Read Online Exception to the Rule by Doranna Durgin - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Doranna Durgin
Tags: Suspense
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the Thanksgiving aspect. Who knew what pig-themed potpourri would smell like?
Unfortunately, it didn’t look as if he was going to return as a mighty hunter of snack food. Tentatively, he reached for a bag of barbecued chips—at least they had flavor of some sort. Or should he go for baked chips? He decided Carolyne would choose the healthy route and tossed the baked chips in his small shopping cart. After a moment, he added the barbecued chips for himself.
He’d walked here after double-checking the batteries on his cell phone and making sure Carolyne had memorized the number. She’d only given him a strange look and rattled it off, along with his home phone, the phone at the Sails Away Boat Storage, his rarely used e-mail address, his previous never-used e-mail address—
He’d thrown his hands up in surrender and left for a brisk walk down the two blocks before the vast residential area of Mill Springs turned to the commercial street. On the way he stopped at the town barbershop—adjoining but distinctly separate from the beauty shop next door, even if the scent of nail-polish removers and lacquers had drifted over to taint the air. There he checked their policy on walk-ins, resolving to have his hair cut in the next day or two. And he stopped in the tiny closet of a liquor store, found a good merlot for Carolyne, and decided to buy it on the way back. He stopped at the equally tiny Hallmark outlet and picked out a card for her, puzzled over someone’s warning to another customer about being “stonnered” at the grocery store, and then cruised through Spring Air Outdoor Gear to contemplate a pair of hikers.
Rio Carlsen, being seen. Being friendly. Letting a small town realize he was here, and turning himself into someone comfortable to them. In this area of well-settled German and mixed-mutt ancestry, his own obvious heritage caught their attention. Made him someone they would remember, once he added a smile and respectful conversation and yes, of course, a sprinkling of the almost imperceptible bows that his grandmother had drilled into him so early. If he’d wanted he could have come and gone unnoticed, but he didn’t want. Carolyne, they’d never see. His sick sister, come here for the fresh country air and a glimpse at the fall foliage. He wouldn’t have mentioned her at all except that Angelina and her hubby were clearly active in the community and they already knew of her presence.
And meanwhile, the town would come to know him.If anyone arrived on Carolyne’s tail, he wanted to be part of us and not one of them .
Still. No apple chips. No blue corn tortilla chips. He did find a bunch of touristy brochures by a community bulletin board, and snagged them all, and he spotted a stuffed beaver he knew Carolyne would consider adorable, so put it in the cart. As an afterthought he grabbed a box of frosted cherry Pop-Tarts. Carolyne never had to know….
As he pushed the rickety cart up to the cash register, the diminutive young cashier glanced up with a smile. But when she saw him, it quickly faded. His pleasant greeting went unnoted.
In his home life, he would have let it pass. Not important. Maybe he reminded her of a former boyfriend; maybe she hated breakfast pastries. But with Carolyne’s safety at stake, such mysteries couldn’t remain unplumbed. “I’m sorry,” he said, offering real regret. “Did I offend you somehow?”
She looked down at the groceries as she passed them over the code reader, but she was a fine-haired blonde and her scalp showed red with her blush. He didn’t push it directly. Instead, he said, “My sister was looking for these things called apple chips. I don’t suppose you have them here somewhere and I missed them? I see ’em in Michigan all the time.” Not true—he’d never looked—but he wanted to appear forthcoming, and he sure wasn’t going to mention New York State. The point was to spread obfuscation, not clues.
“Apple chips?” She looked up,
Unfortunately, it didn’t look as if he was going to return as a mighty hunter of snack food. Tentatively, he reached for a bag of barbecued chips—at least they had flavor of some sort. Or should he go for baked chips? He decided Carolyne would choose the healthy route and tossed the baked chips in his small shopping cart. After a moment, he added the barbecued chips for himself.
He’d walked here after double-checking the batteries on his cell phone and making sure Carolyne had memorized the number. She’d only given him a strange look and rattled it off, along with his home phone, the phone at the Sails Away Boat Storage, his rarely used e-mail address, his previous never-used e-mail address—
He’d thrown his hands up in surrender and left for a brisk walk down the two blocks before the vast residential area of Mill Springs turned to the commercial street. On the way he stopped at the town barbershop—adjoining but distinctly separate from the beauty shop next door, even if the scent of nail-polish removers and lacquers had drifted over to taint the air. There he checked their policy on walk-ins, resolving to have his hair cut in the next day or two. And he stopped in the tiny closet of a liquor store, found a good merlot for Carolyne, and decided to buy it on the way back. He stopped at the equally tiny Hallmark outlet and picked out a card for her, puzzled over someone’s warning to another customer about being “stonnered” at the grocery store, and then cruised through Spring Air Outdoor Gear to contemplate a pair of hikers.
Rio Carlsen, being seen. Being friendly. Letting a small town realize he was here, and turning himself into someone comfortable to them. In this area of well-settled German and mixed-mutt ancestry, his own obvious heritage caught their attention. Made him someone they would remember, once he added a smile and respectful conversation and yes, of course, a sprinkling of the almost imperceptible bows that his grandmother had drilled into him so early. If he’d wanted he could have come and gone unnoticed, but he didn’t want. Carolyne, they’d never see. His sick sister, come here for the fresh country air and a glimpse at the fall foliage. He wouldn’t have mentioned her at all except that Angelina and her hubby were clearly active in the community and they already knew of her presence.
And meanwhile, the town would come to know him.If anyone arrived on Carolyne’s tail, he wanted to be part of us and not one of them .
Still. No apple chips. No blue corn tortilla chips. He did find a bunch of touristy brochures by a community bulletin board, and snagged them all, and he spotted a stuffed beaver he knew Carolyne would consider adorable, so put it in the cart. As an afterthought he grabbed a box of frosted cherry Pop-Tarts. Carolyne never had to know….
As he pushed the rickety cart up to the cash register, the diminutive young cashier glanced up with a smile. But when she saw him, it quickly faded. His pleasant greeting went unnoted.
In his home life, he would have let it pass. Not important. Maybe he reminded her of a former boyfriend; maybe she hated breakfast pastries. But with Carolyne’s safety at stake, such mysteries couldn’t remain unplumbed. “I’m sorry,” he said, offering real regret. “Did I offend you somehow?”
She looked down at the groceries as she passed them over the code reader, but she was a fine-haired blonde and her scalp showed red with her blush. He didn’t push it directly. Instead, he said, “My sister was looking for these things called apple chips. I don’t suppose you have them here somewhere and I missed them? I see ’em in Michigan all the time.” Not true—he’d never looked—but he wanted to appear forthcoming, and he sure wasn’t going to mention New York State. The point was to spread obfuscation, not clues.
“Apple chips?” She looked up,
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