Angel of Smoky Hollow. Barbara McMahonЧитать онлайн книгу.
wide and a moment later a woman bustled down the hall that stretched out from the door, wiping her hands on a dish towel.
“Kirk, gracious, good to see you. Is there something wrong?”
“Hey Sally Ann. I brought you a paying guest.”
“I declare.” She opened the screen door and stepped out, looking at Angelica with curiosity. “Was I expecting you?” she asked, tilting her head slightly and smiling. She tucked the dish towel in the top of her apron.
Angelica shook her head. “Mr. Devon said you take guests. I came to see Webb Francis Muldoon and learned he’s not here.”
“No, poor man, sick as can be in Bryceville. Mae went over this morning to see him. Evelyn and Paul will be going tomorrow. When are you going back, Kirk?”
“Might take this young lady to see him tomorrow if that’s what she wants,” he said, flicking a glance at Angelica.
Angelica studied him for a moment. Her common sense told her to stay away from this man. She could forget her own name if she wasn’t careful. Yet if he offered transportation she would not have to spend another moment on the local bus. That would be well worth some time with Kirk Devon.
With her expected ally gone, she needed to reassess everything. How long would Webb Francis be sick? What was she to do in the meantime?
“I’d pay for the ride to Bryceville,” she said looking straight at Kirk.
His face pulled into a frown. “Not if I’m going that way anyway. I’ll leave around ten. Meet me at the store.” He turned and gave Sally Ann a wide smile. “You take care of this one. She’s not used to Kentucky.”
He handed Angelica the backpack.
Angelica couldn’t argue the point, but she wondered how obvious she appeared. She felt like a stranger on a different planet. She was used to glass and concrete, canyons shadowed by tall buildings. The breeze blowing from the Hudson. Or freezing winters fighting slush and traffic and time.
Before she could even thank her reluctant guide, he’d turned and began walking back the way he came.
“Thank you,” she called after him, ever mindful of manners her mother had drummed into her head.
He didn’t acknowledge her appreciation.
“He can’t hear you,” Sally Ann said. “Come on in. I’ve got a nice room right on the front of the house. Gets the breeze at night. Quiet, too, unless those Slade boys are carrying on.”
Angelica nodded and followed her hostess into the house, wondering who the Slade boys were and what carrying on meant. The tall ceilings kept the temperature tolerable. It was a relief to be out of the sun. Climbing stairs that creaked with each step, she wondered how old the house was. The faded wallpaper on the walls gave the feeling of days gone by—long gone by. But the house was spotlessly clean. And smelled like apple pie.
“Here it is. What do you think?” Sally Ann stepped into a large room with wide windows overlooking the street. The oak in front shaded it from the sun. It wasn’t as cool as air-conditioning could achieve, but it was pleasant enough. Definitely twenty or more degrees cooler than outside.
The double bed was covered with an old quilt. There was a slipper chair near one of the windows, a large double-wide bureau and knickknacks galore from little ceramic kittens playing with yarn to old figurines of ladies in antebellum attire.
“This is nice,” Angelica said, taking it all in. It was so different from her sleek Manhattan apartment, with chrome and leather furnishings and modern art on the walls. This was warm and homey. She had never seen a place like it. She liked it.
“Supper’s at six. If you don’t eat here, there’s a good diner in town. Without a car, you’re going to be hard-pressed to find anything else you can walk to and get back before dark.”
“I’d like supper here,” Angelica said, slowly lowering her backpack to the floor. Her precious violin she hugged against her chest for comfort. She felt it was the only familiar thing in life right now.
“Meals are extra.” Sally Ann quoted a figure that was ridiculously low.
Angelica smiled and nodded. “I’d like that.” If everything was that cheap in Kentucky, she could stay longer than originally planned.
If Webb Francis got well and agreed to help her.
And if she could keep her mind on work and not the disturbing presence of Kirk Devon!
Kirk walked back toward town. He planned to call Webb Francis as soon as he reached a phone. Did the man know Angelica Cannon? He had not seemed worried about an invited guest showing up when Kirk saw him yesterday. The more he thought about it, the odder it seemed. What would a young woman whom no one ever heard of have in common with Webb Francis—except for the fiddle. Webb Francis was a world-class fiddle player. At the music festivals and hootenannies held in and around Smoky Hollow, Webb Francis was renowned for his talent. Could she be a student wannabe? Would explain the violin case she guarded. He should have told her he had no interest in her instrument.
Melvin and Paul still held the fort on the porch of the store. There were a couple of others from town chatting with them. Waiting. When they spotted Kirk, the questions began to fly as everyone wanted to know more about the woman who came to visit Webb Francis.
“Don’t know any more than you do. But I’m taking her over to see him tomorrow. Maybe that’ll clear things up.” He spoke another minute or two to the neighbors then headed for home. It was hot. Late July in Kentucky was always hot. He’d been in hotter places. But a long time ago. Time and places he didn’t want to remember.
Next time he’d take his motorcycle. It wasn’t a long walk to town, but midday wasn’t the time to be out walking in the sun.
Reaching the log cabin built as if it grew directly from the forest floor, Kirk went straight to his phone. In a moment he was connected to Webb Francis at the hospital.
“You expecting an Angelica Cannon?” Kirk asked after ascertaining his friend was improving.
“Who?”
“Some woman with a fiddle in a case, backpack, faded jeans and a secretive attitude.”
“Doesn’t sound like anyone I know. Far as I can remember, no one’s going to show up to see me.”
“Claims she was expecting to see you. I figure she’s going to try to talk you into giving her some lessons or something.”
Webb Francis coughed for a long moment. Then said, “Not up to it. Send her on her way.”
“I’m bringing her in to see you tomorrow.”
“I’m not up to taking on a student. The doctors here can’t even tell me when I’m going home.”
“Rest up. We’ll sort this out tomorrow. She’s staying at Sally Ann’s tonight. If you’re not up to seeing her, she can come back after you get well. Need anything?”
Webb Francis coughed again. “Naw, I’m good. It’ll be good to see you, Kirk. Don’t know about some stranger.”
“Take it easy. I’ll handle things.”
“You always do. Good thing for me and your granddad you came home when you did.”
Kirk stared out the window at the bank of trees. Good and bad. If he had not returned, he could believe Alice was waiting for him. Still—his grandfather needed him. He’d seen the sights he’d wanted to see. It had been time to return home.
“See you tomorrow,” he said and slowly hung up the phone.
Action kept memories at bay. He rose and went to the studio behind his house. He could get in some serious work this afternoon. And evening. And maybe think a bit more about the stranger who looked sad and lost and a bit scared. She presented a puzzle. Strangers didn’t come