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“No. It looked like it always does.”

Nobody had broken in. Yet. But if that was the plan, they’d probably wait until after dark. She hated the thought of those men pawing through her things.

“I’m going to have to lie low for a little while. Can you handle the gallery?”

“Sure thing. Where are you?”

Across the room, Ford shook his head.

“You’ll be better off if you don’t know,” Brooklynn said. “Suffice it to say, I’m safe.”

“Whose phone are you on?”

“I borrowed it from a stranger.”

Nodding, Ford turned his attention to the papers on the desk.

“All right, well… Of course the whole town needs you today of all days.”

“What do you mean?”

“Besides that cop, Ms. Whitmore called.”

Lois was the widow of Arthur Whitmore, the photographer and namesake of the award Brooklynn hoped to win.

“She wanted to know how your shoot went this morning.”

Brooklynn had forgotten she’d texted her mentor the night before, asking her to pray for favor. “Okay, I’ll call her.”

“And Graham Porter came in wanting to talk to you about the Old Home Days booths. The self-important windbag talked for twenty solid minutes, as if I have nothing else to do.”

“Sorry about that.”

“Oh, it’s fine. He did what he always does, pretending to be interested in your photos for his hotel. But we both know he’s too cheap to pay for anything valuable.”

Brooklynn was grateful that her only employee saw value in her work. She wished more people did.

“And Elvis stopped by.”

Ford looked Brooklynn’s way again, eyes narrowed.

Brooklynn imagined his reaction if she told him this particular Elvis was a woman, a sixty-something former flower child who ran a souvenir shop that sold handmade jewelry and seashell art.

“And don’t forget you got a call from the mayor last night. He wanted an update on?—”

“Yeah, I know.” Ian Prescott had roped her into chairing the Old Home Days planning committee. She worked with him and other local business leaders to put together the annual gathering.

Never mind that she’d barely survived the day. Life went on. Somehow, she’d have to figure out how to manage everything from where she was.

“And Owen came in, said he heard a rumor that you were in trouble.”

“Did he say where he heard that? I’m trying to figure out who started the rumors.”

“He didn’t, just asked me to tell you he’s available if you need help.”

“That was nice of him. If he comes back, let him know I’m fine—and that he doesn’t need to worry Delaney with any of this.” Owen and Brooklynn’s younger sister had been dating for a few months. He seemed like a nice guy, though Brooklynn didn’t know him that well.

“Will do. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“Actually, yeah. Could you call Frizzel Automotive and have them tow my Bronco to their shop? Ask them to leave it around the back of their building. It's parked at the top of the trailhead just north of the Ballentine mansion.”

“Sure. I’ll take care of it.” Jewel gave Brooklynn a rundown on the day’s sales—which were zero, so that didn’t take long. “But one couple seemed really interested in the seagull picture. They said they were going to think about it.”

In other words, Thanks, but no thanks.

“That’s it for now,” Jewel said. “You take care of…whatever it is you need to do. Stay safe.”

“Thanks.” Brooklynn ended the call.

“She seems competent,” Ford said.

“She is, very. Her family owns Webb’s Harborside, but she got tired of working for her brother.” Brooklynn was beyond grateful that she’d finally hired someone to help her with the gallery.

Still, she didn’t feel comfortable going very far away, even if someone could take her in. “I could go to a hotel.”

Ford’s lips pressed together. He wasn’t scowling or smirking.

He wasn’t smiling, either. After a minute, he shook his head.

“They’ll see you leave. Those smugglers searched the house and the property and didn’t find you.

As far as I can tell, they’ve moved on. Lenny gave up the search, but he could be staking out the driveway.

You’re safe here. If you leave, you’ll put yourself in danger.

I see no reason for you to do that. This house is big enough for both of us. ”

She was almost ready to agree, then remembered the conversation she’d overheard earlier. “You told Lenny that you’re not allowed to let anyone inside.”

Ah, there was that smirk. “Who’s going to tell on me?”

“I don’t want to get you into trouble.”

“It’s not…Nobody’s trying to kill me .”

Kill?

Did he really think those people had wanted to kill her?

Her reaction must’ve been displayed on her face because his eyes flashed, more frustration than sympathy. “Whatever. I’m just saying, you’re safe here. Stay or don’t stay. I don’t care.” He focused on the paperwork on the desk.

Leaving her to sit there, stymied.

If she stayed, it might get him in trouble, and it was obvious that she was the last thing he wanted to deal with. Even so, he was sacrificing his own preferences to keep her safe.

“That’s so sweet of you.”

He didn’t even bother to shoot her a glare.

“You’re really quite wonderful, aren’t you, under all that anger.”

“Do you mind? I’m trying to work.” But she was pretty sure she caught the tiniest smile fighting to break through his facade.

It seemed her grouchy friend was a lot like this old mansion. A little rough on the outside, but filled with beauty. And secrets.

The thought of staying, of ferreting out some of the house’s mysteries—and the man’s—had her fingers tingling with anticipation.

Not that she had time for that.

She needed to get back to work. Between the gallery, the contest, and the Shadow Cove Old Home Days festival, she had a million things to do.

But as long as she was stuck in the Ballentine Mansion, she might as well enjoy herself.

She swiveled and left the office, taking his phone with her. She just needed to make arrangements, and then this could work.

As long as nobody figured out where she was staying—not those scary smugglers and not Lenny—then she’d be safe.