7. Bailey

"Idon't get it. I don't have anything of much value. Helga didn't either." My voice croaked, and I slumped against the living room archway, staring in horror at the mess someone had made of my things. "Helga left me this house and a little bit of money. It's not enough to do more than basic maintenance, and, well, librarians rarely get wealthy from their wages. My point is, I don't own anything worth stealing. A few pieces of jewelry, perhaps." My gaze shot toward my bedroom. Was that also in shambles? "But they wouldn't fetch much at a pawnshop."

He strode through the rubble to my bedroom doorway.

I almost hated to look. Following him, I took in my bedding strewn on the floor, my bureau drawers emptied out, the jewelry box from Helga open on the top of the bureau, and the closet door open and everything inside disheveled, obviously sorted through.

"We need to call the police," he said.

With a nod, I did so, and they said they'd send a detective right away. Mystic Harbor was a small seaside town with three thousand and twenty-two people. I was sure Detective Carter would soon make a prompt appearance. What would he think of the latest installment in my life? Pure shame filled me. Helga Merryweather would never have allowed anything like this to happen.

"Anything missing here?" he asked.

"Should I look around before the detective arrives?"

He shrugged. "You can look. Just don't touch anything until he's taken pictures."

I snooped first in the living room, and Katar stood in the doorway, watching, his knife still in his hand.

I gestured to the blade. "You might want to put that away before he gets here."

As he slid it into the sheath at his waist, I tiptoed around the sofa and past the piles of books. "For some reason, I feel less violated in this room. I sleep in my bedroom. Knowing someone went through my things, touched my bedding." I sighed. "Knowing they were in that room feels more . . . intimate, I suppose." Utterly devastating.

Someone knocked on the front door, and I opened it, letting Detective Carter inside.

While Mozzie yipped and went over to sniff his shoes, he stood on the mat, his sharp gaze scanning the living room. Finally, he nodded and lifted his phone. Without commenting, he went around the room, taking photos, then moved to my bedroom. Mozzie followed, his tail wagging as if he and the detective were old friends.

I stood in the open doorway, cringing as he snapped pics of my lacy underwear flounced on the floor, my high thread count sheets stretched out like Mozzie had gotten a hold of them and run, and my skimpy nighties draped on nearly every surface. The intimate parts of my life should not be on display, even for those hired by our community to protect us.

"Anywhere else?" he asked, stopping beside me.

I swiped the tears from my eyes and shrugged. "Everything upstairs looked normal, didn't it?" I asked Katar, and he nodded.

"Come with me, then." Detective Carter entered my bathroom, and I hovered in the doorway. A few things appeared to have been shifted on the sink, but otherwise, the room looked untouched.

He opened the door to the loft and peered back at me. "You can wait here if you'd like."

"I don't keep much up there. Old clothing. A few things of Helga's. I store everything else in the garage."

With a nod, he climbed the stairs, returning a few moments later. "Looks untouched."

I sagged back against Katar; grateful he was here. How had I gone from being a strong, independent woman to someone who clung to a guy I'd only met today?

He'd fit seamlessly into my life already.

"Have you had a chance to inventory your things?" the detective asked.

"No," I said in a tiny voice.

Katar's arms tightened around me. Mozzie trotted over and sat, looking up at me and whining. My little friend sensed my distress and wanted to give me comfort. I picked him up, and he settled easily in my arms, looking between me, Katar, and Detective Carter.

"If you could take a look and let me know tomorrow, I'd appreciate it," the detective said kindly. "Someone's obviously looking for something and they think you've got it. We need to know if they found it or . . ."

Or if they'd follow me until they obtained whatever they were seeking.

After making a bunch of notes and taking more pictures, he left.

With Katar's help, I straightened the sofa and put my board games, puzzles, and books back on the shelves. After picking everything up in the bedroom, though we tossed everything in bags to be washed, I sunk onto the couch and tried not to cry. Mozzie hopped up beside me and laid his head on my thigh, looking up at me with mournful eyes.

"What's happening to my easy life?" I asked the room in general. "I feel like it flipped over or I was sucked into an alternate reality. I'm a librarian. I own this house, but I barely get by. I don't have wealth. I don't own precious antiques. What do they want?"

Katar sat beside me and tugged me up onto his lap, holding me.

"I don't know," he growled. "But I'm going to find out."