Читать книгу The Newcomer - Margot Dalton - Страница 11

MAGGIE AND HER BROTHER unpacked and rested for a couple of hours in their separate rooms. By the time they went downstairs, it was about seven o’clock in the evening.

Doug Evans was behind the reception desk, on one of the tall stools occupied by his sister earlier in the day. He pored over an open ledger and punched numbers onto a computer keyboard, looking annoyed. Invoices and receipts littered the desk. Dundee lay partly upon the stack of papers, occasionally swatting playfully at the keyboard.

“Can’t make head nor tail of this damn stuff,” Doug muttered, giving them a distracted glance. “I really should take a computer course to update my skills.”

Maggie, who was a certified accountant in addition to holding an advanced degree in business, looked with interest at the masses of paper.

Though her job with Natasha Dunne had involved all kinds of strange and exotic duties over the years, Maggie Embree’s first love would always be computers and bookkeeping.

“Why don’t you hire somebody?” she asked.

“Who would I find in this town? Anybody who’s remotely qualified has a job already. The hotel books were in a mess when I bought the place, and computer software seems to change every ten minutes.”

“What would you say is your most immediate problem?” Maggie asked.

“Hell, who knows?” He glared at the screen. “We need somebody to work here for a few days, at least, and design a profit-and-loss statement, cost projections and decent spreadsheets, some kind of a plan for our future computer development…”

“Maggie could sort that out for you in ten minutes,” Terry said. “Give her a set of books and a good computer, and this girl’s a marvel.”

Doug gave her a quick thoughtful glance that made her feel awkward again. She forced herself to meet his eyes casually.

“Is there by any chance a dining room in the hotel, Doug?” she asked.

For a moment he seemed both startled and a little unsettled by her casual use of his first name. Then he shook his dark head and leafed though a messy pile of invoices.

“We serve burgers and snacks in the hotel pub, but that’s about all. Most of our guests eat their meals down the street at the Longhorn. Nora makes the best home fries in the state.”

“The Longhorn,” Terry said, grinning. “Now, that sounds interesting. You’ll love it, Maggie.”

She gave him a warning glance.

“My sister’s a big-city girl,” Terry told the man behind the desk. “Maggie eats alfalfa sprouts and sushi. I’ll bet she’s never had a plate of home fries in her life.”

“Is that so?” Doug laughed. “Well then, she’s got a terrific experience ahead of her.”

Maggie headed for the lobby door, with Terry ambling behind her.

“Look, quit talking to that man about me as if I’m not even there,” she muttered to her brother when they were outside on the darkened street.

“He seems interested,” Terry said innocently as they made their way toward the restaurant. “Don’t you think?”

“I couldn’t care less if he’s interested.” A few minutes later they reached the Longhorn. Maggie pushed open the door of the restaurant, relieved to step into the smoky warmth after the chill of the street.

“You don’t find our laird Douglas Evans just a tiny bit attractive?” Terry followed her to a booth near the window.

“Not a bit,” Maggie lied, sliding onto the vinyl seat. “But even if I did, I’d have to ignore those feelings,” she added.

“You would?” Terry smiled at a waitress in a checked apron who arrived to hand them a couple of gingham-patterned menus. “Why?”

“Because feelings like that would complicate the job I’ve come here to do.”

“Mags, you have no intention of doing that job. Unlike our Natasha, you’re not entirely crazy.” His eyes sparkled. “Just a wee bit smitten,” he said in a mock brogue.

Maggie ignored her brother’s teasing and frowned at the menu. “Do you suppose they have something like a salad? It seems this is all meat and potatoes.”

“You’d better get used to some dietary changes if you want to make any friends here,” Terry said mildly. “Look at this place, Maggie. It’s terrific.”

She glanced around at the restaurant, which could have been lifted directly from a fifties movie. But the effect wasn’t cutesy and artificial like similar establishments in Los Angeles. The Longhorn had a look of authenticity, as if thousands of people had sat in these booths over the years, ordered from the same menus, studied their reflections in the polished chrome napkin holders and played selections on the individual jukeboxes above each table.

