Cold Feet. Brenda NovakЧитать онлайн книгу.
“Perfect.” Madison gave her a grateful smile and dug through her purse for the money to pay her. “Did anyone call while I was gone?”
“You had an ad call on the rental place.”
“An ad call?” Brianna echoed. “What’s an ad call?”
Madison shook her head. Her daughter was only six years old, but nothing slipped past her. “I’m trying to rent out the carriage house. Did the caller leave her name?” she asked Joanna.
“It was a he.”
“Oh.” For safety reasons, Madison had been hoping for a female tenant. But at this point, she knew she’d take anyone with good credit and solid references.
“What does it mean to rent out the carriage house?” Brianna asked.
“It means someone else will live there,” Madison said.
“Why?”
To help her financially. When she’d purchased the house and her business, she’d planned for the eight months it would take her to learn what she needed to know and get her broker’s license. But she hadn’t expected business to be so slow once she actually took over. And she’d already lost her top agent, which meant she was down to three. It wasn’t going to be easy to survive if the real estate market didn’t pick up.
“Because it might be fun to have some company once in a while, don’t you think?” she said to Brianna, even though company was really the last thing Madison wanted. She’d dealt with enough curious strangers to last her a lifetime.
Brianna scrunched up her face as though she wasn’t quite sure about company, either, but Madison was more interested in what Joanna had to say. Danny had made some comments that led her to believe he and Leslie might sue for custody of Brianna again. Madison wanted to be ready for him. She needed to save what little money she had left from the divorce for a good attorney.
“Did he leave his name and number?” she asked.
Joanna frowned as she tried to remember. “Dwight…Sanderson, I think. His number’s on the fridge.”
“Good. I’m having trouble finding a tenant. Everyone wants to come for a visit, but the ferry can take as long as two hours, so we’re not exactly in a prime location for people who work on the mainland.”
“This guy definitely sounds interested.”
“Thanks.”
“No problem. If you need me again, just call my cell.” The door slammed behind Joanna, then Madison heard the distinctive rattle of her Volkswagen bug as she pulled out of the drive.
“Dwight Sanderson,” Madison mumbled to herself, heading straight to the kitchen.
“I don’t want a man to live in the carriage house, Mommy,” Brianna complained, trailing after her. “That’s where you draw, and me and Elizabeth play.”
“It’s nice to have the extra room, but we can do without it,” she replied.
“Daddy said we live in a closet.”
Daddy doesn’t know everything, Madison wanted to say, but she bit her tongue. “Our house isn’t as big as his, but I like it here, don’t you?”
Brianna nodded enthusiastically. “This is a cottage for princesses.”
Hearing her own words come back at her from the day they’d moved in, Madison smiled. “Right. And we’re princesses, so it’s ideal.”
“Will the man who moves in be a prince?” she asked.
Madison stared down at the Post-it note Joanna had stuck on the fridge, and thought about her father, her two half brothers and her ex-husband. She hadn’t met very many princes in her life. She was beginning to believe they didn’t exist.
“I doubt it,” she said, and picked up the phone.
CHAPTER THREE
C ALEB STOOD in the antique-filled living room of his parents’ white Victorian, staring out the window at Guemes Channel and the wooded island beyond as he wondered what he was going to try next. He’d already spent three days doing everything he could think of to dig up some kind of lead on Susan. But he’d had no luck at all. Along with the police and the private investigator hired by Holly’s parents, he and Holly had talked to Susan’s friends, neighbors and work associates. They’d visited nightclub after nightclub with Susan’s picture and checked her bank account again.
Still they’d come up empty.
“Holly called while you were in the shower,” his mother said from the doorway.
Caleb glanced over his shoulder. Justine Trovato was in her early sixties, but she looked at least ten years younger. Today she’d pinned up her white hair and was wearing a tasteful pair of brown slacks and a silky blouse, with pearls at her neck and ears.
“If she calls back, tell her I need to do a few things on my own today,” he said.
“If she calls back? Aren’t you going to respond to her message? She thought you might need a ride somewhere.”
Caleb didn’t want to talk to Holly. They’d lost their tempers yesterday while canvassing the apartment building, and she’d stormed off for a couple of hours. She came back when she’d cooled off, but they were both pretty tense. He thought they could use some time apart. Which was the story of their whole relationship. “I’ll rent a car.”
“You know you can take my Cadillac.” Justine moved into the room to straighten a doily, and Caleb immediately recognized the lavender fragrance she’d worn since he was small.
“I don’t want to put you out. I don’t really know my schedule.”
“I’m sure I could live without a car for the day. Your father’s out back tinkering in his shed. He could drive me in his little pickup if I need to go somewhere. Or there’s always your sister.”
Tamara, Caleb’s older sister, lived next door with her husband and twin boys in a home his parents had helped them buy. “I appreciate the offer, Mom, but I’ll feel more mobile if I have a car of my own.”
“If it makes you more comfortable, dear.”
More comfortable? Caleb wasn’t feeling very comfortable about anything. He’d already spent far more time than he’d hoped it would take to find Susan—and he wasn’t any closer than the day he’d arrived in Seattle.
She’ll turn up…. He’d told Holly that when she first called him. But those words seemed terribly glib now. He was beginning to think that if Susan did turn up, she’d turn up dead. Otherwise they would’ve found some trace of her.
“Where are you planning to go?” his mother asked.
“I spoke to Detective Gibbons this morning and—”
“Oh, he called here yesterday saying he’d received a message from you.”
“He got hold of me on my cell.”
“Can he help?” His parents were as worried about Susan as he was. They’d met her at his wedding—the second time, they’d eloped—and had seen her at a few family functions since.
“He doesn’t know much about Susan’s case. It’s not his to worry about.”
“Then why did you contact him?”
“He worked on the Sandpoint Strangler task force with me.”
“Those poor women.” His mother shuddered. “But you’re not interested in the Sandpoint Strangler anymore, are you? I thought you put that book aside.”
Caleb had always been interested in the Sandpoint Strangler. Probably because he’d been brand-new to the police department when the killings