Read Online MacFarlane's Ridge by Patti Wigington - Free Book Online
Authors: Patti Wigington
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little of Troy, who was using the week to become acquainted with some of the other residents of his new jurisdiction. By Friday afternoon, when he stopped by with sandwiches and iced tea, Cam was exhausted.
“Hey, there, lady,” grinned Troy. “Do you have time for a chicken salad sandwich?”
Cam took the plastic-wrapped plate eagerly. “You know, if it wasn’t for you, I would completely forget to eat most of the time. Thank you. Mmm. I love Alice’s bread.” She chewed contentedly, hoping she could finish her lunch before the next group of customers wandered in. Antique Week was winding down, and the crowds were thinner now, but there were still a few diehard hopefuls who came in occasionally, trying to get that end-of-the-week bargain.
Troy sat down on an old washtub. “So have you gotten any further with Mollie’s journal?”
Cam shook her head, swallowing a mouthful of potato chips. “Not really. I’m up to the fall of 1775, which is actually near the end. Up until then it’s mostly day-to-day things, like crops and illnesses and such. Hamish is running a fever, and Robert MacFarlane is getting ready to leave to go look for Sarah, but Ian doesn’t want him to bother. He doesn’t want her back if she’s been “dishonored” by the Shawnee. What a weasel.”
“Now, hang on. Don’t give the guy too much grief over it. It was a pretty common reaction back then,” pointed out Troy.
Cam wiped her hands on her jeans. “You know, I can’t stop thinking about what Wanda said the other night. Her whole theory about disappearances.”
Troy snorted in response.
“No, I mean it. I can’t get it out of my head,” she continued. “Let’s go look for it next week.”
“What? Go look for what?”
“The Faeries’ Gate! Come on, it’ll be fun. And besides, I need a break after this week,” pressed Cam.
Troy rolled his eyes. “You are ridiculous. You want to drive down to Fairy Stone and hunt for something when we have no idea where or what it is?”
“Okay, well, then think of it as a camping trip. I have a tent. Besides, you look like you could use some hiking after all those donuts you’ve been eating at Alice’s.”
“That is a stereotype,” he argued good-naturedly. “Not all cops eat donuts. I personally prefer cookies. Macadamia chocolate chip, to be specific.”
Cam glanced up as the sleigh bells jangled. Wayne Sinclair strolled in nonchalantly. He glanced around, wiped a finger on a shelf, and examined it for dust. Cam expected he probably found quite a bit.
“Cameron. How are you?” he began, pointedly ignoring Troy.
“Great, Wayne. What can I do for you?” Cam decided she would be polite, even though the man made her thoroughly uncomfortable. It was a shame, really, she thought. He was tall and lean, with dark hair and odd eyes, one blue and one brown. If he wasn’t such a jerk, he’d actually be rather handsome.
“I’ll get right to the point. How much do you want for Mollie Duncan’s journal?”
Cam felt her mouth drop open, and closed it quickly. “Umm, who told you I have Mollie Duncan’s journal?”
Sinclair leaned forward on the counter. “I overheard Deputy Dawg here talking to Alice about it next door. You do have it, don’t you? I don’t see it in the window any more.”
He was so close Cam could smell his expensive cologne. Remembering Wanda Mabry’s warning, she murmured, “Well, I don’t exactly have it here…”
“But you can get it? I mean, it does presently belong to you,” he persisted.
Troy cleared his throat. “What do you need, Mr. Sinclair?”
Sinclair pulled away from Cam, and she noticed that his blue eye was exceptionally bright today. “I simply would like to make an offer. A journal from the Revolutionary War era would be quite valuable today. Not only in terms of cash, but of course the historical value would be immense. I am prepared to pay quite a bit for Mollie’s journals.”
“Journals?” asked Cam. “How many
“Hey, there, lady,” grinned Troy. “Do you have time for a chicken salad sandwich?”
Cam took the plastic-wrapped plate eagerly. “You know, if it wasn’t for you, I would completely forget to eat most of the time. Thank you. Mmm. I love Alice’s bread.” She chewed contentedly, hoping she could finish her lunch before the next group of customers wandered in. Antique Week was winding down, and the crowds were thinner now, but there were still a few diehard hopefuls who came in occasionally, trying to get that end-of-the-week bargain.
Troy sat down on an old washtub. “So have you gotten any further with Mollie’s journal?”
Cam shook her head, swallowing a mouthful of potato chips. “Not really. I’m up to the fall of 1775, which is actually near the end. Up until then it’s mostly day-to-day things, like crops and illnesses and such. Hamish is running a fever, and Robert MacFarlane is getting ready to leave to go look for Sarah, but Ian doesn’t want him to bother. He doesn’t want her back if she’s been “dishonored” by the Shawnee. What a weasel.”
“Now, hang on. Don’t give the guy too much grief over it. It was a pretty common reaction back then,” pointed out Troy.
Cam wiped her hands on her jeans. “You know, I can’t stop thinking about what Wanda said the other night. Her whole theory about disappearances.”
Troy snorted in response.
“No, I mean it. I can’t get it out of my head,” she continued. “Let’s go look for it next week.”
“What? Go look for what?”
“The Faeries’ Gate! Come on, it’ll be fun. And besides, I need a break after this week,” pressed Cam.
Troy rolled his eyes. “You are ridiculous. You want to drive down to Fairy Stone and hunt for something when we have no idea where or what it is?”
“Okay, well, then think of it as a camping trip. I have a tent. Besides, you look like you could use some hiking after all those donuts you’ve been eating at Alice’s.”
“That is a stereotype,” he argued good-naturedly. “Not all cops eat donuts. I personally prefer cookies. Macadamia chocolate chip, to be specific.”
Cam glanced up as the sleigh bells jangled. Wayne Sinclair strolled in nonchalantly. He glanced around, wiped a finger on a shelf, and examined it for dust. Cam expected he probably found quite a bit.
“Cameron. How are you?” he began, pointedly ignoring Troy.
“Great, Wayne. What can I do for you?” Cam decided she would be polite, even though the man made her thoroughly uncomfortable. It was a shame, really, she thought. He was tall and lean, with dark hair and odd eyes, one blue and one brown. If he wasn’t such a jerk, he’d actually be rather handsome.
“I’ll get right to the point. How much do you want for Mollie Duncan’s journal?”
Cam felt her mouth drop open, and closed it quickly. “Umm, who told you I have Mollie Duncan’s journal?”
Sinclair leaned forward on the counter. “I overheard Deputy Dawg here talking to Alice about it next door. You do have it, don’t you? I don’t see it in the window any more.”
He was so close Cam could smell his expensive cologne. Remembering Wanda Mabry’s warning, she murmured, “Well, I don’t exactly have it here…”
“But you can get it? I mean, it does presently belong to you,” he persisted.
Troy cleared his throat. “What do you need, Mr. Sinclair?”
Sinclair pulled away from Cam, and she noticed that his blue eye was exceptionally bright today. “I simply would like to make an offer. A journal from the Revolutionary War era would be quite valuable today. Not only in terms of cash, but of course the historical value would be immense. I am prepared to pay quite a bit for Mollie’s journals.”
“Journals?” asked Cam. “How many
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