Read Online Town Square, The by Ava Miles - Free Book Online

here,” he said.
    The lone overhead light didn’t provide sufficient light without a table lamp. “Where?” she asked.
    He gestured to the two boxes he’d hauled over and spun them around. The name Wentworth was written in black marker in his handwriting, and somehow the starkness of seeing her family name like that made her tummy spasm. Her father’s work had boiled down to these papers sorted into a box, nothing to identify them but the careless scrawl of letters.
    It hurt, seeing that.
    “You can start with these two boxes, and if you get through them in the next two hours and want more, you can start on the next ones.”
    “Which ones?”
    He pointed to the back of the room, and as she looked deeper into the room, she saw her family’s name scrawled across at least seven more boxes that were facing front.
    Her throat clenched at the sheer volume of it all, and she couldn’t speak.
    He crossed his hands on his chest, his mouth tight. “You didn’t think I’d give the parents of those babies false hope, did you, by throwing out an unconfirmed cause? Or that I’d ruin a respected scientist without doing my research?”
    Unable to meet his gaze, she looked down at the rug. It was an uninspired Aubusson with a blue background and faded yellow flowers. “I don’t know what to say.”
    “The file in your hand is a summary of everything in the boxes by number.”
    “How many boxes are there?”
    “Twenty–five,” he said, walking toward her. “Do I need to take your purse?”
    Clutching it was an automatic response. “Why ever would you say that?”
    Those blue eyes held a hint of danger. “I don’t want you taking out a matchbook and burning the evidence. It won’t change what happened. The New York Times has copies of the key documents.”
    He thought she was capable of arson?
    A tick in his jaw made her realize he was angry, and who could blame him?
    “After last night, I’m assuming there’s pretty much nothing you wouldn’t do.”
    Right. Even she had discovered there were things she didn’t know or like about herself. “You don’t have to worry about that.”
    “Good,” he replied. “I like this house. Wasn’t glad Mrs. Pokens passed, but was glad I could have a place of my own like this one. Be a shame if it burned down before I got the chance to move in properly. There’ll be coffee in the kitchen if you get thirsty.”
    And then he headed toward the door.
    “Arthur?”
    He paused, the muscles of his back shifting when he placed his arm on the doorframe, not turning around.
    “I’m sorry,” she said, clutching her purse to her side. “For last night. I went too far.”
    His head lowered, but she couldn’t see his face. “Yes, you goddamn did.”
    He left her alone then, in the room filled with the twenty–five boxes organized by number and marked with her family name.

Chapter 8
    W atching her go through his files about her father was like being a spectator at a funeral. She came and went from his house for the next two days, stubbornly sifting through the papers in the boxes after telling him that she needed more time to go through all of them.
    All of them.
    She wasn’t going down without a fight. Her face might look ashen, but the chip on her shoulder could take down a small army.
    The story he spread around town was that they were working at his place, with her sister acting as chaperone, while a water leak was fixed at the office. He hired Herman to fix the imaginary leak and swore him to secrecy, saying they were working on a big case that required total privacy.
    While he was protecting both their reputations, he realized he was lying for her again and wondered what that said about him.
    Maybelline was out for a walk when he walked past his home office. Harriet sat on the floor in a pink sweater set and black skirt with one knee bent at the leg. Her hand was pressed against her forehead, and she was clutching some papers to her stomach. Boxes surrounded her like a