Page 66 of No Offense

Which was upsetting, because she hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before, either.

In fact, she realized as she stumbled down to the kitchen the next morning to help Joanne set up the breakfast buffet, she’d been sleeping pretty badly ever since she’d found that baby in her library’s restroom and met the blue-eyed sheriff who was now haunting her dreams—when she did manage to snatch a few minutes’ sleep, which wasn’t nearly often enough.

“So,” Joanne said, winking at Molly as she popped some of the Larsons’ famous blueberry muffins from their pan and onto a serving plate. “How did it go last night? I heard you had a visitor.”

Molly smiled wanly. “Great.” It was impossible to keep anything secret in a small hotel or on an island as tiny asLittle Bridge. Soon everyone would know that she and the sheriff had slept together. It was only a matter of time.

Joanne beamed. “I knew it. I just knew you two were made for each other. You know why?”

“No. Why?”

“Because you both take your jobs so seriously. Not many people find their passions in life, but the two of you really have.”

“Hmmmm.” This was interesting. In fact, maybe they took their jobs a littletooseriously. “Yes. Well.”

Why had she lashed out at him that way? She didn’t know. Well, she did know, but now that he was gone, it seemed so unreasonable. So he’d called Tabitha’s parents. So what? He’d obviously felt that he needed to. He was right that he’d spent more time with the girl than she had. He had to know what her mental state was, and what he was doing. Didn’t he?

Molly wasn’t sure. He was a man, and men were so... well, mysterious. No matter how many books she read, she didn’t think she’d ever understand them. Look at what had happened with her ex. Molly had thought she’d known him, and then he’d turned out to be someone completely different. Not that he’d cheated on her or turned out to be a gambling addict or a serial killer or anything like that. He’d simply assumed that after they were married and had kids, she was going to quit her career to homeschool them.

Not that this was such a terrible thing. In some situations, homeschooling was preferable and/or necessary. Andsome people—like Eric’s new fiancée, Ashley, at least according to her social media posts—would bethrilledto commit their lives to it.

But where had Eric gotten the idea that homeschooling a not-yet-existent child was somethingMollywanted?

Maybe she had simply never really known him, and he had never really known her.

Well, she wasn’t going to make that mistake again.

It was just unfortunate that she’d already slept with the sheriff—well, not exactly unfortunate, because sleeping with him had been really fun. Better than fun. One of the best sexual experiences she’d ever had, if she were honest—before getting to know him better.

Unless... well, unless he was right.

But how could he be right? Who would refer to a young woman who’d been through what Tabitha Brighton had as bananas? That was just so insensitive. Who would call her parents when she so clearly had chosen a life far from them? Who would—

“Oh, would you look at this?” Mrs. Filmore and her husband were the first people in the dining room for breakfast—as usual—and so were the first people to grab that morning’sGazetteand unfold it. “What a creepy photo!”

“What’s it of?” grunted Mr. Filmore. He was never very talkative, but he was even less so before his first cup of coffee.

“Look.” Mrs. Filmore held up the paper so everyone in the dining room could see it.

And there, directly above the fold, was a full-color print of the photo Elijah had taken of Katie in her Snappette uniform, blowing a kiss, with Dylan Dakota lurking in the background.

Beside the photo, in large black letters, screamed the headline:

Have You Seen This Man?

There was an article beneath it that was several paragraphs long, written by Meschelle Davies.

Molly nearly dropped the bowl of pathetic-looking fruit salad she’d made.

Katie’s image had not been cropped or blurred. Her face was clearly identifiable in the photo.

“Good Lord,” cried Joanne, who was serving Mr. Filmore scrambled eggs. “That’s—”

“Kathleen Hartwell,” Mrs. Filmore said, reading the caption below the photo. “‘Sixteen-year-old daughter of Sheriff John Hartwell, with image captured by Elijah Trujos of suspected High School Thief. Anyone with information on the identity of this man is urged to call the Sheriff’s Department.’ Oh my goodness, isn’t the sheriff the man who was visiting you here last night, Molly?”

Molly set down the fruit salad bowl with a thump. “Y-yes.” She swallowed. “I... I... I better go.”

“Molly?” Joanne called after her as Molly raced from the dining room. “Is everything all right?”