“The citizens of Riggs Crossing have questions.”

“Don’t we all?”

He started to close the door.

“You’re Riggs Crossing’s golden boy. The man who comes from San Francisco and makes good in this small town.”

“I’m not from San Francisco.”

“But your family is,” she reminded. She dug in the pocket of her coat, retrieved a card, and thrust it at him.

Bobby snatched it from her gloved fingers.

“Tomorrow,” she said as he shut the door.

“That was rude.” Bobby stared down at the business card.

James closed his eyes for a second and thought he heard a floorboard squeak overhead. “What was that?”

“I think you may have unwanted guests upstairs. Ralph went nuts at the attic door. Must be a nest of critters up there.”

James frowned, but found he didn’t care as he looked through the window and watched Charity Spritz’s silver van drive back through the gate and along the lane leading to the main road. Good. “You get my things?” he asked Bobby.

“Right here.” Bobby held up the plastic sack from the hospital. It was obviously fuller than it had been when they’d arrived.

“Let’s go.” He was tired and just wanted to lie down.

“Okay, but I think it’d be in your best interest to talk to that reporter,” Bobby advised as they walked back through the destroyed dining room and kitchen. “If Megan doesn’t show up, it’s only gonna get worse. Wouldn’t hurt to have a friend in the press.”

“I’ll think about it,” he promised and watched as Ralph lagged back, whining at the base of the stairs.

“Fool dog,” Bobby muttered. “He’s been acting strange ever since that night—ever since you’ve been gone.”

James gave a sharp whistle, and Ralph bounded into the kitchen. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 12

Rebecca expelled a long, pent-up breath.

Phew.

She literally almost wiped her brow.

The house was dead quiet and had been for ten minutes. She was alone. No sound of the dog whining or paws clicking, no conversation from downstairs, no longer any strip of light under the door. Just the rumble of air through the heat ducts and the pounding of her own heart.

She’d heard them leave and now peered through a slit in the blinds as the headlights of a van lit up the lane and disappeared around the corner. She waited at the window until the red glow of taillights vanished through the veil of falling snow.

Carefully, mentally crossing her fingers, she inched to the door, then hesitated, her hand on the knob.

What if they’d left the dog?

She thought she’d heard the shepherd commanded to “Come,” but wasn’t certain what that had meant. Had he taken the dog with him, locked him in a kennel?