Read Online What the Cat Saw by Carolyn Hart - Free Book Online Page A

early twenties slipped onto a wooden seat at a nearby table. She was a stranger. Not that he could claim to know everyone in Craddock, but he knew most of her age and class. He had never seen her before, of that he was certain. He would not forget her. She wasn’t conventionally pretty. Her face was too thin with deep-set eyes, narrow nose, high cheekbones, and a delicate but firm chin. There were smudges beneath her brilliantly dark eyes. She carried with her an air of melancholy.
    She sat at a table close to him, but he had no doubt that though she was physically present, her thoughts were far away.
    His image and hers were reflected in the long mirror behind the counter, two people sitting by themselves, a burly redheaded man in an old sweater, an aloof and memorable dark-haired woman in a thin, cotton blouse.
    He didn’t know if he’d ever felt more alone.

4
    N ela used to love Monday mornings, especially a Monday when she was on her way to work. Since Bill died, the world had been gray. She did what she was supposed to do. Sometimes she was able to plunge into a task and forget grayness for a while. Maybe taking over Chloe’s job, doing something different, would brighten her world. Sunday had been a long, sad day. She’d wandered about Craddock, ended up at Chloe’s Hamburger Heaven. But sitting there, eating food that she knew was good but that had no savor, she’d accepted the truth. Old sayings didn’t lie. Wherever you go, there you are. It didn’t matter if she was in LA or a small wind-blown town half a continent away, there she was, carrying with her the pain and sadness. At least today she had a job waiting for her among people with tasks and accomplishments. She would concentrate on the people she met, think about the things they did, push sadnessand pain deep inside. She turned into the Haklo grounds, following a short line of cars.
    In the lot, she parked next to a sleek blue Thunderbird. At the same time, an old beige Dodge sputtered to a stop on the other side of the VW.
    “Good morning.” A plump sixtyish man with a mop of untidy white hair stepped out of the Dodge and bustled toward her, blue eyes shining.
    Nela waited behind the Thunderbird. She noted the tag: ROBBIE .
    Her welcomer’s genial face reminded her of Edmund Gwenn in
The Trouble with Harry.
“You must be Nela, Chloe’s sister. You look just like your picture.”
    Nela knew her dark curls were tangled by the wind. The day on the pier had been windy, too.
    “Welcome to Haklo.” He spoke as proudly as a man handing out keys to a city. “I’m Cole Hamilton.” He spoke as if she would, of course, know his name.
    Nela responded with equal warmth. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Hamilton.”
    “Oh, my dear, call me Cole. Everyone does.”
    Heavy steps sounded behind them. A deep voice rumbled, “Good morning, Cole.” Despite his size, well over six feet and two hundred plus pounds, the huge dark-haired man moved with muscular grace. “Francis Garth. Good morning, Miss Farley. I knew you immediately when you pulled up in that car. It’s good of you to help us out while Chloe is gone.”
    They were moving toward the walkway to the building, an oddly assorted trio, Francis Garth towering above Nela and her bubbly new friend. Cole was chattering, “…Chloe told us you were a reporter. That must be an exciting life. But the pressure…”
    Nela had thrived on deadlines. It was the only life she’d ever wanted, talking to people, finding out what mattered, getting the facts right. She’d written everything from light fluffy features to a series on embezzlement at the city treasurer’s office. She’d learned how to dig for facts. More importantly, she’d learned how to read faces and body language. She wasn’t a reporter now. She’d lost her job more than six months ago. Last hired, first fired. Print journalism jobs were as scarce as champagne-colored natural pearls. She’d once done a story about a woman who had