Read Online Sugarplum Dead by Carolyn Hart - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Carolyn Hart
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voice softened. âShe was a little kid when Happy and I got married.â He drew his breath in irritably. âThatâs another thing. Happy and I have been going âround and âroundâWell, anyway that doesnât matter to you. But I think you better check out this Swanson. Your mom was talking about moneyâ¦â
Max wasnât worried about money. Laurelâs assets were pretty well tied up in trusts. His dad may have been a workaholic, but he obviously had a good line on his wife. Max drew a stack of greenbacks wrapped in chains.
âWait, wait a minute.â Max pressed his fingers againsthis temple. âHey Pudge, Iâve got an idea! What do you think about this?â
Â
A pier extended into the harbor. Annie had it to herself. The wind off the water was cold despite the thin sunlight. She stood with her parka zipped, gloved hands on the railing, staring out at a distant buoy bobbing in the swells. A flock of herring gulls, their summer white now dusky and streaked, sailed overhead, angling out toward a fishing trawler. Annie shivered. But it wasnât the wind chill that made her feel sheathed in ice like a polar explorer trudging across a harsh and terrible whiteness.
Why, after all these years, should it hurt so much that her father had not sought her, that he had come to the island to see his ex-wife? So Annie was an afterthought. So what else was new?
Annie blinked against tears. Okay, all right, she was a big girl now. She had Max. The sudden thought broke through the sheath of ice. Warmth pulsed through her. Max. Okay, she wasnât going to let her fatherâs appearance ruin the holidays for her or for Max. They were going to have a bang-up Christmas, full of good cheer, good humorâ
Laurel. There could be no pursuit of Christmas pleasure if somebody was taking advantage of Laurel.
Annie swung around, walked hurriedly, her shoes echoing on the wooden planking. When she reached the boardwalk fronting the shops, her footsteps slowed. She stopped outside the plate-glass window of Maxâs office. Max and Barb could easily round up information on Dr. Swanson. It was either appalling or wonderful, depending upon your attitude, what could be learned on the Internet within the space of a few minutes merely by clicking a mouse. Orwellâs Big Brother would have lovedcyberspace. With the day coming when a life history will be embedded in a disk on a plastic card, anonymity will be no more. But a computer search could wait. She picked up speed. First she needed to find out whether there was indeed something sinister about the man or whether the problem was the state of Laurelâs mind. Annie still believed that the old-fashioned art called conversation offered nuances and shades of meaning a computer screen could never deliver.
Annie passed the windows to Death on Demand. She felt a pang of guilt, leaving Ingrid to deal with the Christmas crowd, but Ingrid could call on her husband for help if hordes of shoppers arrived. However, though business picked up nicely during the Christmas season, throngs were unlikely.
As Annie drove the Volvo out of the harbor parking lot, she punched a familiar number on her cell phone, knowing success would probably commit her to another couple of casseroles.
Pamela Potts answered on the first ring. âHello, Annie.â
Annie felt an instant of surprise. Obviously, Pamela even recognized Annieâs wireless number on her caller ID. Caller ID and the myriad of modern technological gadgetry continued to diminish some of the standbys in older mysteries, such as the anonymous phone call, the unidentified bloodstains, the mysterious stranger. As for the winsome heroine trapped at midnight in the old cemetery, all she had to do now was whip out her cell phone.
Annie turned left from Sand Dollar Road onto the dusty, gray winding road that led to the Lucy Bannister Kinkaid Memorial Library and reference librarian Edith
Max wasnât worried about money. Laurelâs assets were pretty well tied up in trusts. His dad may have been a workaholic, but he obviously had a good line on his wife. Max drew a stack of greenbacks wrapped in chains.
âWait, wait a minute.â Max pressed his fingers againsthis temple. âHey Pudge, Iâve got an idea! What do you think about this?â
Â
A pier extended into the harbor. Annie had it to herself. The wind off the water was cold despite the thin sunlight. She stood with her parka zipped, gloved hands on the railing, staring out at a distant buoy bobbing in the swells. A flock of herring gulls, their summer white now dusky and streaked, sailed overhead, angling out toward a fishing trawler. Annie shivered. But it wasnât the wind chill that made her feel sheathed in ice like a polar explorer trudging across a harsh and terrible whiteness.
Why, after all these years, should it hurt so much that her father had not sought her, that he had come to the island to see his ex-wife? So Annie was an afterthought. So what else was new?
Annie blinked against tears. Okay, all right, she was a big girl now. She had Max. The sudden thought broke through the sheath of ice. Warmth pulsed through her. Max. Okay, she wasnât going to let her fatherâs appearance ruin the holidays for her or for Max. They were going to have a bang-up Christmas, full of good cheer, good humorâ
Laurel. There could be no pursuit of Christmas pleasure if somebody was taking advantage of Laurel.
Annie swung around, walked hurriedly, her shoes echoing on the wooden planking. When she reached the boardwalk fronting the shops, her footsteps slowed. She stopped outside the plate-glass window of Maxâs office. Max and Barb could easily round up information on Dr. Swanson. It was either appalling or wonderful, depending upon your attitude, what could be learned on the Internet within the space of a few minutes merely by clicking a mouse. Orwellâs Big Brother would have lovedcyberspace. With the day coming when a life history will be embedded in a disk on a plastic card, anonymity will be no more. But a computer search could wait. She picked up speed. First she needed to find out whether there was indeed something sinister about the man or whether the problem was the state of Laurelâs mind. Annie still believed that the old-fashioned art called conversation offered nuances and shades of meaning a computer screen could never deliver.
Annie passed the windows to Death on Demand. She felt a pang of guilt, leaving Ingrid to deal with the Christmas crowd, but Ingrid could call on her husband for help if hordes of shoppers arrived. However, though business picked up nicely during the Christmas season, throngs were unlikely.
As Annie drove the Volvo out of the harbor parking lot, she punched a familiar number on her cell phone, knowing success would probably commit her to another couple of casseroles.
Pamela Potts answered on the first ring. âHello, Annie.â
Annie felt an instant of surprise. Obviously, Pamela even recognized Annieâs wireless number on her caller ID. Caller ID and the myriad of modern technological gadgetry continued to diminish some of the standbys in older mysteries, such as the anonymous phone call, the unidentified bloodstains, the mysterious stranger. As for the winsome heroine trapped at midnight in the old cemetery, all she had to do now was whip out her cell phone.
Annie turned left from Sand Dollar Road onto the dusty, gray winding road that led to the Lucy Bannister Kinkaid Memorial Library and reference librarian Edith
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