Free Thread on Arrival by Amanda Lee Page A

the bakery and picked it up.”
    I laughed. “I’m really stuffed right now. Can we save it for later? I want to see the rest of your apartment.”
    “You want to see my mess, huh?”
    “I do.”
    Shaking his head, he returned the cheesecake to the fridge. “Follow me.”
    I pushed back my chair, stood, and joined Ted in the hallway.
    He gestured to the right. “As you can see, this room is the bedroom.”
    Like the living room and kitchen, the walls were painted dark taupe. This room had white molding, which provided a stark and interesting contrast. In the middle of the far wall was a king-sized mahogany sleigh bed.
    An overstuffed navy recliner was in the corner. By the recliner was a magazine rack filled with detective, crime, and sports magazines and a remote control. A small television was mounted on the opposite wall. On the wall above the bed, a photo collage of the Oregon coast at sunset was displayed.
    There were matching nightstands on either side of the bed, and I noticed that the one on the right obviously got the most use. “You sleep on the right side,” I mused.
    “Yeah. Is that okay?”
    “Sure.” I could feel my face burning. “Um . . . let’s see that nightmare of an office.”
    The office was, indeed, on the messy side—especially when compared to the rest of the apartment. Like the kitchen, the office carried over the black-and-silver color scheme. A black desk and manager’s chair sat in the middle of the room. There was a laptop on the desk, but I couldn’t see much of what else was on the desk for the loose papers and file folders scattered on top of it. Against one wall were three tall silver filing cabinets.
    On the longest wall was a white dry-erase board. One side of the board contained writing that had been partially erased. The other side had been wiped clean, and C HESTER C ANTOR had been written at the top. Beneath Mr. Cantor’s name, there were two columns titled S USPECTS and M OTIVATION . In the
Suspects
column, Ted had written A DAM C ANTOR . Under Adam’s name was written T REASURE H UNTER, and under that was UNSUB. There was nothing written in the motivation column.
    “What’s an UNSUB?” I asked.
    “Unknown subject,” Ted answered. “This case is going to be tough. The old guy didn’t really go anywhere, so it’s hard to imagine he had any enemies.”
    “Other than the one under his own roof.”
    “There
is
that. But, as I told you earlier, Adam seemed honestly hurt by his father’s death.” He sighed. “I’m still waiting, though, to see if his alibi checks out.” He gently turned me toward the door. “Let’s try not to think about Chester’s death anymore tonight.”
    “Sounds good to me.” I didn’t know if that was entirely possible, though—for Ted or for me.
    He took my hand and led me out onto the veranda. He had a tan wicker glider and two chairs facing the mountains. In the corner was a large gas grill, which was currently covered. A small glass-topped table sat between the two chairs.
    Ted and I sat on the glider, and he slipped his arm around my shoulder. As I nestled against his side, listened to the distant surf, and gazed up at the stars, I knew I’d made not just the right choice but the
only
choice.

Chapter Seven
    W hen Angus and I got to the shop the next morning, the first thing I did was check my e-mail. Sure enough, one of the treasure hunters from the discussion forum had e-mailed me. He said he’d like to meet and that he’d stop by my shop “tomorrow morning.”
    I checked the date of the e-mail and saw that he’d sent it last night. Then I racked my brain to determine if I’d given any information about myself in the message I’d posted on the forum. I’d hoped to be at least a little ambiguous about my identity in case Chester Cantor’s murderer read the forum entries.
    I was thinking maybe I should call Ted and tell him what was going on when the bells over the door jangled to let me know I had a customer. Or,