Forcibly engaging the left side of his brain, he shifted into analytical mode. Why not get her contact information, ask her to stick close for a few hours, and take down her credit card number to cover the cost of the logs? There wasn’t much risk in that—unless the owner wanted to prosecute for trespassing and Christi bailed rather than deal with the consequences. That could complicate his life.

Taking into account the missing lock and the logs in the fireplace, however, it didn’t appear she’d been the sole trespasser. While vagrants were few and far between in Hope Harbor, evidence suggested someone besides her had been making himself or herself at home here. Rather than take legal action against Christi, the owner would be wiser to beef up security on the premises.

Pocketing his phone, Jack pushed through the front door and returned to the living room. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor beside her folded blankets, hugging her pillow.

“What’s the verdict?” Her tone was impassive, but a hint of trepidation lurked in her irises.

“We won’t be able to contact the owner for a couple of hours. I’d like you to stay in town until we get a reading from them. If you’ll give me your cell number, I can have someone call you as soon as we hear back.” He pulled out his notebook. “A credit card number would also be helpful if the owner wants you to pay for the logs.”

She reached for her purse, unzipped it, and withdrew the sort of pay-by-the-minute burner cell favored by the criminal element. “I don’t have a smartphone anymore. This is for emergencies, and I haven’t memorized the number.” She turned it on. Pushed a few buttons. Recited a number. Then she pulled out her wallet, extracted a credit card, and read off that number too.

He jotted both down. “Which name is on the card—Reece or Powers?”

Her eyebrows rose. “You ran my plates.”

“Normal protocol.”

“Reece—but I haven’t switched it on all my ID yet.” She dipped her head and tucked the phone and wallet back into her purse.

If she was reverting to her maiden name, did that mean she was divorced? And was a messy breakup the cause of her money problems?

The questions hovered on the tip of his tongue—but they weren’t relevant to the trespassing incident. Nor was she likely to answer them, in light of her previous reticence about personal subjects. So he settled for a query on a different topic.

“Why don’t you have a smartphone?”

“It’s an unnecessary expense.” She stood and gathered up her purse, pillow, and blankets, keeping her back to him.

She couldn’t afford a real cell phone? An item no longer considered a luxury but a necessity by the majority of people in the US?

Just how strapped was she for cash?