Four on the Floor by Deborah Morgan

Author:Deborah Morgan [Morgan, Deborah]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: cozy mystery
Publisher: Crossroad Press
Published: 2017-07-09T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty

THE MINUTES

SOME FOLKS

SAVE THROUGH SPEED

THEY NEVER EVEN

LIVE TO NEED

—Burma-Shave

“So,” Donna said Saturday morning after they’d been served a breakfast of smoked salmon omelets, fresh fruit, and an assortment of pastries, “where to from here?”

“L.A. I’ve got some business in the area.”

“You’re kidding. You should try to squeeze in some time at the flea market in Pasadena tomorrow.”

“It’s already on my list, since my business dealings aren’t till Monday. I’ve never been there.”

“Never? I’m going there, too. Tell you what: Why don’t you find me? I’ll be there all day. Then, afterward, you could come out to the house for dinner.” Her tone switched from excited to apologetic. “I assumed you wanted com­pany, and I shouldn’t have.”

“No, it sounds great.”

“I’d take you to a nice restaurant or something tonight, but I already have plans.”

“Thanks, but there’s no need to baby-sit me. I thought tonight I’d check in on one of the woodie club gatherings.”

“Sounds fun.”

“I have to admit that I’ve never been to a woodie event, and you can lay odds that my grandfather never took the car to one. Now, my father? Who knows what Mercy—”

“Mercy?”

“I know, it’s a weird nickname that I think his sister gave him.”

“You called him that, too?”

“No.” Did I? I don’t remember. “I don’t think so. My parents died when I was eight, and I recently learned some things that have me thinking about them more than usual. I’m probably boring you, though.”

“Not at all. You’ve learned more about them?”

He wasn’t about to tell her that they’d been criminals. “I guess they went through a sort of rebellious phase. It shouldn’t surprise me that I never knew: my grandfather—who raised me—was so old-school that he obviously made sure I didn’t know that my father, his son, had strayed from convention. That would’ve been completely unacceptable in his eyes.”

“A true patriarch?”

“He was.”

“Was he good to you growing up?”

“Oh, sure. Stricter than most, I suppose. But my aunt tried to make sure I had a normal childhood, even though she was more like a grandmother; several years older than my father.”

“I see now,” Jeff continued, “that it must’ve been ex­tremely difficult for my grandfather to watch his only son—whom he’d raised to carry on the Talbot name—stray so far from convention.”

“You’re pretty open about it.”

“I’m sorry, I’m probably making you uncomfortable.” He’d used it as a tactic to get her to open up, without realizing that he must’ve needed to put his thoughts into words.

“Not at all. It’s rather intriguing. I just meant that you obviously need to talk about it. How is it that you only re­cently found out about this ‘phase’ they went through?”

“My car was wrecked, and while Tony was restoring her, he found a sort of time capsule.” Jeff chose the photo from his wallet and handed it to the woman. “This was in the door panel.”

She glanced at the photo, seemed to stifle a gasp by clamping her hand over her mouth. She looked out the window where their cars were parked.

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