Show Time (Juniper Ridge Romantic Comedies #1) - Tawna Fenske Page 0,70

closer look.”

Even from the other side of the house, I hear Cooper’s grunt of disgust. “Where the hell is he, anyway?”

“Back here.” I shout loud enough for them to hear me. I’m pretty sure they’re on my front porch, and I try to recall if I left the door unlocked. No, wait. I didn’t go inside, did I? Just walked around to my back porch to watch the sunset in silence. I already had my beer, so there was no reason to hit the kitchen first.

My brothers aren’t saying anything, so I shout again. “Gabe? Coop? I’m in back.”

There’s another silence, then footsteps. I turn to see both of them walking around the edge of the cabin. I’m expecting laughter, maybe one of them throwing an elbow at the other.

But I’m not expecting the grim expressions. I sit up as they trudge up the steps to the deck like it’s some kind of death march. “What is it?” I look from Gabe to Coop and back again. “What the hell is wrong?”

“Dude.” Gabe’s trademark brown eyes are wide and a little stunned. “What the fuck?”

I frown. “Can you be more specific?”

“See?” Cooper gives him a look. “I told you he wouldn’t leave it like that.”

Gabe shakes his head and looks at me. “Did you go in the back door or something?”

“I haven’t been inside.” I gesture to the sunset with my beer bottle. “I didn’t want to miss that. Now what the hell are you talking about?”

Gabe stares at me. “How long have you been back here?”

“No idea.” I glance at my watch, struggling to ignore the growing unease in the pit of my stomach. “Twenty minutes or so.”

“Come on.” Cooper jerks a thumb toward the front of the cabin. “You need to see this.”

Neither of them wait for my reply. They just turn and march back around the side of my house. I consider not following. They’re acting like weirdos, and it’d be just like them to play some kind of prank.

But something tells me they’re not messing around. Standing up, I set my beer on the deck rail and follow after them, pushing back the wave of unease in my gut.

As I round the corner, I see them on the lawn beneath my front steps. They’re bickering again, and Cooper’s pointing at the front door.

“Don’t you think we need to call the police?” he’s saying.

“That’s his call,” Gabe argues. “It’s his damn house. Maybe it’s some kind of inside joke with him and Vanessa.”

It’s Vanessa’s name that gets me moving. I practically sprint to the edge of the porch where they’re standing. “Call the police for what?”

Cooper points to the front door. “That.”

As my gaze follows his finger, the blood slowly drains from my body. “Holy shit.”

My brain takes a few beats to process what I’m seeing. There, in my front door, is a large knife. Big and sharp with a dark wood handle and a shiny blade, it looks a lot like the chef’s knife I use in my kitchen. It’s jarring to see it anchored in the wood of my door, but that’s not the worst part.

I blink, trying to refocus my eyes. “Vanessa. That’s a photo of Vanessa.”

“Yeah.” Cooper’s voice is soft as he shuffles closer to me. “I got a good look at it when I went to knock.”

“The dumb fuck actually touched the doorknob.” Gabe sidles closer, looking grim. “Hopefully that doesn’t screw with fingerprints.”

But I already know there won’t be prints. Just like there weren’t any on the snake or the balloons or the postcard. Just like Colleen can’t figure out who the hell is screwing with our website. Just like County officials can’t seem to trace that anonymous tip.

I hate the feeling of helplessness that blasts through me. I hate it more than anything.

“I’m sure whoever did this wore gloves.” I glance from brother to brother. “You didn’t call the cops?”

Gabe shakes his head. “We waited for you.”

I take a few steps closer, trying for a better look at the photo. Unlike the picture of teenage Vanessa, this one’s recent. I can’t tell if it’s candid, but it’s definitely a professional shot. I take one more step, frowning. Something’s off.

It comes to me in a rush. “She doesn’t have a dimple.”

“What?” Gabe steps up beside me and stares at the photo. “What are you talking about? She’s got a dimple right there.”

“Right, but Vanessa doesn’t.” I’ve studied her face awake and in sleep, happy and sad. I know that face like