I crept further into the kitchen where I could see into the living room and the heart-thudding scene turned my legs to jelly and answered my question.

The living room was a mess!

My large floor-to-ceiling bookcase had been pulled away from the wall and rested on its back on the floor. Books lay strewn in piles around it, their formerly pristine pages torn and creased. The cushions had been tossed from the sofa and chairs and lay about the room.

My heart thudded against my ribcage as I ran back to the porch, my fingers tapping Augusta’s number on my cell phone.

Even though I was sure no one was still in the house, I sat on the porch and waited for Augusta to arrive. It didn’t take long and within ten minutes, I was back in the living room with her, my stomach sinking at the sight of my ruined book collection.

“Did they take anything?” Augusta frowned at the overturned bookshelf.

I studied the pile, the feeling of being violated blooming in my gut. “Impossible to tell.”

“What about the rest of the house?”

“I haven’t looked. I saw the mess in here and called you right away.”

“Okay, let me check it out.” Augusta headed toward the stairs, peeking first into the dining room on the other side, and then headed up.

I was about to follow her when another car pulled into my driveway.

Striker.

He jumped out of the car, bounding into the kitchen. My stomach lurched and I wondered if he was thinking about the last time he saw me—when I threw up on his shoes.

He didn’t seem to be holding that against me now. He rushed to my side and it seemed like he was going to hug me until he stopped short, just inches away. Probably trying to keep his shoes at a safe distance.

“Chance, are you okay?” My heart warmed at the concern in his eyes.

I ran my hands through my curls. “Yeah, I’m fine. I came home and found my living room in shambles.”

“Let’s see.” He led the way into the house and we entered the living room just as Augusta was coming down the stairs.

Striker eyed the mess. “Is that the extent of the damage?”

“I think so,” Augusta answered. “Nothing out of place upstairs or in the dining room or kitchen.”

“I don’t understand,” I said. “What would someone want in here? I don’t have anything valuable or important. Do you think this has something to do with Lavinia’s murder?”

Striker and Augusta exchanged a glance. Did they know something I didn’t?

Striker shrugged. “You never know.”

“But I didn’t have any bronzes or anything on the shelf. Just books.”

“Were any of them valuable … or did you have any of those hollowed-out books that you can hide stuff in?” Augusta asked.

I shook my head.