House of Strangers

McSparren Carolyn

She looked as though she laughed a lot—the sort of girl an earlier generation would have called “a good egg.”

Her face was too strong-boned for classic beauty and her mouth a bit too wide. Might be interesting to taste it.

Her eyes were her best feature. They were large, slightly tilted at the corners and the sort of gray-blue that changes color with mood or the color of the background. Although she’d long since chewed off her lipstick—if indeed she wore any—her lips were still the color of a not-quite-ripe pomegranate. Paul could see no resemblance to the Delaney in the only photo he possessed.

She was a far cry from the pencil-thin flight attendants he was used to, but judging from the muscles in her arms, she was in good shape. Probably her job required a certain amount of strength. He felt an immediate attraction.

He had certainly never expected to meet a woman like this in Rossiter.

“If you want to know the history of the house and the family,” she said, “check out the library in Somerville and the courthouse records. There’s also been a newspaper in Fayette County since before the Civil War. I’m sure they have copies at the morgue.”

He stiffened. “Why would I be that interested?”

“I just thought that since you bought—”

“Of course. Now that it’s mine, I should find out all I can about its history. I’ve never owned an old house before.”

“I can give you a list of movies to rent that will scare you even more than Buddy did,” she said. “The Money Pit comes to mind.”

“So you think I made a bad bargain?”

She put up her hands. “Oh, no! I think you made a wonderful bargain. It’s just that you’re going to have to live through three or four months of hell to get to paradise.”

“A few months seems a short time to wait for paradise.”

“You won’t think so a month from now.” She stood and Dante walked around to her left side and sat at her heel. “I’m glad to have met you. But I really do have to take some pictures before the rest of the light goes.”

“Of course.” He stood, as well. “What are you taking pictures of?”

“Details of any architectural detail that may have to be re-created, as well as the pediments and pilasters outside that we may have to rebuild or duplicate. Pictures of the scamoglio on the staircase—”

“Scamoglio?”

“It’s a fancy kind of plaster technique that looks like polished marble. You didn’t think that staircase wall was real marble, did you?”

“I assumed it was some kind of painted finish.”

Ann laughed. “Perish the thought. I’ve already taken some shots of the overmantel and the fireplaces, but I wanted to take at least a couple more rolls before the crews start cleaning up.”

“Buddy says you can salvage the mural in the dining room.”

“I’m going to give it my best shot, although it may be too fragile to leave where it is. You can always make a screen out of it.”

“You can get it off the wall?”

“We’ll see.” She stuck out her hand. “Sorry we met under these circumstances, but I’m glad at least we did meet. Next time Dante will know you’re a friend. He won’t knock you down again.”

“Great.” He stopped in the front hall. “I didn’t see a car out front. How did you come? Did Buddy drop you?”

“Oh, no, I walked. I live in the loft upstairs over the flower shop on the square.”

“I assumed the lofts were used for storage. Didn’t realize anyone lived there.”

“Actually, I have both the end lofts—the one over the real-estate office, as well. I use one for living and one for working.”

“What’s in the far building, the one with the bear?”

“That? Trey Delaney uses it as a kind of second office when he wants to get away from the farm.” She raised her eyebrows. “As well as from his wife Sue-sue and the children. Well, I’m off upstairs.”

“And I’m heading back to the motel. See you tomorrow?”

“Maybe.” She waved, picked up the digital camera that hung around her neck and trotted up the back stairs. He could hear the click of Dante’s nails on the naked risers.

He watched her rear end in the tight jeans. Nice to see a woman who actually looked womanly. The sort a man could enjoy holding in his arms.

He’d be willing to bet that even in jeans, she’d draw the eye of every man in a restaurant. There was an aura of sexuality about her, of passion just beneath the surface. He doubted she was aware of it.

He pulled himself up short. He had not come to Rossiter for female companionship, no matter how appealing. And there were excellent reasons not to become involved with any Delaney kin, even a kissing cousin. His kissing cousin actually, although he had no idea how to figure out their relationship. He had a job to do, a promise to fulfill, not only to Tante Helaine, but to his mother.

So Trey Delaney used the office with the bear outside. Paul would have to find out the story behind that bear. Might give him an excuse to start asking questions about Trey at the caf'e. He very much wanted to meet Trey. Always a good thing to know your enemy. And they were, after all, kin.

CHAPTER THREE

BY THE TIME Paul got back to his motel after dinner in a fast-food restaurant, all he wanted was a hot shower and bed. His damn shoulder was no longer just an ache, but a throbbing pain, and he still had his physical-therapy exercises to do. The hit he’d taken from Ann’s dog hadn’t helped any.

He turned on the television, muted the sound, picked up the telephone and dialed Giselle’s number. A moment later a youthful male voice answered.

“Harry, it’s Uncle Paul. May I speak to your mother?”

Without replying, the teenager yelled, “Mom, it’s Uncle Paul.”

He heard the telephone drop with a clunk and his cousin’s voice. “Harry, you have the manners of a tarantula! And turn down that music!” Then a moment later, “Paul, why didn’t you call last night? I’ve been so worried.”