Читать книгу Moon Over Montana - Jackie Merritt - Страница 8

Linda restlessly roamed her apartment. Every few minutes she heard Tag whistle a few bars of a song. Her Saturday was ruined, as far as she was concerned. Maybe she should be able to ignore having a man in her kitchen and go about her own business, but she just couldn’t seem to relax.

Finally, deciding to get out of there for a while, she ran upstairs, changed from her slacks and blouse to fleecy gray shorts and a comfy old top, put on her walking shoes and returned to the first floor. Wishing she kept Tippy’s leash anywhere but where it was, she took a big breath and headed for the kitchen with what she hoped was a look of irrevocable indifference on her face. Every time she’d thought of Tag’s brash kiss to her cheek, she’d suffered a hot flash. She didn’t like the confusion she felt over the incident, mostly caused by the fact that she hadn’t disliked the kiss. It had been rather sweet, actually.

“Pardon the interruption,” she said as she forced herself to enter her own kitchen. “But I need to get Tippy’s leash from the laundry room.”

Tag turned and looked at her, and her determined expression completely deserted her. He had such marvelous eyes, she thought, suddenly feeling a bit weak in the knees.

“You’re not an interruption.” Tag’s features softened into what Linda perceived as just about the nicest smile she’d ever seen on a guy’s face. “Drop in anytime,” he added. “I like the company.”

He was flirting again! Linda swallowed hard. “Oh, well, I…I just need the leash…for, uh, now.”

Tag nodded. “Sure thing. Help yourself.”

“Thanks, I will.” Stepping around drop cloths and the other things with which Tag had all but filled her small kitchen, Linda went into the laundry room and came out with the leash. Tippy perked up his ears and began dancing around.

“Looks like he knows what that means,” Tag said with a laugh.

“Yes, he always gets excited when he sees his leash.”

“That’s an associative response. You taught him that without even trying. Did you raise him from a pup?”

Linda bent over to attach the leash to Tippy’s collar. “No, I’ve only had him since my move from California about two months ago.”

“Did you get him from the local vet?”

“I guess you could say I found him.”

“Or he found you. Well, he’s a lucky pooch. Looks to me like he got himself a good home.”

“He deserves to be treated well. I don’t think he was before I found him. He was begging for scraps of food at a place in Nevada where I stopped for gas. He was filthy, dirty and a pitiful sight, but he won me over the second I saw him. I talked to the only person around, a grouchy old man running the place who said that Tippy had been hanging around for a week, bothering customers and disturbing his thriving business. Believe me, the place wasn’t thriving. It was in the middle of nowhere, and I remember thinking that a nice little dog just might do wonders for that old guy’s nasty disposition. In any case, he didn’t want him, no one had come looking for him, and he told me to take him.”

“So you adopted him on the spot.”

“I had to. Look at that adorable little face and those trusting eyes. No way could I have driven away and told myself he would be all right on his own. He was hungry and frightened, and he probably wouldn’t have lived very long if I had left him there. I gave him a bath in my motel room when I stopped that night, and…well, you can see how white his coat is.”

“All except for that little patch of black on the tip of his tail.”

“After seeing that, could I call him anything else?”

“Nope. Tippy fits him to a tee.”

Linda was suddenly embarrassed over her unnecessarily detailed story. For one thing, her rambling had kept Tag from his work much longer than an abbreviated version of the story would have. For another, it wasn’t like her to make mountains out of molehills when relating a simple incident.

“I’m going now. See you later,” she said almost sternly, although any chastisement in her voice was for herself and her ridiculous urge to impress this man.

“I’ll be here,” Tag said cheerfully.

Tippy ran ahead of her to the front door. Pondering Tag’s extraordinary effect on her, Linda took Tippy outside.

At the street she automatically went to the left. In that direction State Street led to Lake Monet. It was only about three miles away, and Linda had been smitten by the pretty little lake on her first visit. The water level was lower than normal for June, people kept telling her, as the area had had very little snow last winter, followed by pathetic little rainfalls instead of the hard, drenching rains that spring usually delivered.

But even if the water was shallow in Lake Monet, Linda saw great beauty in the bulrushes, pussy willows and lily pads along its southern curve. There were also amazing light patterns and colors in the water itself, and she understood very well why some romantic had named the small body of water after the great artist Claude Monet. Still, her thoughts weren’t on art today, or the lake, and she only walked about a quarter of a mile when she turned around and went in the opposite direction. When she came to Main Street she crossed it and kept walking. Tippy was happy. He didn’t care where they went, as long as they were outside.

