Danger on Her Doorstep. Rachelle McCalla
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“Why was there a team investigating my father’s death?”
So she’d put two and two together already, had she? She obviously hadn’t missed anything, though he wished he could go back in time and replay his first phone call to her. If he’d had it to do over again, he’d have told her from the beginning that there was some possibility her father had been murdered.
Because if anything, it was worse having to tell her now.
“We suspected he may have been murdered.” He watched her carefully as she absorbed the news. No screams, no crying, not even a gasp.
“And the fact that somebody broke into the house?”
“It’s hard to say at this point,” Gideon tempered his response, “but there’s a very good chance the two are related.”
RACHELLE MCCALLA
is a mild-mannered housewife, and the toughest she ever has to get is when she’s trying to keep her four kids quiet in church. Though she often gets in over her head, as her characters do, and has to find a way out, her adventures have more to do with sorting out the carpool and providing food for the potluck. She’s never been arrested, gotten in a fistfight or been shot at. And she’d like to keep it that way! For recipes, fun background notes on the places and characters in this book and more information on forthcoming titles, visit www.rachellemccalla.com.
Danger on Her Doorstep
Rachelle McCalla
Unless the Lord builds the house, its builders labor in vain.
—Psalm 127:1
To Henry, Eleanor, Genevieve and Knox.
You inspire me every day.
Acknowledgments
A super big thank-you to my amazing editor Emily Rodmell, without whose keen insights and editorial prowess this book wouldn’t be nearly so good, if it even existed at all.
Never-ending thanks to my husband, Ray McCalla, for picking up the kids and folding the laundry and all the other bazillion ways you take up the slack so I can write. I love you.
Tremendous thanks to Deputy Charles McCalla of the Page County Sheriff’s Department, and my father, retired Police Sergeant Brian Richter, for all your keen answers to even my most bizarre questions. You make me look like I know what I’m talking about.
Huge, huge, huge thanks to all the booksellers and newspaper editors and the wonderful staff at KTCH radio who’ve helped to spread the word about my books.
Terrific thanks to my readers. You honor me by choosing to read my stories.
And most of all, eternal thanks to my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, who paid it all already. You make everything possible.
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
LETTER TO READER
QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION
ONE
Maggie Arnold felt uneasy about being alone in the old house on Shady Oak Lane, and it wasn’t just because her father died here. The rambling old building was full of sheet-draped furniture which hunkered in the shadows.
But it was now or never. She had to push her fears aside and get the project started if she ever wanted to leave this house behind her. She pulled out her phone.
In her haste, Maggie had the call ringing through before she realized she hadn’t asked for the name of the handyman whose number her Realtor had given her.
A deep voice answered her call. “Hello?” He sounded strong. Capable. Could she tell that much from one word?
“I’m calling for the handyman,” Maggie started, embarrassed that she didn’t know his name. “Susan Isakson gave me this number.”
“I’ll be sure to thank her for the referral. What’s the project?” So he was cordial, too.
Maggie’s heart gave a little flip, which she told herself was silly. There was no reason for her to get too excited at the sound of a strong man’s voice. She just hoped this guy would be able to help her with the house she’d inherited when her father had died a little over two weeks ago. Otherwise she didn’t know where else to turn. “Do you know the old Victorian on Shady Oak Lane?”
The man let out an almost silent groan.
Maggie couldn’t stand the idea that she’d lose him so easily. She rushed on. “I know it’s a big project, but I’m willing to do a lot of the work myself. If you’d at least come take a look at it, even if you could just do part of it—”
“I can stop by this afternoon.”
“You can?” Maggie nearly screeched in her relief. None of the other contractors she’d called had even offered to take a look at the house, and she had to have help—soon.
“Say around four o’clock?”
That was in less than a half hour. “That would be perfect.”
“And, let’s see…” the deep voice paused “…you’re Maggie Arnold, right?”
“Right.”
“Okay, see you at four, then.”
“See you then.” Maggie hung up the phone with a breathless goodbye and leaned her elbows back on the staircase where she sat, looking up the wide-open stairwell at the dizzying pattern of exposed stud walls above her, wondering how the handyman knew her name when she didn’t even know his.
Oh, he’d probably heard all about her already. After living in Kansas City since she’d graduated from high school, Maggie wasn’t used to Holyoake, Iowa, anymore, where the scant five thousand townspeople knew everything about everybody and who was up to what. No doubt rumors were already flying about her return to town and what would become of the house on Shady Oak Lane. Most people probably figured she wasn’t up to the task of fixing it up. She figured they were probably right.
And this handyman guy—whatever his name was—from his reaction, she could assume he already knew how much trouble the house would be. It was entirely possible he was only stopping by to be nice, and had no real intention of taking on the project. But she had to have his help. Though she’d meant it when she’d said she could help with the work, she didn’t know much about construction—just enough to know she wasn’t up to tackling the project alone.
And she’d already been turned down by every other contractor in town. Their excuses echoed through her mind. Too busy. No longer in business. Only new construction. No major renovations. And perhaps the most ominous of all: I wouldn’t go near that house for anything.
“Neither would I,” Maggie whispered to herself, “if it were only up to me.” But she didn’t have much choice in the matter. The house needed so much work. She looked around her at the aging plaster and woodwork coated with decades of paint. Her eyes fell on a couple of dead bats in