her heart still tender from its mistreatment by Greg-the-Cheat Sullivan, she couldn’t afford any risky behavior.
She glanced down at Tiger, who’d followed her from Celeste’s suite, and said, “Maybe if I tell myself that often enough, I’ll get around to believing it.”
She opened the door to the basement, then, because it tended to flop around, propped it open with an old metal milk can half filled with rocks. At the top of the stairs, she flipped the light switch and made a mental note to ask Gabe about wiring the basement for more light. One bulb in that single socket didn’t get the job done, especially with snow and debris covering the basement windows, which was why she’d brought a flashlight with her. Unfortunately, thinking ahead didn’t do her much good when Tiger came galloping down the stairs and bumped the back of her legs. Teetering, she grabbed for the handrail to keep from falling and dropped the flashlight in the process. “Tiger!”
At the bottom of the staircase he turned to look back up at her, his crooked tail waving a mile a minute as if to say, Hurry up, Doc. Let’s explore!
“You are trouble, aren’t you?” she said, descending safely to where the dog stood. “Somebody needs to teach you some manners.”
She patted his head and scratched him behind the ears. He licked her hand, and she pushed him away when he tried to sniff her crotch. “Stop it, Romeo.”
She spied her flashlight and bent over to pick it up. Hearing a boot scrape on the staircase above her, she twisted her head to see Gabe standing motionless at the top of the stairs, watching her intently. Abruptly she snapped up straight. A flush warmed her cheeks, though she lifted her chin and brazened her way through the embarrassment by pretending it didn’t exist.
“Hey, Gabe. Thanks so much for helping.”
“No problem.”
Cavanaugh House’s basement was a warren of rooms packed to the ceiling with items that appeared to have no organization whatsoever. Gabe glanced around it and frowned. “Have you gone through all these boxes already?”
“No. We haven’t begun to tackle the basement yet. I hit pay dirt in a file upstairs. It’s an inventory dated 1936, and it’s going to be a great help.”
Gabe lifted an old snowshoe from the top of a box. “I’ll bet there’s a treasure trove of antiques down here.”
“That’s what makes this inventory job so much fun. It’s like Christmas every day.”
He set the snowshoe down abruptly. “So where’s this box?”
“This way.” She talked over her shoulder as she led him toward her target. “The inventory gave the description and location of a box containing the diaries, and when I came down to look for it, I was able to go right to it. I’m really excited, first because I’m hoping the diaries might solve the mystery of the Cellar Bride’s identity, and second because Sarah and Sage both had something else to do this afternoon, so I made this find without them. They’ll be so annoyed.”
“Competitive, are you?”
“Yep. Not as much as Sage, though. She’s ridiculous.”
Tiger brushed past Nic’s legs once again, and as he rooted between a steamer trunk and a stack of hatboxes, she pointed out the chifforobe that blocked access to a plain wooden crate marked Blaine. “That’s it. I haven’t unloaded the chifforobe yet. I didn’t expect you to come right down.”
“Let’s see how heavy it is. Maybe I can shift it out enough for you to slip back in there. You’re a little thing. It’ll probably be easiest to leave the box where it is and empty it rather than haul out the box.”
A little thing? Ordinarily she hated it when people called her that. Coming from Gabe, it sounded flattering.
She didn’t think he’d be able to budge the piece of furniture, however. It was solid mahogany, taller than he was, and filled to the brim. She had attempted to give it a push herself before going to him for help, and she’d failed to shift it at all. Positioned behind him, she watched him brace his legs and put a shoulder against the wardrobe. His jeans molded against his rear and the flannel shirt stretched across his broad shoulders as he put weight into the effort and strained. The furniture moved a good six inches. My oh my. Bet even Coach Romano couldn’t do that.
He braced himself again, pushed, and conquered another six inches. Stepping back, he asked, “How’s that? Can you slip back there now?”