Echoes of Danger. Lenora WorthЧитать онлайн книгу.
hers were all over the place as well. Focusing on compassion, she shook her head and simply repeated, “I’m sorry.” Then, because it would give him peace, she added. “You’ll find what you’re looking for under the nightstand beside your bed. The one on the right, by the back left leg.”
Knowing she’d said more than enough, she turned and walked away.
“I want that woman gone.” Jason slid into the gold-and-brown booth across from Sheriff Trace McCabe inside the BeeHive. Brown-haired, hazel-eyed, Trace had the look of the boy next door with a military edge. He had two traits Jason wanted in his sheriff—calm in a crisis and the perseverance of a bulldog. “What did you find?”
The younger man reached for his coffee, then nodded toward the door Jason had just come through. “That her?”
“Yeah.” Feeling exposed after his run-in with the troublesome gypsy, Jason averted his gaze to the window overlooking City Hall Park. His gaze fell on the gazebo and he made a mental note to check with Parks and Recreations on the search for the fair banner. With the fair due to start in about a week, the banner should have been up a month ago.
“She seemed awfully friendly.”
Focusing on his friend, Jason nodded at the file on the table. “What did you find out about Lady Pandora?”
Trace cocked his head but allowed the evasion. “Well, for starters, her real name is Blossom Ann Cooper. Goes by Cherry. Bet she took some ribbing for that. Here’s the interesting part. She was born twenty-six years ago right here in Blossom City. Her mother died from complications of childbirth. Other than that only a few nuisance offenses in her youth, they didn’t even bother to seal the record. Nothing beyond a speeding ticket in the last ten years.”
Stunned by the revelation she’d been born in Blossom, Jason said, “I saw her arrive on a Harley this morning.”
Trace shrugged. “Nothing against the law in that.”
“I know. I just…She was born in Blossom? That’s a bit of a coincidence, don’t you think?” Jason didn’t like the sound of this, not one bit.
“Too much of one for my comfort, but I couldn’t find anything to indicate she’s up to anything. Her address is a P.O. box in Florida. Besides the Harley, she has a fifth-wheel trailer and a Ford truck in her name and that of Rose Cooper, her grandmother. Cherry was given into Rose’s custody after her mother died. They work the fair routes together.”
“Where’s her grandmother now?”
Trace set down his coffee. “No file on her yet. Nothing of interest, anyway. They usually travel together, so she’s probably at the last fair they worked. I’m pulling the security checks we did. This troupe has the best reputation in the country, but we’ll go back, ask specifically about the fortune-tellers.”
Jason nodded. “In the meantime, keep an eye on her, will you? Let me know if she leaves town.”
“You’ll be the first to know.” Trace cocked his index finger at Jason, a sign they’d developed ages ago indicating Jason owed Trace a beer for his efforts.
“Sheriff, Mayor, just the gentlemen I’ve been looking for.” Bitsy Dupres stopped next to their table. The pale, blond woman wore a dark gray pantsuit, appearing colorless in the cheerful honeybee-themed diner.
Bitsy still mourned her late husband. To fill her days, she’d taken on the self-appointed task of keeping Blossom’s children safe. With a few other overzealous citizens, she’d formed the Committee for Moral Behavior. A worthy cause for certain, except if left up to them, the children of Blossom would be wrapped up in cotton wool and tucked away in their rooms for safe keeping.
“Good afternoon, Bitsy,” Trace returned her greeting. “What can we do for you?”
“I wondered if you had any news for me regarding the CMB’s request to have the carnival banned from the fair this year.”
“Bitsy.” Jason reached down deep for patience. “We’ve explained that it’s too late to ban the carnival.”
“Yes. But I believe the morals of our children are more important than the few dollars involved in breaking a contract.”
“More than a few dollars. The economy can’t absorb another hit.”
“So it’s of no matter that the children will be exposed to a bad element? Everyone knows these carnival people are little better than transients and thieves. Look at what happened with poor Melissa Tolliver.”
Trace fielded that one. “It’s not like you, Bitsy, to be so judgmental. Let me reassure you this troupe is the best in the country. They may travel from town to town, but they are professionals at what they do.”
“I’m afraid that’s not good enough.” Bitsy’s shoulders went back and pink tinged her cheeks from the sheriff’s gentle rebuke. “Trouble is what they are. I can assure you, you’ll be hearing more about this from the committee.”
Tucking her gray purse into the crook of her elbow, she inclined her head. “Good day, gentleman.”
Full dark had fallen by the time Jason carried his daughter, Rikki, into the house that night. He dropped his briefcase inside the door, adjusted her slight weight against his shoulder, and carried her upstairs.
She didn’t stir once, not even when he laid her on the bed. She lay with arms sprawled, half turned on her side. If he left her like this, she’d still be in the same position when he came in to wake her tomorrow morning.
The girl had two speeds, full tilt and full stop.
He envied the first and lived for the second. Just looking at her made his heart melt, but sometimes he loved her best just like this, blessedly still and blessedly quiet.
Hard to believe she’d be three in a week.
He pulled off her shoes and socks, amazed at the dirt accumulated in both. He replaced her shirt and shorts with bunny pajamas, giving her a quick swipe with a disposable wet cloth in between—what his mother didn’t know couldn’t hurt him—then he tucked her between the sheets.
He bent to kiss her soft curls. When he rose and turned, he caught sight of the picture on the dresser.
His wife, Diane. Taken when they were on a ski trip in Colorado.
He lifted the frame, angled it so the light from the hall caught it. Her cheeks were rosy, her eyes bright with laughter, her blond hair tucked under a red-and-white knit cap. They’d still lived in Lubbock when the picture was taken, before she’d gotten pregnant.
They’d lived for the moment then, lived for each other. Those had been the best of times.
She’d been so happy to learn she was expecting Rikki. It’s what they both wanted. A family. A lifetime together. They’d moved back to Blossom City as their life plan dictated. They opened an office, he practiced law and Diane and his sister Hannah sold real estate.
Then Rikki was born. Their beautiful baby girl. A miracle. Life was good, the best ever.
Then it was over. Gone. The heart of his life destroyed by an accident. Rikki’s mother stolen from them because she was in the wrong place at the wrong time. A car crossed the median when the driver suffered a heart attack.
And suddenly Jason was alone with a one-month-old baby girl. He hadn’t had time to grieve, to mourn the loss of his wife. His life.
He’d missed Diane so much.
Still did. Or the long, lean lady in leather wouldn’t get to him so easily.
He’d handled Diane’s loss just like he’d handled every crisis in his life—by taking one day at a time, following a routine, keeping everyone close and accounted for.
So why did he have the feeling life was slipping out of his control? Maybe because his mother had run off to Europe with Aunt Stella. Or because his sister had become secretive