Just the mention of that house conjured up some wild memories in people’s minds. Dylan had heard the house finally sold to a real estate property manager, and apparently the company had found a sucker.
“Are you sure you want Number Two Timberline?” Lewis clarified, turning his attention to the woman in front of him. “That’s the old Donnelly place.”
“That’s right. I leased it for the next six months.”
Dylan pulled his hat back down his forehead. “No one’s lived there for a while.”
“Really? The realtor never told me that. How long has it been empty?”
Lewis Plummer was a true gentleman, and one of the few people in town who didn’t outright lie to flatlanders. Lewis had also been born and raised in Gospel, where prevarication was considered an art form. He shrugged. “A year or two.”
“Oh, a year or two isn’t too bad if the property has been maintained.”
Maintained, hell. The last time Dylan had been in the Donnelly house, thick dust covered everything-even the bloodstain on the living room floor. MZBHAVN was in for a rude shock.
“Do I just follow this road?” She turned and pointed down Main Street where it curved along the natural outline of Gospel Lake. Her fingernails had that two-tone French manicure that Dylan had always thought was kind of sexy.
“That’s right,” he answered. From behind his mirrored glasses, he slid his gaze to the natural curves of her slim hips and thighs, down her long legs to her feet. One corner of his mouth turned up, and he fought to keep from laughing outright at the peacocks painted on her silver-toed boots. He’d never seen anything like them this side of a rodeo queen. “Keep driving about four miles until you come to a big white house with petunias in the window boxes and a swing set in the yard.”
“I love petunias.”
“Uh-huh. Turn left at the house with the petunias. The Donnelly place is right across the street. You can’t miss it.”
“I was told the house was gray and brown. Is that right?”
“Yeah, that’s how I’d describe it. What do you think, Lewis?”
“Yep. It’s brown and gray, all right.”
“Great. Thanks for your help.” She turned to leave, but Dylan’s next question stopped her.
“You’re welcome, Ms.-?”
She stared at him for a prolonged moment before she answered, “Spencer.”
“Welcome to Gospel, Ms. Spencer. I’m Sheriff Taber and this is Deputy Plummer.” She said nothing and he asked, “What are you planning to do out there on Timberline Road?” Dylan figured everyone had a right to privacy, but he also figured he had the right to ask.
“Nothing.”
“You lease a house for six months and you plan to do nothing?”
“That’s right. Gospel seemed like a nice place to vacation.”
Dylan had a doubt or two about her statement. Women who drove fancy sports cars and wore designer jeans vacationed in “nice” places with room service and pool boys, like Club Med, not in the wilderness of Idaho. Hell, the closest thing Gospel had to a spa was the Peterman’s hot tub.
“Did the realtor mention old Sheriff Donnelly?” Lewis asked.
“Who?” Her brows scrunched together and dipped below the bridge of her sunglasses. She tapped an impatient hand three times on her thigh before she said, “Well, thank you, gentlemen, for your help.” Then she turned on her fancy boots and marched back to her sports car.
“Do you believe her?” Lewis wanted to know.
“That she’s here on vacation?” Dylan shrugged. He didn’t care what she did as long as she stayed out of trouble.
“She doesn’t look like a backpacker.”
Dylan’s gaze settled on her behind in those tight jeans. “Nope.” The thing about trouble was, it always had a way of showing itself sooner or later. No reason to go looking for it when he had better things to do.
“Makes you wonder why a woman like her leased that old house,” Lewis said as Ms. Spencer opened her car door and climbed inside. “I haven’t seen anything like her in a long time. Maybe never.”