The Spring At Moss Hill. Carla Neggers

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      Three young women came in and ordered margaritas, laughing and chatting about their plans for the evening as they sat on stools down from Russ. He left his brother to his work and took his beer to a small booth. He ordered fish tacos and settled in for the next hour, until Marty was free to take him to LAX. In exchange, he could use Russ’s Rover while he was back East.

      After Russ finished his tacos, Marty delivered a fresh beer and set a squishy, tissue-wrapped package on the table. “A present for you. Don’t get taco grease on it.”

      Russ unwrapped the tissue to reveal a well-made Hawaiian shirt. “It has palm trees on it, Marty.”

      “Damn right. I figured now that you’re a real PI, you need your own Magnum, PI shirt, just like Tom Selleck in the ’80s—except you’re not as tall as he is and you don’t have his sense of humor.”

      “I don’t live in Hawaii, either.”

      Marty grinned. “A little devil-may-care attitude wouldn’t hurt you, Russ. Selleck was about your age when he was playing Magnum.”

      “Thanks, Marty. A Hawaiian shirt with palm trees on it won’t stick out at all in Knights Bridge, Massachusetts.”

      “Go ahead, little brother. Put it on while I finish up.”

      Russ held up the shirt after Marty disappeared behind the bar. The palm trees were relatively muted. What the hell. It would make Marty happy for him to wear it, and it would be comfortable on the long overnight flight across the continent.

      He changed in the men’s room. When he got back to his booth, Marty was ready. “Looks great. You want to finish your beer or head out now?”

      “Now’s fine. Thanks for the shirt, Marty. I feel cool.”

      His brother laughed. “You are the definition of cool. Come on. Let’s get you to the airport.”

      * * *

      Marty drove. He hadn’t had any alcohol, and he wasn’t distracted by the prospect of spending the next few days in a little New England town to make sure Daphne Stewart could do her master class without incident. Not that anyone—Daphne included—was concerned or had any reason to believe there would be an incident.

      Russ grimaced at the prospect of wasting the next few days of his life, but he said nothing.

      “I’m buying a car,” Marty said. “A friend is giving me a good deal on a clunker. All I need.”

      “You’ve managed to get where you need to go without a car.”

      “Friends, Uber and public transportation. It’ll be good to have wheels for a few days. I won’t take off up the Pacific Coast Highway, though. Promise.”

      “I recorded the mileage.”

      “Of course you did.”

      Russ hadn’t, which Marty knew, but it was the game they played with each other. Marty, the irresponsible dreamer. Russ, the feet-flat-on-the-ground military type.

      Wasn’t that far off from the truth.

      “Have you decided to take a permanent position with Sawyer & Sawyer?” Marty asked.

      “I’m there now. That’s all I know.”

      “You can’t camp out at Julius Hartley’s place forever. Unless the daughter who’s buying it is available?”

      Russ wasn’t going there. He had no interest in either of Julius’s daughters. “Right now I’m focused on this trip.”

      “I thought you’d worm your way out of this one. Daphne’s got you by the short hairs, doesn’t she?”

      “She’s a valued client and a good friend.”

      Marty sputtered into laughter. “You just did the civilian version of saluting smartly. Daphne’s great, but she knows how to get what she wants. Think she’ll go through with this class in this little town? We have a pool going at the bar. Most of us think she’ll twist an ankle or get a sinus infection to find some way out of it.”

      “I resist any urge to predict her behavior. She’s talking about helping to start a children’s theater in Knights Bridge.”

      “With the theater-major twins? Seriously? Where’s the start-up money coming from? Don’t let Daphne fool you. I’ve seen her calculate a tip. She’s careful with a buck.”

      “I’m not getting mixed up in what happens with this theater.”

      “You always were the smart brother.”

      When Marty pulled up to the appropriate terminal, he had a death grip on the wheel but otherwise seemed okay being this close to aircraft. He cleared his throat and turned to Russ. “I’m doing fine, Russ. I mean it. Don’t insult me by worrying about me.”

      “What makes you think I’m worrying about you?”

      “Because you’re here, working in Beverly Hills. It’s not what you want. You’re here because of me.”

      “Tell you what, Marty. You don’t worry about me and I won’t worry about you.”

      “Never. You’re my baby brother. I always worry. The reverse doesn’t work.” Marty pointed at him. “Shirt really does look great.”

      “I figure I can change when I get to Boston.”

      “Ha-ha.”

      “I’ll see you soon.” Russ climbed out and grabbed his bag from the back. “Thanks for the ride, Marty.”

      “No problem. Safe travels. I promise not to wreck your Rover while you’re gone.” Marty still held tight to the wheel as he leaned across the seat. “You have directions to this town?”

      “Head west. Look for the goat signs.”

Three

      Daphne Stewart arrived at Marty’s Bar as Marty Colton returned from dropping Russ off at the airport. “This is an awful little place,” she said, hopping onto a bar stool. “But that’s part of its charm.”

      “That’s what we all think. French martini?”

      “As only you can make one, my dear Marty. Did Russ bitch and moan about heading east?”

      “You know us Coltons. We’re stoic.” Marty reached for a glass. “His flight hasn’t taken off yet. You still have time to call him and cancel this trip to this little town.”

      “Then you’d lose your chance to drive his Rover.”

      “The sacrifices we make for our siblings.”

      “I don’t have any siblings. I’m an only child. Thank heavens. I’d hate for anyone else to have had to endure my SOB of a father. What was your father like, Marty?”

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