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“Really, Amy?” I shook my head again. “You mention the love of solving mysteries and that got me thinking about that old key that Struthers left at the bed and breakfast.”
“I give up,” Amy said, tossing her hands up. “You have the most gorgeous, hunk of a man in love with you and you’ve got murder on your mind.”
I leaned across the table. “He may not be high on the suspect list, but I don’t think he’s off it completely, so solving the murder would be a good thing.”
“Good point,” Amy said and leaned across the table as well. “So where does our investigation go from here?”
“I do think that Struthers had some connection to Ian that he’s not aware of, but someone else may have been. Maybe information he wanted to give Ian, but another person didn’t want Ian to have.”
“And this key unlocks that information?”
“I don’t know.” I shrugged unsure of my own thoughts. “I just wonder why Struthers had an old, iron key with him. It’s out of place. It doesn’t fit.”
“I see what you mean, but that isn’t an easy answer to solve.”
“Maybe, maybe not,” I said. “If he brought it with him, then that would mean whatever it opened had to be here or why else bring it with him? I don’t know why the key haunts me, but it does, and I need to somehow make sense of it.”
“I’m here to help,” Amy reminded. “I know the police are investigating Struthers, but why don’t I see what I can find out about him.”
Amy had a way of finding out things and not from a search on the Internet. She did it the old fashion way. She hunted people down and talked to them.
“That would be great,” I said, “but whatever you do—”
“Don’t let your dad know,” Amy finished with a laugh.
I drove home and got busy writing. Everyone who knows me well knows that if they text or call me when I’m busy writing, I send a quick text back that says—writing. Nothing interrupts my writing—that was until Ian. I couldn’t ignore my cell when I saw he was calling.
“A film and pizza tonight?” he asked as soon as I answered.
“A movie and I’ll cook us an Italian dish. Sound good?” I asked, realizing how happy it made me that I’d see him tonight even though we’d spent most nights together.
“Perfect. I’ll bring the wine and, Pep,” —he paused briefly— “I really miss you.”
Did my heart actually just flip flop? As soon as the words left my mouth, I had my answer. “I really miss you too, Ian.”
“Ah cannae wait, leanna.”
I sat staring at the phone several minutes after he hung up. The man could do me in with his Scottish brogue alone. That was it. I was a goner. I had without any common sense, or an ounce of thought fallen in love with Ian. My eyes suddenly went wide, realization having struck me. I hadn’t fallen in love with a gorgeous male cover model. I’d fallen in love with Ian who happened to be a Scotsman. A man who shared the same interests as me.
Now I just had to prove he wasn’t a murderer.
“You know eventually I’m going to wind up in your bed, don’t you, leanna?” Ian whispered in my ear when we woke wrapped around each other on the couch the next morning.
“That depends,” I said.
“On what?” he asked, his arm snagging my waist a bit more snugly.
This was one of those times that I should have censored my words before letting them fly. “If you’re a murderer or not.”
He laughed, then placed his lips close to my ear to whisper, “Unwise of you to ask when I have a firm hold on you.”
I shivered, his warm breath tickling my ear. “True, but I don’t believe you would be foolish enough to kill the sheriff’s daughter.”
“You got me there. I wouldn’t be that foolish. I also know there’s not a chance of us making love until I’m no longer a suspect.”
I was relieved to hear him say that since while I’d lost my heart to him, my mind continued to make me see reason. “I’m glad you understand.”
“I do, which is why I want this murder mystery solved and once it’s solved…”
Ian let his words drift off and, of course, a shiver of delectable thoughts ran through me.
He nibbled along my neck, and I almost dragged him to my bedroom.
“Tea… I need tea,” I said, practically falling off the couch and hurrying to the kitchen, and I heard him laugh softly.
He stretched himself off the couch, his muscles rippling through the black t-shirt he wore and looking far too good for someone who just woke up. Didn’t the man ever have a bad hair day?
He sat himself in one of the stools at the counter. “You are so beautiful.”