“Isn’t it great?” Terry said.

“Yes,” she said. “The place has a wonderful ambience. And,” she added with sudden inexplicable sadness, “I’m afraid it soon could belong to Natasha Dunne, along with everything else in this town.”

Terry gave her a quick glance but didn’t respond. They ordered mushroom burgers and home fries, and Maggie ate the rich food with guilty pleasure.

“Oh, this is so good.” she sighed, wiping a trickle of mayonnaise from her chin.

“Welcome to the real world.” Terry grinned, saluting her with a forkful of coleslaw. “Maybe this new assignment of yours is going to be a valuable experience for you, kiddo.”

“In what way?”

His face was suddenly grave. “I’m hoping by the time you’re done, this town will own you, instead of the other way around.”

“Terry, what do you mean?” Maggie asked, genuinely puzzled.

But he refused to elaborate. Half an hour later, he paused outside the restaurant with his hands deep in his pockets.

“You can find your way back to the hotel, can’t you?” He glanced at her. “It’s only a couple of blocks away, and I want to go for a walk.”

“Where?” she asked.

He turned, looking a little evasive. “Just down there by the river,” he said, then headed off into a darkness lit in ghostly fashion by street lamps circled with frost.

Maggie watched her younger brother, troubled by conflicting emotions.

Her research file had stated that Rose Murdoch and her two daughters lived down by the river…

But Terry was an adult, and his personal life was none of her business.

Maggie turned up her jacket collar against the chill and wandered back toward the hotel, pausing briefly outside Wall’s Drugstore, which appeared to be open for business.

A fat, swarthy man worked behind the counter, and a slim blond woman stood nearby. Muffled in a long coat and damask scarf, she leaned wearily against a tall cowboy in a sheepskin coat and Stetson. The woman held some toiletries, which she placed on the counter.

When the customer stepped back and her coat swung open, Maggie realized the woman was pregnant. The man at her side, a smiling, handsome fellow with curly auburn hair, hugged his wife and whispered something to her, with a look of tenderness that made Maggie feel lonely and excluded.

The couple gathered up their purchases and left. As they passed by and the two women glanced at each other, Maggie was stunned by the tall blonde’s effortless grace and style. This woman could have been the president of some major corporation in the city, or even one of Natasha’s glamorous friends.

Not exactly the kind of woman Maggie had expected to find here in Crystal Creek, shopping with a cowboy in the local drugstore…

“That’s Jim and Lucia Whitley,” the druggist said cozily, following her gaze. “They just got married at Christmastime. And not a minute too soon,” he added with a leer, “judging by the looks of her. Lucia’s got a bun in the oven.”

Maggie felt a sharp distaste for this overweight man with his narrow eyes and shiny red face. But he was clearly disposed to talk, and she needed information, so she forced herself to smile casually.

“Mrs. Whitley is a very lovely woman,” she said, examining a rack of grocery and food items that stood near the front desk.

“She’s the principal of the middle school, and her husband is one of the teachers on staff,” her informant said, as if this was a bit of juicy gossip.

Maggie glanced around at the drugstore, which looked and smelled like some vanished bit of childhood. She breathed in the scent of polished wooden floors, soap and lemon oil, dust and perfume and warmth. The place itself seemed ageless and comforting, even though its proprietor made her uneasy.

She found a couple of cans of ruinously expensive cat food and took them to the counter, rummaging in her bag. “So that woman’s the school principal,” she said, still thinking about the graceful blonde in the scarf. “I’d really like to meet her sometime.”

“Well, you better hurry, then, because Lucia won’t be around long,” he said with a wink. “The school’s probably shutting down.”

“Really?” Maggie offered a bill and stood looking at the man. “Why?”

