Hidden Motive by Hannah Alexander

ambled toward her, the light from the gable windows casting the dark line of his eyebrows and hair in sharp relief against the winter paleness of his skin.
    â€œI didn’t realize I was making noise.”
    â€œWhat’re you doing up here in the dark?” he asked.
    She replaced the box lid she held. “I turned off my light when I heard you. I didn’t know who it was. Instinctive reaction. I always was a little nervous up here alone.”
    â€œSo why come up here at all?”
    â€œWhat’s it to you? It’s my family home.”
    â€œWhoa. A little cranky, are you?” Craig paced along a row of boxes. He picked up the bowl of an old butter churn. “Your company isn’t the most congenial group, is it? That would make me cranky, too. I heard Audry and Perry arguing about his case being searched when I came in from chopping wood.”
    â€œAre the limbs still falling like rain?” Sable asked, deliberately changing the subject.
    â€œIt’s not as bad as it was. Bryce helped some, but I didn’t let him stay out long. Murph’s out chopping now.”
    â€œWhere are the others?”
    â€œBryce is lying in front of the fire with the dog. Audry’s examining the antiques in the family room. No telling where Simmons is. Perry’s probably in his room, guarding his case.” Craig replaced the churn. “You have to admit it’s curious. You should have felt that case last night. Heavy. I picked it up once to put it out of the way, and Perry watched me like a mother watching a stranger hold her baby. What do you think he’s carrying in that thing?”
    â€œIt’s none of my business,” Sable said. Or was it? “Maybe he’s carrying a laptop and doesn’t want it stolen.”
    â€œA forty-five pound laptop? Get real, Sable.” Craig’s eyes flashed with curiosity. “Like you said, it’s your home. I’d watch everybody a little closer.”
    Sable dusted her hands together and bent over another box.
    â€œUh, Sable?” Craig took a slow step closer to her.
    She glanced at him over her shoulder.
    â€œIs something wrong?” he asked.
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    He stepped around a box. His candid brown eyes narrowed. “Why did you turn around and come straight back home? You’ve had a wreck, you nearly died on the cliff this morning, and today you’re as jumpy as a buck during hunting season. Is it money?”
    â€œMoney?”
    â€œLook, I know this place cost a lot of money to fix up, and it’s not bringing in any income since it isn’t being farmed anymore.” He hesitated, glancing around the attic. “I wasn’t going to bring this up yet, but…well…when your family decides to sell, I want to be first on the list, before you call a Realtor.”
    â€œSell?”
    Craig cleared his throat. “Now, don’t turn me down just like that. I have more money than you think. The boat dock brings in a good living. My expenses aren’t much, and I’ve stuck a lot in the bank. Enough to pay half down on the asking price.”
    â€œAsking price? Craig, Grandpa’s not even cold in the grave yet, and you’re already after his property?”
    â€œHey, don’t get mad. I just offered to buy the place, not burn it down. My parents got an offer for their property—they need the money to help fund Dad’s campaign. I’ve always liked this place. You know that.”
    She straightened to scan the rear wall with her flashlight beam. “You sound like Otis Boswell—or didn’t you know he was trying to buy Grandpa out, too?”
    There was a long silence, and she turned to look at Craig, whose brows had drawn together in a scowl. “Josiah didn’t sell, did he? Not to that goon.”
    â€œNo, but do you have any good reasons why we shouldn’t? Boswell’s got the funds.”
    â€œFilthy