Linda had driven every street in Rumor, just to acquaint herself with the town. She knew where the businesses were located, and she could put together most of the people she’d met with their homes. But until today there had been no reason even to notice the striking, lightly varnished wooden house that sat on a large lot with a number of evergreen trees. The name on the mailbox read Taggart Kingsley, and while Linda slowed her steps so she could take a really good look at his home, Tag’s last name registered. He was a Kingsley!

But he was a carpenter—such an honest, basic, simple vocation—and why would one of the incredibly wealthy Kingsleys paint and renovate apartments?

Frowning, Linda pondered that puzzle and decided it made no sense. She’d heard about the Kingsleys. They were wealthy from decades of successful cattle ranching even before they’d created MonMart, which was a huge superstore on Kingsley Avenue that sold groceries, clothing, household goods, tools, garden supplies and almost anything else a Montana resident might need. MonMart was, by all accounts, extremely profitable. Gossip had it that many more MonMart stores were planned for Montana, and some predicted that the Kingsleys wouldn’t stop until the whole country was peppered with their stores.

But that image didn’t coincide with Linda’s impression of Tag. Could he be a shirttail relative of the more ambitious Kingsleys? Should she ask around and find out?

No, Linda thought vehemently. She was not going to pry into anyone’s affairs, family or otherwise. Everyone deserved some privacy, which, she had already been warned about several times, was difficult to preserve in this small town.

After another thirty minutes of walking, Linda turned around and headed for home. When she passed Tag’s place, though, she slowed down again, and this time she spotted the building in the trees that appeared to be his shop.

She admired his yard and from her present viewpoint was able to see the swing set in back, some scattered toys and what appeared to be a sandbox—all evidence of a child. Thinking of Tag’s personal life—widowed so young and with a little daughter to raise—Linda walked on.

Past his place, she picked up her pace. Inside her front door she freed Tippy from the leash and the dog ran for the kitchen yapping a “Hi, I’m back” for his new friend’s benefit. Linda hung the leash in the foyer closet and then started up the stairs for a quick shower. She hadn’t done any running, but she had walked fast and worked up a sweat. The day was warm, bordering on hot. According to longtime residents, it was much too hot and dry for this time of year. Actually, Linda thought the weather was just about perfect, but she knew that a lot of people, including the U.S. Forest Service, were concerned about the tinder-dry conditions throughout the area.

She was halfway up the stairs when she heard Tag say, “Linda, a friend of yours came by. A man.”

Linda turned. “A friend? Did he give you his name?”

“No, he didn’t.”

A frown appeared between Linda’s eyebrows. “Well, did you know him? I mean, was it someone from the school?”

“I never set eyes on the guy before today, but he walked in without knocking, so I figured you must know him very well.”

Linda’s jaw dropped. “He walked in? That’s impossible. I locked the door when I left and just now unlocked it to get in.” She held up her key for him to see.

“You had to unlock the door because I locked it after that guy took off.”

“Wait a minute.” Linda went back down the stairs and confronted Tag on the same level. “Listen to me. I locked the door when I left.”

“Then that guy must have a key.”

Linda’s voice became slightly shrill. “Nobody has a key!”

“Well, he got in, and he sure as the devil didn’t announce his visit with a knock. Linda, are you saying you don’t know this guy?”

Linda was breathing deeply to calm her racing heart. Who in Rumor would just walk into her apartment? Even if the door had been left unlocked.

“What did he look like?” she asked, sounding a little breathless.

Tag frowned. Was Linda scared of someone? Scared for a reason? “Like a fish out of water, to be honest,” he said slowly, watching her closely as he spoke. “When I heard him come in I thought you were back, but then I didn’t hear Tippy and something felt off-kilter. Anyhow, I came in here to see what was going on and the look on that guy’s face when he saw me was almost funny. He mumbled something about being in the wrong apartment and took off so fast he practically left skid marks. Kind of strange, don’t you think?”

“Yes…strange,” Linda murmured thoughtfully. Was she wrong about having locked the door? Could she recall with detailed certainty stepping outside, inserting the key in the lock and turning it? Try as she might, she couldn’t. It was possible that she hadn’t locked the door.

Which didn’t explain someone off the street taking a notion to just walk in.

“Maybe you should call the sheriff and file a report,” Tag suggested.

Linda mulled that over for a moment. “I don’t know. No harm was done.”

“Meaning you’d rather not involve the law. Why not, Linda? Is it because that guy could be someone you know?”

Tag’s suspicion rubbed her wrong. If she did have a male friend with a key to her apartment, it would really be none of Taggart Kingsley’s business.

“No, not because he could be someone I know,” Linda snapped with biting sarcasm, immediately regretting her feisty comeback. She liked Tag, and she didn’t want him thinking that she was morally loose, although to be perfectly honest she wasn’t sure what she would like him to think about her.