He shrugged his fat shoulders and rang up the purchase. “Taxes are too high. Folks know we can’t afford that school anymore, and they want it closed. We’re voting on it next month.”

“Where will the students go?”

“On a bus,” the druggist said carelessly, “to the middle school over in the next town.”

“Is this common knowledge in town?” Maggie asked. “About the school closure?”

“Oh, sure. Everybody’s talking about it.” He leaned across the counter with a confiding look. “But me…well, I got kind of an inside track on things, you might say.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well, because my wife is the chair of the school board.”

Maggie searched her memory, trying again to recall the careful notes she’d made.

Gloria Wall, she remembered. Chair of the Crystal Creek School Board, and wife of…

“So you would be Ralph Wall?” she asked with a polite smile.

“That’s right, I sure would.” The druggist gave her a gratified smile and squared his shoulders a little. “And your name is…?”

“Margaret Embree. I’m here in town for a while on business.”

“Movie business?” he suggested with an avid expression.

“I beg your pardon?” Maggie said, startled.

“We’ve all seen that big Mercedes you drive around in, with the California plates. Folks reckon you’re planning to shoot a movie here in Crystal Creek, the same way they did over in Wimberley last year, and make us all into big stars.”

Maggie considered his words, and decided that for the moment this was as good a cover as any.

“So would you like to be a movie star, Mr. Wall?” she asked.

“If it pays good enough.” His grin faded. He began to arrange the bright rows of gum and chocolate bars under the glass counter. “God knows, we could use some money around here.”

“How would you feel,” Maggie asked carefully, “if somebody who was making a movie in town should want to buy your drugstore?”

His close-set eyes sharpened with interest. “Why would he need to buy my store?”

“Well,” Maggie said, improvising rapidly, “you know, a lot of big production companies like to own the properties where they’re shooting, just to avoid possible legal complications.”

“But what would they do with my store after the movie was over?”

Maggie took a deep breath, a little appalled at herself for even broaching the topic. Hopefully the man would scoff at her suggestion, and then she could report to Natasha that the whole idea was impossible.

“I suppose,” she said with deliberate casualness, “the producer would buy out your property for cash. Then if you chose, he’d just hold on to it and rent it back to you. I think that’s how it works.”

His face took on a startled, cunning look. “You mean he’d give me cash for this place? Full market value? And then afterward he’d let me keep running my business like nothing ever happened?”

Maggie nodded. “And of course the new owner would be responsible for taxes and improvements to the property. Your only requirement would be the payment of a nominal rent.”

Ralph Wall’s cheeks glistened with excitement. Maggie could almost smell the scent of greed exuding from him, and had to force herself not to back away from the counter.

“So how many businesses would your movie producer want to be buying this way?” he asked. “Just my drugstore, or what?”

“I think it’s possible he might be interested in the entire downtown area,” Maggie said. “Possibly even a number of the residential properties.”

“But…” Ralph Wall stared at her, his hands gripping the edge of the counter. “But something like that…it’d have to cost thousands of dollars. Maybe…” His voice was hushed. “Maybe millions.”

“These days, even the smallest movies have multimillion-dollar budgets, Mr. Wall.”

She turned to go, but he reached out and clutched her arm.

Maggie paused, hating the feeling of his hand against her jacket.

“Look, Ms. Embree, is this on the level? This movie producer might really give me cash value for my drugstore, and then let me stay here and run it?”

“Does that really appeal to you?” Maggie asked with genuine curiosity. “I thought people always dream of owning their business themselves.”

“Not when they’re so strapped for cash they can hardly turn around, like most of us are in this town,” he said with a dark, bitter look. “Working for somebody else and having him take over the money worries sounds pretty damn good to me.”

There was no doubting his eagerness. If other people in Crystal Creek turned out to be this anxious to sell, Natasha’s ludicrous plan might actually be feasible.

“It’s not something I’m free to discuss at the moment, Mr. Wall.” Maggie dropped her voice, shook her arm free of his grasp and glanced toward the door. “And I’ll also have to ask you not to talk with anybody else about this, please.”

