Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 115468 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115468 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
“I’m not proposing breaking and entering. Maynard Siggins hosts a small bridge club the fourth Wednesday of every month. That’s tomorrow night.”
“Okay…”
“I’m pretty sure I can weasel out an invite. You’ll be my date.”
“And we’ll what? Sneak into his attic?”
“No. I was kidding about the attic. I don’t think checking out the contents of his storage areas is necessary at this point. If he’s the man who painted those paintings, surely he’ll have some hung up around his house. He’s a bachelor, which means—”
“No wife to take over the decorating.” I heard the excitement in her voice.
“Right. No wife to stuff old works of art she didn’t like up in the attic or to suggest that he stop wasting time coloring pictures of lakes and grass and whatnot.”
She laughed softly after I repeated Mrs. Ramsbottom’s description of creating art.
“So, what do you say?” I asked.
“I don’t even play bridge.”
“It’s easy. You’ll catch on quickly.”
“I guess I could…watch some YouTube videos.”
“Yes, and I’ll go over the rules again on the drive over. Pick you up at eight?”
She let out a thin laugh. “Well…okay. See you tomorrow.”
I tried not to think about the way my heart soared at those three little words. See you tomorrow.
“You said you’ve played bridge before, Ms. Castle?” Mrs. Delia Quartermocker asked with the raise of one blond, perfectly drawn brow after Rory had fumbled her way through another round of the game. She’d tried to act cool about it, but her flushed cheeks gave away the fact that her competitive spirit was burning mad.
I pressed my lips together to stifle the laughter I could feel vibrating in my chest. Why the hell did I enjoy seeing Rory rattled so much? Obviously she saw me attempting not to laugh because she ground down on my foot under the table.
I’d given her a quick lesson on the way over, but I’d been distracted and just so damn happy to see her that the actual rules of bridge had quickly deserted me. I’d offered the gist and hoped it was enough. The last thing I wanted was for Rory to back out. I told myself it was because the opportunity to get inside Maynard Siggins’s home and look over his artwork was too good to pass up.
“Gage taught me how to play,” she said sweetly. “I’m beginning to think he’s not a very good teacher and that he left out half the rules.”
“Oh, I imagine Gage is good at everything he does,” Mrs. Quartermocker said, looking at me suggestively as she poked her tongue out and licked the corner of her mouth. Oh dear God. Mrs. Quartermocker was an attractive woman, but she was at least twice my age. Although her husband, a young man who looked to be in his late twenties, clearly didn’t seem to mind that. Currently, he was lounging in a chair nearby drinking a martini, a beret sitting neatly on his shaggy hair, and appearing quite content with his life.
“Now, now,” Maynard Siggins, who I was really hoping was Rory’s father so we could put this mystery to rest, said. “Practice makes perfect. I’m just glad Gage called me this morning out of the blue and then happened to mention that he’d been learning bridge. Perfect timing as our regular partner, Curtis Nielson, was asked to work late this evening. Curtis works under you, doesn’t he, Gage?”
I smiled tightly and with a fair amount of shame. I’d done a business favor for Mr. Siggins about a year ago, and I’d called him earlier under the pretense of inquiring about how the resulting deal was going. I’d asked if he was still holding bridge night and said I’d recently learned the game. Of course, he’d invited me like I’d known he would and I’d asked if Rory could come along. Clearly whatever else Maynard Siggins was, he wasn’t a man able to spot one too many coincidences. “Lucky break,” I muttered.
“Indeed it is,” Maynard said. He looked at us both over his reading glasses. “You said Ms. Castle is new in town. How is it you two met?”
My gaze flew to Rory. We hadn’t gone over a cover story regarding how we met. But Rory simply patted my hand and said, “Open mic poetry night.”
“Oh!” Mrs. Quartermocker’s very young husband, whose name I’d already forgotten, suddenly sat up straight. “The poetry slam at Lighthouse Lounge?”
“That’s the one,” Rory said, perching her chin on the backs of her laced hands and gazing at me. “Gage’s piece was mesmerizing. So emotionally charged. I had to speak to him afterward. From there, it’s been…a whirlwind.”
“A hurricane,” I amended.
Her eyes danced. “Category five.”
“Utter destruction,” I added with a lowered voice.
“Sounds positively violent,” Mrs. Quartermocker said with a giggle before downing her drink.
“What was it about?” Mr. Siggins asked.
Rory paused as her eyes slid around the room. “Cymbals,” she said. She let out a small, tinkling laugh, her lower lip trembling as though she was holding back. I wondered what object or title behind me had tipped off her answer but didn’t turn around. Instead, I narrowed my eyes at her and she batted her lashes.