Small-Town Secrets. Pamela Tracy

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СКАЧАТЬ if someone really could have sidled by and taken up residence in her tiny office. “The front door was open when I got here. What about the back?”

      “I thought they were both locked,” Yolanda stated.

      “You should start checking.” The last five years Adam had lived in a few off-the-beaten-path neighborhoods. He’d learned to value a good door lock. When she finally focused on him again, he said, “I’m glad you’re here. Check this out.”

      He opened and closed the doors a few times. “Hear anything?”

      “No, but I heard something earlier. What did you drop?”

      Okay, so she didn’t appreciate his handyman skills. “I tripped over the toolbox.”

      She looked down. “I can tell by the assortment of tools spread out on the floor that today is ‘Get rid of loose hinges’ day.”

      “Hey, I can’t believe Hallmark hasn’t thought of creating such a holiday!”

      Yolanda didn’t laugh. In all the years he’d known her, she’d never responded to his humor. She’d been the straight A student who kept trying to tell him, “You should try harder,” while he’d been the class clown responding with a “Maybe later...”

      And she’d been right. When later came, he’d been ill prepared. He’d had the opportunity of a lifetime the last few years and because he’d not had good business sense, he’d made one mistake after another.

      Yolanda continued, “I think I’ll use that shade of orange on the upstairs baseboards. It will add a little character to the place.”

      Adam shook his head. He might make poor business decisions and have no clue when it came to women, but he knew that would be wrong. This house was almost three thousand square feet of historical space and sculpture. The shade of orange she wanted hadn’t been invented when this house was built.

      “Of course,” she continued, “I shouldn’t even be thinking of the upstairs until after the bookstore is a success.”

      It would be a success, Adam thought, because she’d poured her heart into it. Per Yolanda’s orders, he’d painted every room—the foyer, study, parlor, dining room, bedroom, bathroom, enclosed breezeway and kitchen—a different vibrant color. The grand lady, a Queen Anne who probably missed her flowered wallpaper, had never shined so bright. Next he’d be working on the second-floor bedrooms. When he finished that she wanted him to turn the upstairs of the house’s two-story garage, which used to be a carriage house, into an apartment she could rent out.

      He might not agree with her color choices, but he appreciated the work to take his mind off his mistakes and his family’s problems.

      “This old dame doesn’t need any help with character. She’s loaded with it.”

      “You did a great job,” she admitted. “But I’m more concerned about the woman I just spoke to. Are you sure no one went past you?”

      “I didn’t see anyone.”

      “She was old, really old, and tiny. She had gray hair with a hint of blond left. The cut was straight and close to the scalp. Her eyes were blue. She wore tiny pearl earrings and a matching necklace. Her face was as wrinkled as any I’ve seen, and she was smoking a cigarette.”

      “I don’t smell anything.”

      Yolanda frowned. “I don’t smell it anymore, either. That’s so odd. Come, help me look. Maybe you can figure out how she just vanished.”

      Adam followed her into what used to be the living room. Now it housed popular fiction. From there he passed her, meandering through horror, true crime and mystery before finally stopping in the history section.

      “No. No lingering smell of cigarette smoke. Are you sure she had a cigarette?”

      “I caught her right here, in this area. I didn’t recognize her, and when you made such a noise—” Yolanda glared at his tool belt as if it were somehow to blame “—she somehow got past me. I’ve never seen her before, and I didn’t get her name. I was hoping she came by you so you could fill me in.”

      “What did she want?”

      “She wanted to know if I had any old books about Scorpion Ridge.”

      “Sounds harmless enough,” Adam said, “except for the cigarette.”

      “I used to catch people trying to sneak cigarettes at BAA, but they always did it in some out-of-the-way corner. This woman didn’t care that she was breaking the law,” Yolanda said.

      Adam had also been vigilant about smokers during his tenure at Bridget’s Animal Adventure. He’d taken the infraction a bit personally, as his autistic brother was bothered by smoke, so much so that he often demanded to be taken home if he smelled it, no matter how important the event the family was attending.

      “And,” Yolanda continued, “the expression on her face wasn’t harmless. She stood in the middle of the room as if she had a right to be here.”

      “At BAA we called that attitude entitlement.”

      “Yes,” Yolanda agreed. “That’s exactly the attitude she personified.”

      Adam glanced around the room loaded with history books. It even smelled old. This was not a place he would normally spend much time. His taste bent more toward true crime and horror.

      “You really think people will buy old school history books?” he asked.

      “I used to.”

      “Well, you’ve always been a bit strange.”

      Her color deepened, exactly the response he’d hoped for. He bent down, picking up a book that had fallen to the ground. “Soiled Doves of the Desert,” he read. “I’m thinking these aren’t the kind of doves that squawked.”

      Yolanda took the book from his hand and placed it on the shelf. “I’m being serious. Something about her wasn’t right.”

      “Well, she didn’t come past me. I’d have seen her.”

      Annoyed, Yolanda said, “Which means she went out the back door, which is definitely not a public exit. And just how did she know where it was?”

      “Are you talking to me or just muttering to yourself?”

      “Both,” Yolanda retorted. She patted a bookshelf, moved a book then looked at the shelves below and above. “Oh, I almost forgot. She flicked the ashes...”

      “What?”

      Yolanda had gone pale. Not a color he liked seeing on her. She whispered a response, “She used my favorite yellow coffee cup as an ashtray. But the cup is gone.”

      She kept searching the shelves and then went to the end table and chair in the corner of the room.

      “You think she swiped your cup?” Adam asked.

      “I can’t imagine why. This makes no sense.”

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