“Look,” she said in a more normal voice, “no one has a key to this place but me, and probably Heck. Since I like my doors locked, I assumed I had locked it when I left. Obviously I hadn’t.”

“Yeah, obviously,” Tag said, still frowning.

“Was the man short, tall or somewhere in between?”

“Around five-eight, I’d have to say. Kind of short for a man.”

“Considering your own height, five foot eight probably looks short to you. What color was his hair?”

“I think his hair was dark. No, you’d better scratch that. He was wearing a stocking cap and sunglasses. I couldn’t say with any certainty what color his hair or eyes were.”

Oh my God, was that another disguise? Was today’s visitor the same guy who came to my door twice before? Did he simply walk in today because I left the apartment unlocked? Is this something I should be concerned about?

For some reason, Linda couldn’t quite believe the poor sicko, whoever he was, was someone to fear. Twice she had opened the door for him and twice he’d immediately run away. If he had meant her any harm, it would already have happened. She just had to be more careful about locking the doors and windows, although the more she thought about it, the odder it all seemed. Did he want to rob her? She had some nice things, but a robbery in broad daylight in Rumor would not go unnoticed.

“Are you positive you’ve never seen him before?” she asked.

“I know everyone in town, Linda.”

“You didn’t know me. He could have recently moved here.”

“I suppose that could be true.” He could have reminded Linda that while he hadn’t actually met her until today, he’d heard about the great new art teacher from a number of sources. Strangers normally did not go unnoticed in Rumor.

Linda squared her shoulders. “He merely walked into the wrong apartment,” she told Tag. “When he saw you he realized his error and left. Let’s both forget it.”

Tag felt uneasy about the incident, particularly Linda’s cavalier attitude toward it. “Are you sure it should be forgotten?” This time he couldn’t resist warning her. “The guy’s a stranger, Linda.”

“So am I, Tag.”

“Not the same thing. You’re new to the area, but you immediately went to work as a high-school teacher. You’re a respectable member of the community.”

“Maybe he is, too. He might be from somewhere else and is in Rumor now to visit someone.”

“Or to walk into other people’s homes just because the front door isn’t locked. Hell, Linda, I leave my doors unlocked most of the time. So do a lot of other folks around here.”

“Well, they shouldn’t. You shouldn’t! Who can tell when some awful person might decide to walk in?” She realized what she’d just said at the same moment it registered with Tag. He grinned, and she grinned. “I think I’m losing it,” she said with a shake of her head, and headed up the stairs again.

Tag watched until she reached the second floor and went into her bedroom. He wasn’t completely comfortable with her attitude toward a stranger walking into her house, but he had to admire her spunk. She wasn’t a coward, that was certain. Of course, a woman living alone didn’t dare cringe in fright at every little thing. She’d drive herself batty if every noise and shadow scared her.

He liked Linda Fioretti, he thought again. He liked her more than any woman he’d ever known on such short acquaintance. She was a pleasure to look at, intelligent, independent and talented. Yes, really talented. Her paintings were incredible. Samantha might be a good artist someday. She loved to draw and color pictures. If she had a teacher who knew art the way Linda did…?

“That’s a darn good idea,” Tag said under his breath as, whistling and, pleased with himself, he returned to the kitchen and his bucket of paint.

The sun beating through the panels of glass of the telephone booth was so unbearable that Alfred Wallinski, aka Al Wallinski, aka Al Malone, had to leave the door open while he talked. Alfred’s favorite alias was Max Malone, just because it sounded tough and together and perfect for a guy with his natural abilities. He wouldn’t waste that great name on this crappy little job, though; he was saving it for the day when he’d finally made the grade and ranked as one of Paul Fioretti’s pals. It would happen very soon, Alfred was sure, if he could just finish up in this ungodly wilderness and get back to Los Angeles.

“Paul, I got into her apartment today, but there was a guy there and I had to beat a hasty retreat.”

“You’re always beating a hasty retreat,” Paul said disgustedly. “Alfred, if you can’t handle one simple little job, why don’t you just say so? I can’t believe you’ve been in that town for weeks and still don’t have the book. What in hell’s wrong with you? Was your mother a jackass? ’Cause you sure are.”

“Ma was no jackass,” Alfred said huffily, defending his mother’s honor. “And I ain’t either. I’ll get the book. You got no idea how crappy this town is. I can’t just up and leave my motel room whenever I feel like it. Someone’s always around, and when I finally do give everyone the slip and get near her apartment, there’re people there, too. I know every bush and tree on this damn street, ’cause I’ve hidden behind every one of ’em. And before you get too mad at me, answer me this. Have you ever come face-to-face with a bull or a bear on a dark night?”

“Oh, for hell’s sake. Don’t expect me to believe bears are wandering the streets of that town. Bears live in the woods.”

