Free Cold Pursuit by Carla Neggers

everyone.
    Devin took another step toward her. “Did your dad find out you were snooping into Melanie’s background?”
    “No, I don’t think so. And I’m not that concerned if he does. He should have checked her out himself. He’s too trusting.”
    “Are they on their way up here? Is that why you’re doing this?”
    “No, they’re not on their way. Devin, please.” Her head was still spinning, and she didn’t want to start crying in front of him. “I just—Devin, the money…” She hadn’t wanted to get into it with him. He’d come to the café knowing something was wrong, and she’d refused to talk to him. She blinked back tears now and hoisted her pack onto one shoulder. Devin was right—it
was
heavy. “I’m missing a hundred dollars,” she said.
    “And you think I stole it?”
    She looked away.
    “Was it in your wallet?”
    “My kitchen.” She nodded back toward the front door of the guesthouse. It was divided into two side-by-side apartments—she’d had her pick and chosen the one with the better view of the pond and surrounding hills, so gorgeous when the leaves were turning. She’d never been afraid there. Not once, until today. “I keep a hundred dollars in cash for emergencies, and it’s gone.”
    “Where? A drawer, the freezer?”
    “Under a pot of parsley in the window. I check it every morning. I checked it yesterday morning, and it was there. I checked it this morning, and it was gone.”
    “There’s no sign anyone broke in?”
    “No. I worked late yesterday, then went on a bike ride.”
    “You don’t lock your doors,” Devin said. “Anyone could have walked in.”
    “I don’t want to discuss it.”
    She marched down the steps with her backpack and brushed past him, her throat tight, tears spilling down her cheeks. Her mother had probably called by now. Nora had turned off her cell phone. She didn’t want to talk to her. She couldn’t bear her mother’s grief—couldn’t handle having her mother dump on her to make herself feel better. Nora had talked to a friend whose father was a psychologist, and her friend had said that was what her mother did.
    It still seemed selfish and wrong not to talk to her mother when her husband had just been killed. She and Alex had truly loved each other.
    Nora continued down the stone path toward the gravel turnaround where she’d parked. The main entrance to the estate was a quarter-mile up the road. The air was chilly, but she had all the right clothes. She was a little afraid of staying up on the mountain at night this time of year. Elijah had lectured the class about the dangers of hypothermia.
    That was how his father had died in April, right before
her
father fell for the bitch Melanie over scones at the Three Sisters Café.
    Nora heard Devin behind her. Part of her wanted to run up to the Whittakers and let them take care of her.
    Maybe Alex was right and she was just a wimp.
    Of course, he hadn’t said “wimp.” He was the big diplomat, after all. He’d just had a talk with her about accepting herself, understanding her limitations, pushing herself in areas where she could excel instead of setting herself up for failure.
    In other words, she was a wimp.
    She’d never liked him that much. Even when he and her dad were friends—before he’d married her mom—she’d thought he was a jerk. When she’d mentioned her class with Elijah, Alex had laughed and said he’d like to see her down at the local army recruiting office. Normally she’d have laughed, too, and pretended she wasn’t hurt, but instead she’d summoned up the guts to tell him he was making fun of her and she didn’t appreciate it. He’d gotten this shocked look and said he just meant to tease her, not to demean her. He’d seemed so genuine, so serious, that for about two seconds Nora had believed he wanted a real relationship with her, one that meant something.
    Now he was dead.
    Murdered…
    She wondered if her father was as upset by Alex’s death as