The fat man licked his lips, staring at her. “Not a word,” he breathed in a hoarse whisper. “I won’t say a word.”

“Thank you.”

Maggie headed for the door with her sack of cat food, glancing over her shoulder. The druggist already had his back to her and was dialing the phone, his body trembling with excitement.

Frowning, she strolled down the moonlit street toward the hotel, brooding over her first testing of the waters in Crystal Creek.

Ralph Wall had the look of an incorrigible gossip. Within a day or two, the story of the rich movie producer buying up real estate was probably going to be all over Crystal Creek, and then the discussion and argument would begin.

And judging by what Maggie now knew about the financial state of this town, maybe she wouldn’t even have to seek people out.

They would be coming to her, she thought, her stomach tightening with concern. All she had to do was wait a while, and begin signing checks. Unless she could somehow talk Natasha out of this whole grotesque plan.

Not that she hadn’t tried, of course. In recent months Maggie had spent long hours arguing with her famous employer, battling to convince Natasha that she could earn the love and loyalty of these townspeople simply by making a substantial donation to the small Texas community.

But Natasha wasn’t interested in being the town’s patron. She wanted to own Crystal Creek. And nothing, it seemed, was going to stop her.

DOUG WAS STILL WORKING over his snarl of invoices and computer printouts when Maggie came back into the hotel lobby. Apparently the younger brother had gone off somewhere on his own because she was alone now, carrying a sack from Wall’s Drugstore and looking preoccupied.

She seemed more approachable, too, dressed in pleated khakis, a cable-knit sweater and a duffel coat with hood. The enticing hair clip had been replaced by a long casual braid.

Again he thought about unfastening that braid, letting her hair fall free across her shoulders.

Doug loved the look of a woman with long hair. Especially when it was dark and glossy like Maggie’s, with chestnut highlights…

“Hi.” She paused by the counter. “How’s it going?”

“Not well,” he said, catching a whiff of the tantalizing perfume she wore. It smelled more woodsy than sweet, like the forest after a rain.

A lovely, elusive fragrance…

“So how much would I have to pay you to sort this all out for me?” he asked, gesturing at the computer and the messy stack of papers.

She stared, and again he was conscious of her classic features, the fine dark eyes and high cheekbones. “You’re kidding.”

“On the contrary, I’m deadly serious. How long would it take to bring my bookkeeping system into the new millennium?”

“A good accountant could analyze your needs and set up a couple of decent spreadsheets within…” Maggie glanced at her watch. “Oh, I’d say…a few hours. But it might take a day or two if the problems are widespread.”

Doug was almost dizzied by her nearness, to say nothing of this incredible statement. “If you could do that for me,” he told her, “I’d give you a week of rent-free accommodation.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

Her darkly lashed eyes were so beautiful. He couldn’t stop gazing at them. And her body under the casual clothes was so enticing, slim and richly curved, with long legs and high, sweet breasts…

“Ridiculous?” he asked.

She hesitated, then tossed her package and duffel coat onto a couch, opened the little gate and came around behind the desk, perching next to him on another stool.

“Let me have the computer,” she said. “I don’t want to look at your books, but I’ll download a useful spreadsheet for you right now, and you can pay me back by giving me a drink of Irish cream in the pub later on.”

In the midst of his enchantment, Doug felt a sharp twinge of suspicion. This offer was too good to be true, and so was the lovely woman at his side.

“What’s the catch?” he asked.

She gave him one of the enchanting, luminous smiles that made his heart beat faster. “Are Scotsmen always so suspicious of ordinary human kindness?”

“We Scots have discovered over the years,” he said, “that a healthy dose of suspicion helps us to get along with our neighbors.”

“It does?”

“Well,” he amended after brief consideration, “suspicion and a bloody great wall.”

