Read Online Parker And The Gypsy by Susan Carroll - Free Book Online Page A

to Mike, and yet...
    She would have felt better if she knew the real reason behind his sudden change of heart. He was holding something back. She had been able to sense it from the moment he appeared in her shop. But for a man who placed no faith in mind readers, Mike was doing a damned fine job screening his thoughts.
    As though becoming aware of her intense regard, Mike angled his head slightly in her direction and smiled. “I don’t mind you sitting there admiring my manly profile, angel, but I hope you’re paying some attention to the road, because I don’t have a clue where we’re going.”
    â€œYou’re doing okay,” Sara called back above the wind. “Just keep heading straight. In another mile or so, fork to the right past the lake and then we’ll be there.”
    â€œDo you think Miss Mamie will be at home to callers this afternoon?”
    â€œIt’s not as though she has anywhere else to go, Michael,” Sara replied dryly.
    Mike’s smile widened into a grin. He was humoring her about her belief in the ghost. Sara realized it, but his teasing had a more gentle edge to it than yesterday.
    All the same, she couldn’t help wondering what was going to happen when Mike Parker, skeptic extraordinaire, crossed the threshold into Mamie Patrick’s domain. Sara had to admit she was anticipating the encounter with something approaching an unholy glee.
    The fork in the road appeared and Mike steered toward the right, smooth macadam giving way to gravel. When a spray of pebbles chunked off the side of the Mustang, he swore under his breath and slowed the car down.
    A forest of straggly pines closed in about them. Between the dark, weathered trunks, Sara caught glimpses of shimmering blue-green water. On the far side of the lake, echoed the laughter and squeals of summer day camp children swimming on the west shore.
    But on this side all was shadows and silence. Even the calls of the bobolinks and chittering squirrels seemed more subdued here.
    Mike eased the car almost to a crawl as the road narrowed to little more than a dirt track with a tall sign post pointing the way. A wooden placard hung from the rusted pole, looking like something that should be perpetually creaking in the wind or illuminated by jagged flashes of lightning. Ye Old Pine Top Inn, it proclaimed in well-worn letters.
    It was the perfect herald for the deserted building set back amongst the stand of pines. The old clapboard inn was a large, rambling structure with as many turrets and towers as a medieval fortress. Paint cracked and peeling, shutters hanging askew, the broad veranda appeared neglected and unwelcoming.
    Braking the car to a halt in front of the porch steps, Mike shut off the ignition. He peeked over the rims of his glasses at the inn and let out a long low whistle.
    â€œSo this is it, huh? Ye Old Pine Top Inn. I’ll have to put it on my list of favorite overnight stops, right up there with the Bates Motel.”
    â€œThe present owner, the Jorgensen Realty Co., is trying to fix the place up a bit,” Sara said. “They’re hoping to restore it into one of those quaint little out-of-the-way places that would attract the better class of tourist trade.”
    â€œSounds a little like trying to turn Dracula’s castle into a cozy bed and breakfast. But what the hey.” Mike shrugged. “It’s not my money.”
    He made no move to get out of the car, fishing out a pen and small notebook from his inner breast pocket instead. “You probably better tell me where to find this Jorgensen. I might need to talk to—”
    â€œNo!” Sara blurted out in alarm. When Mike glanced toward her, clearly surprised, she struggled to speak more calmly, “I—I mean, no, that won’t be necessary. They would be of no help at all. They haven’t owned the inn long. Mamie lived here way before their time, when the inn was more of an old boardinghouse.