Nowhere to Hide by Nancy Bush Page B

unstacking them, restacking them, sneezing from the swirling dust she created, sweating from the heat that had built up. She went through twenty boxes before she gave up, swiping her inner elbow against the perspiration forming on her forehead and running down her temples.
    Finally she sank down into an old toile-covered chair with worn arms and tufts of stuffing sticking through the seams. There were more boxes than she’d counted on, and it looked like it might be a fruitless task anyway. She thought about going down to the basement, but couldn’t get up the energy. Besides, she hadn’t even made a dent in any of the attic stuff.
    What was she looking for? More artwork? What would that prove anyway? She knew the killer had the one piece. If she found more in the attic did that mean hers had been discovered by someone in her family? Maybe . . . but so far she hadn’t found any of hers or her siblings’ childhood memorabilia. Had it been moved somewhere?
    There was a whole pile of stuff in the furthest room from the stairs but it was barricaded by more forgotten furniture: chairs, tables, mattresses. . . . She glanced over it but it would take more effort than she was willing to put in to figure it out.
    The basement . . .
    Leaning her head back against the chair, she gazed up at the cobwebbed rafters and thought she could use a drink of water, or lemonade, or an ice-cold vodka martini. She would check out the basement in a minute, but she just wanted to sit a moment and think. What a day. She almost wished she’d gone with Sandler to interview Emmy Decatur’s parents again. She might have learned something more rather than just come here and get disheartened.
    And that meeting with Jake Westerly. She searched her feelings and shook her head. She didn’t want him involved in this.
    Pulling out her cell, she put in a call to her partner. Gretchen picked up quickly and said she was busy but to meet her at The Barn Door later. “Okay,” September agreed, then hung up, feeling a little left out. The only good thing was she didn’t have to explain about her interview with Jake, something she wasn’t ready to go into with Gretchen just yet.
    She thought back to the way he’d looked at her when he’d realized she’d put him specifically under the microscope. She’d seen disappointment and aversion in his eyes, and it had about killed her. She almost preferred thinking about the earlier meeting with her father, which was saying quite a lot about how much she didn’t want to think about Jake.
    When September had arrived at The Willows, Braden was in a deep discussion with July about the upcoming harvest and a possible “Crush” weekend, where guests were invited to help crush the grapes, taste wine, basically eat, drink, and be merry in a kind of festival. Braden abhorred the idea while July was thinking it would be great publicity for the winery. September thought it sounded like fun as long as she didn’t have to head it up, and said as much, which earned her a cool look from her father.
    â€œHow’s your brother?” he asked her in return.
    â€œAuggie’s fine.”
    â€œYou’re just like him, aren’t you?”
    His tone reflected what he thought about that, so she’d quickly changed the subject and told him about her desire to search the house, figuring she was on a downward track of his goodwill and she’d better get out what she needed fast. He brusquely told her she was welcome to look around the house and that he would talk to Rosamund about it, then he was gone. September and July had been left looking after his tall form striding away.
    â€œIs he as much of a pain in the ass as I think he is?” July had asked.
    â€œAuggie and I can’t do anything right, so yeah, he is.”
    â€œThat’s only because you went into law enforcement and thumbed your nose at all things Rafferty.”
    â€œYou, at