Free Winter at the Door by Sarah Graves Page B

like this with the fountain trickling in the background; she got the feeling that if a person lived here, everything would be taken care of for them.
    That there’d be a safety net, and that it might begin to feel a little tight after a while, as Missy had—well, she hadn’t said it, exactly, had she?
    She hadn’t needed to. “I see. You mean he doesn’t want you working? Because you’re his daughter, or—”
    Or because he’s a control freak?
The whole place wasn’t just neat; it was aggressively so. There was that handsome baby in the sunroom now, too, the circumstances of whose birth might not have been what Mr. Brantwell had wanted for his daughter.
    Missy wasn’t wearing a wedding ring and there didn’t seem to be any baby daddy around.
Don’t assume
, Lizzie told herself, but still, she was getting the strong sense that Roger Brantwell might be a little … 
Oppressive
was the word she wanted, actually.
    But Missy only looked more stubborn. “Dad’s protective, is all.” She rinsed her cup at the sink. “So thanks, but—”
    Disappointed, Lizzie got up, too. Anyone who could stay as cool as Missy had with Henry’s arm around her throat would’ve been good backup in the office. But …
    Just then a pleasant-looking older lady came in, wearing tan slacks, a matching sweater set, and pearls. Her short graying hair was well cut and her pretty, softly made-up face provided a lovely preview of what Missy’s would look like years from now.
    At the moment, though, that face looked … worried. Panicky, even.
    “Honey, where’s Jeffrey? I thought he was still upstairs in his crib.” The woman glanced anxiously around the kitchen.
    “No, Mom, I brought him down. He’s in the sunroom.” Missy smiled indulgently as her mother hurried to where the baby slept.
    “She’s just nuts about him,” the girl confided when she and Lizzie were back out on the long porch. “Loves him to bits.”
    Dusk had fallen and work lights had gone on in the buildings and around the yard. “That’s great. She must be a huge help. And does your dad love him, too?”
    Missy glanced sharply at her. “Of course he does. Why ask me a silly thing like that?”
    Across the yard, three guys in gloves and jackets helped a fourthhoist a piece of machinery onto the bed of a pickup truck. Lizzie turned back to Missy.
    “Yeah, sorry, it was a dumb question, wasn’t it? Anyway, if you change your mind about the job …”
    “I won’t.” A car turned in and its headlights started up the long driveway; another Escalade, Lizzie saw when it got closer, brand-new like the other vehicles.
    It pulled in by the shed at the far end of the drive, and a man in a tan sports jacket and slacks got out, hefting a canvas overnight bag and turning to send a searching look at Lizzie.
    “Help you?” he asked crisply as he crossed the porch.
    Well, he was a businessman, and this was after all his place of business, Lizzie thought. She smiled and put out a hand. In a businesslike manner. “Hi. I’m Deputy Snow.”
    Close up, Roger Brantwell was a tall, well-built man in his late fifties who looked like he’d probably been a quarterback in high school. Now his curly blond hair was receding and his strong, square jaw had a pouch of softness under it, to match the one over his belt.
    He took the hand Lizzie offered perfunctorily, then dropped it. “Is there some trouble?” His quick glance at his daughter suggested that if there was, she’d better not be the cause of it.
    “Not at all,” Lizzie replied quickly. “I just stopped by to say hello. And to say thanks,” she added. “Your daughter helped me out.”
    “I gave her a ride home last night, Dad,” said Missy, and he nodded, accepting this.
    “I see. Well. Nice to meet you,” he said, and Lizzie could read his thoughts about Missy on his face: too-short hair, too much makeup …
    She got the strong sense that to Brantwell, any makeup at all might be too much. “I know what