Small-Town Secrets. Pamela Tracy

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      “Actually, I do appreciate you. Especially right now—you’ve pointed out two important details. One, the decorative top to the plaque. I didn’t realize that even existed. Then you figured out that pages are missing from the book.”

      She thanked him again and he headed away from her and into the courthouse. Yes, she admitted that she was feeling pretty appreciative of him right now.

      Adam Snapp looked darn good from the back.

      * * *

      ADAM FINISHED MAKING his deliveries by ten. It had felt strange, going back to some of his old haunts. The director of the Boys and Girls Club asked him if he’d be interested in teaching an art class on Saturday mornings. The principal at his high school handed over some literature about getting a GED.

      His phone rang as he was leaving the Corner Diner.

      Another call inspired by the town mural in Wildrose, Illinois. And this time the caller knew exactly how much Adam had been paid, and was even willing to offer a bit more plus expenses for living in the town of Targus, Mississippi.

      This time Adam hesitated. His family needed the money, but they also needed him. Right now he couldn’t leave. Not until after the surgery, at least. But after that? Would he be more help to his family if he took the Mississippi job?

      “Sorry,” Adam said, “I’m already employed elsewhere, and it will be at least a couple of weeks before I can even consider relocating.” It took a few moments to convince this guy, too. Finally, after Adam agreed to let the man know if the situation changed, Adam ended the call, stored it in his phone and headed for his minivan.

      Two calls in one day. It certainly made him reevaluate his current job situation. He could tolerate teaching Tae Kwon Do classes and helping his parents for a while. He was enjoying working with Yolanda on the Victorian; he just wished she’d listen to his advice a bit more. Unfortunately, what she paid wasn’t enough to help with his father’s surgery.

      He blamed himself for being broke. He’d squandered and enjoyed every minute of his time away from Scorpion Ridge. Until he opened his eyes one morning and found it all gone. Along with his girlfriend, new van and all his art supplies.

      Adam knew his squandered money had been a huge mistake. Learning the hard way had always been Adam Snapp’s way. But it was time to reassess, think about his family, make better choices and find a way to stay in Scorpion Ridge for the next few weeks and still make enough money to help support his parents.

      At most, they’d gain ten to twenty new students with this beginning-of-school enrollment push. The students would sign a long-term contract and pay by the month. There’d be no big chunk of change when his father needed it.

      It would trickle in, instead.

      Luke Rittenhouse, his boss at BAA, would let him sell his art in the habitat’s gift shop on commission, but only if it related to animals. Adam had been able to do animals easily. They allowed Adam’s quirky side to flourish. Of the five pieces of his that were on sale now at BAA, the bear had real teeth—provided by the habitat’s veterinarian—the peacock had real feathers—a simple matter really, he’d just picked them up as he walked the grounds—and the others all had something similar.

      They were, however, pieces Adam had completed more than a year ago. Nothing new.

      He remembered the passion he used to have. He wanted it back. Maybe he should follow Yolanda’s lead, take a community college class and come up with a business plan.

      He already had a name when it came to murals, from the more than two dozen he’d done at BAA plus the five he’d painted in New Mexico, California and Chicago. They’d all been collages of small-town history. Each one had boasted a train, a long-dead high-profile town figure and whatever the town was famous for.

      They’d been fun, but Adam had to admit his heart was no longer in it. Painting the history of a town he was a stranger to felt wrong.

      The places he’d stayed during the few years he’d been away from Scorpion Ridge hadn’t been home. They’d been little more than glorified motel rooms. He’d come close to a home in Wildrose. The little apartment he’d shared with Stacey held good memories. He’d seen what it could be like to have someone by his side, someone who believed in him and shared his passion.

      He also remembered how the refrigerator was never stocked, how few clothes were in the dresser drawers and that no photos of his family had been displayed.

      It had still been a glorified motel room. He’d just not realized it.

      Walking up the steps to the Victorian, he wondered if Yolanda felt at home here. She and her mother had lived in a tiny house near the edge of town. It had always looked perfect. He’d only been in it once. He remembered that the furnishings and decor appeared almost staged. Yes, that was the word. It was decorated as if a photographer were about to enter and take a picture.

      It didn’t seem lived in at all.

      Her grandmother’s Victorian had never looked perfect, at least not until now. Rosi Acura believed in toys on the porch, bikes in the yard and chalk drawings on the sidewalk. He’d helped her out a time or two with that. Yup, the Victorian was certainly a lot more elegant now than it had been all those years ago.

      Back then, the neighborhood kids had thought it was haunted when in reality it was just the oldest house on the block and a bit run-down. The kids had dared each other to take a step into the front yard. Once, when he was ten, he’d run to the front door, rang the doorbell and then hightailed it back to his friends hiding behind a car parked in the street.

      Yolanda’s grandmother hadn’t helped matters. Sometimes Rosi’d open the door and yell boo. But then she’d come out with cookies or popcorn and entice the kids into the yard again. Her presence, they pretended, would scare away any ghosts.

      Yolanda had spent a lot of time here while her mother worked. She’d sit on the porch, with her nose either in a book or thrust in the air, all annoyed at the silly games boys played.

      “You home?” he called, opening the door. In the neighborhood he’d lived in in Chicago, an unlocked door meant a negligent tenant. Here in Scorpion Ridge it meant come in, neighbor.

      “Hey, Adam.” To his surprise, Rosi exited the kitchen. She wore a frilly brown, black and white shirt over black stretch pants. Normal enough attire until you looked at her feet. Black-and-white zebra slippers. BAA had a whole display of wild animal slippers, so these were probably a gift from her granddaughter.

      “Yolanda here?”

      “No, she’s in Phoenix shopping for dormers.”

      He’d been the one to tell her that the four dormers in her living room were too small for the job they were performing, hence their deteriorating condition. She’d wanted to keep them; he’d urged her to replace them. Guess his pep talk about staying true to the home’s history paid off. She should have asked him to tag along, though. She’d have trouble finding the right ones without him.

      Rosi followed him to the stairs, but she could no longer climb them. “What are you planning to do today?”

      “Doors.” He paused at the bottom of the stairs, wanting to get busy yet wanting to talk. Finally, he set the promotional fliers on a table by the front door and sat on the СКАЧАТЬ