“I’m also one of the victims,” she argued. “And how are we supposed to figure out what happened if you just admitted you didn’t even have enough time to really look at the house? Plus, maybe something will jog my memory!”
It was a good idea, he had to admit, but he’d been burned by Maggie Carson’s enthusiasm one too many times.
“How about you just leave the police work to the police? Despite the thoughts that I’m sure fill your head, last I checked you weren’t law enforcement. In fact, last time I checked, you weren’t even a reporter.”
Maggie bristled. Her lips thinned. The air in the SUV seemed to go arctic.
And just like that Matt found a way to shut Maggie Carson up.
* * *
THE HOUSE AT the end of Birchwood Drive had a yellow door that stood out like a sunflower among a bucket of weeds. The moment they turned on the street, her eye was drawn to the door like there was a bull’s-eye painted across the front. It made Maggie feel a touch of warmth just looking at it.
Because man, had she fought tooth and nail with the homeowners association about it.
The memory of fighting for something, even as small as the color of a door, made the detective’s words’ sting lessen. But not enough to press him further about going to Dwayne’s. Instead, she decided to focus on another mystery.
Like what she had done after taking Cody to school the day before.
Her thoughts stalled when she realized something she hadn’t even thought about until the house was right in front of her.
“The sheriff said my car was at Dwayne’s but empty,” she said when he cut the engine in the driveway.
“Yeah?”
“Including my purse, which also wasn’t in the house.”
Matt nodded.
For the first time that day Maggie let her shoulders sag.
“So along with my car key, it’s safe to assume my house key is no longer in my possession.” Matt turned to the front door. He hadn’t thought about that detail, either. Maggie sighed. “You said you picked my lock yesterday morning? Another event I can’t remember. Think you could put on a repeat performance?”
The detective led the way to the backyard and to the back door with notable tension lining his shoulders. He kept his left arm tucked close to his stomach. Ready to unholster his gun, she bet. Something she might have deemed unnecessary under different circumstances.
“Give me a heads-up before you crack the lock,” she said at his elbow as they walked up the steps. “I might not remember what I did yesterday but I never leave the house without setting the alarm. I’ll need to run to the front door and disarm it once the door is—” Maggie watched, confused, as Matt opened the back door with no problems.
“Do you normally leave your doors unlocked?”
Maggie didn’t answer right away. She was listening for what should have been a familiar sound.
“Not on purpose,” she finally said. “But again, I always turn on the alarm before I leave. Or at least I thought I did.” She motioned to the house and met the detective’s eyes. “The alarm beeps until you disarm it and—”
“And there’s no beeping,” he finished, turning back to the open door. He unholstered his gun. “Anyone else live here?”
“No. Just me and Cody.”
“Anyone else have the code?”
“Only Larissa but she has classes until two today.”
Matt gave one curt nod followed by an equally curt order.
“Stay here.”
“Yes, sir.”
She moved to the side of the doorway as Matt held out his gun and went inside. Despite his order and her common sense, Maggie wanted to follow him. She wasn’t a stranger to taking risks, though admittedly she had taken a good deal less of them since Cody had arrived, but leaving the door unlocked and the alarm off? That didn’t sound like her. Not even memory-less her. Something must have made her leave in a hurry.
Or someone.
That thought was the glue that kept her feet in place while the detective spent the next few minutes going through the house. During that time she revolved through question after question in her head. No matter which mystery popped up about her blank yesterday, she never reached any memories. No leads. No answers.
“No one’s in here,” Matt said, reappearing in the doorway. His eyes found hers with a notable amount of suspicion. If it was directed at her she didn’t know. “Nothing jumped out at me that might shed some light on everything but then again, this isn’t my place. I don’t know what to look for.”
They walked into the house, both uneasy. Maggie felt her defenses—and sarcasm—rising. In the past few years her social life had declined. The people who frequented her house were few and far between. Not that she was unhappy with her life. She just wondered what conclusions the man had drawn from his pass-through.
He followed her as she went clockwise through the house, starting at the kitchen and ending in the living room. It was the heart of their home and most lived-in. Stranded toys mingled with books and blankets and other odds and ends that never seemed to get sorted to their rightful places outside the room.
The detective stood sentry next to one of the large windows at the front of the house. His gun was back in its holster but his hands hung at his sides, ready to do whatever was necessary.
Maggie took a moment to watch the man. She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t thought about him off and on throughout the years. Mostly when a case he was working crossed over the media airwaves. She might have switched from a reporter to a magazine writer but that didn’t mean she’d stopped reading the paper. But there had been moments, quiet moments, where the detective had crossed her mind without her conscious volition.
He’d just be there. Like he was now.
A man she barely knew.
A man who loathed her.
A man seemingly always in sync with the world.
Except when it came to her.
Maggie cleared her throat. She wasn’t about to give herself permission to think about the detective as anything but a pain in her side. No. She wasn’t allowed.
“Okay, so as far as I can tell the house is how I would normally leave it.”
“Other than the unlocked door and the disabled alarm,” Matt supplied.
“Yeah, except those. Everything else, though, looks like it did before the memory loss.” To prove her point further, she turned to the couch. “See, my pillow from the other night is still there—”
Maggie’s eyes caught on to a few details she’d missed. The strangeness of what she was seeing must have shown in her expression. The detective’s body language became more open. He faced her with a look split between curiosity and concern.
“What is it?”
Maggie walked to the coffee table and paused. She pointed to the contents on its wooden top.
“Those are my keys,” she said, thoroughly confused. “My house and car keys.” She started to pick them up as if the physical contact would somehow answer the questions starting to spring up in her head when she noticed something else between the table and the couch. “And this is my purse.”
“What?”
Maggie picked up her bag. She pulled out her wallet and flipped it open. Her ID, credit cards and money were inside. The same as she remembered it from before her memory blanked out.
“Everything’s