The Woman Most Wanted. Pamela Tracy

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СКАЧАТЬ have vivid dreams, but since her parents’ death, she’d had more than her share. Last night’s had been a combination. The beginning had made her keep her eyes closed tight with her fist in her mouth to keep from crying.

      Her mom and dad had been in her dreams, doing what they did best. Mom was in the living room sterilizing and putting away toys, finding items that had been left behind by the children she cared for, and doing it all to the music of Pink Floyd. Heather used to dance with her mother. Her father was outside mowing the lawn, making sure the sprinklers worked, and adding more tools to his shed. Man, he’d loved those tools. The thought of someone using her dad’s things hadn’t bothered her until now, as she was finally starting to accept that the secrets her parents had kept weren’t just about their identities, but hers, as well.

      She opened one eye. The clock face read six. Way too early to get up, so she lay there in the half sleep that usually meant she’d have a headache when she finally did crawl out of bed. So, obviously, she’d have to crawl out of bed and take charge of today, make decisions, do something.

      When she’d arrived in town, she’d thought about taking it slow, observing, but after last night, Heather was more than curious. She had two options: the first was to go to the house, but it was a rental and she didn’t want to bother the people living there. Plus, her attempt to check it out yesterday had ended in disaster. Even now, she could feel the hard cement under her body as the police officer handcuffed her and...

      She forced herself to stop thinking about yesterday. The memory would only slow her down, and she had things to do.

      Her second option was to drop by Little’s Grocery Store. A long shot, yes, but worth her time. Besides, she needed a few healthy snacks. What Bianca provided would put more curve on Heather’s thighs than she wanted or needed. After a shower, she chose a pair of white jeans and a bright pink button-down shirt, along with white tennis shoes with pink laces, as she was a girly-girl. Then, she fixed her face and did her hair before she was ready to greet the day.

      She stood at the top of the stairs, listening. Right now, there wasn’t a single sound. Sundays, people probably slept in. Heather, however, didn’t think Bianca the sleep-in type.

      She took two steps, then a loud creak came from the third and she paused. Nope, it wouldn’t be easy to make a silent getaway. Last night, she’d pleaded exhaustion when she’d come through the front door, and Bianca had been respectful.

      Of course, Bianca had also spent the whole day working and enjoying the Founder’s Day celebration. Then, judging by what Heather had seen, Bianca spent the rest of the evening decorating the bed-and-breakfast for Halloween. Noting all the fake spiders crawling over the walls, the cobwebs in the trees and the witch on a broomstick stuck to the chimney, Bianca had had a busy night, too.

      This morning, though, Bianca—all smiles—lingered at the bottom of the stairs, obviously wanting to know what had happened.

      “Sit down,” Bianca cheerfully ordered when Heather made it to the bottom step. Heather hesitated and thought about pleading no appetite, but then the aroma of cinnamon rolls swirled under her nose and she lost all resolve.

      A tall glass of milk cemented their new friendship.

      “Chief Riley doesn’t usually let his emotions rule,” Bianca said a little too casually. “What exactly happened yesterday?”

      “He pulled me over thinking I was someone else,” Heather said, thinking to herself that what the chief of police had engaged in yesterday had little to do with emotion and more to do with tunnel vision. “Do you think I look like this Rachel Ramsey?”

      “Quite a bit, but not a dead ringer,” Bianca admitted. “I can see why Tom pulled you over. Without hearing your voice, seeing the way you walk, your mannerisms, well, he did what he thought he had to do.”

      So, it was her voice, her walk, her mannerisms that Bianca claimed set Heather apart from Rachel.

      Their identical looks were still an issue and “dead ringer” was a spot-on description.

      Lots of what-ifs filtered through her imagination. In the end, she thought, she really, really, really doubted her dad had ever had a relationship with the likes of Diane Ramsey, but Heather was here to investigate and who knew what avenues she’d need to follow.

      “What exactly was Rachel wanted for?”

      It took Bianca a moment to answer. “Worst case scenario, first degree murder. Though, there’s a chance it will be accessory to a crime.”

      First degree... It didn’t get much worse than that.

      “Can you tell me a bit about the family?”

      “Well, the Ramseys aren’t—weren’t—natives,” Bianca continued. “Diane just showed up one day in a burgundy-and-black Studebaker, in such bad shape that it puffed dark clouds into the air. Old Albert Turner was the chief then, so he chased her down and cited her.”

      “You remember like it was yesterday.”

      “Hard to forget. Diane’s antics guaranteed we’d all remember when she turned up in town.”

      “What kind of antics?”

      “Getting drunk at a Founder’s Day celebration.” Bianca laughed and held up her hand before Heather could counter with “lots of people get drunk” and said, “Let’s just say she couldn’t sing and no one appreciated the burlesque show.”

      “Oh.”

      “The town’s barbershop quartet were performing. She stood right on top of a big speaker and interrupted them. She was louder without a microphone. Albert Turner had to haul her down. It made the paper. From then on, I’d say she made the paper about four or five times a year. I always felt like she had something to prove.”

      “Are any Ramseys still in the area?”

      “No, not that I’m aware of. I don’t know if Diane and Rachel’s father were married when they had her, or if they ever got divorced or what. She and Rachel just stayed.”

      “In the house over on State Route 4?”

      “Yes, how did you know?”

      “Chief Riley said something about it.” Changing the subject by holding up a cinnamon roll, Heather asked, “You make these?”

      “No, I buy them from Shelley Guzman. She has a bakery in town.”

      Heather’d been in Sweet Sarasota yesterday. She’d picked up a free Founder’s Day muffin—it actually had a plastic school toothpicked into its frosting in celebration of the deaf school that used to be the mainstay of the town. Then she’d purchased three chocolate chip cookies that had smelled only slightly better than the cinnamon roll she was currently eating.

      “You met her husband last night. He works for Tom.” Bianca once again was casual. “He’s a cop.”

      Guzman. He’d been the big guy who’d challenged the chief of police. “So,” Heather continued, “what kind of girl was Rachel?”

      “I,” Bianca said, somewhat sadly, “didn’t know her very well. I don’t have any kids of my own. They didn’t attend church nor did she play with my nephews when they were in СКАЧАТЬ