The Newcomer. Margot DaltonЧитать онлайн книгу.
badly needed in Crystal Creek.”
“And in return, she’ll own the whole town. It’ll be Natasha’s private playground, to do with exactly as she pleases. She’ll get to be the undisputed queen of Crystal Creek.”
“I doubt if that’s what she wants, Terry.”
“How do you know what she wants?” he asked bluntly.
Maggie thought about Natasha Dunne, her baffling and enigmatic employer.
“I’m not sure anybody knows what Natasha really wants, or how she thinks about things,” she confessed. “But the way she explained it to me, this is entirely a sentimental project. Crystal Creek has always meant a lot to her.”
Terry helped himself to another scone and munched it with pleasure.
“Yeah, I know all about the sentiment,” he said. “How touching it is. Natasha films a movie here thirty years ago while her brand-new husband is fighting valiantly in Vietnam…”
“He was killed over there, Terry.” Maggie gave her brother a reproving glance.
Terry ignored her. “And only the warmth and support of the Crystal Creek townspeople helps our poor little Natasha to pull through and go on living. The whole story’s become a national legend.”
“So why do you sound sarcastic whenever you talk about it?”
He shrugged. “I just wonder about things sometimes. Sentiment doesn’t seem to me like sufficient motivation to buy a whole town. For God’s sake, who buys a town, Maggie?”
“Natasha does,” she said dryly.
“Hell, no. She sends her loyal administrative assistant to scout the area and buy the town, while she lounges on a cruise ship in the Mediterranean.”
“She’s recovering from surgery, Terry. You know that. Natasha’s in a great deal of pain.”
He chuckled. “You make it sound like a heart transplant. The woman had a face-lift, for God’s sake.”
“It’s still very painful,” Maggie said. “And she needs to recover in privacy.”
Terry looked at her curiously. “Why are you always so loyal to the woman, Mags? Even when she’s being completely bizarre and irrational. I know how much this stuff drives you crazy, but you hardly ever let me say a word against her.”
“I’m closer to her than you are,” Maggie said. “And you know what? I really like her. Underneath all the glitz and nonsense, there’s a core of goodness in Natasha. I think she’s a vulnerable person.”
Terry grinned and buttered a bit of scone. “I can’t say I’ve noticed the vulnerability all that much.”
“She helped us all those years before Mom died,” Maggie said.
“I guess so. But we were no more to her than names on a page, Maggie. Our family was Natasha’s designated charity—her tax deduction.”
“Aren’t you even a little bit grateful to her?” Maggie asked, sipping her tea.
“Sure I’m grateful. But I still don’t believe charity gives Natasha the right to own you, and make you do anything she wants you to.”
“Terry, eight years ago I chose to work for Natasha, and it’s been a damn good job. Certainly not some kind of indentured servitude, the way you’re implying.”
Her brother watched her thoughtfully. “So how much are you allowed to spend, buying this nice little place? What do towns sell for nowadays?”
“Natasha’s prepared to invest up to thirty million dollars. She’d like to acquire all of the business area, and a good portion of the private residences.”
“And what’s she going to do with them?”
Maggie shrugged wearily. “I told you, nobody really knows. Maybe she’ll change the name of the town to Dunne Creek, or have her picture on the postmark.”
“Maybe she’ll build a theme park, and call it Natasha Land.”
Maggie laughed at this. “You’re right, Terry. Who knows what she might do? Maybe after the cruise,” she added hopefully, “Natasha will change her mind altogether.”
“Well, if she doesn’t,” he said with an answering grin, his good humor apparently restored, “I sure don’t envy you the task of trying to buy this hotel from Doug Evans.”
Maggie’s laughter faded. She set down her teacup, staring at the window.
“I know there’ll be lots of opposition,” she said. “If Natasha insists on going ahead with this, the only hope would be to find one or two people who are willing to sell, and approach them first with offers to purchase. Once we’ve already acquired even a small block of local property, others might be tempted by the cash.”
“But?” he prompted.
“But I’m really hoping she’ll just forget the whole project,” Maggie confessed.
Terry got up and wandered across the room to look down at the quiet street. Maggie watched his casual, lounging figure, wondering what he was thinking.
“How old do you suppose Rose Murdoch is?” he asked without turning around.
Maggie looked at her notes again. “It doesn’t say, but I’d guess she’s about my age.”
“And you’ll be thirty-one in March, right?”
“How nice of you to remember,” Maggie said dryly. “I’m really touched.”
Terry ignored her, still gazing at the street. “Rose is probably closer to my age,” he said at last. “Late twenties, don’t you think?”
“If that’s true, she must have been married very young,” Maggie said, “because the older girl is nine years old.”
“Do your notes say why she got divorced?”
Maggie looked with sudden interest at her brother’s blond head, glistening in the late-afternoon light from the window.
“Terry, what’s this all about? Why the big concern about Rose Murdoch?”
“I just like the look of her,” he said, coming back to sprawl on the couch again.
“Yes, I noticed that.” Maggie gave him a teasing smile.
“She seems like a nice person,” he said with studied casualness. “Is it so strange that I’d notice a good-looking woman?”
“When you’re in the middle of working on that book, you never seem to notice anybody.”
“Well,” he said, “I’m not working at the moment. I haven’t written a word in the past week, since we decided to come out here on this crazy project.”
“You should have rented that apartment down on the beach while they were working on your place.”
“I didn’t want you out here all alone, dealing with Natasha when she’s on one of her tangents. And I don’t care where I live as long as I can work. But I won’t be working anytime soon,” he added restlessly, “unless your big Scotsman gets some computer equipment installed up here.”
“He’s not my Scotsman!” Maggie said hotly.
Her brother arched an eyebrow, his face sparkling with amusement. “Why, Maggie,” he said, raising a cup in her direction. “If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn’t believe it.”
“What?” she said.
“You’re actually blushing. You’ve turned as pink as Rose Murdoch.”
Maggie frowned and swatted her younger brother with the file folder while he ducked aside, laughing. Then she began hauling her luggage into