Chapter 28
The house had gone still later that night.
The guests were all in their rooms fast asleep.
Helen sat at the kitchen table, a yellow pad in front of her, her pen tapping as she worked out the final list for Christmas dinner.
She’d already made a menu, and Rebecca would be picking up and buying the grocery items she needed.
She felt like going herself, to get a break from Mr. Sykes.
It was the first time she actually wanted to leave the bed and breakfast.
She picked up the pad and turned the page to start a second list when the sound of footsteps broke the calm.
She glanced up. Mr. Sykes stood in the doorway, his hands tucked casually into his pockets, that creepy smile on his face. He was no longer wearing his suit but was now in his striped pajamas. “Couldn’t sleep,” he said. “Thought I smelled something good. You baking?”
Helen straightened and forced a polite smile. “No, just making a grocery list for the Christmas meal. Can I help you with something, Mr. Sykes?”
He slowly stepped further into the room. “No, no. Just thought I’d see if there was a late-night snack. Must be nice, running a place like this. Must bring in a nice income.”
She clutched her pen in her hand, but her mind was already clicking off her options.
Her phone was on the counter, the back door was ten feet away, and the utility drawer held a heavy flashlight.
“It keeps me busy. As far as the income, I don’t know.
I’m not the owner. I’m just the caretaker,” she said evenly, her voice firm.
Before Mr. Sykes could answer, a sharp knock sounded on the side door. Helen nearly sighed with relief. She rose quickly, her chair scraping the tile.
Oliver stood there, coat collar turned up against the December chill. “Sorry to drop by this late,” he said, eyes catching hers and instantly softening. “Saw your light on when I drove past. Thought I’d make sure everything was okay.”
Helen stepped aside, letting him in, the warmth of his presence filling the room. “Come on in. I’ll make you some coffee to take the chill off,” she said lightly. “You remember Mr. Sykes, don’t you, Oliver? He was here for Thanksgiving.”
Oliver’s gaze shifted to the guest, polite but steady. “I remember. Looks like you’ve made yourself at home here.” He glanced at his pajamas. Something behind Oliver’s eyes hardened. His tone was friendly, but authoritative.
Mr. Sykes smiled tightly, his expression shifting. “Evening.” He gave a short nod and turned toward the hallway. “Guess I’ll head back to my room.”
When he was gone, Helen let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Oliver leaned a hip against the counter, watching her with quiet concern. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said, setting the pen down. “He’s just … a little too friendly. I can make you some coffee if you want.”
Oliver’s mouth curved, just slightly. “No thanks. Keep your phone on you. And leave the porch light on. I’ll swing by again tomorrow.”
Helen found herself smiling back, a warmth unrelated to the kitchen heat spreading through her. “I will. Thanks, Oliver.”