Read Online Dark Series, The Color of Seven and The Color of Dusk (Books We Love Special Edition) by Gail Roughton - Free Book Online
Authors: Gail Roughton
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with a psychiatrist.
She clicked the lamp off and settled into her pillows. In her uneasy slumbers, she drove up and down the unpaved streets of 1888 Macon in her Mustang classic, passing horses standing with their reins wrapped casually around horse posts, teams of dray horses pulling delivery vans. The store names were painted on the front glass. A. B. Farquar, S. R. Jacques & Co., Coben’s, Kuhns, Lieb’s Fine Groceries. Paul Everett, dressed in tan Dockers and denim shirt, stood side by side with Paul Devlin, dressed in the tight britches and high-topped riding boots of 1888. Both men moved, just out of her reach, drawing her forward with gestures of their hands, pulling her back, back, back in time.
Chapter Eleven
She didn’t know how long she’d slept when the sounds woke her. Muffled sounds . Paul Devlin. Crying over Chloe’s things. She g ot up and moved to the door, and there he was. He lifted a perfume bottle and held the stopper to his nose. The gesture caught her heart. How many nights had he cried for Chloe in this room?
She walked to his side. His hand moved . I n the glow of the nightlights plugged around her living room, she caught the gleam of gold on his finger. His wedding ring.
She moved closer and tou ched his image. A gain he disappeared at her touch. But not before she saw the rolled etchings engraved on the band of his ring.
Was he back? H ad he ever been gone? She returned to her bed and tossed restlessly until dawn.
* * *
At 9:30 the next morning, Ria dialed a phone number. She’d already checked the internet. Mobile’s newspaper was the Press-Register. It didn’t have a Mobile Reporter. And a call to personnel verified that no reporter named Paul Everett worked for it. Or ever had.
She hung up. Well. If there was no v erifiable living Paul Everett, his supposedly deceased double definitely had a verified address. Rose Arbor Cemetery. Today’s schedule was hectic but her plans weren’t daytime plans, anyway.
She went out of her office to their secretary’s desk.
“Katie, would you do me a favor? Not professional. Girl stuff.”
“Sure.”
“If I’m in the office and I get a phone call from a Paul Everett, interrupt me.”
Katie narrowed her eyes.
“ I don’t know the name. Out of state attorney? ”
“ Nope. ”
“Adjuster?”
“No pe .”
Katie grinned. She gave Ria the devil about her social life, or lack of one.
“You don’t say! Well, I certainly will interrupt you, don’t worry about it.”
“And if I’m not in—”
“Yeah?”
“Try to get a phone number.”
“Why would I have to try? Most people leave phone numbers, Ria.”
“Somehow, I don’t think he will.”
* * *
Ria moved through the day by rote, waiting for late afternoon. Finally, Katie turned off her computer and departed. Johnny closed his office door and attempted to lure her to the Rookery, flouncing out the door alone in good-natured exasperation when she refused. The house was hers.
She went upstairs and exchanged her tailored suit and high heels for jeans and Nikes. Then she ransacked the assortment of small tools, screws and nails her father had put together as things she might need around the house. She picked up a hammer, a small metal file, and her smallest flathead screwdriver and shoved them into a canvas tote. S he checked her pocketbook and tossed her wallet, keys, and small metal nail file in after them. The nail file was smaller than the screwdriver. It might come in handy. She grabbed a flashlight from the shelf of her closet and tossed that in, too.
The sanctity of the Devlin mausoleum was toast. Either it held a coffin wherein reposed the earthly remains of Dr. Paul Devlin. Or didn’t. And she was , by God , going to find out which.
* * *
She drove down Orange, turned left onto Walnut , onto College, and ran down the short stretch of hill to Riverside Drive. Operating on the theory that no one notices you if
She clicked the lamp off and settled into her pillows. In her uneasy slumbers, she drove up and down the unpaved streets of 1888 Macon in her Mustang classic, passing horses standing with their reins wrapped casually around horse posts, teams of dray horses pulling delivery vans. The store names were painted on the front glass. A. B. Farquar, S. R. Jacques & Co., Coben’s, Kuhns, Lieb’s Fine Groceries. Paul Everett, dressed in tan Dockers and denim shirt, stood side by side with Paul Devlin, dressed in the tight britches and high-topped riding boots of 1888. Both men moved, just out of her reach, drawing her forward with gestures of their hands, pulling her back, back, back in time.
Chapter Eleven
She didn’t know how long she’d slept when the sounds woke her. Muffled sounds . Paul Devlin. Crying over Chloe’s things. She g ot up and moved to the door, and there he was. He lifted a perfume bottle and held the stopper to his nose. The gesture caught her heart. How many nights had he cried for Chloe in this room?
She walked to his side. His hand moved . I n the glow of the nightlights plugged around her living room, she caught the gleam of gold on his finger. His wedding ring.
She moved closer and tou ched his image. A gain he disappeared at her touch. But not before she saw the rolled etchings engraved on the band of his ring.
Was he back? H ad he ever been gone? She returned to her bed and tossed restlessly until dawn.
* * *
At 9:30 the next morning, Ria dialed a phone number. She’d already checked the internet. Mobile’s newspaper was the Press-Register. It didn’t have a Mobile Reporter. And a call to personnel verified that no reporter named Paul Everett worked for it. Or ever had.
She hung up. Well. If there was no v erifiable living Paul Everett, his supposedly deceased double definitely had a verified address. Rose Arbor Cemetery. Today’s schedule was hectic but her plans weren’t daytime plans, anyway.
She went out of her office to their secretary’s desk.
“Katie, would you do me a favor? Not professional. Girl stuff.”
“Sure.”
“If I’m in the office and I get a phone call from a Paul Everett, interrupt me.”
Katie narrowed her eyes.
“ I don’t know the name. Out of state attorney? ”
“ Nope. ”
“Adjuster?”
“No pe .”
Katie grinned. She gave Ria the devil about her social life, or lack of one.
“You don’t say! Well, I certainly will interrupt you, don’t worry about it.”
“And if I’m not in—”
“Yeah?”
“Try to get a phone number.”
“Why would I have to try? Most people leave phone numbers, Ria.”
“Somehow, I don’t think he will.”
* * *
Ria moved through the day by rote, waiting for late afternoon. Finally, Katie turned off her computer and departed. Johnny closed his office door and attempted to lure her to the Rookery, flouncing out the door alone in good-natured exasperation when she refused. The house was hers.
She went upstairs and exchanged her tailored suit and high heels for jeans and Nikes. Then she ransacked the assortment of small tools, screws and nails her father had put together as things she might need around the house. She picked up a hammer, a small metal file, and her smallest flathead screwdriver and shoved them into a canvas tote. S he checked her pocketbook and tossed her wallet, keys, and small metal nail file in after them. The nail file was smaller than the screwdriver. It might come in handy. She grabbed a flashlight from the shelf of her closet and tossed that in, too.
The sanctity of the Devlin mausoleum was toast. Either it held a coffin wherein reposed the earthly remains of Dr. Paul Devlin. Or didn’t. And she was , by God , going to find out which.
* * *
She drove down Orange, turned left onto Walnut , onto College, and ran down the short stretch of hill to Riverside Drive. Operating on the theory that no one notices you if
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