Tempting The Beauty Queen. Carolyn HectorЧитать онлайн книгу.
that it’s haunted.”
The sweet grin disappeared and Kenzie shook her head from side to side. The button Kenzie swore he’d ripped off had indeed disappeared and he was left with a view of her lacy white bra. Ramon swallowed hard and tried not to stare at the swell of her breasts. Dust flew from her curly hair. Her bun was now loose and her curls dangled.
“Laugh all you want. Try spending the night here.”
“I have several bedrooms at my hotel to choose from,” Ramon said.
Kenzie rolled her eyes. “Yes, I am well aware.” She took a step back and craned her neck for a better view out the window. “Let me get on your shoulders.”
The idea of Kenzie’s legs wrapped around his shoulders did something to him. “No.”
“C’mon, I’m not that heavy.”
Ramon rubbed his hands together and licked his lips. “As much as I like your legs wrapped around me, I don’t think doing it now that we’re friends again is a wise idea.”
Getting the hint, Kenzie pulled her blouse together. “Oh.”
“I’ll check.” He moved closer into the room and peered out the dirty glass. “There are more people.” Like Kenzie had done a few moments ago, he banged on the glass. Behind him his companion began pushing the desk against the wall. Before he had a chance to question her, she kicked her feet out of her heels and climbed on top of the desk. Ramon glanced down at the legs of the furniture wobbling. “That’s not safe—get down from there.”
“The two of us banging together will make more noise.”
Ramon paused at her statement. How could being trapped in a building be so erotic? “Kenzie.”
“Hey! Hey!” she screamed at the window.
The jiggling of her body made the desk move more. Ramon wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her off the top. She kicked the top drawer by accident and the compartment fell down, causing old papers to fall to the dust covered ground. Like a child on Christmas morning, Kenzie squealed in delight and shimmied out of Ramon’s eyes. “Oh my God, what’s this?”
“Old papers,” Ramon answered. He knelt beside her and as she whipped her hair off her neck he whiffed the sweet, magnolia scented products in her hair.
“But what kind? Look here,” she said, lifting up what looked like a legal document stapled to a blue construction-like paper. “Bank papers? Deeds? Oh, look.” Kenzie scrambled around the floor and found a brass key. “What do you think this is for?”
Ramon inspected it. “It’s too big for a desk drawer.” He stood up, went to the office door to close it, where he found a closet. “Throw me the key.” She did, but it landed on the floor halfway between them.
“I was a cheerleader, not a quarterback.”
Grumbling, Ramon retrieved the key. The lock turned but the door wouldn’t open. Humidity often caused wood to swell. Kenzie was already behind him when he shouldered the closet open. Musty air hit their noses.
“Son of a bitch,” Kenzie said from between gritted teeth. “Someone has been in here and tried putting in an air-conditioning unit.”
Ramon followed Kenzie’s glare up to the ceiling of the closet. A silver-coated pipe hung from the top tiles. Rust-colored water stained the walls and the floor. Ramon would rather leave the belongings inside and return with a face mask but Kenzie had already started dragging the plastic bags out. She grunted and tugged at the top bag, an old army-green duffel bag. Ramon took it from her hands and tossed it behind them with ease. The next bags, oddly shaped, weren’t as heavy. Kenzie pulled a picture frame from the top bag.
“The date,” Kenzie breathed. “This photograph was taken over a hundred years ago.” She pressed her finger at the date on the corner of the faded, yellowed newspaper clipping. Ramon wondered if she’d paid attention to the picture first. The image in the article was of a sheriff and his men standing over a body. The sheriff held a most wanted sketch and his deputy held up a picture of a newspaper. The fold of a paper obscured the names tagged in the photo.
“I need to look these names up, of course,” said Kenzie. “What else is in here?”
They found more photographs, including some of the post office they stood in when it was first built. The streets were filled with mud. Instead of a sidewalk there were boardwalks. Mud tarnished the hems of the proud women’s dresses. A box contained old, loose black-and-white photographs from weddings and men dressed up in military garb standing in front of an old bus, being shipped off to war. Another framed photograph showed the original structure of the schoolhouse.
“Before Southwood High and Southwood Middle,” Kenzie began, “everyone was taught in the one school. Now it’s used as a shed by the elementary school.”
“I remember my folks talking about being taught in one school back in Villa San Juan.” Ramon had grown up in a Florida island town so small, they’d only needed one for a long time. He realized Southwood and Villa San Juan weren’t so different.
“It wasn’t until the late fifties the little school had enough students and funding for a total of three brick and mortar buildings. After the Second World War, while African-Americans from other towns were coming back to the same segregation they’d left, Southwood’s citizens banded together as they always had since the Civil War.”
“Why don’t you teach history?” Ramon inquired. “Didn’t Mr. Myers retire?”
Kenzie pulled her hair up into a bun, exposing her long neck. “I wouldn’t mind. I’ve substituted before. I can’t possibly think about teaching right now. That’s all I need my great-aunts and uncles to hear. I’m going to show up at these weddings and be labeled the spinster teacher. And now it looks like I’ve just hit the jackpot of artifacts. I can’t wait to show all this off at the gala this month, providing the new buyer lets me keep them.”
Ramon knew she meant him. He shrugged his shoulders. “I haven’t decided yet. There is a lot of damage and I’ve got to keep up the historic regulations.”
“True,” she agreed, still rifling through the closet.
Ramon glanced around the room. The closet had now been turned inside out. In Kenzie’s search, she tossed some things on top of the original bag. Small pieces of paper spilled out from a hole on the side.
“What’s this?” he asked, picking up a square card.
“I have no idea,” Kenzie said, inspecting it in his hand. “I can barely make out ‘Southwood’ at the top. Damn the water damage. I can’t tell. What do you think it is?”
“My gut says an election ballot,” he half teased her. “Maybe the current mayor didn’t win.”
“I wish.” Kenzie frowned. “I hate Anson with a passion. Unfortunately, when he came along, we were doing electronic ballots. No, these look much older. Hmm, the mystery grows. I told you this place was haunted—you may want to rethink buying it.”
“I don’t believe for one minute it’s haunted.”
“You don’t sound too sure.” Kenzie poked his chest. “Scared?”
“I need to come up with a proposal for how I’m going to keep the historic features intact. Maybe I need a historian, someone who can help me with the Economic Development Council.”
“Good luck,” Kenzie huffed and folded her arms across her chest.
“Kenzie, c’mon, why don’t you help me?”
“Why would I want to help you buy this place and turn it into something stupid like a hotel?”
“I already have a hotel. I can offer you something you don’t have.”
Chin jutted forward, Kenzie squared her shoulders. “What can you offer me?”