Home Repair is Homicide 13 - Crawlspace (37 page)

BOOK: Home Repair is Homicide 13 - Crawlspace
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That he’d never get anywhere with it by himself. Not for the reason she’d thought, though. But because he didn’t want to do it without her.

Excitement coursed through him. “Look, I’ve got the research chops, what little we’ll need. The organization skills and the outlining thing … I’ve got that down, too.”

She laughed bitterly. “And what’ve I got, a good face for the jacket photograph?”

“No, no.” He turned to her again. “Carolyn, you’ve got the heart.”

It had always been true, he realized. What she’d said about the most important thing being the emotions …

Until now he’d never understood that, never felt it. And she always had. That’s why writing true crime had gotten to her, had burned her out, finally.

That’s why she was so good. “Look, Carolyn. I’ve got some of the
skills, you’ve got the others and more. I just don’t see why we can’t put all that together and come up with something great.”

She didn’t say anything. He thought he’d made a mistake. Then he saw her lower lip quivering.

“Maybe,” she whispered. “But … I don’t deserve it.”

It was probably the closest thing to an apology he’d ever get. But somehow, it felt like enough. Sliding a new CD into the player and turning it up—

“I don’t know why I love her like I do …”

It was one of his favorites, Talking Heads’s cover of “Take Me to the River”—

“… all the changes you put me through …”

—Chip felt as if he might just possibly be enough, too.

For now. Which, come to think of it, was all they had.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” he told her.

AND THEN THE LAST THING HAPPENED
:

It was just past four in the morning on the day after Chip Hahn and Carolyn Rathbone left Eastport when Bella Diamond woke suddenly, slipped out of bed, and padded from the room.

Her husband slept peacefully on; downstairs in his own room Sam slept, too, still sore but already remarkably recovered.

She continued on to the kitchen; even the dogs barely stirred while she made coffee and a slice of toast. She took her coffee to the laundry room, where she put on the clothes she’d left there, then in the back hall donned boots, a warm hat, and her winter jacket.

Outside, it was not yet light and the motionless hush was like a spell. She stepped quietly to avoid breaking it, along the dark sidewalk.

By the time she reached the Dodd House, she was tempted to turn back, but soon the door would have a new lock on it and it would be too late. A whiff of wild-animal stench met her nose in the front hall.
Closing the door behind her, she lit her flashlight, then continued to the cellar stairs and down them.

At the bottom she paused; the habit of fear died hard, and if a sound had come she might have run back upstairs and out the door again, and all the way home. But no sound did.

And the earring was down here somewhere. She felt certain of it. Anne’s last gift to her … She couldn’t just leave it here.

She had to give it a chance. At the cellar’s far end gaped the tunnel’s mouth. In trepidation, Bella approached it.

The smell of the sea coming out of it like cold breath set her heart hammering. At the other end, so much had happened. She didn’t even like thinking about it.

But she wasn’t going to the other end, was she? Only here, where in her rush to find where Jake had been calling from …

Calling for my help
, she thought with a quiet little moment of pride. It buoyed her for what came next: a few steps into the darkness along the rails.

That was where she’d glimpsed a gleam of gold. Just a spark, but … Her flashlight’s beam found it, centered on it.

Bending, she picked it up. A farewell gift, as it had turned out; not for the first time, Bella wondered what Anne might have known, especially at the end.

But she supposed she might never find out. Or not for a long time … Closing her hand tightly around her friend’s final gift to her, Bella glanced around the cellar, not fearing it anymore.

Goodbye, goodbye
, she thought.
To Anne, to all of it
.

Until we meet again … if we ever do
.

Then she went back up the stairs and along the hall to the front door of the old house, and stepped out into the light.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

SARAH GRAVES lives with her husband in Eastport, Maine, in the 1823 Federal-style house that helped inspire her books. This series and the author’s real-life experience have been featured in
House & Garden
and
USA Today
. She is currently at work on the newest Home Repair Is Homicide mystery, which Bantam will publish in 2011.

Crawlspace
is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2010 by Sarah Graves

All rights reserved.

Published in the United States by Bantam Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York

B
ANTAM
B
OOKS
and the rooster colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Graves, Sarah.
Crawlspace: a home repair is homicide mystery / Sarah Graves.—1st ed.
p. cm.
eISBN: 978-0-553-90727-8
1. Tiptree, Jacobia (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 2. Women detectives-Fiction. 3 Dwellings—Maintenance and repair—Fiction. 4. Eastport (Me.)—Fiction.
I
. Title.
PS3557.R2897C73 2010
813′.54—dc22
2009034573

www.bantamdell.com

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