Read Online House of Strangers (Harlequin Super Romance) by Carolyn McSparren - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Carolyn McSparren
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first job I’ve had this close to home since I moved back to Rossiter.”
All the time she talked, she was constructing the omelet. He was impressed. He knew the way good cooks maneuvered in the kitchen.
“There are some fresh bagels in the bread box. Split us a couple, would you, and stick them in the toaster.”
Paul did as she asked, then returned to his place at the counter.
He enjoyed watching her. She worked efficiently, and before long was ready to pour the omelet mixture into a hot frying pan.
“Okay. While I’m doing this, you can set the table,” she said. “Place mats and silverware are in the top drawer of the Welsh dresser. I’ll bring the rest. Honey all right for your bagel?”
Ten minutes later he sat down to an omelet, green salad and hot buttered bagels. He was growing mellow from his second glass of wine.
His small sojourn on his porch had begun the job of relaxing him. Sitting opposite Ann in this pleasant place completed the job. Even the ache in his shoulder had subsided. He felt Dante’s heavy head against his ankle and looked down to see hungry eyes.
She noticed and said, “Don’t you dare. Dante doesn’t eat at the table. He’d be impossible if he ever started.”
“The omelet is as good as I’ve ever eaten. Thanks for taking me in tonight. I promise you dinner in return.” He wasn’t flattering her. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was until his first bite. After a moment he said, “Tell me about the artist who did that caricature.”
“Uncle David tossed off those little sketches. He sold them at charity functions.”
“And gave the money away?”
“He certainly didn’t need it himself.”
“Did he do other things—portraits, landscapes, still lifes?”
“A few portraits. He never sold anything, never had an art gallery to represent him or did a show that I’m aware of. His studio was in the old summer kitchen behind your house.”
Paul caught his breath. “I haven’t even tried to get into it. I assumed it was derelict. Buddy said it would probably have to come down to make way for the new garage.”
“You didn’t go in when you were looking at the house before you bought it?”
“It was padlocked, and Mrs. Hoddle didn’t have the key. I’ve tried to see in the windows a couple of times, but they’re filthy. The door may be old, but it’s solid, and the padlock is one of those that can’t be broken open even with a pistol shot.”
“Don’t need a pistol. Just need a good strong pair of bolt cutters. I can get you in there tomorrow morning if you like.”
“Do you think there might be other drawings left after all these years?”
“Possibly. More likely the rats and mice have shredded them for nests.”
“Wouldn’t Trey have included any sketches he found in the estate sale?”
“Somebody else handled the details of the sale. Besides, Trey always thought his father’s artist thing was a pose. He hated it. Trey and Sue-sue came by two days after Miss Addy’s funeral and took what they wanted. Then the estate people moved in, set up the sale and ran it. They probably didn’t even attempt to get into that summer kitchen. Must have thought it was empty the way you did. Besides, work by an unknown artist wouldn’t be worth much, and most of the stuff at that sale was going for premium prices. I could barely afford the button box.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Miss Addy’s button box. Come on, I’ll show you. It’s in the workroom.”
He followed her to a shadowy corner of the workroom where a small table stood. Fitted neatly within a rim on top was a tole box less than two feet long, a foot or so wide and perhaps five inches deep. It was formed and painted to look like an old leather-bound book.
“She had the table built specially to hold it. She used to tat and sew while her students played their pieces. I was always dying to look into it, but I never did until after I bought it and brought it home.”
“The title on the
All the time she talked, she was constructing the omelet. He was impressed. He knew the way good cooks maneuvered in the kitchen.
“There are some fresh bagels in the bread box. Split us a couple, would you, and stick them in the toaster.”
Paul did as she asked, then returned to his place at the counter.
He enjoyed watching her. She worked efficiently, and before long was ready to pour the omelet mixture into a hot frying pan.
“Okay. While I’m doing this, you can set the table,” she said. “Place mats and silverware are in the top drawer of the Welsh dresser. I’ll bring the rest. Honey all right for your bagel?”
Ten minutes later he sat down to an omelet, green salad and hot buttered bagels. He was growing mellow from his second glass of wine.
His small sojourn on his porch had begun the job of relaxing him. Sitting opposite Ann in this pleasant place completed the job. Even the ache in his shoulder had subsided. He felt Dante’s heavy head against his ankle and looked down to see hungry eyes.
She noticed and said, “Don’t you dare. Dante doesn’t eat at the table. He’d be impossible if he ever started.”
“The omelet is as good as I’ve ever eaten. Thanks for taking me in tonight. I promise you dinner in return.” He wasn’t flattering her. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was until his first bite. After a moment he said, “Tell me about the artist who did that caricature.”
“Uncle David tossed off those little sketches. He sold them at charity functions.”
“And gave the money away?”
“He certainly didn’t need it himself.”
“Did he do other things—portraits, landscapes, still lifes?”
“A few portraits. He never sold anything, never had an art gallery to represent him or did a show that I’m aware of. His studio was in the old summer kitchen behind your house.”
Paul caught his breath. “I haven’t even tried to get into it. I assumed it was derelict. Buddy said it would probably have to come down to make way for the new garage.”
“You didn’t go in when you were looking at the house before you bought it?”
“It was padlocked, and Mrs. Hoddle didn’t have the key. I’ve tried to see in the windows a couple of times, but they’re filthy. The door may be old, but it’s solid, and the padlock is one of those that can’t be broken open even with a pistol shot.”
“Don’t need a pistol. Just need a good strong pair of bolt cutters. I can get you in there tomorrow morning if you like.”
“Do you think there might be other drawings left after all these years?”
“Possibly. More likely the rats and mice have shredded them for nests.”
“Wouldn’t Trey have included any sketches he found in the estate sale?”
“Somebody else handled the details of the sale. Besides, Trey always thought his father’s artist thing was a pose. He hated it. Trey and Sue-sue came by two days after Miss Addy’s funeral and took what they wanted. Then the estate people moved in, set up the sale and ran it. They probably didn’t even attempt to get into that summer kitchen. Must have thought it was empty the way you did. Besides, work by an unknown artist wouldn’t be worth much, and most of the stuff at that sale was going for premium prices. I could barely afford the button box.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Miss Addy’s button box. Come on, I’ll show you. It’s in the workroom.”
He followed her to a shadowy corner of the workroom where a small table stood. Fitted neatly within a rim on top was a tole box less than two feet long, a foot or so wide and perhaps five inches deep. It was formed and painted to look like an old leather-bound book.
“She had the table built specially to hold it. She used to tat and sew while her students played their pieces. I was always dying to look into it, but I never did until after I bought it and brought it home.”
“The title on the
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