Made to Be Broken (Nadia Stafford 2)

A twitch of a smile. "Yeah. Doesn't seem much of a Romeo."

"You haven't seen Janie. My guess, she takes what she can get and, if she can turn a profit, calls it a bonus. She's none too bright, but she's got a keen sense of self-preservation and not an ethical boundary in sight." My gaze traveled over the house. "If your daughter disappeared, would you decide that's a good time to pack up and move?"

He shrugged. "Don't have kids. Suppose you might. Memories and all that."

"I can't see Janie moving to avoid reminders of her daughter. But even if there is some hidden wellspring of maternal love there, would she take off so soon? After a few months maybe. But days? When Sammi could still call? Show up on her doorstep?"

I looked at the house again. Jack said nothing, just waited.

"You'd almost get the impression she knew Sammi wasn't coming back." I glanced over at him. He stared straight ahead.

I scanned the businesses along the street. "Benny should be in the office today. That's the realtor. I'll go see what he can tell me about this. You can wait - "

"I'll come."

"You wanted to keep a low profile - "

"I'm coming."

He meant he wanted to keep an eye on me, make sure I kept my emotions and my imagination in check. That smarted, but not as much as knowingI needed that check.

I headed for the sidewalk, leaving him to follow.

Benny Durant sat at his big oak desk in the window, an extra-large take-out coffee at his elbow, a copy of Macleans in his hand - probably with a less salubrious magazine tucked inside it.

Durant was a good ol' boy who'd lived here all his life and chased away competition with the ferocity of a junkyard dog. Friendly and affable, he had a smile for everyone and a "special deal" for all his "friends." Though he was canny enough to take advantage of a client's real estate naivete, he always stopped short of an outright swindle.

I'd bought the lodge from Durant, and was happy enough with the deal to send him a steady stream of people looking to make the area a permanent vacation destination with a new cottage. Few of those leads translated into sales. That, too, was typical for a town like White Rock. People spend a week, and are seduced by wilderness life: the clean air, the endless lakes, the peace and quiet, the friendly people. They start thinking they'd like to purchase a piece of this paradise.

Then reality rears its ugly head. The nearest Wal-Mart is how far? Ethnic restaurant? Movie theater? Hospital? No high-speed Internet? No cable? Party lines? Not to mention black flies, power outages, and winter storms. Many a new resident has left after the first winter, upon discovering that our gorgeous country roads rarely see a snowplow and their urban SUV just isn't going to make it through that three-foot drift. But Durant still gets enough sales from my referrals to put me on his good side.

I didn't even get as far as the door before his head popped up, like a hound on a scent. When I opened it, his gaze shot to Jack, fairly salivating at the prospect of fresh meat.

"Nadia Stafford," he boomed, sliding the magazine into a drawer, then standing and offering his hand. "Did I hear you're booked solid this weekend?"

"I am."

"That's amazing. So early in the season, too. Seems people are finally discovering our little hidden gem." A wink at Jack. "That reminds me, I'm running low on your brochures. Got them right out here, front and center." He pounded a meaty fist on the stack. "They're a hot ticket. If you could bring more by..."

"I'll do that Monday."

"Wonderful. I love promoting great local businesses, and it's easy these days. Our economy is booming. Yes, it is." His gaze was fixed on Jack, the spiel clearly for his benefit. "So, Nadia, what can I do for you today?"

"It's about the Ernst place. I saw it's for sale."

He straightened, fairly quivering now. "It is indeed. A rare and lovely property." A small laugh. "Well, the property, that is. The land. The existing structure could be removed. I already have a quote from Ed Baines for plowing it down."

I imagined Baines's bulldozer ripping through Sammi's home, reducing it to rubble, her treasures buried at the bottom, to be hauled to the dump. Every trace of her obliterated.

I opened my mouth, but my next question wouldn't come. Fortunately, Durant picked that moment to wave at Jack's crutch.

"Had a little accident, did you?"

I expected Jack to respond with an abrupt "Yeah." But he launched into a story about tripping off the deck chasing a runaway barbecue. By the time he finished, Durant was howling with laughter.

"Did you rescue the steak?"

"Sure. I took it to the emergency room and had my meal there."