âWhat took the sheriff so long? Why did they spend so much time in her apartment?â
Uneasiness twitched through Ridge. He didnât want to face this.
âRidge?â Sylvie prompted. âYouâre frightening me. What arenât you telling me?â
âGingerâs death has been deemed suspicious.â
âSuspicious?â
âHer apartment had been ransacked.â
âYou mean someone broke in? Maybe youâve got it wrong,â Sylvie said.
Why couldnât she just accept what he said? âGingerâs eyes were closed,â he snapped.
âWhat does that mean? Youâve not making sense.â
âIt means after Ginger fell someone was there and shut her eyes. It was no accident.â
now lives in Wisconsin with her husband, her real-life hero. They raised a son and daughter together. Lyn has spent her adult life as a schoolteacher, a full-time mom and now a writer. Her favorite food is watermelon. Realizing that this delicacy is only available one season out of the year, Lynâs friends keep up a constant flow of watermelon giftsâcandles, wood carvings, pillows, cloth bags, candy and on and on. Lyn also enjoys crocheting and knitting, watching Wheel of Fortune and doing lunch with friends. By the way, Lynâs last name is pronounced Coty.
Lyn enjoys hearing from readers, who can contact her at P.O. Box 864, Woodruff, WI 54568 or by e-mail at [email protected].
DANGEROUS SECRETS
Lyn Cote
âDo not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moth and rust do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal.â
âMatthew 6:18â20
âFor the love of money is a root of all kinds of evil. Some people, eager for money, have wandered from the faith and pierced themselves with many griefs.â
â1 Timothy 6:9â10
To Eunice, Ed and Jeanine,
thanks for a great summer!
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
EPILOGUE
QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION
March 1
Sheâd managed to climb in a rear window, her heart pounding with fear and exertion. Had anyone seen her? At this time of night in this little burg? She doubted it. Standing in the apartment lit only by her flashlight and thin moonlight coming through the windows, she laid her flashlight on the floor. Where should she start looking? It had all seemed so easy when the idea had first come to her.
She approached a built-in bookcase. As she reached up to remove the books from the top shelf, it began. The wall in front of her eyes started to undulate as if an earthquake were taking place. Then the floor beneath her feet began to ripple. She staggered and caught hold of the bookcase, cursing.
And then she heard footsteps coming up the stairs. Or was that just part of the flashback, too?
March 2
Sylvie, I am going to wow you with a big surprise tomorrow! What could Gingerâs wow surprise be? This question kept bobbing to the surface of Sylvie Pattersonâs mindâinterrupting her work. She sat at her PC near the front of her store, My Favorite Books, answering customer e-mails.
Last night Ginger, her favorite cousin, had blown into Winfield, intending to spend the next two months in her apartment above Sylvieâs bookstore. Just a few years younger than Sylvie, Ginger would be busy âpolishingâ her dissertation on Alaskan whales. Last night Ginger, with her long, curly red hair and golden freckles, had been more effervescent than usual.
And in just a few more minutes, Sylvie would close up shop and find out what Gingerâs big secret was.
The little bell on her shopâs door jingled and cold air swished inside. In the off-season, Sylvie didnât usually look up from her monitor to see whoâd come in. But today it might be Ginger.
She glanced up. Not Ginger.
Ridge Matthews looked back at her. He stood there against the wall, which was lined with shelves and shelves of books.
Waves of recognition on so many different levels undulated through her. So much history lay between them. A tide of remembrance billowed in the conscious silence between her and Ridge. Ridge was still tall but not too tall, still broad-shouldered, and still possessed the same dark brown, nearly black, very serious eyes. Only a few glints of gray in his short-cropped hair reminded her that eighteen years had passed since heâd been a year-round resident of Winfield.
âSylvie,â he acknowledged her with the grave voice heâd acquired that awful summer night eighteen years ago.
âRidge,â she returned the greeting and forced a smile. She rose, holding out her hand. Iâm surprised to see you, Ridge, but not unhappy. Never unhappy.
As if there were an invisible line etched in sand between them, he hesitated a split second and then came forward and gripped her handâbriefly.
He was still as buttoned-up as his black wool winter coat. Last December, sheâd glimpsed him at a wedding, another of his rare visits. And now she thought she knew his reason for appearing here today. âAre you looking for Ben?â she asked. âHeâs running an errand for me.â