Acts of Violets by Kate Collins

Author:Kate Collins [Collins, Kate]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Romance, Contemporary, Mystery
ISBN: 9780451220745
Publisher: Signet
Published: 2007-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

I accepted the glass of water and sipped it while I collected my thoughts, which at that moment were all over the place.

“Feeling better?” Eve Taylor asked, peering at me in concern.

After hearing that little bomb go off? It would take more than a glass of water to pull me together now. “Thanks. I must have been dehydrated.” I set the empty glass on the marble counter, put away my notepad and pen, and took out a business card. “I’ll let you get back to work. If I find out anything at all, I’ll let you know. And if you think of anyone else who might have had a beef with Dennis, will you call me?”

“Of courthe. Don’t forget your cake.”

Oops. The cake. I was already at the door and had to turn back. The only way I would leave a cake behind was if my mind was preoccupied, which it was, big-time. I couldn’t decide whether I was more angry or more concerned. Why would Marco have withheld such crucial information from me? Had he been carrying a grudge against Ryson all this time? Was that why the prosecutor had zeroed in on him? And, most important, what else was he not telling me?

Hmm. Angry or concerned? I’d have to go with—angry. Marco and I needed to have a serious talk.

As I cut across the courthouse lawn I checked my watch and saw that it was eight forty-five, too early to catch him at the bar, so I phoned him instead and got his voice mail. He had to be up by now. Why wasn’t he answering?

“Hey, Marco. It’s me. We need to talk. Call me the moment you get this.” I dropped my cell phone into my purse, crossed over to Franklin Street, and headed up the sidewalk toward Bloomers, where Jingles the window washer was cleaning one of our bay windows.

Jingles had been a fixture on the square for as long as I could remember, toting his bucket and squeegee, an old rag hanging out of his back pocket, as he moved from storefront to storefront, making sure every piece of glass on the square was polished to a diamondlike shine. Besides washing windows, he also served as a general maintenance man and Mr. Fix-It for minor emergencies.

He was a tall, stoop-shouldered, slow-talking man who had to have been in his early seventies. He had a sparse covering of hair on a freckled pate and a long, thin, droopy face that always sported at least two days’ growth of gray stubble. He wore a plaid shirt beneath a faded brown jacket, with navy work pants and worn brown shoes.

He had come by his nickname because of his habit of shaking the coins in his pockets whenever someone stopped to talk to him. It was common knowledge that if you wanted to know what was happening on the square, all you had to do was ask Jingles. And now that I was almost at the shop and could see that he wasn’t cleaning the window but staring through it, I did just that.

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