Читать книгу Parker And The Gypsy - Susan Carroll - Страница 10

Three

Mike guided his lipstick red Mustang convertible down the shaded streets of Aurora Falls. It was definitely a one-fast-food-joint type of little burg with Yuppie pretensions. Even the quickie mart sported a blasted pink-and-white awning.

As he turned the corner onto a street that looked suspiciously like one he’d already been down, his radio speaker blared out the sound of the Eagles warning him to take it easy. Probably way too loud for Dullsville, so Mike leaned over and switched the cassette tape off.

He brushed aside a bead of sweat trickling down his brow. The afternoon sun baked down through the open top of the convertible, making Mike curse his choice of apparel—dress blue jeans, his best T-shirt topped off with a navy sports jacket. Mike Parker, P.I. in his professional mode. Ready, perhaps, to make a better impression on Miss Sara Holyfield.

No way! Mike scowled his denial, quick and sharp, that his spiffed-up appearance had anything to do with Sara.

Oh, yeah? a voice inside him taunted. And so who’s the close shave, the freshly trimmed hair and the liberal dose of Mr. Manly cologne supposed to be for? The ghost?

Mike was beginning to find his inner voice damned annoying, especially when it was right. Okay, maybe he had given a thought or two to Sara when he’d spent that extra five minutes in front of the mirror this morning. If he wanted the woman’s cooperation, he had a few fences to mend with her after the way he’d treated her yesterday. Making a pass at her, flinging out sarcastic insults, chucking her out of his office.

When he saw her again, he’d be lucky if she didn’t tell him to go to hell. If he hoped to get any information out of her regarding this Patrick business, then he was going to have to turn on a little charm, a pretty scarce commodity with him.

But first, he was going to have to find her. After Sara had left yesterday, he tossed all the information he’d taken down about her straight into the trash. And wouldn’t you know it? It would be the one day Rosa would creep into work and decide to make herself useful by tidying up his office. Sara’s address and phone number were now buried somewhere in a city Dumpster.

But it shouldn’t be too difficult for Mike to locate her in a small town like this, should it? After all, he was supposed to be a detective. Squeaking through on the yellow end of a traffic light, Mike whipped the Mustang onto what he presumed to be Aurora Fall’s main street.

Mostly because there was a sign that proclaimed helpfully Main Street. The wide boulevard planted with skinny striplings of trees and lined with a row of spanking new shops, tried desperately to convey an impression of old-moneyed charm. Like a gaggle of ladies wearing bonnets, almost every shop front was adorned with one of those prissy awnings, except for—

Mike slammed on the brakes, staring through his windshield • at the store set midway down the block. Instead of an awning, its doorway was overhung by a huge mechanical eye, winking open and closed, the Plasticine lashes drifting coyly up and down. Beneath this device dangled a sign announcing the store’s name in bright red letters. The Omniscent Eye. Then in small print, New Age Bookstore.

And Mike had been wondering how difficult it was going to be to find Sara Holyfield. As he studied the sign, a slow grin spread over his face. He didn’t realize he was holding up traffic until a horn blared loudly behind him.

“All right, all right,” Mike groused.

Easing his car into the nearest parking space, Mike got out, fed some change into the meter and then sauntered down the sidewalk for a closer inspection of Sara’s shop front. While the monster eye whirred merrily over his head, Mike couldn’t help chuckling to himself. He was able to imagine what a stir Sara’s advertising device must be creating with her nearest neighbors, a petite sizes boutique where Mike could see a snooty blonde working behind the counter, and on the other side an antique “emporium” complete with bay window. Mike liked Sara all the better for what must be her defiance of the local awning-and-swirly-sign dress code.

Ducking down, Mike paused to check his reflection in the shop glass, wetting his fingers and slicking down a stray cowlick of hair. Reaching for the handle, he pushed open the door.

As he entered the store, a symphony of chimes tinkled, but the noise was almost lost in the other sounds that swirled around him—watt speakers pouring forth the sounds of pattering rain, birdcalls and chittering monkeys. The illusion of having strayed into some kind of tropical rain forest was helped by the fact that plants littered the surface of counters, fronds and ferns everywhere, green waxy-looking leaves sprouting lush and exotic flowers.

Although small and cramped with merchandise, Sara’s shop seemed somehow cool and soothing after the bustle of summer traffic outside. The place smelled of books and some subtle fragrant incense. As the door eased softly shut behind him, Mike caught himself glancing around.

