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didn’t move. “Let me in, Fiona.”
    â€œNot convenient,” she repeated.
    â€œI’d advise you to step aside. Otherwise, I’ll be back with the sheriff and a warrant. You have several items that belong to me.”
    Clinton and his mother had already taken more than their fair share. After Wyatt’s death, they swooped in like vultures. Now he was back to pick the bones. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
    â€œHeirlooms,” he said. “Valuable objects that have been in my family for generations.”
    Before she could slam the door in his face, Abby flew into the room and wedged her way in front of her mother. Wearing her pink flannel pajamas, she beamed at Clinton and held up her little hand. “High five.”
    Not even a greedy creep like Clinton could resist Abby’s charm. His mouth loosened in a grin as he slapped hands with her. “High five.”
    She tugged on his trouser leg, pulling him into the house. “I’m going to get a pony,” she said. “And his name is going to be Turquoise, and he’ll have a long, curly blue tail.”
    Clenching her jaw to keep from screaming, Fiona stepped aside. Abby was at that curious age when everything interested her: bugs, snakes and obnoxious stepbrothers.
    Her daughter pushed Clinton to the dining-room tableand ordered him to sit. When he was seated, she cocked her head to one side, then the other. Clinton played along, matching her movements. The physical resemblance between them was obvious. And somewhat depressing.
    Playing hostess, Abby said, “Me and Mommy will bring you a healthy snack.”
    â€œNo snacks,” Fiona said. “It’s past your bedtime.”
    â€œBut, Mommy, it’s polite.”
    Her daughter had picked a lousy time to remember proper behavior. Fiona couldn’t bear the thought of sitting down at the table with Clinton.
    Jesse stepped forward. “Let’s go, Abby. I want you to show me your room. We’ll leave your mom and Clinton alone for a while. They have something important to talk about.”
    â€œMore important than a pony?”
    He chuckled as he led her from the room. “I don’t suppose there’s anything more important than a blue-tail pony.”
    As soon as they left, Fiona confronted Clinton. Her icy veneer was beginning to melt under the heat of her anger. “Don’t ever use my daughter to get to me. Leave Abby out of this.”
    â€œBut my little stepsister loves me.”
    â€œJust tell me what you want.”
    He reached into the inner pocket of his Harris tweed sports coat and took out an inventory sheet, which he placed on the table so she could see it. “This is it.”
    Over twenty items were listed, ranging from a Tiffany lamp to a pink crystal tiara. Fiona pushed the list back toward him with one finger. “I don’t have any of this stuff. Nor would I want it. Out here in cattle country, there isn’t much call for tiaras.”
    â€œThen you shouldn’t mind if I take a look around.” Apurely evil sneer distorted his handsome face. “Abby can help me search. We’ll make it a treasure hunt.”
    The fact that he wanted to recruit her daughter to help in his scheme almost blinded her to the more obvious truth. “You want to search my property.”
    â€œIf you were more cooperative—”
    â€œWere you here before? Did you enter my house without my permission?”
    â€œOf course not.”
    She didn’t believe him. It wasn’t a stretch to imagine Clinton sneaking into her house and searching. He could have pulled out the large box in her studio while looking for a Tiffany lamp she never owned. This scenario made a hundred times more sense than kidnappers searching for a ransom.
    â€œIt was you,” she said. “You saw me leave with Carolyn, and you took advantage of my absence to search.”
    â€œI don’t know