Sweet Heart (The Hearts of Sawyers Bend #2) - Ivy Layne Page 0,87

longest of long shots, but it was worth a try.

I felt like a thief as I let myself into the empty house. Everything looked normal. Almost. Grams wasn't crazy tidy—we never would have survived my adolescence if she had been—but she was neater than my parents, who'd left their things strewn all over the place. I resisted the urge to pick it all up. Grams had trained me well, but I didn't have time to deal with their mess. I had one of my own.

Their room was worse than the rest of the house—drawers hanging open, dirty clothes slung across the unmade bed. Not my problem, though it would be easier to search if things were where they belonged. Ignoring my annoyance, I began to look for the contract. It wasn't much, only two sheets stapled together, signed and dated by both of us.

They didn't have many papers lying around, and none of them were the contract. After a cursory search, I found a half-eaten sandwich on a plate on the dresser, a huge wad of cash in the sock drawer, and a small pile of unpaid bills. No contract.

I stood in the middle of the bedroom, hands on my hips, and turned a slow circle, studying the room for the best hiding place. I'd checked behind the mirror and under the bed.

Under the bed.

I looked again and pulled out the suitcases I'd seen there. They kept theirs in the same place I'd stored mine. Both were empty. I checked the liners, looking for a gap or place he could have secreted away the contract.

My heart raced when my fingers found a gap in the lining. The papery rustle wasn't the contract—it was a wad of cash, this one bigger than the one I'd found in his sock drawer. I didn't count it, but it was more than I would have expected. What was my dad up to that he had so much cash lying around? Those poker games he'd bragged about or something else?

That was it for the suitcases. The closet? I'd checked the shelves already, but I dragged a chair over for a better look. On the top shelf, my groping hand encountered another rustle. Fabric on top of something else. Paper. Bingo. This had to be it.

I tugged, pulling it all towards me until fabric and paper fell in a heap on my head. I didn't recognize the paper except to see that it wasn't the contract. Torn from a notebook, it had a series of numbers scribbled haphazardly across the otherwise blank page. Creased and worn, it looked like it had been folded and re-folded more than once.

I folded it one more time and left it on the bed. I'd worry about the paper later. I was more concerned about the pile of fabric at my feet.

Even in a crumpled pile on the floor, I recognized it instantly. An Inn uniform, the kind the bellhops and front desk employees wore.

What the hell? Why would my dad have an Inn uniform? My heart sped up, leaving me dizzy.

There was no good reason for him to have an Inn uniform. None. He didn't work there, and the uniforms were expensive. No one on the staff would have left this lying around. He had to have stolen it. My knees weak, I sank to the edge of the bed, mind reeling with the implications.

Not exactly sure why I was doing it, I pulled out my phone and took a picture of the closet shelf where the cap that matched the rest of the uniform sat, hanging over the edge. I photographed the uniform in its pile on the floor, then lay it across the unmade bed and took one more picture. Then another of the paper I'd found, front and back.

Was I going to tell West?

Hadn't I just promised him that if I knew anything I'd tell him right away? I had.

And I'd meant it when I said it. I did. But the implications of my discovery were so much bigger than I'd imagined.

Mostly because I hadn't imagined I'd learn anything at all. I hadn't let myself think that my dad was behind the break-in, much less that he was the one who'd been trying to destroy Royal's Inn.

I sank on the edge of the bed, staring down at the carpet between my feet, heart racing, chest too tight for a deep breath. Was there any other reason my dad would have an Inn uniform? Anything at all? I