Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Emma sat in her usual spot at Eric’s kitchen island and watched Matthias eat the eggs she’d cooked. He was much better at the stove than she was. No contest. But if it came down to him or Eric in a MasterChef competition? Toss up.
While Matthias’s focus was on his plate, Emma took the opportunity to study him.
His dark hair was slightly disheveled, his strong jaw sporting a hint of stubble, there only because he wasn’t on the job.
She had to admit it made him even sexier.
His heavily muscled physique, a pair of scars on his face—one above his upper lip, the other transecting an eyebrow—and a nose that had been broken on more than one occasion solidified the tough-guy image.
And then there were those killer blue eyes that could scare the wits out of a criminal one minute and melt her heart the next.
He brought those eyes up to meet hers, and she felt the blood rise in her cheeks. “Do I have something on my face?” He brushed a hand across his lips.
“No.” She smiled. “I’m just admiring the view.”
The look he gave her drove away all thoughts of why they were sitting in Eric’s kitchen.
After a few flirtatious moments, Matthias grew serious and brought her back on task. “What’s the plan?”
Emma cleared her throat. “You’re the cop. What do you suggest?”
He shook his head. “We’re on your home turf. You know the area, and you know Eric and your sister. Think. Where would they go?”
You know your sister. At one time, yes. Now? Not even a little. Or maybe she did. “Our farm. Nell would want to be on our family farm.” Even though both houses had been destroyed by an arsonist.
Matthias stood. “All right then. That’s where we’ll start. I’ll load the dishwasher. You write a note for Eric in case he comes back.”
“Should we take his phone with us?”
“No.” Matthias dug the phone from his pocket and placed it in front of her. “Leave it with the note. That way he can call you when he comes home.”
At least Matthias hadn’t said if he comes home. She was trying to keep her worries hidden, but she could think of no acceptable reason for Eric to leave without a way to reach him.
* * *
The rain had diminished to a light drizzle by the time Emma directed Matthias to make the right turn into her farm’s lane.
Her farm had once been her parents’, her grandparents’, and her great-grandparents’ property.
The driveway was overgrown and rutted, and the Jeep jounced up the rutted incline before the road gradually leveled out for the rest of the climb.
Both her dad and grandfather had griped about the grade.
They’d discussed hiring a local company with heavy equipment to reroute the lane, but neither lived long enough to tackle the project.
What had once been a farmyard looked like a hayfield overdue for harvest. The grass and weeds that had been knee high during her visit two months earlier were now nearly chest-high and gone to seed. Unlikely or not, Emma hoped to find Eric’s car here along with him and Nell wandering the fields.
“Where should I park?” Matthias asked.
“Keep going. The barn is still standing.” At least, it had been in June.
He continued to the crest of the hill and came to a stop. The old, weathered barn was indeed still there, and a small car—not Eric’s—was parked halfway between them and the venerable structure.
“Who’s that?” Matthias asked warily. “The developer who wants to buy the farm?”
“I don’t think so. I imagine Sonny Jones drives something more substantial.”
Matthias continued at a crawl toward the car, which bore a bumper sticker stating Treasure Hunter. He stopped a few feet behind the car and shifted into park. “Stay here.”
“No problem. Just be careful. It’s not hunting season, but that may not stop everyone.”
He grunted a response and stepped out of the Jeep.
As Matthias approached the car, Emma twisted in her seat, scanning the surrounding fields.
She spotted a figure wearing rain gear about a hundred yards away, on what had been a path between the farmhouse and the barn.
From the slow, side-to-side sweeping motion, she realized the person was using a metal detector.
Emma climbed out, her jeans immediately dampened by the wet grass.
She waved to catch Matthias’s attention and pointed.
At the same moment, the treasure hunter spotted them, raised a hand, and called out, “Hello!” The voice was definitely feminine.
Emma joined Matthias next to the car. The woman retrieved a second item from the ground and hiked up the hill, battling her way through the tall grass and weeds.
“Hello,” she said again as she grew closer, then pulled up short. “Emma?”
It took a moment for recognition to set in. “Fran?”
The woman let out a whoop, dropped her metal detector—and the second gadget, which Emma could now see was a weed whacker—and closed the distance between them, throwing her arms around Emma, soaking her shirt. “It’s been ages. What, ten years? Twelve?”
“About that.” Emma disengaged from the woman’s embrace and turned to Matthias. “This is an old friend from school. Frances Goodwin, meet Matthias Honeywell.”
“Fran, please.” She thrust out a hand to him. “Do I call you Matt?”
