Murder Deja Vu by Polly Iyer

them, and Robert destroyed everything in one awful moment. I didn’t deny it, but they were angrier at Robert for telling than for my indiscretion. What is it kids say? Too much information? They’re mature young men who knew all was not well in the Minette household. They’ve been supportive of me and hold no animosity. I never spoke ill of their father, didn’t tell them what Robert had done to me. That would have turned me into a vengeful Robert, and the thought sickened me. Whatever they think of him they’ve kept to themselves. I respect them for that. But Robert had nothing left to hold over me. In a way, exposure relieved a lot of pressure. Now, he’s plain hateful.”
    She rested her head on Reece’s chest. She didn’t think he could hold her any tighter, but he did. He kissed her hair and brushed his lips behind her ear and down her neck. They sat that way for a long time.
    “I think I’m ready for that coffee now,” he said. “Then, I want to show you my house…and my etchings.”
    She turned halfway around and noticed the teasing smile.
    The huge orange ball inched over the horizon. They drank coffee and watched it get higher and smaller and brighter and more gold than copper.
    “Come.” Reece took her hand and led her into the house.

Chapter Sixteen
The Noose Tightens

    D ana gasped the minute they entered the main room of the house. Books covered every surface—toppled haphazardly on bookshelves, strewn over the floor and furniture. Art and architecture books—big, expensive tomes—hardbacks and paperbacks, fiction and non-fiction. They were a collection of a lifetime—a lifetime made shorter by fifteen years. She stood with her mouth open, speechless.
    “See the other reason for my mood?” he said. “I couldn’t face this.”
    “The police did this?”
    He nodded. “I picked up some, straightened others. Then I couldn’t do it anymore.” He bent down, took hold of a few more, and placed them on the table. “I collected many of these while I was still in school and during my residency. Others since I got out of prison. Only now I collect them on the Internet. The police ripped them from the shelves when they searched my house. These books are all I have of value. A few are seriously damaged. When I saw it, I thought of Hitler’s book burning. Fine, hate me, but this is flagrant disrespect on an entirely different level.” He lifted an old book off the table. “A 1932 first edition of Frank Lloyd Wright’s autobiography, signed. Fortunately, it’s not damaged.”
    She reached over and touched his hand. “I’m so sorry. This is beyond belief. I’ll help you get them back in order.”
    “Thanks. That’d mean a lot.” He leaned down and kissed her. “I’m glad you’re here. You coaxed me out of my mood and made me think of good things, in spite of this.”
    His smile set her heart beating faster. His kiss ignited nerve endings she didn’t know existed. Reece led Dana through the rooms. He’d designed the house with nature as his guide. Skylights flooded every room with sunlight, framed by rough-hewn beams on the vaulted ceilings. Each room had at least one rock wall, with simple hand-crafted furniture.
    “Did you make the furniture?”
    “Most of it.”
    She marveled at his talent and wondered what heights he might have achieved if fate hadn’t played its dirty trick. They ended the tour in the kitchen. Birdseye maple cabinets hung over black granite countertops veined in shades that mirrored the wood’s color.
    “They ransacked the refrigerator but at least had the decency to put the food back inside. I’d gone shopping the day before, so I would have been genuinely pissed if all the food had spoiled. I’ll make dinner tonight.”
    “Right. You said you were a good cook.”
    “Yup. No modesty when it comes to my cooking.”
    “Great, because I suck at it. I only cook because I have to eat to stay alive.”
    Reece laughed. “You really are cute and pretty and