“What d’ya think is all around the place? Woods, Paul. Trees by the thousands. And a bull is just as bad as a bear, anyway. I’ve seen plenty of them.”

“You’ve probably seen milk cows, you dolt.”

“Well, what about those other animals, the deer and the moose? And those owls hooting in every tree after dark? I tell you, Paul, it’d scare you, too.”

“Don’t count on it. Listen to me. You get into my ex-wife’s apartment, find that little book with the brown cover and get your butt and the journal back here. I know she still has it because she would rather burn in hell than throw out a book. She probably unpacked her zillion books without even noticing that one, so it’s on a bookshelf somewhere in that apartment. Stop your damn sniveling about bears and owls and get the job done. I’m tired of your whining. I want results, and I want them now!”

“I’ll get the job done, Paul, I swear it.”

“See that you do. The next time you call, I had better hear that the journal is in your hands!”

“It will be.”

In his office at the back of his restaurant, Fioretti’s, Paul slammed down the receiver. He never should have trusted Alfred Wallinski with this job, which was even more crucial to Paul’s good health than he’d told the little worm before sending him off to Montana. That journal contained enough information about his illegal bookmaking ring that if it ever fell into the wrong hands and Paul’s partners got wind of it, he’d be pushing up daisies faster than he could say “Alfred Wallinski.”

Beads of perspiration broke out on his forehead. This was the worst mess he’d ever gotten himself into. What in God’s name had made him think he had cleverly figured out the ultimate hiding place for the journal? He’d been positive that Linda had so many books she would never notice the addition of one thin, nondescript volume. And she hadn’t. But then everything had gone upside down.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” Paul mumbled, recalling the day he had rushed to their house to discover strangers living there. She’d sold the house! He’d left in a daze, calling himself names, calling her names, cursing the night she’d told him that she could no longer tolerate his dishonesty, his adultery or his disgusting friends. Their marriage was over, Linda had coldly said, and then she’d asked him to move out.

He’d been shocked to near speechlessness. How had she found out those things about him? He’d always been so careful. She had no proof, he’d decided. She was just in a mood. Thinking that she would come to her senses with a little time, he had taken his clothes and left her alone to think things over.

Well, she’d meant everything she’d said, and she had rushed to Nevada for a quickie divorce. He’d been stunned to receive his copy of the divorce decree, and that was when he’d driven like a madman to what he had still considered “their” house. Linda was gone.

And so were her books.

He’d panicked. Hell, who wouldn’t have? And he’d racked his brain to come up with some guy he could trust with a life-and-death mission. It had been another blow to realize he had no real friends, no one in whom he could confide something so serious without worrying the story would be bandied about until it reached the wrong ears. And then he’d thought of Alfred Wallinski, not a friend but a guy who hung around the fringes of Paul’s crowd with a hopeful look in his eyes. He wanted to be part of the group so badly the poor slob was like a homeless puppy, doing everything he could to be noticed.

Alfred was, sadly, the best that Paul had been able to come up with, and he’d sent Alfred to the old neighborhood to ask around about Linda. To Paul’s surprise she hadn’t kept her whereabouts a secret, and Alfred had discovered in one day that she had moved to Rumor, Montana. Alfred had been so proud of the good job he’d done that he’d told Paul all about it with tears in his eyes. Paul had been touched by the man’s apparent sense of loyalty and decided on the spot that Alfred deserved a real break. “You, my friend, are going to Montana for me,” he’d said, and then watched the little guy wilt.

“I ain’t never been out of L.A.,” Alfred had said in a shaky voice.

“Hell, man, you’ll love Montana. I’d love to go there myself, but I couldn’t do what you could. Linda’s never set eyes on you. You’ll be able to get in and out of her place the first time she’s not at home.” Paul had explained what Alfred would be looking for. “You’ll be back in L.A. in a week.”

“Yeah, probably,” Alfred had said weakly.

But it wasn’t going the way it should have, the way Paul had figured it would. Thinking of Alfred’s idiotic fear of animals—probably of his own damn shadow, too, the little wimp—he slammed the top of his desk with his fist. That fool is probably hiding in his motel room instead of watching Linda’s place! This should have been over and done with weeks ago.

Paul was more right than he knew. When Alfred exited that stifling little phone booth, he hurried back to his motel room. Worried because Paul was so angry with him, he began defending himself in front of the mirror above the scarred dresser. “Yeah, Paul, it’s real easy for you to be so tough in that cushy office of yours. You have no idea what I’m facing in this burg. Sheriff’s cars everywhere, animals everywhere, that yapping little dog in your ex’s apartment, people coming and going all the time around her building. Yeah, Paul, you ain’t got a clue about what I’m going through here.

“And now there’s some guy living with her. What am I supposed to do about him, huh?”