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Quinn observed his internal struggle. He offered the old familiar twist of a smile. The smile that was as much irony as humor. “I have an excellent security system, a very comfortable couch, and completely honorable intentions.”

Andy’s mouth tugged into an answering smile. “The magic words.”

“Honorable intentions?”

“A very comfortable couch. I think the mattress in Uncle C.’s guest room is made from corn husks.”

Chapter Fourteen

From the outside, the house on Chestnut Street was unchanged.

Located in the heart of historic Safehaven, Captain Rafferty’s house was a white, wood-frame colonial with a dirt-floor basement, two brick chimneys, and nine sets of black shutters framing tall front windows. It been built in 1825—and it looked pretty much every minute of its years.

It had been decades, maybe a century, since anything resembling paint had touched the faded, peeling exterior. The overgrown yard backed onto the ever-encroaching woodland, and a dirt track behind the house led to a separate cottage, where Quinn had lived during his last two years of high school.

The Rafferty “estate” was not isolated—nowadays there were houses on either side—but itfeltisolated. It had always felt like it stood in the middle of nowhere. Twenty years ago, it had been in need of a complete restoration, but it remained a valuable piece of property surrounded by other valuable pieces of property and some new construction.

Quinn carried the box of snow globes and Uncle C.’s sales ledgers. The only way someone could have known which of Uncle C.’s customers to track down would have been through the sales books, and Andy was determined not to give that someone a second chance to look through the ledgers. It was a miracle the intruder hadn’t grabbed them the first time. Carrying his leather weekender, Andy followed Quinn. Their boots crunched on the snow covering the brick walk, their breath hung in the night air. The snow had stopped, and the stars glittered overhead like painted flitter. The air smelled of woodsmoke and pine trees.

Quinn had taken such a circuitous route through the village, Andy had asked him if he was lost. To which Quinn, gazeon the rearview mirror, had replied absently, “Just making sure we’re not followed.”

That had doused the little flicker of adventure Andy had felt agreeing to Quinn’s offer of sanctuary. But walking up the slippery path to the house, breathing in the crackling cold air and smelling the spicy, mingled scents of woodfire, pine trees, and Quinn’s cologne, his anticipation—or at least, curiosity—sparked back to life.

Lamps in neighboring windows gleamed cozily through the trees. The light over the front door shone in a cheery welcome that had never existed when Quinn’s grandfather was alive. Or rather, the welcome had never extended to Quinn or Quinn’s friends.

Quinn unlocked the front door, stepped inside, and punched numbers into a security keypad. The red light turned green.

Quinn said in a stage whisper, “The coast is clear.”

Andy snickered obligingly, though his nerves were pinging like a signal in search of a cell tower. Quinn flicked on the overhead light.

“What the…” Andy stared at the empty hallway.

Every stick of furniture had been removed. The peeling paint and curling wallpaper, likewise, had vanished to be replaced by fresh white walls. In place of the ugly circa-seventies light fixtures hung clear contemporary pieces with a classic feel. The hardwood floors had been stripped, sanded, and refinished.

“I guess you’re serious about that open-concept thing.”

One thing hadn’t changed. The place was as cold as a barn. Despite an abundance of antique radiators, there had been no central heating. The two large fireplaces had supplied whatever warmth, physical and emotional, the house contained.

Quinn gave a short laugh. “An improvement?”

“It’s like a different house.”

“Itisa different house.” Quinn sounded a little grim.

“It’s so…open.”Emptyto be precise. But in a good way. In a dump-out-that-old-drawer-full-of-junk way.

“Yeah, no more secrets.”

No room for any self-respecting secret to hide. The house felt open, bright and airy in a way that probably had nothing to do with the fresh paint or the absence of old furniture. That was another thing. The house had always smelled old, had stunk of years of eroding pipes and bad drains and rotting upholstery.

And cigars. For Tiernan Rafferty, the smoking of his nightly cigar was a sacred ritual. To be shared on rare occasions with a select boyhood companion, like Chief Millard.

Quinn nodded at the double-width doorway on the left. “The fireplace is through there.”

Andy walked through the doorway, his footsteps echoing hollowly through the empty hall. The main room was long and wide and also empty of everything but a large leather sectional sofa and a couple of matching chairs circa Restoration Hardware.

“Have a seat,” Quinn said behind him. “I’m going to move the car around the back.” He set the box of globes and stack of ledgers in the doorway and vanished outside.