She chuckled, and he was undone. He would have given anything just to hear her laugh again. When she pressed closer to him, punching numbers on the keyboard, one of her breasts touched his arm and it was all he could not to sweep her into his arms.

“So you wouldn’t worry about a stranger looking at your business affairs?” she asked, dragging him back to reality.

“Why should I be? There’s nothing to hide in my books. The temps I hire to come up from Austin and wade through this mess, are all strangers.”

By now, Maggie was all business, entering instructions, pulling down packages of software he’d never seen before. Her fingers flew over the screen, and as she concentrated, she bit her full lower lip between perfect white teeth.

Her only pause came when Dundee edged closer and rested a furry chin on her arm, begging to be scratched. Maggie stopped and stroked the cat’s ears, then bent to whisper something to her.

Doug watched, moved by the tenderness of her gesture, feeling irrationally envious of his own cat.

“Do you like animals?” he asked.

“I really love cats, but I travel too much to have one of my own.” Maggie looked wistful. “Dundee is just such a beauty.”

She watched in obvious regret when the tabby leaped down from the reception desk and padded off in the direction of the hotel pub. When the animal was gone, Maggie sighed and returned to the books.

“Okay,” she muttered after a while. “That’s all you need for now. Look, you start with your ledger entries in this column…”

She demonstrated the use of the spreadsheet she’d established. Doug watched with interest.

“Could you go over that last bit again?” he said, frowning. “Like I told you, computers really aren’t my strong point.”

“I’ll tell you what, Doug.” Maggie glanced at him. “You’re right, a drink in the bar isn’t nearly enough payment for teaching you how to use this accounting software.”

“You greedy woman,” he teased. “I already offered you a week of rent-free accommodation.”

“And I said that’s ridiculous, though teaching you this would probably take me the better part of a week in my free time.” Maggie frowned at the screen. “Still, it’s an interesting challenge.”

“So how shall I repay you?”

As she looked over at him, a strand of hair worked itself free of the braid and fell across her cheek. He longed to reach up to smooth it back behind her ear.

“Hire a technician to put some phone jacks in our sitting room and our bedrooms,” she said. “I’ll consider that a wonderful repayment.”

Doug watched her curiously. “Nobody’s ever wanted a phone in their room before,” he said.

“Oh, come on. Whoever heard of a hotel without phones in the rooms?”

“This isn’t the big city, Maggie. Our guests always use the phone at the end of the hall, or down here in the lobby.”

“But my brother and I will be using two computers, a laptop and fax machine,” Maggie told him. “We need at least four phone jacks and two dedicated lines for e-mail and Internet access, or we can’t stay here.”

“And if I install them, you’ll teach me how to computerize my bookkeeping?”

“My brother’s a novelist.” She looked fully at him, her eyes grave and thoughtful. “He’s at an important point in the book he’s working on, and he needs to be able to write every day.”

“Is he published?”

“His first book comes out in late spring. He’s working on the sequel.”

“And what about you?” Doug asked. “Are you just along to nurse the creative genius, Maggie?”

Her cheeks turned faintly pink, a reaction that he found intriguing.

“Hardly.” She looked back at the screen. “I have work of my own to do.”

“In Crystal Creek?”

“You’ve never heard of networking?” she asked a little evasively. “With a computer modem and a good-quality fax, I could conduct my business from a mountaintop or a desert island.”

“Ah yes, ’tis a brave new world indeed,” he said in a soulful brogue, earning a suspicious glance from his companion.

When she frowned, a tiny vertical line appeared between her delicate eyebrows. Doug wanted to kiss it.

“So,” he asked, getting a firm grip on himself, “why have you and your brother chosen Crystal Creek as your desert island?”

She smiled, causing a dimple to flash briefly in her right cheek. He was even more enchanted.

“Maybe,” she suggested, “I’ve decided to learn the fine art of Texas cuisine.”

“And maybe not,” he said.

But she refused to rise to the bait, and before long they were fully involved again in the business of input commands and program files.