Purebred by Patricia Rosemoor Page B

retire. He said he’d work until the day he died. Now someone had made that wish come true, had retired him permanently. Her eyes stinging once more, she set down the mail and then replaced the two chairs that had been pulled out from the table.
    Aidan helped her straighten up, at the same time examining the things that went through their hands—books, magazines, catalogs, souvenirs George had collected over the years. Everything was a mess, but nothing was out of place in that it didn’t belong. And if anything was missing, she certainly couldn’t tell.
    Entering the bedroom, she stood before George’s closet. “They went through everything in here, too.” She picked up a couple of plaid shirts that had fallen to the bottom of the closet. “When I realized George had gone missing, I came in here, you know, just to check. There was a big empty spot in the center part of his closet where he’d removed clothes…um, if he really did.”
    “His clothing was gone?”
    “It looked as though he’d packed up some things to take with him. And his small roll-around suitcase was missing. That’s why the police thought he’d gone somewhere on impulse. He left the big suitcase and most of his clothes and personal items here. It’s why I thought he would be back.”
    “But there was no suitcase buried with him.”
    That thought hadn’t occurred to her. “No, there wasn’t, but maybe—”
    “We didn’t miss it, Cat. The authorities checked the area thoroughly but found nothing more or the detective would have told us.”
    “I wasn’t even thinking about the suitcase when we talked to Pierce.” She bent over to pick up a pair of pants and spotted what looked like a piece of cardboard kicked to the back of the closet, right next to a full-size suitcase. “Why wasn’t the bag buried with George?”
    “Maybe the killer still has it.”
    “So did George pack the bag himself or did the killer pack it for him?” Cat stooped to get the small item from the floor, thinking the smaller bag would have been stored there. “If George packed it, then he meant to leave. Maybe he was afraid of something and felt the need to get out of town. But if the killer packed it…”
    “Then he would be trying to pull the wool over everyone’s eyes. But would he really have reason to keep George’s things?”
    “I don’t know.” Cat’s throat suddenly felt thick as she stood. “George could already have been dead. He could have been killed here somewhere on the property…” Staring at the cardboard she’d picked up from the closet floor, she frowned. “What the heck are these doing here?” She held up a book of matches to show him. “From Fernando’s Hideaway. It’s a bar just outside of town.”
    “Why are you so surprised?”
    “George didn’t smoke.”
    “Maybe he needed matches for something else—to light candles.”
    “But these are from a bar. George didn’t go into bars. His father was an alcoholic and it ruined the family. George swore he would never take a drink himself.”
    “Perhaps he was with a friend. You can order a soft drink or coffee in a pub.”
    “You’re probably right.” Frowning, Cat slipped the matches into her jeans pocket. “Although he really was a loner.” She thought a minute, then said, “We could check. It’s less than ten minutes to Fernando’s.”
    “’Tis been a long day, Cat.”
    “You don’t have to go.”
    “You need a good night’s sleep. We could go tomorrow night.”
    Realizing she wasn’t fit to drive, Cat nodded. “You’re right. I am exhausted.” If only she could sleep. “I’m running on empty now.”
    “Then let’s get you to bed.”
    Before she knew what he was about, Aidan took her in his arms. She stiffened—surely he wasn’t going to make an advance on her here. But all he did was hug her and hold her for a moment until she relaxed against him. He felt so good. And leaning on him felt so right. She told herself not to be foolish. No more