Small-Town Secrets. Pamela Tracy
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space and sculpture. The shade of orange she wanted hadn’t been invented when this house was built.
“Of course,” she continued, “I shouldn’t even be thinking of the upstairs until after the bookstore is a success.”
It would be a success, Adam thought, because she’d poured her heart into it. Per Yolanda’s orders, he’d painted every room—the foyer, study, parlor, dining room, bedroom, bathroom, enclosed breezeway and kitchen—a different vibrant color. The grand lady, a Queen Anne who probably missed her flowered wallpaper, had never shined so bright. Next he’d be working on the second-floor bedrooms. When he finished that she wanted him to turn the upstairs of the house’s two-story garage, which used to be a carriage house, into an apartment she could rent out.
He might not agree with her color choices, but he appreciated the work to take his mind off his mistakes and his family’s problems.
“This old dame doesn’t need any help with character. She’s loaded with it.”
“You did a great job,” she admitted. “But I’m more concerned about the woman I just spoke to. Are you sure no one went past you?”
“I didn’t see anyone.”
“She was old, really old, and tiny. She had gray hair with a hint of blond left. The cut was straight and close to the scalp. Her eyes were blue. She wore tiny pearl earrings and a matching necklace. Her face was as wrinkled as any I’ve seen, and she was smoking a cigarette.”
“I don’t smell anything.”
Yolanda frowned. “I don’t smell it anymore, either. That’s so odd. Come, help me look. Maybe you can figure out how she just vanished.”
Adam followed her into what used to be the living room. Now it housed popular fiction. From there he passed her, meandering through horror, true crime and mystery before finally stopping in the history section.
“No. No lingering smell of cigarette smoke. Are you sure she had a cigarette?”
“I caught her right here, in this area. I didn’t recognize her, and when you made such a noise—” Yolanda glared at his tool belt as if it were somehow to blame “—she somehow got past me. I’ve never seen her before, and I didn’t get her name. I was hoping she came by you so you could fill me in.”
“What did she want?”
“She wanted to know if I had any old books about Scorpion Ridge.”
“Sounds harmless enough,” Adam said, “except for the cigarette.”
“I used to catch people trying to sneak cigarettes at BAA, but they always did it in some out-of-the-way corner. This woman didn’t care that she was breaking the law,” Yolanda said.
Adam had also been vigilant about smokers during his tenure at Bridget’s Animal Adventure. He’d taken the infraction a bit personally, as his autistic brother was bothered by smoke, so much so that he often demanded to be taken home if he smelled it, no matter how important the event the family was attending.
“And,” Yolanda continued, “the expression on her face wasn’t harmless. She stood in the middle of the room as if she had a right to be here.”
“At BAA we called that attitude entitlement.”
“Yes,” Yolanda agreed. “That’s exactly the attitude she personified.”
Adam glanced around the room loaded with history books. It even smelled old. This was not a place he would normally spend much time. His taste bent more toward true crime and horror.
“You really think people will buy old school history books?” he asked.
“I used to.”
“Well, you’ve always been a bit strange.”
Her color deepened, exactly the response he’d hoped for. He bent down, picking up a book that had fallen to the ground. “Soiled Doves of the Desert,” he read. “I’m thinking these aren’t the kind of doves that squawked.”
Yolanda took the book from his hand and placed it on the shelf. “I’m being serious. Something about her wasn’t right.”
“Well, she didn’t come past me. I’d have seen her.”
Annoyed, Yolanda said, “Which means she went out the back door, which is definitely not a public exit. And just how did she know where it was?”
“Are you talking to me or just muttering to yourself?”
“Both,” Yolanda retorted. She patted a bookshelf, moved a book then looked at the shelves below and above. “Oh, I almost forgot. She flicked the ashes...”
“What?”
Yolanda had gone pale. Not a color he liked seeing on her. She whispered a response, “She used my favorite yellow coffee cup as an ashtray. But the cup is gone.”
She kept searching the shelves and then went to the end table and chair in the corner of the room.
“You think she swiped your cup?” Adam asked.
“I can’t imagine why. This makes no sense.”
“You’re probably overreacting.”
“I don’t overreact, ever.”
That was true. She was always in control, always did what she was supposed to do. Yolanda had once been in a school play, and the stage had collapsed under her feet. She’d kept saying her lines even as the actor playing the cowardly lion helped her out of the hole.
“You had to have seen her.”
You have to pay more attention...
He’d heard that a million times growing up, mostly from his father. They’d never seen eye to eye on anything, particularly after he’d dropped out of high school, and Adam had been desperate to leave Scorpion Ridge as soon as possible. Now he was back.
“No one walked past me. She must have gone out the back.”
“But—”
He ruffled her hair, knowing it would distract her. “It doesn’t look like anything’s missing. It was probably some tourist who wandered in, realized she’d made a mistake and then wandered out.”
Yolanda nodded, though she didn’t appear convinced.
Adam checked his cell phone and turned to leave. “I’ve got to be at the Tae Kwon Do studio in thirty minutes, and I still need to finish the door.”
“Tell your brother I said hi.”
“I will.”
Snapp’s Studio, his family’s business, had employed the whole Snapp family for years—except for Adam. He was there now, though, once again working for his father. Only this time if his father made a request, Adam jumped to it, trying to make his dad’s life easier.
Tonight Adam was scheduled to give a lesson to a beginner class. His twin brother, Andy, would be there stacking mats, folding towels, offering advice from the side of the room. If the noise and chaos got overwhelming for Andy, he’d go into the back office away from everyone. But usually it was where Andy felt most comfortable.
Right after his brother was diagnosed with autism, a well-meaning counselor had handed Adam’s mother a pamphlet and recommended a group home for him.
Both parents decided that was not in Andy’s future.
Adam respected all they’d done to keep that from happening. Snapp’s Studio was the result of taking what Andy loved most and making it his life’s work.
Yolanda followed Adam. “You know, the old woman didn’t give me her name but she did say something about a relative. Have you heard of Chester Ventimiglia?”
“His name is on the courthouse wall. On a plaque.”