Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
They met with the police. Keaton had insisted they remain outside the house, not knowing whether or not Layne’s ex had broken in and caused damage there. Liza patiently waited with them, telling Layne that this wouldn’t affect her decision to represent Layne in selling the house.
That had caused Layne to cry, and he had wrapped her in his arms, murmuring comforting nonsense to her. He wasn’t a violent man—but if he ever came face-to-face with the asshole who had done this to Layne, there wouldn’t be much left of him when Keaton was done.
Two patrol officers arrived on the scene, and one called for a detective to meet them.
The cops entered the house, using Layne’s key, and reported back that the interior seemed intact.
Because of that, they waited for the detective inside.
Layne had encouraged Liza to go ahead and look around.
The realtor did so, telling them that the furniture was well suited for the house and would photograph well.
“I’m sorry this has happened,” Liza said.
“But you can file your report. Ask for a restraining order regarding your ex. I’ll call someone and have the garage repainted first thing tomorrow, and then we’ll photograph the inside and outside.
I’ll have the listing up by late afternoon if that’s all right with you. ”
“The sooner you can sell it, the better,” Layne said, sounding defeated. “Frankly, I don’t want any of the furniture. Either include it in the sale or help me find a place to donate it to. I want my clothes and photographs. That’s it. I can’t even stay here anymore.”
She fished Jeremy’s keys out of a bowl on an end table and handed them over. “It’s in your hands now, Liza. Thank you for handling the garage.”
The realtor hugged Layne. “I’m going to get you top dollar. The house is in great condition. The updates to it will really help in selling it.”
Layne blew her nose. “The previous owners did those. I just tried to take care of things once I moved in.”
Liza said goodbye. As she left, the police detective showed up.
“Detective Jeff Robinson,” he said, introducing himself. “I assume you’re Layne Larson.”
“Yes. This is Keaton Maxwell, a friend of mine from Driftwood Bay, near Corpus. It’s my hometown. Please have a seat, Detective.”
He took out a pen and opened a small notebook. “I saw the vandalism on the garage door. I’ve already taken several pictures of it for my report. I noticed you don’t have a Ring camera on your front door.”
She shrugged. “I never have much company. I also don’t have an habit, so I don’t receive many packages. I just never thought I needed one.”
“I’d advise you to rethink that, Miss Larson. These cameras aren’t expensive and offer a measure of safety and comfort. Do you have any idea who might have a grudge against you?”
“Although I don’t have any proof, I know it had to be Jeremy Riggs. We dated for the last five years. He lived here until a week ago, when I asked him to move out.”
Robinson made a note. “I assume it wasn’t an amicable breakup.”
“No, it wasn’t. I own the house, however. My name is on the deed, so when I told him we were through, I asked him to leave. He was angry. I informed him I would have his things packed and in boxes waiting for him on the porch the next morning.”
“Did Mr. Riggs ring the doorbell when he returned? Confront you in any way?”
“I was gone by then,” she said softly.
Keaton wrapped his hand around hers and looked at the detective.
“Miss Larson learned her parents had died that evening. Chief Roberts from Driftwood Bay, a family friend, flew up to give her the news. She flew to Corpus and rented a car there in order to drive to Driftwood Bay and has been there the past week.”
“I see,” Robinson said, scribbling furiously on his pad.
“I’m putting the house up for sale,” Layne informed him. “I only returned to Dallas to pick up the rest of my things. You passed my realtor leaving as you arrived.”
“You’ll be moving to Driftwood Bay?” the detective asked.
“Yes. My parents left me a bed and breakfast. Mr. Maxwell is helping me with renovating it. I’m leaving Dallas for good.”
Robinson asked for some background information about her and Jeremy. Layne explained how her company had been bought, and she had received a generous severance package and would be looking for work.
“I miss my hometown, Detective. I needed a change of pace, ending my relationship with Jeremy and leaving my job. Driftwood Bay is going to be home again to me.” She hesitated. “Do you think I should file a restraining order against Jeremy?”
“No,” he advised. “First, you have no proof that Mr. Riggs is responsible for the graffiti on your garage door. Of course, I’ll talk to your neighbors.
See if anyone spotted him or if they have a security camera which shows who might be responsible for the vandalism.
To receive a restraining order in the State of Texas, you need an abundance of proof, such as printouts of fifty unwanted emails or a series of text messages.
That kind of thing. While I agree that it’s likely your ex is responsible for the damage to your house, that one act alone wouldn’t warrant receiving the restraining order. I assume you have no contact with him?”
“None” she said firmly. “I’ve blocked him everywhere.”
“Then he won’t even know where you are living, Miss Larson. I’ll need your contact information.” He handed over his card. “I’ll keep in touch with you regarding the investigation.”
“My agent wants to put the house on the market tomorrow. She said she has someone who can repaint the garage immediately. Is that okay?”
“Yes. I have what I need. I’ll be contacting Mr. Riggs now and scheduling an interview with him. Since you’ve provided his work address, I’ll head there now.”
She snorted. “Let’s just hope he’s there. Jeremy doesn’t have the most reliable work record. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to tell you where he’s moved. Frankly, I don’t want to know. I don’t care to have anything to do with him.”
“But you do want to press charges for the vandalism if I can find proof he was involved?” Robinson asked.
“Definitely.”
Keaton was glad she said that as firmly as she did.
“I’ll be in touch after I’ve spoken with Mr. Riggs,” the detective promised.
“I’ll see you out,” Keaton said, accompanying the detective to the door.
He passed Robinson a card with his own information on it.
“In case you can’t get a hold of Layne, you can always contact me.
I’ll see she gets in touch with you. We’ll probably drive back to the coast tomorrow since my business is concluded and she’s turned over the sale of her house to a realtor. ”
“Thank you.” Robinson pocketed the card.
