That Night on Thistle Lane by Carla Neggers

Author:Carla Neggers [Neggers, Carla]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Mira
Published: 2012-02-06T13:00:00+00:00

Twelve

After a quiet, uneventful day at the library, Phoebe walked across the common to the Swift River Country Store and made her way back to the wine section. She was debating between two different brands of merlot when she heard a man talking up by the register. His voice sounded familiar but she couldn’t quite place it. Abandoning the wine, she edged to the end of the aisle and peered past a display of homemade baked goods.

The man she’d overheard in Boston on Friday—Julius Hartley, the private investigator tailing Noah—was standing at the checkout counter, quizzing Greg Hughes, the teenage son of the owners.

Hartley had on a dark blue shirt, light khakis and light canvas shoes, as if he were about to step out onto a golf course.

He set a large coffee-to-go on the scarred wood counter. “Sleepy Hollow here has one bed-and-breakfast,” he said. “I stopped by and guess what? The owners are in Montreal for the week. Doesn’t New England have short summers? How can you run a bed-and-breakfast if you disappear for one whole week in August?”

“It’s kind of a hobby for them,” Greg said from behind the register. He was an avid reader of science fiction and a recent high school graduate, on his way to Bowdoin College in Maine. “They’re professors at UMASS. They go to Montreal this time every year.”

“Got it. I understand a new place has just opened up on some back road.”

“Carriage Hill,” Greg said, taking Hartley’s money. “It’s not really a bed-and-breakfast. It caters to events. Weddings, showers. You know. Anyway, the owner’s out of town right now, too.”

“I see. Well, luckily I’m not staying. I just need directions to Elly O’Dunn’s place. I understand she’s selling some of her goats.”

Phoebe tensed. How did he know about her mother? What did he want with her?

“You’re interested in buying goats?” Greg asked, skeptical.

“Sure, why not? What’s the O’Dunn farm like?”

“Simple. A few acres, a couple of sheds, a house that has plumbing and electricity but not much else.”

“A stove?”

“Yeah, a stove. I guess.”

“You guess?”

“You haven’t met Mrs. O’Dunn yet, have you?”

“No, I have not,” Hartley said. “There are restaurants in town?”

“One right now. Smith’s. You can walk to it from here. There are more within easy driving distance. We have a good range of take-out food here at the store.”

“Good to know,” Hartley said without enthusiasm.

He left with his coffee, and Phoebe darted out of the store, giving Greg a quick wave. When she reached the sidewalk, Noah’s mystery private investigator/stalker had already crossed the street to the common and was making his way into the shade of a trio of sugar maples. He sat on a bench. He didn’t look to be in a hurry.

Remembering that he didn’t know she’d overheard him or even had been in Boston, Phoebe took a breath and slowed down, crossing the street as she would if she had done what she’d planned to do—buy a bottle of wine to go with a quiet dinner at home.

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