He clasped the hand. “Matthias.”
Emma bit her lip. At least he hadn’t told her “Detective Honeywell”.
“Matthias it is.” Fran swung toward Emma and noticed her sodden shirt front. “I’m so sorry. I forgot I’m all wet.”
“It’s okay.” Heat and humidity were on the rise, and the damp clothes felt good against her skin. “Are you still working at the urgent care center?”
“Nope. I got a job in the ER at Washington Hospital about five years ago. Been there ever since.” Fran planted her hands on her hips. “I heard you’d moved to Erie and were selling this place.”
“I am living in Erie, for now.” The moment the last two words slipped out, Emma noticed Matthias tense. “As for selling the farm? I haven’t made a decision yet.”
“Oh? Sonny talked like it was a done deal.”
Not a done deal. “You’ve spoken to Sonny?”
“Yeah. And Eric. I was under the impression that it was just a matter of ironing out a few details.”
“Have you seen Eric recently?”
“A couple of days ago, yeah.” Fran returned to pick up her metal detector and weed whacker. “He’s the one who gave me the okay to come out here. See what kind of old coins I might find.”
Over the years, others had used similar gizmos in search of anything of value. She told Fran what she’d always told them. “My grandfather was so tight with his money, he squeezed a silver dollar until the eagle screamed.”
Beside her, Matthias snickered.
“He kept a close count of every cent. I doubt very much you’ll find anything.”
“You may be right about the coins. But—” Fran reached into her slicker’s pocket and came up with a rusty hoof pick. “I found this. Yours, I gather.”
The artifact from her younger years crushed her heart. Her entire life had once revolved around this place. Parents. A sister. Horses. A home. Now it was all gone, and the sight of a mere grooming tool nearly dropped her to her knees.
Matthias must’ve sensed it. He put a steadying arm around her waist. “When you last saw Eric,” he said to Fran, “did he happen to mention plans to leave town?”
“No.” She returned the hoof pick to her pocket.
Emma noted that Fran did not offer to give it back to its rightful owner but decided against mentioning it.
“Why?” Fran asked Matthias.
He didn’t reply. Instead, he asked, “Have you seen Emma’s sister around?”
“Nell?” Fran’s gaze flitted to Emma and back to Matthias. “Not in years.”
Emma didn’t have to wonder if Fran knew about Nell’s drug problems. Her suddenly hushed tone spoke volumes.
“How is she?” Fran whispered.
Again, Matthias dodged the question by asking his own. “How well do you know this Sonny Jones?”
Fran studied Matthias, and her gaze narrowed. “I have to say, you sound like a cop.”
He gave her an easy smile. “Do I?”
Emma covered her mouth to keep from laughing. She’d known him long enough to recognize the smile he used on suspects versus his real one. This was the former.
Fran held his gaze for a few more seconds before speaking. “I went to school with Sonny. Just like Emma did. From kindergarten through senior high.” Before risking further interrogation, Fran faced Emma with a wide grin. “It’s been great seeing you, but I should be getting home.”
Emma took the hint and moved clear of the car. Matthias extended an open palm toward Fran. She eyed it and started to reach toward it, to shake hands.
“I’ll take that hoof pick,” he said, his voice a low rumble, “and anything else you picked up on Emma’s property.”
“But—”
“She didn’t give you permission to be here.”
Emma considered stopping him. Eric had been acting on her behalf where the farm was concerned since last winter, after all. But she remained silent. If Fran had only found junk, Emma would return it to her. After she inspected what was in Fran’s pockets.
Fran’s cheeks blazed. She dug her hands into her slicker and retrieved a fistful of small objects, which she reluctantly deposited onto Matthias’s palm, including the rusty hoof pick. He didn’t move, waiting.
“That’s all there is,” she said, squeaking. “Honest.”
He turned to Emma and dropped the items into her cupped hands.
She was aware that Fran was watching her, fists clenched. Besides the hoof pick, there was an old belt buckle, a plain silver ring, a horseshoe nail, and a skeleton key, possibly from one of the farmhouse’s doors.
Fran appeared ready to snatch her treasures from Emma’s hand, so Emma closed her fingers around them and lowered both arms to her sides.
Disgruntled, Fran turned to Matthias. “Can I go now?”
“Absolutely.” His bogus smile was back. “I’ll move my Jeep out of your way.”
She didn’t give him a chance to change his mind. With a quick nod at Emma, Fran jumped into her car. Instead of backing out or attempting a U-turn, she drove toward the barn where there was more space to turn without the risk of getting stuck in wet grass.