Hard Rustler. B.J. Daniels

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СКАЧАТЬ ask her if she knew anything about the old Clementine house, as it was known around town. It sat along with a half dozen others on a street locally and affectionately known as Millionaire’s Row. The houses were large, a lot of them the same basic floor plan.

      Mary Sue moved to the end of the porch to look back at the rock wall that marked the property line. On the other side of the wall was the Milk River. Between the house and the river, though, were large trees and an expanse of grass broken only by some cracked sidewalk that ended at an old garage that had seen better days.

      “That should come down,” she said of the dilapidated structure and marked it on her sheet on her clipboard. Through the trees, she could make out only a portion of the neighboring house’s eaves in the distance. These really were beautiful old houses along this street, so private because of the old-growth trees and the huge lots. Not exactly Millionaire’s Row now, but definitely prime real estate in this town.

      “So where can I reach you?” Mary Sue asked, turning to Annabelle who appeared distracted. Not that she could blame her. The supermodel had quite a job before her.

      “You have my cell number and you know where to find me. I’ll be staying here.”

      “In the house?” Mary Sue couldn’t help her surprise.

      Annabelle turned to look at her. “Why wouldn’t I stay here?”

      “No reason, except...” She remembered all the clutter and the fact that Frannie had died here. Not that unusual for a woman her age, but still, add to that the walled-up alcove... Mary Sue shivered.

      While she had been trying to scare Annabelle earlier, she had to admit that the house had an odd feel to it. Maybe it was just her, but there was something... Or maybe she had managed to scare herself more than she had Annabelle and all because of that discrepancy in the floor plan—and the fact that someone had broken into the house and might come back.

      She mentioned this to Annabelle who only waved away the idea. “It was probably kids. You know how teenagers are, an empty house, ghost story dares...”

      Mary Sue didn’t know, but she had a feeling that Annabelle was all too aware of how kids like that acted because she’d been one. “I just thought you’d want to stay at the hotel, since that’s where your sisters stayed when they came home for the funeral.”

      Annabelle made an angry sound under her breath. “They didn’t stay here? No wonder they didn’t take much—let alone tell me how full this house was. I thought they were here going through things. From what I can see, they didn’t take anything. You were the one who let them into the house with the key I sent you, right?”

      Mary Sue sighed, wondering if Annabelle was going to blame her. “Yes, but I didn’t come inside. The house was left to you. I was the one who was responsible for opening the door and making sure it was locked when they left. That was all. I wouldn’t have felt comfortable going in the house without you.”

      “So did they take anything?”

      “Not as far as I could tell.” She shrugged. “I let them in, they went into the house, but only for a short period of time, they sat on the porch steps for a little while and then they left and I locked up. From what I saw, they took a few framed photographs, but I think that was about all.”

      Annabelle looked as if she was going to blow a gasket. “I should have known they wouldn’t be of any help. That’s just great. Well, they’re not getting anything now. Not that there is anything worth keeping in there. From what I’ve seen, most of the stuff is on the way to the dump just as soon as I can get it loaded up. I’ll need help right away. Did you make those calls yet?”

      Mary Sue tried not to bristle. “You do realize that tomorrow is Thanksgiving, right?” she asked. “And the day after that is Black Friday, when a lot of people in town will be shopping, either locally or driving the three hours to Billings.” Billings was the largest city in Montana and two hundred miles to the south. Mary Sue was planning to go down to shop with a couple of friends, spending the night at a hotel and making a trip out of it.

      “Your point?”

      “It’s going to be hard to find anyone to help this time of year,” she said, and added quickly before Annabelle could argue. “But let me make a few quick calls.” She hurriedly stepped off the porch and walked down the cracked driveway toward her car, phone in hand. Even though it was now close to freezing outside, she didn’t want to go back into the house. Nor did she want Annabelle to hear her phone conversations. When she told people who they would be working for, she expected them to balk.

      A few minutes later, she returned to the porch where Annabelle was pacing. The model looked cold, but no wonder, since she was inappropriately dressed for Montana weather. Mary Sue guessed that she wasn’t anxious to go back inside the house, either. “I found a couple of men who are willing to help for thirty dollars an hour.”

      “Thirty dollars an hour? I’m not asking them to remodel the house.” Annabelle looked through the window with a shake of the head as if calculating how many hours work was in there. “Forget it,” she said with a sigh. “I’ll do the packing myself. Where can I find some boxes?”

      “Behind the town recycling center. But you aren’t going to be able to get very many into that car of yours. Are you sure you don’t want—”

      “I’ll figure it out.”

      “Okay, but once you get everything boxed up, you’re going to need a truck to take it either to the dump or a storage unit, if you decide to keep some of it.”

      “Got it. I’ll deal with all that once it’s boxed up.”

      “I have plans, otherwise...” Otherwise what? Did she really feel guilty about not offering to help? If Annabelle was too cheap to hire help, that was her problem.

      With a wave of her hand, her former classmate dismissed her.

      “All right, then let me know when the house is ready to go on the market,” Mary Sue said, not about to mention that the place would need to be cleaned. A nice coat of fresh paint in the rooms would also help. But she didn’t feel that Annabelle was up to hearing more bad news right now and Mary Sue wasn’t up to giving it.

      Anyway, she was anxious to talk to her mother. As she walked to her car, her clipboard in hand, she tried to convince herself that she’d gotten the wrong floor plan from the courthouse.

      Except she knew better. She prided herself on being thorough. Frannie had walled up the alcove. But why? And what was in the closed-up space?

      * * *

      “SHOULDN’T YOU BE ASLEEP?” the assisted-living nurse asked from his doorway.

      Bernard “Bernie the Hawk” McDougal gave her the smile that had worked on women since he was a boy. Even at eighty-nine, the old mobster still could make a woman blush with no more than a wink and a grin. There might be snow on the roof, but it was still plenty hot down in the furnace.

      “Just finishing up here,” he told her from his desk and waited until she moved on before he picked up the scissors again.

      He pulled the newspaper clipping toward him, still shocked that he’d discovered it online while surfing for obits of women of a certain age. The moment he’d seen this one, he’d printed it СКАЧАТЬ