Evening Stars. Susan Mallery

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      “You’re right. There must be someone, and I’m sure you’ll find her.”

      “I will. Did you call on the roof? Is the guy coming out to fix it?”

      “I did call.” Her mother sounded triumphant. “It’s taken care of.”

      “Great. Thanks.”

      “You’re welcome. I love you, sweetheart.”

      “I love you, too, Mom.”

      “I’ll call in a few days. By then we should know when we’ll be home. Bye.”

      Nina heard the click and knew her mother had hung up. Before she returned to the goodie bags, she called the local paper.

      “Hi, Ellen, it’s Nina Wentworth.”

      The old woman cackled. “Let me guess. You need someone to work at Blackberry Preserves. I have the information from the last ad, which is the same as the one before and the one before that. Want me to run it?”

      Nina glanced out the window again. The storm clouds were closer. She could see a bit of the Sound and wondered if she got on a boat right now, where she would end up.

      “That would be great,” she said instead. “Thanks, Ellen.”

      “You know, Nina, you’ve got to stop letting your mama hire people for that store.”

      Nina tightened her grip on the phone. “Yes, I know.”

      * * *

      Nina stared at the items in the box. The candlesticks were silver and actually worth something. There were also several pieces of jewelry, a few with gems. The painting was a cheap reproduction and worth less than the frame, but still...

      Jerry nodded as she inventoried the haul. “I was thinking the same thing,” he told her. “How could a girl smart enough to know what to steal be dumb enough to come to me? Why didn’t she just drive over the bridge and head toward Seattle? Another forty minutes in the car and she could have had the cash and been on her way.”

      “That’s exactly what I was thinking,” she admitted. “But I’m glad she was impatient. Was Sam Payton by?”

      “Yup. He took pictures. He said he needs to know what the candlesticks are worth.” Jerry, a chubby, balding man in his sixties, nodded knowingly. “If it’s over five grand, then Miss Tanya has committed a Class B felony. If she gets the maximum, it’s a ten year prison sentence with a twenty thousand dollar fine.”

      “You’re very knowledgeable about felonies and the law.”

      “In my business, it pays to know that sort of thing.”

      Nina picked up the box of items from the store. “I’m going to have to call Sam, aren’t I? He’s going to tell me I can’t sell these until the case against Tanya is settled, right?”

      “I wouldn’t be surprised,” Jerry told her.

      Great. So the only items of value in the store were now going to be held hostage. She started for the door. “Thanks, Jerry.”

      “You’re welcome. Hire better people.”

      “I’ll do my best.”

      He buzzed the door so she could get out.

      Nina crossed the small parking lot and opened her trunk. As she walked around to the driver’s side, she felt the first drops of rain.

      Although the house was only a few blocks away, she was going to have to go by the store and put up a sign explaining it would be closed for the next few days. She should also see what else might have been stolen. This may not have been Tanya’s first attempt. Tomorrow she would talk to Sam and find out what charges were being brought against the former employee.

      Nina started her car and headed for the bay. Blackberry Preserves might not be classy, but it had a killer location, right across from the small beach. In the summer, there was lots of tourist traffic, which was what helped the business survive the slower winter months. But this time of year—

      Two things happened at once. The rain went from light to pounding, and her car engine died. Completely.

      Not sure what to do, Nina steered to the side of the road and pulled onto the shoulder before she lost all momentum. After putting the car in gear, she started it again, or tried to. The engine turned over, but wouldn’t catch. She checked the fuel, and her tank was just over half-full. What on earth?

      Beyond how to put in gas and where to take it for service, what she knew about cars and their systems could fill a shot glass and still leave room for the shot. She was stuck.

      She glanced down at her shirt. “You’ve failed me, Betty.”

      The cartoon didn’t answer.

      Nina got out her cell phone only to see she was in one of the dead spots on the island. Between the somewhat-isolated location and the hilly terrain, there were cell phone wastelands, with no signal to be had.

      So much for phoning a friend or Mike’s Auto Repair. Because while Mike would come get her and give her a lift home, he wasn’t psychic.

      She leaned her head back and tried to tell herself that a walk in cold rain wouldn’t kill her. She only needed to get to a part of the island with a signal. Later, when she got home, she would have that bath and glass of wine. But being rational didn’t take away her desire to scream or cry. Or just once want to hand this problem over to someone else. But there wasn’t anyone else, there was her.

      She couldn’t remember a time when it hadn’t been her. She’d been taking care of her mother since she’d been old enough to ask, “Mommy, are you okay?” She’d taken care of her baby sister and the family business, and now she was still doing it all. Worrying about the store, picking up crap stolen by employees her mother had hired and...

      She gripped the steering wheel with both hands and tried to shake it. “Drive, you stupid car! Drive!”

      She stopped when her hands started to hurt, then separated her car key from the house keys on the chain and tucked the car key under the driver’s seat. Then she put her purse over her shoulder and stepped out into the rain. She was soaked in a matter of seconds.

      The good news was, if anyone she knew drove by, he or she would stop and give her a lift home. The bad news was, it was dinnertime on a very small island and the odds of rescue were slim.

      Nina started the long walk toward some kind of signal. With each step she told herself this was good. Forced exercise. Plus shivering burned calories. It wasn’t cold enough that she had to worry about hypothermia. But her clothes clung to her in a way that wasn’t flattering, and her pants were rubbing on her thighs. She was pretty sure she was going to get a rash. That would be attractive. Too bad she wasn’t a blogger, because this would make for a great blog. She could title it Nina Wentworth’s Very Bad Day.

      Fifteen minutes later, Nina had started working through the five stages of grief. She’d quickly moved from denial to anger and thought that might be a good СКАЧАТЬ