Page 27 of The House on Forgotten Hill

Leonard finished loading the last of his tools into the back of his truck just before four o’clock.

“I’ll be back Monday morning,” he said, closing the tailgate.

“Sounds good.”

“By the way … what was inside the box?”

“Nothing as exciting as I hoped.”

“No pirate treasure?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“What was it then?”

“A few old newspaper articles and a notebook.”

He nodded, though he looked a little disappointed. Then he climbed into his truck and rolled down the window. “Have a good weekend, Miss Nightingale.”

“You too.”

I stood in the driveway until his truck disappeared down the hill and then I went back inside, gathering the newspaper clippings, my father’s notebook, and the roll of film. I slipped everything into my leather handbag and headed for the door.

I pulled the front door shut behind me, and heard someone say, “Going somewhere?”

Preston stood beside the walkway, one hand tucked into his jeans pocket.

I hadn’t heard him approach.

Hadn’t seen him either.

For a brief second, I wondered how long he’d been standing there.

I forced a smile. “Oh, hey. You startled me.”

“I’m sorry. I texted you this morning.”

“Yeah, I got it.”

“Why didn’t you text me back?”

“I … ahh, I was busy all day, dealing with the contractor. How did you get my number?”

“I have my ways.” His eyes drifted toward my handbag before returning to my face. “Where are you going?”

“I’ve spent most of the day cooped up in the house. I thought I’d go for a walk.”

For a moment, neither of us spoke, the uncomfortable silence hanging between us.

“I’ve been thinking about you today and about how much fun we had last night.”

“I have too.”

He narrowed his eyes, eyeing me like he was unconvinced. “How are the renovations going?”

“Slow, but I’m making progress.”

“I suppose old houses like yours are full of surprises.”