Read Online Ghost Gone Wild (A Bailey Ruth Ghost Novel) by Carolyn Hart - Free Book Online
Authors: Carolyn Hart
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trading post like she promised. It’s rotten of Nick. He doesn’t care about the Arnold place. All he wants to do is block Cole.”
“Cole can’t possibly care that much about Old Timer Days.” Jan was dismissive. “He knows about as much Oklahoma history as that armadillo who digs up your iris. In fact, I’d bet on the armadillo if I had to choose.”
“You never have liked Cole.”
“With good reason.” Jan’s voice was cool. “He isn’t what you think he is.”
“I know him much better than you do.” Arlene’s voice was soft. “He has a hard time trusting people. He never had much kindness in his life—his dad dead, his mom dumping him on her brother and his family. The last Cole heard she was somewhere in Bolivia. His uncle is a stuffy old jerk. He thinks Cole is flaky, like his mother. Anyway, he needs understanding. He and I have a good time together.”
Jan didn’t answer. She pressed her lips together.
Her mother’s face flushed. “There’s nothing wrong with an older woman and a younger man.”
I dared not linger longer, or they might wonder if I was pilfering the silver. I bustled through the swinging door and ignored the tension in the breakfast nook, though the atmosphere was as heavy as an imminent thunderstorm. Jan pressed her lips together. She made no reply to her mother, but there was very likely no good reply that had come to her mind.
I gave Arlene a swift glance. Undeniably she was a youthful and quite firm late forties, but late forties are late forties. I wasn’t taking undue pleasure in forever being twenty-seven. That would not reflect a generous spirit. “The kitchen is amazing. The plate rack over the butler’s sink is such an excellent Victorian detail.” I slid into my place, pulled out my folded sheets and pen, and looked at them brightly. “It’s been my experience as a detective that authorities are excellent at investigating homicides. But they are not adept at preventing homicides. My job is to protect Mr. Magruder. To do so, it is essential that I speak to everyone who has reason to be angry with him. As I understand the situation, and I have had the opportunity for only a brief talk with Mr. Magruder, he has returned to Adelaide as a very wealthy man and it might be said he came home with an attitude.”
Arlene looked sour. “He can’t wait to tell everyone how rich he is.”
Jan rushed to his defense. “That’s not fair. He’s a success, and he has every right to be proud. The guys who treated him like scum in high school are the ones badmouthing him now.”
I asked quickly, “Such as?”
Arlene’s lips thinned. “I don’t blame them. Nick sneers at anyone who played football. But he hasn’t stopped there. He’s gone out of his way to try to block Cole’s plans for the festival.”
“Cole?”
“Cole Clanton.” Arlene slipped a cell phone out of her pocket, swept her thumb across it several times, held it out to me.
Cole Clanton’s thick brown hair was tousled. His dark eyes looked sleepy. Sensuous lips parted in a half smile, he lounged shirtless on a rumpled bed, propped on one elbow. He looked reckless, sexy, and arrogant.
Arlene gazed at the picture. Desire glowed in her eyes, her lips were parted.
Jan looked away, her expression a mixture of sadness and distaste.
Arlene spoke with energy, oblivious to Jan’s discomfort. “Cole’s amazing. Everybody’s excited about the upcoming festival. He has wonderful ideas.” Arlene gestured around the room, her gaze settling on a glass-paned china cabinet filled with Victorian bric-a-brac, ruby red lusters, paperweights, papier-mâché trays, small statues, china vases, crystal boxes, silver goblets. “We’ll serve a Victorian tea every afternoon, and we’re selling tickets for a Ladies’ Book Society meeting, and everyone will wear eighteen-nineties dresses. We’ll have a review of
The Light that Failed
by Rudyard Kipling. It was published in eighteen ninety, a couple of years
“Cole can’t possibly care that much about Old Timer Days.” Jan was dismissive. “He knows about as much Oklahoma history as that armadillo who digs up your iris. In fact, I’d bet on the armadillo if I had to choose.”
“You never have liked Cole.”
“With good reason.” Jan’s voice was cool. “He isn’t what you think he is.”
“I know him much better than you do.” Arlene’s voice was soft. “He has a hard time trusting people. He never had much kindness in his life—his dad dead, his mom dumping him on her brother and his family. The last Cole heard she was somewhere in Bolivia. His uncle is a stuffy old jerk. He thinks Cole is flaky, like his mother. Anyway, he needs understanding. He and I have a good time together.”
Jan didn’t answer. She pressed her lips together.
Her mother’s face flushed. “There’s nothing wrong with an older woman and a younger man.”
I dared not linger longer, or they might wonder if I was pilfering the silver. I bustled through the swinging door and ignored the tension in the breakfast nook, though the atmosphere was as heavy as an imminent thunderstorm. Jan pressed her lips together. She made no reply to her mother, but there was very likely no good reply that had come to her mind.
I gave Arlene a swift glance. Undeniably she was a youthful and quite firm late forties, but late forties are late forties. I wasn’t taking undue pleasure in forever being twenty-seven. That would not reflect a generous spirit. “The kitchen is amazing. The plate rack over the butler’s sink is such an excellent Victorian detail.” I slid into my place, pulled out my folded sheets and pen, and looked at them brightly. “It’s been my experience as a detective that authorities are excellent at investigating homicides. But they are not adept at preventing homicides. My job is to protect Mr. Magruder. To do so, it is essential that I speak to everyone who has reason to be angry with him. As I understand the situation, and I have had the opportunity for only a brief talk with Mr. Magruder, he has returned to Adelaide as a very wealthy man and it might be said he came home with an attitude.”
Arlene looked sour. “He can’t wait to tell everyone how rich he is.”
Jan rushed to his defense. “That’s not fair. He’s a success, and he has every right to be proud. The guys who treated him like scum in high school are the ones badmouthing him now.”
I asked quickly, “Such as?”
Arlene’s lips thinned. “I don’t blame them. Nick sneers at anyone who played football. But he hasn’t stopped there. He’s gone out of his way to try to block Cole’s plans for the festival.”
“Cole?”
“Cole Clanton.” Arlene slipped a cell phone out of her pocket, swept her thumb across it several times, held it out to me.
Cole Clanton’s thick brown hair was tousled. His dark eyes looked sleepy. Sensuous lips parted in a half smile, he lounged shirtless on a rumpled bed, propped on one elbow. He looked reckless, sexy, and arrogant.
Arlene gazed at the picture. Desire glowed in her eyes, her lips were parted.
Jan looked away, her expression a mixture of sadness and distaste.
Arlene spoke with energy, oblivious to Jan’s discomfort. “Cole’s amazing. Everybody’s excited about the upcoming festival. He has wonderful ideas.” Arlene gestured around the room, her gaze settling on a glass-paned china cabinet filled with Victorian bric-a-brac, ruby red lusters, paperweights, papier-mâché trays, small statues, china vases, crystal boxes, silver goblets. “We’ll serve a Victorian tea every afternoon, and we’re selling tickets for a Ladies’ Book Society meeting, and everyone will wear eighteen-nineties dresses. We’ll have a review of
The Light that Failed
by Rudyard Kipling. It was published in eighteen ninety, a couple of years
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