But she did something stupid and she died. It was an accident.”

      Frustration and anger eased through Dan. “She’d never use drugs. You know that.”

      “What about a drug her own brother helped bring to market?” Jake leaned forward, brows furrowed. “Maybe she wouldn’t think twice.” He set the framed picture back on the mantel, turning for the front door. “Stay away from the whole Rachel Braxton thing.”

      “It wasn’t an accident.”

      “The subject’s closed.” Jake yanked open the door, casting a warning glance in Dan’s direction. “I may be your friend, but I won’t hesitate to toss you in jail if you break into that house again.”

      The door slammed closed behind him.

      Dan crossed to the sliding glass door, stopping to stare out at the churning ocean. Rachel had found some proof of illegal activity involving Oxygesic, and whatever she’d found would lead him to the truth behind his sister’s death. He knew it in his gut.

      But where were her notes? They had to be somewhere in that house—somewhere he hadn’t thought of before her friend had interrupted.

      Jake could toss out all the threats he wanted. Dan had every intention of getting back inside Rachel’s house.

      KELLY CARRIED the box of sticky buns into the kitchen and pushed it to the back of the counter.