The Detective's Secret Daughter. Rachelle McCalla

turned to the older woman. “Have you been in the building for the last ten minutes? You didn’t hear anything or see anyone?”

      Charlotte’s dyed red hair in its choppy, gold-streaked cut fluttered as she shook her head. “I was in the northwest dining room, chatting with your brother Douglas and that pretty little Merry of his. Such a darling couple.” With that pronouncement, Charlotte planted her hands on her hips and turned to Victoria. “Everything was in the safe already, wasn’t it, dearie? You ran today’s report just before you left.”

      “Yes. The whole weekend’s receipts,” Victoria tried to stifle the deluge of emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. “We were too busy for me to make it to the bank Saturday morning. Friday through Sunday were in that safe.”

      Owen looked up from his notepad. “You’d already cleared out the cash register, even though Douglas and Merry were still here?”

      “Oh, yes.” Charlotte waved her hand, answering for Victoria. “We close at eight on Sundays, you know, and they were the last ones here. When I asked them if they wanted dessert, they knew it was close to closing time, so they paid for their meal before I brought them their pie. Told them to take as long as they needed. Got to talking with them—such sweet folks.”

      Victoria realized Charlotte might jabber on infinitely if she wasn’t interrupted. Her friendliness was an asset to the Sugar Plum, especially since Victoria preferred to stay in the kitchen, but the woman didn’t always know when to stop talking. “I’d just totaled out the cash register before I left to take the cookies up the street,” she clarified.

      “I see. So all the money was in the safe. Can you tell me what was taken?” Owen asked.

      Victoria squeezed her eyes shut. Yup, she could tell him exactly how much, but that didn’t mean she wanted to speak the words out loud, in front of her daughter and Charlotte, who would only worry.

      “Let’s get you up to bed, Paige,” Charlotte suggested. “It’s almost bedtime.”

      “But my cookie—”

      “You can bring it upstairs.”

      Paige’s eyes brightened and she consented to going upstairs with Charlotte. Victoria felt a rush of relief, glad Paige was leaving the room before Owen recognized anything of himself in her, or caught on to the significance of her age. As long as he didn’t find out when Paige’s birthday was, he likely wouldn’t make the connection.

      As the two headed for the door, Owen cleared his throat.

      Victoria tensed, fearful he’d ask Paige a telling question.

      But his words were innocent enough. “Is my brother still here?”

      “They left just before I came into the kitchen.” Charlotte shook her head. “I locked the front door after them. I’m sorry we didn’t see you come in or he might have come back to see for himself what was up, him being the police captain and all. But those two wanted a booth in the back corner, out of the way and to themselves. Didn’t even bring that little boy of hers with them, and you never see Merry without Tyler.” She gave her tongue a meaningful cluck. “That’s serious romance, if you ask me, getting a babysitter and all.”

      “Thank you,” Victoria whispered to Charlotte gratefully. “Good night, Paige. I’ll be up to tuck you in shortly.”

      “Take your time,” Charlotte said with a wink.

      Victoria wasn’t sure what the wink was for. Because Charlotte was removing Paige from the potentially traumatizing crime scene? Or because she was leaving Victoria and Owen alone? Charlotte had her own ideas about Victoria’s need for a man in her life, but Victoria had made it clear she wasn’t interested in romance.

      “Paige?” Owen called her back before she reached the steps. “Can I ask you one more question?”

      Paige turned back to Owen, patiently looking at him with eyes so much like his—because they were his. Fitzgerald blue eyes.

      “When is your birthday?”

      “January 10.”

      “And you turned nine this year?”

      “Yes.”

      Victoria worked up the courage to look at Owen. His attention was on Paige, and though he kept a kind smile on his lips, his blue eyes had hardened.

      “I’m sorry I missed it by almost two months. Happy birthday, a little late.” He dismissed her with a wave, and she carried her cookie happily up the stairs with Charlotte huffing along behind her.

      Owen stared after the little girl as she disappeared from sight.

      She couldn’t be.

      She had to be.

      Was Paige his daughter? Owen flipped to the calendar at the back of his notebook and counted off the months. Nine months before January 10 would have been April 10. Ten years before, he and Victoria had been together until mid-May.

      His head swirled and he tried to think. Victoria had left him, running off with Hank Monroe right after graduation. Paige was Hank’s daughter. Everybody knew it.

      Except the calendar indicated otherwise.

      Owen shook his head. Focus. He had to focus on the investigation. Ever since Olivia Henry’s death two months ago, the Fitzgerald Bay Police Department had fallen under intense scrutiny. Folks claimed they’d bungled the investigation of Olivia’s murder. People were demanding answers, afraid there was a killer loose among them.

      He couldn’t yet answer the question of who killed Olivia Henry, but he could investigate this break-in with a straight head, even though questions about Paige’s paternity rose like bile in his throat.

      Victoria had stepped around the center island. Was she trying to avoid him?

      Determined not to bungle anything, Owen turned his attention to Victoria. “Can you tell me what was taken?”

      Victoria looked across at the safe as though envisioning what had been inside less than half an hour before. “A red bank bag—the First Bank of Fitzgerald Bay. It contained all my receipts for the last three days.”

      “How much?”

      “This weekend was the best I’ve done since—” she swallowed “—since Olivia was found. Almost three thousand dollars. Only about five hundred of that was by credit card. The rest was cash or checks.”

      Owen studied her face as she stared at the open safe, either transfixed by its emptiness or else stubbornly refusing to look at him. The top button of her white chef’s blouse was open, and he could see a vein throbbing madly, indicating she was frightened. Of the robber? Or of him?

      The date on the calendar taunted him, and in spite of the year clearly printed at the top, Owen’s thoughts rushed a decade back in time. His life had been turned upside down in an instant. His cousin had been killed by Victoria’s father in a car accident, and Victoria had left town without contacting him, though they’d been seriously dating at the time. He’d tried to reach her, to let her know he didn’t blame her for what her father had done, but she’d left before he’d been able to find her, and soon the rumors had started flying.

      Victoria wasn’t the only person to leave town abruptly after graduation. Hank Monroe had left, too, and the rumor was that Hank and Victoria had run away together. Owen had wanted to deny it, but then Hank’s father, a respected judge, had told him to his face that it was true. Victoria had only been using him to make Hank jealous. She’d gotten her man. She had no more use for Owen.

      For ten years, Owen had tried to convince himself that he was over Victoria, that the only feeling he felt toward her was anger. She’d used him and left him without so much as a goodbye. And now, if the nine months between April and January and Paige’s Fitzgerald-blue eyes were any indication, she’d stolen something even more precious than his heart. She’d taken his daughter.