Shelves lined with texts promised to help him with everything, from thinking himself thin to channeling his past lives. Crowding the aisle were displays of tarot cards, herbal remedies, incense stacked like cinnamon sticks in glass jars, meditation tapes and CDs. Mike didn’t bother looking closer at those. Somehow he doubted he would find familiar musical groups tucked in among them.

Flicking one finger over a weird-looking goddess incense burner, Mike pulled a wry face. He supposed someone must buy this stuff considering some of the things his old man had been able to palm off on unsuspecting marks.

But thinking about his father was only sure to darken his day and Mike was in a reasonably good mood for once. He didn’t want to spoil it, so he was quick to shunt all thoughts of Robert Parker aside.

Edging cautiously past a stand filled with scented candles, he nearly bumped his head against some sort of circular rope hanging adorned with feathers, the sort of thing that could have been woven by a demented spider.

He was beginning to feel a little like the Alice kid who’d jumped down a manhole or something only to find herself alone in some kind of strange wonderland. The shop seemed deserted. But at the back of the store, he saw a doorway hung with a beaded curtain.

He headed for it and found the glass counter display of crystals and silver jewelry. An old-fashioned cash register that would make a satisfying ring when recording a sale sat on the well-polished surface.

Behind the counter, perched on a stool, her head bent over a book, was Sara. She didn’t even seem to have noticed that anybody had come into her shop. A customer could waltz in and rob her blind. But perhaps she didn’t have that kind of problem in a store like this. Maybe shoplifting spiritual doodads was considered bad karma.

Mike paused a moment to study Sara before making his presence known. She was just as beautiful and angelic as he’d remembered. Today she wore her hair pulled up high into a ponytail, ringlets falling down like a silken blond cascade, drawing attention to the delicate nape of her neck. Darkframed reading glasses balanced on the tip of her nose, magnifying the solemn intensity of her blue eyes, making her look at once sweet and sexy and...

And those were exactly the kind of thoughts that had gotten him into trouble with Sara Holyfield yesterday. Mike reined himself in sharply—he was here for business, strictly business. Find out exactly how much Sara knew about John Patrick and then get the hell out of this voodoo joint.

Mike took a step closer to the counter and cleared his throat.

“Yes? May I help you?” Sara asked, looking reluctantly up from her book with a bright smile. Her gaze collided with his and she froze. Her lovely smile faded and Mike was sorry to see it go. But he supposed he could hardly have expected any different.

“Mr. Parker,” she said after a painful pause. “What—what a surprise.”

Mike summoned up his most charming smile. “Yeah, I guess it is. I just happened to be passing through Aurora Falls and I noticed the shop and thought what the heck? I might as well look you up.”

“Really?” she asked politely, but doubt shadowed her porcelain-fine features. The woman was too nice to come right out and call him a liar, but Mike almost wished she would glare at him, shout, order him out of her store. Anything but barrage him with this sad and watchful silence.

After another of those awkward hesitations, she removed her glasses as though she liked him better out of focus. “After yesterday, I never expected to see you again.”

“Well,” Mike started to drawl, then stopped. No, breezy and casual clearly wasn’t going to work here. Time to revert to an enchantingly frank and sincere apology.

“Actually,” he said, straightening a little. “The truth is I wasn’t just passing by. I came here on purpose to find you. Ever since you left my office, I kept thinking that I’d been a little abrupt with you.”

“A little?” Sara’s lashes drifted down as she toyed with the binding of her book. “You accused me of being a charlatan and a lunatic. You slammed your office door in my face.”

Her words were very matter of fact, but beneath the calm, he caught the barest threading of hurt. He’d far rather she be ready to smash her crystal ball over his head.

She sat there with that quietly wistful expression, that sad, sad look in her eyes, until Mike squirmed, feeling like the kind of creep that goes around kicking helpless kittens and telling kids there isn’t a Santa Claus.

Dropping all pretense and slick moves, Mike stepped straight up to the counter and heaved a gusty sigh. “Look, Sara, I—I’m really sorry. I know I behaved like a total jerk. I guess I was—um—having a bad aura day. But give me another chance, okay?”

He bent down to peer coaxingly into her face. “My aura’s much better today. Wanna feel?”

