The Saddle Creek Series 5-Book Bundle. Shelley Peterson

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СКАЧАТЬ Owens . . . Fine . . . Robert Wick will be coming by in half an hour. Give him one hundred thousand dollars. Get the deed and a receipt and bring it to me before noon.” Owens pushed away the receiver and Joy put it back in the cradle.

      “Now get out,” Owens growled. “You can see I’m in pain.”

      “One more thing, Samuel,” said Joy with authority. Robert looked at her with shock. He was itching to get out of there.

      “Does this purchase satisfy your need to own Wick Farm?”

      “It does,” replied Owens.

      “And we’ll have no more incidents?”

      “What the hell do you mean by that?” he exploded angrily.

      “Joy, let’s go. The man’s in pain.” Robert appeared to be in pain himself.

      “Not until Samuel here swears he won’t cause us any more trouble.” Joy made herself comfortable. She held the contract up in front of her, as if she was ready to tear it in two. “I’m prepared to wait.”

      Robert clamped his mouth shut.

      Owens sighed. “You win, Joy. I promise, no more trouble. I have what I want now that Robert has sold me that upper field.” His bloodshot eyes looked helplessly at Joy, then Robert. “Now, I need my rest.”

      Joy stood, taking Robert’s hand. “Thank you, Samuel,” she said. “I hope we can count on your word this time.”

      “Oh, yes, you can,” he said feebly. “This time, I’m a beaten man.”

      Outside the mansion, Robert opened the car door for a grim Joy.

      “What’s the problem? The theatre is a hundred thousand dollars richer, and Owens is happy. He got what he wanted. He’ll never bother us again.”

      “I can’t help but think of Neville Chamberlain making a deal with Hitler before the war. Peace in our time. Hitler attacked anyway.”

      “Relax, Joy. Owens has no reason to wish the theatre harm now.”

      “I hope you’re right, Robert.”

      “You were terrific in there, the way you got past the butler.”

      “And you looked like you were going to throw up.”

      Robert shot her a sideways glance as they turned onto the road. “I talk tough, but I’m not such a big shot, am I?” he said sheepishly.

      Joy laughed. “I love you just the way you are.” She kissed him on the cheek, and laughed again as he blushed scarlet.

      Abby stretched happily and yawned. With her big toe she opened the drapes a crack. Sunlight streamed into her little bedroom under the eaves. Sam had driven her home in the red truck last night after the rehearsal. He’d put her bike on the flatbed with Cody. She’d recently earned her driver’s licence, but her parents preferred that she didn’t drive while they were gone.

      Sam, she thought. Sam was wonderful. She closed her eyes and relived the kisses that they’d shared as he dropped her off. Goosebumps shivered down her spine. She could’ve stayed in the cab of that truck all night, held in Sam’s gentle arms, kissing Sam’s kissable lips. Is that bad? Abby wondered briefly. At least I’m happy. She grinned as she twisted her pyjama-clad legs out of her warm bed and sprang to a standing position.

      Noticing the blue sparkles on her dressing table, Abby vividly recalled the strange events at the theatre the night before. As well as the firecrackers, there were coyote tracks everywhere, and there were signs that a car had had trouble getting out of the ruts beside the driveway.

      Interesting, Abby mused as she brushed her teeth.

      Later that afternoon Abby arrived at the theatre and headed straight for the shower. That morning Leggy had learned to drop her head comfortably while being lunged, and Dancer and she had had a wonderful hack. It had been an altogether satisfactory day so far, and Abby was feeling good.

      Towelled dry and sitting at the dressing table ready to apply her Blue-Winged Fairy makeup, Abby sensed a presence. Her backbone prickled.

      “Ambrose,” she said nervously. “Tell me that’s you.”

      “Today is the anniversary of my death,” he solemnly stated.

      “Really?”

      “Yes. Twenty years ago today.”

      “I’m so sorry. What did you die of?”

      Ambrose Brown slowly began to appear. Today, he looked like the Tin Woodsman from The Wizard of Oz.

      “It would be romantic to say that I died of a broken heart,” he said. “But I died from an overdose of sleeping pills.”

      Abby was dumbfounded. “You committed suicide?”

      “I prefer not to put it like that. I had no intention of dying, I merely wanted attention.” He began to pace as he spoke, clanging slightly when tin met tin. “I was in love with someone who didn’t love me, couldn’t love me the way I wanted. I foolishly imagined that he would find me dying. I envisioned it all. He would panic, get help, sit with me, hold my hand, fix me up, and ultimately realize how important I was to him.” He stopped pacing and looked at Abby. His voice went flat. “It was a romantic notion. And deadly, as it turned out.”

      “Holy,” said Abby under her breath. She wondered how to take all this information. “Mr. Pierson says that suicide is the most selfish way to die.”

      Ambrose looked at her thoughtfully through his silver makeup. “It is. But I only knew that later, when I saw the devastation and guilt I’d caused. People I loved thought that they’d let me down. They worried endlessly that they should’ve seen the signs, that they should have done more for me, been nicer to me. But none of that was true. I was desperate to reach one special person, and managed to destroy myself and hurt everyone else around me.”

      “And you didn’t think it would happen that way?”

      “No! Otherwise I wouldn’t have done it, now, would I?” he snapped.

      “I don’t mean to upset you, Ambrose. I guess I think it’s only logical that people would be hurt by suicide.”

      “You’re hard, Abby, very hard.” Ambrose began to pace again. “Firstly, I didn’t have any idea how much people cared about me. Secondly, my reasoning was skewed by a slight drinking problem. And thirdly, I had no intention of actually being successful. I thought I’d calculated exactly how many pills would make me sick enough to look like I’d tried, but not enough to do me in. I was wrong. So shoot me.”

      “Ambrose, stop pacing, please. I’m getting dizzy.” Ambrose glared at her, but perched on the edge of the dressing table. “Thank you, that’s much better.” Abby stood and faced him. “I’m not hard, Ambrose. I’m really very sympathetic. My mother has a drinking problem, too. She doesn’t always make good decisions when she’s had a snoutful, so I understand, I really do. And I know it’s horrible when your feelings are one-sided.” She was СКАЧАТЬ