Levels of Deception by Susan Schreyer

Author:Susan Schreyer
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: romance, mystery, woman sleuth, pacific northwest, mystery suspense
Publisher: Susan Schreyer

Chapter 16

Nothing quite beats waiting for a phone call to make time crawl. I paced, folded laundry and dusted. I made a sandwich, cleaned the kitchen and channel surfed. The phone rang two separate times. My heart stopped two separate times. The first was the wrong number, the second, a telemarketer. I hauled Blackie out of the pasture and gave him a bath then watched him roll in the dirt when I turned him back out. Uncle Henry came out and told me my parents called to say they were going to Victoria, British Columbia, and wouldn't be back until Monday. Alarmed I'd actually missed hearing the phone ring, I took my two phones and a book to the table under the pergola so I could be close to my aunt and uncle's phone -- just in case Paul called them instead of me.

Late in the afternoon Juliet roared up the driveway on her motorcycle, dismounted and pulled her helmet off with an efficient sweep. She strode to where Aunt Vi and I sat on the shaded patio. I stopped pretending to read.

"If I'm going to survive another week of Mother then I'm going to have to have some alone time." She eyed the cordless phone and my cell phone, lined up on the table within my reach. "Don't try to call Eric either. I'm taking him with me."

I figured that.

Aunt Vi barely looked up from her gardening magazine. "Andrea and Jonathan stopped by a bit ago. You'll never guess --"

"Later," she interrupted, shoving her helmet firmly on her head. "Gotta run."

Aunt Vi watched her jog to her motorcycle, and shook her head, tsking. "That girl gets downright snippy when she doesn't get any."

She went back to her article, ignoring my speechless stare.

I ate dinner with Aunt Vi, Uncle Henry and the phones. We were all quiet. I guessed Aunt Vi had had enough of my mood, because she cut a large slice of the raspberry almond tart she'd made for dessert, put it on a plate and sent it to the apartment with me and my phone-friends. As I sat on the kitchen stool, shoveling the last bit into my mouth, a shrill ring from my previously silent companion caused my fork to leap from my hand and skitter halfway across the tile floor. I stared at the cordless phone, heart pounding, before placing the handset cautiously to my ear.

"Paul?" I said. I was as breathless as if I'd sprinted a hundred yards.

"I read your e-mail," he said.

"Something's come up you should know about."

"Okay."

"Andrea came by today -- with Jonathan." I slid off the stool and went to the sofa.

"Humph," he said. It wasn't even a very interested "humph."

"It seems," I continued, "Jonathan sent Whitaker a letter some weeks ago asking about purchasing a fossil for one of his clients."

"We get those requests all the time. We don't sell fossils."

"I know."

"You do?"

"Yes."

"How do you know? Never mind, I don't want to know."

"Anyway," I went on, pushing down my irritation,

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