Small-Town Secrets by Pamela Tracy

Author:Pamela Tracy
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2015-11-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER NINE

CROSS-LEGGED ON THE FLOOR, dust filming her fingertips, Yolanda took a deep breath. This trunk should not, should not be empty. Someone had entered her home, without permission, and taken what was hers. Prickles of fear tiptoed up her spine. Then the Sanchez in her, proud and strong, kicked in.

She’d been home all morning. This had happened yesterday or earlier.

She called Adam first, upset more at the lost information in the books than at the lost income she could have made selling the books. She realized she sounded slightly frantic, which was unusual for her.

“I didn’t take the books from the chest,” she insisted. “I’d remember. I was looking forward to going through them.” Scanning the attic, she saw nothing else out of place. It was as if someone had come up the stairs, taken only what they wanted—her books—and left. If they’d left footprints on the dusty floor, she’d obliterated them.

She sniffed the air, wondering for a moment if there was a hint of cigarette smoke or if her imagination wanted to find what wasn’t there. Truly, though, she couldn’t imagine the frail older woman making it up the stairs, let alone carrying the heavy books down the stairs.

“I don’t care about the books,” Adam said, surprising her. “I care about you. If someone was in your attic, they could still be there. Call the police.”

“We don’t know when the books were taken,” Yolanda pointed out. “Could have been yesterday or...” She started to say last week, but she was certain the theft had taken place between Monday, the day Ivy showed up and left behind Stories of Scorpion Ridge, Arizona, and today. Four short days.

“Doesn’t matter,” Adam said. “Go outside, sit on the front porch where people can see you and call the police.”

”I’m not worried. The only sounds I’ve heard all morning were Gulliver’s antics.”

Gulliver had a tendency to run into walls and furniture when he wasn’t sleeping. She’d also heard a book’s occasional whisper, begging her, read me. Opening a bookstore at the same time as becoming an amateur sleuth had a way of stealing any free reading time, and Yolanda was definitely starting to feel withdrawal.

In the background, she heard someone calling Adam’s name.

“Are you at work?” she asked.

“Was,” he answered, “I was at work. And when I get to your house, you better be outside.”

“All right,” she said. “I’ll be waiting for you.” Hitting the disconnect button, she headed to the stairs, taking each step carefully, wanting to be quiet, listening for sounds that didn’t belong, looking for signs of an intruder. She glanced left and right, trying to ascertain that everything was in its rightful place. The only thing wrong was the feeling of vulnerability that kept her company.

Once she made it outside to the porch, she tapped the numbers for information and got the number for the police department. Scorpion Ridge didn’t have their own force. Instead, the neighboring town of Adobe Hills policed their area. Yolanda made the call , then punched in her Gramma Rosi’s number.

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