“No, thank you,” she said. Her lips twitched with the beginnings of a smile, although she whipped her hands off the counter and safely out of his reach.

She risked a look up at him and he saw that the light was back in her eyes. They stared at each other for a long moment, and to Mike it seemed as though the air in the shop suddenly changed, becoming closer, warmer, heavier with the weight of something. Auras, incense. Hell, he didn’t know what it was. He just found himself leaning closer, pulled in by the tug of her big blue eyes, overcome by the urge to kiss Sara full on the mouth.

Their lips were little more than a whisper apart when Sara blinked and took flight, scrambling off her stool like a startled butterfly. Taking a wary step back, she folded her hands, saying, “Well, it—it was very nice of you stop by.”

Mike jerked upright, wondering once again what the hell had come over him. Sara’s tone sounded nervous, but dismissive. He’d better get his act together and remember what he’d come here for. Time to lay all his cards on the table.

“Actually,” he confessed, “I didn’t come all the way to Aurora Falls just to apologize.”

“Oh? Then why are you here, Mr. Parker?”

“Not Mr. Parker,” he said with a trace of irritation. “I asked you to use my first name, remember?”

“Alright...Michael.”

Michael? Alarm bells should have been going off in his head. But somehow he liked the way she said it, as light and silvery as the little chimes that tinkled over her doorway. Then, too, he was distracted as she came out from behind the counter.

Flowed out would have been a more accurate description. She had to be one of the most graceful women he’d ever known, and he considered himself an expert on the wiggle and jiggle of the feminine form. His ex, Darcy, had moved with a blatantly sultry sway, very earthy, but Sara seemed to float on a cloud, enticing a man with thoughts of more heavenly pleasures.

A sundress of shimmering blue swirled to midcalf about her shapely legs, the silky pattern bespangled with little stars and half-moons as though Sara had draped her willowy form in a bit of heaven. The bodice was modest and sweet rather than plunging, but the effect was somehow even more tantalizing, thin spaghetti straps keeping the fabric tugged well up and over the gentle swell of her breasts.

Was she wearing a bra today? Mike caught himself wishing for a blaze of sunlight when the sound of Sara’s voice called his wayward male mind back to order.

“Michael?” she said in a tone that suggested she’d been forced to repeat herself. “Just why are you here, then?”

Why was he here? Mike wrenched his eyes from the curve of Sara’s breast. Why was he here? Oh, yeah.

He paced off a few steps, jingling the change in his pockets if for no other reason than to make sure he kept his hands to himself. “It just so happens,” he said, “that I unexpectedly cleared up some of the things I’d been working on, so now I have a little time available. I’ve reconsidered the case you brought me and decided I can take it after all.”

“Oh,” Sara said softly.

Oh? That was it. Just oh? Mike felt unreasonably piqued. He hadn’t expected her to fling herself at him in a fit of gratitude, but it wouldn’t have hurt her to show some enthusiasm. Maybe she hadn’t understood him, so he added, “What I mean is that I can help you find your missing dude. John Patrick, wasn’t it?”

Sara nodded, showing she understood quite clearly. Then she floored him by demanding, “Why?”

“Why? Why. what?”

“Why did you change your mind so suddenly?”

Mike stifled a grimace. He should have guessed she might ask that, but he was not prepared to tell her that he was out to nail Xavier Storm. That he thought John Patrick might be the key. Somehow Mike couldn’t picture his angel going in for revenge as a good motive, so he hedged, saying, “I told you, I’ve got some time to kill and your case sounded...um, interesting. And I can use the extra work. That’s all there is to it.”

“Is it?” She gave him one of those looks he didn’t like, soft and clear and searching. He didn’t know if there was really anything to this psychic business, but he did his best to block his thoughts until Sara averted her gaze.

“Yes, those are my reasons,” he insisted. “Now if you’ve got the time to fill me in on some stuff, I’d like to get started today.”

Sara didn’t reply immediately. A tiny furrow marred her brow and then she said, “I’m very sorry, Michael. But I’m afraid you’ve driven a long way for nothing. I don’t need your services any longer.”

“Why? Have you already hired another detective?” Mike was surprised to feel a stab of jealousy tear through him.

But to his relief, Sara shook her head. “No, I’ve simply decided that I can handle finding John Patrick on my own. I checked this book out of our local library yesterday evening.”

“Book? What kind of book?”