“I think it’s smart to get her out of Dallas as soon as possible.
I’m not saying that she’s in imminent danger, but her ex seems to be pretty angry with her.
If she’s gone from town and he has no idea where she is, it’s better for her.
I’ll make a note to have a patrol car swing by the house for the next week or so.
When Riggs sees the sign in the yard and learns it’s for sale, he could either back off—or it’ll push him to act out even worse. Best Miss Larson isn’t around.”
“Thank you, Detective.”
He returned to Layne, who looked totally wiped out. Sitting beside her, he slid an arm around her waist. “You look like you need some sleep.”
“Not here,” she said, shaking her head vigorously. “Pulling up and seeing the garage door that way, I felt so … violated.” Her eyes welled with unshed tears. “I wouldn’t feel safe here, Keaton. What if Jeremy broke in?”
“I think if he has the balls to come by again, he’ll see you’ve got the house on the market. Liza will have a lockbox on the front door. You know I’m handy. I can go get a camera and install one on the front porch and the back door right now if that’ll give you peace of mind.”
“No, don’t go to that trouble. I agree that once Jeremy sees I’m gone, he’ll let things go. He’s not that confrontational. It surprises me he did what he did as it is.”
“Where do you want to go tonight? We can stay anywhere you want. My treat.”
“I need to pack up some things. Not a lot. Just my clothes and a few miscellaneous items. I also need to make a list of things to do. Cancel the streaming services and the lawn maintenance. They aren’t due to start back until March.
Hopefully, the house will have sold by then.
And I have a maid that comes every other week.
She was my one luxury. I didn’t want to waste any free time I had having to mop and vacuum and swish toilets. ”
He leaned in and kissed her brow. “You can make the list in the morning. Go pack now. We can stay somewhere tonight and then swing by tomorrow and load anything you have in the back of the truck. Throw the tarp over it for protection on the way home.”
“Okay.” Layne stood. “I don’t think I’ll need twenty minutes. Why don’t you see what’s close by? Nothing fancy. I just want to sleep and get up in the morning and go home.”
He liked that she was thinking of the Bay as home again.
Once her things were packed, Layne was ready to leave her house and never set foot inside it again.
With electronic signings these days, she wouldn’t need to return to Dallas for the closing.
She trusted Liza Franklin implicitly and knew the go-getter would obtain the best price for her home.
The sale would be a nice nest egg. She could use some of it to go toward the inn’s renovations.
Layne didn’t know what she would’ve done if Keaton hadn’t been here with her. Already, she was dependent upon him. No, not just dependent. She needed him in her life.
And tonight would be the time to show him that.
Leaving her bedroom, she found him scrolling through his phone. He looked up.
“Just booked us double beds at a chain motel near SMU. They even serve breakfast starting at six in the morning. I figure we can eat, stop by here for your things, and then be on the road no later than seven.”
“Ugh. That means sitting in morning traffic. Maybe we could sleep in and then grab breakfast. Somewhere better than the hotel.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “Okay. I know a greasy spoon not far from the SMU campus. It’s got the best bacon ever. French toast that would make you cry.”
She laughed. “I have cried enough this past week to last a lifetime. My crying days are behind me, Mr. Maxwell. I suppose that means I’ll order the pancakes or maybe eggs Benedict.”
“You’re a sassy little thing,” he teased.
“My dad would tell you I have spunk.”
“Well, come on, Spunky. Let’s go.”
She looked at him in mock horror. “What have I done? Giving you an absolutely dreadful nickname for me.”
Grinning, he said, “It’s okay, Spunky. I’m sure you’ll come up with some equally obnoxious nickname for me.”
They went to his truck, and she steeled herself, looking at her house for the last time.
She hated that her final glimpse had that hateful word scrawled across the garage.
Layne decided she would get online after Liza posted the listing and pull some of the photographs from the site in order to have a better way to remember her first home.
No, it had never really been a home. It had been the house she had purchased and lived in, but she and Jeremy had never made it into a true home.
She hadn’t decorated for the holidays. Made friends with the neighbors and asked them to barbeques in the backyard.
It hadn’t been important to her to put out knickknacks or hang art on the wall.
Her next house would be different. It would be a home.
One she hoped she might share with Keaton.
Layne knew she was getting far ahead of herself.
She was coming off a long—and bad—relationship.
She had a lot of work to do on herself, but if he were willing, she thought fate had stepped in and placed Keaton in her life now for a reason.
Tonight, she would begin to show him how she felt about him.
They checked into their hotel. She carried her backpack, which she’d brought with her from the Bay.
It had PJs, a change of clothes, and a few toiletries.
He had a duffle bag. The clerk at the registration desk handed over their room keys and reminded them that breakfast was served from six to nine tomorrow morning.
“When is checkout?” she asked.
“Eleven.”
She hoped by eleven tomorrow morning that she would have made love with Keaton at least twice.
They headed to the elevator and rode to the fifth floor.
They were the last room at the end of the hall, which was quiet.
He unlocked the door and allowed her to go inside first. She dropped her backpack on the first bed.
He passed her and placed his duffle bag on the other one.
Layne walked over, picked it up, and set it beside her backpack, causing him to frown.
“Why did you do that?”
Layne stepped to him, entwining her arms around his neck. “Because we’re going to need every inch of that bed. I plan to have my way with you, Mr. Maxwell.”
His eyes lit in surprise, and then they darkened with heat. His arms went about her.
“Are you absolutely certain, Miss Larson?”
“Positively,” she said, her gut telling her this was the smartest move she had ever made.
Then before she could say anything else, his mouth came crashing down on hers.