Spring In The Valley. Charlotte DouglasЧитать онлайн книгу.
a seat at the table. Merrilee retrieved a mug and silverware from a nearby serving station and poured Brynn’s coffee.
“You didn’t sell River Walk, by any chance?” Brynn asked Marion. Along with her husband, Bud, Marion ran the local real estate office.
“Don’t I wish?” the older woman with huge bones, big hair, a strong jaw and a heart as large as the rest of her said. “That commission alone would have equaled my last year’s income.”
Brynn had never been inside the riverside “cabin,” a massive log home with expansive windows and multitiered decks, built before she was born, but she’d often checked out the exterior of the empty house while on patrol. “Isn’t it in pretty rough shape?”
“Needs some cosmetic repairs,” Marion agreed, “new appliances and upgrades in the bathrooms, but it’s still a valuable property with over five thousand square feet, a guest house and location, location, location.”
“How come you’re so interested in River Walk?” Merrilee leaned forward and eyed Brynn closely, like a bloodhound scenting a trail.
“Aren’t you?” Brynn sidestepped the question. “It’s practically across the highway from you and Grant.”
“And it’s sold?” Merrilee asked.
“Apparently.” Brynn filled them in on her encounter with Rand and Jared Benedict.
“Poor little kid,” Marion murmured. “Dr. Anderson’s sure he’s going to be all right?”
Brynn nodded, sipped her coffee and tried to ignore the laserlike glare of Merrilee’s sky-blue gaze.
“What aren’t you telling us?” Merrilee asked.
“About what?”
“About Rand Benedict.” Merrilee exchanged a long look with Marion.
“I’ve told you everything I know about the man,” Brynn insisted with a shrug, striving for nonchalance.
Merrilee narrowed her eyes. “You haven’t told us why you’re absolutely glowing when you talk about him.”
“I’m glowing because I just walked two blocks in the snow, not because he asked me to dinner.” Brynn started to push away from the table, but Marion grabbed her wrist.
“Whoa, not so fast,” her aunt said.
Cornered, Brynn sank into her chair. “What?”
“Tell us the rest,” Marion said.
“I told you—”
“—the bare bones,” Merrilee interrupted. “Now fill in the blanks.”
Irritated at their persistence, Brynn ran a finger under the suddenly too-tight collar of her uniform. “There are no blanks.”
Merrilee shook her head. “This is Merrilee June, your old buddy, you’re talking to, your friend who’s taken part in every bit of mischief you’ve ever committed. I know that look, Brynn.”
“The dead-tired-after-working-all-night-and-want-to-go-home-and-sleep look?” Brynn hedged.
“Un-uh.” Merrilee shook her head. “The I’m-hiding-something look.”
“What would I have to hide?” Brynn asked, feigning innocence.
“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Aunt Marion said. “What’s this Rand Benedict look like?”
Handsome as sin. Good enough to eat. Pulse-pounding perfect. “He’s nice looking.”
Merrilee rolled her eyes. “C’mon, Brynn. I can tell you’re interested in the guy. You get this soft, misty look when you talk about him.”
“I am not interested. And even if I were, he’s a married Yankee lawyer.” She didn’t know for certain he was married, but claiming the fact would help get her off the hook. She hoped.
“You sure he’s married?” Marion asked. Brynn’s aunt had been trying to find a husband for her only niece since Brynn had turned eighteen. Having gone through all the eligible bachelors in Pleasant Valley and the surrounding counties, Marion obviously viewed Rand Benedict as fresh meat.
“He has a son,” Brynn said, hoping to convince them that Benedict was unavailable. “He’s bought a house too huge for just the two of them. Maybe he’s waiting for his wife to join him.”
“Maybe he’s divorced,” Merrilee countered.
“Well, hot damn,” Brynn said with more sarcasm than she’d intended. “That would make him a real catch. A divorced Yankee lawyer.”
“Maybe the two of you could find something in common,” Aunt Marion, ever the optimist, suggested.
“Maybe the two of you should mind your own business,” Brynn said with a smile to soften her words. “I’m not in the market for a man.”
“Then there’s no reason why you shouldn’t accept his dinner offer,” Marion responded with maddening logic.
“And every reason why you should,” Merrilee added.
“Name one,” Brynn shot back, outflanked and outnumbered.
“He’s new in town.” Merrilee studied her perfect pink fingernails with exasperating calm. “You should make him feel welcome.”
Aunt Marion bent her head toward Brynn, her eyes flashing with curiosity. “And you’d have the perfect opportunity to learn more about him.”
“Why would I want to know?” Brynn refused to admit how much the prospect of discovering more about Rand appealed to her.
“Pffft,” Marion snorted. “This is Pleasant Valley, honeybun. Everyone wants to know everything about everyone else. And it’s particularly important for the police to have all the facts. Think how much trouble Jim and Cat Stratton might have avoided if you had dug up the goods on that Ginger Parker when she first came to town.”
“I’m a police officer,” Brynn said. “If you want someone to dig up dirt on Rand Benedict, hire a private eye.”
“We’re not suggesting the man has skeletons in his closet,” Merrilee said with a shake of her pretty blond curls. “If he really is a single parent with a small son, he needs the help of a supportive community.”
“From what I saw,” Brynn said, “Rand Benedict can afford to pay for all the help he needs.”
“You can’t buy friends,” Merrilee observed quietly.
Brynn winced. Maybe police work had made her cynical, just as Emily had said. “You’re right,” she conceded with a sigh. “If the man asks me again, I’ll consider going to dinner.”
Hope flared in Marion’s eyes, and Brynn was quick to add, “But just because it’s the neighborly thing to do, and I only said I’d consider it. By the way, what did you think of Jodie and Jeff’s cutting their wedding cake with a Marine officer’s saber yesterday? That’s a first for Pleasant Valley.”
With the subject safely shifted, Brynn leaned back in her chair and enjoyed her coffee. Rand Benedict lived out of town and didn’t seem the type to mix with the locals. In a few days, Aunt Marion, Merrilee and Brynn herself, she hoped, would forget all about him. After all, the man had said he was on sabbatical, not a permanent resident. She’d probably never see him again.
Over a week later, Brynn surveyed the eager young faces of Mrs. Shepherd’s third-grade class with a sentimental sense of déjà vu. It didn’t seem that long ago that she and Jodie had sat next to each other in the rows beside the windows and Merrilee had been in the first grade classroom down the hall.
Outside the tall windows of the ancient brick building, a row of spectacular Bradford pear trees bloomed like stalks of white cotton candy against the brilliant blue sky. Beneath