A Fit of Tempera Read Online Free PDF Page B

much to bring the original complex out of the Depression era. The half-dozen cabins that formed a U-shape around the small parking lot were all one-room affairs with small, square windows and weathered shake roofs. They were clean, they were neat, they were old . The office was housed in the filling station; the front desk also served customers who wanted gas, oil, soda pop, cigarettes, and bait. Just outside the door stood an old-fashioned wooden phone booth, blistered by sun, wind, and rain.
    A pickup truck with a golden retriever in the back was just pulling out from the gas station as the three women set foot on the tarmac. A tall, thin man of about forty was leaning against the ancient glass-topped pump, counting money. Judith tried to remember who owned the Woodchuck now. There had been several changes over the years, and she didn’t recognize the man in the dirty denim coveralls.
    â€œThere’s been an accident,” she said, gesturing over her shoulder in the direction of Riley Tobias’s cabin and studio. Only the rooftops could be seen beyond the thick stand of trees. “We need to call the sheriff.”
    The tall, thin man’s gray eyes snapped to attention. He pocketed the money and regarded all three women with suspicion. “What kind of accident?” His voice had a nasal quality.
    Renie, who wasn’t encumbered by Iris’s flagging figure, marched briskly to the phone booth. “A bad one,” she replied. “As in dead.”
    The man in the coveralls swore under his breath and spat on the tarmac. “That does it! I’m sellin’ this place! I told Carrie Mae we’d have to put up with a lot of guff, like customers and such.” He stomped off into the tiny office and banged the door behind him.
    Judith rolled her eyes, while Iris chewed on her lowerlip. “That’s Kennedy Morton. He and his wife have been here only a few months. Oh, my! I didn’t mean to upset him! And I don’t even have money for the pay phone! I left my purse at the house! Oh!” She began to weep anew.
    â€œDon’t worry about it,” soothed Judith, watching Renie cope with the antiquated telephone. “We’ll handle the phone. As for Mr. Morton, I gather he isn’t the sensitive type.”
    Renie was giving the interior of the phone booth a swift kick. Obviously, things weren’t going well. Judith’s gaze roamed around the little parking lot. There were three vehicles pulled up in front of the cabins, which wasn’t as amazing as it might seem: The Woodchuck Auto Court and the Green Mountain Inn were the only hostelries on the ten-mile stretch of highway between Glacier Falls and the entrance to the national forest. What did amaze Judith was that one of the three vehicles was a handsome new white Mercedes-Benz sedan. It looked as out of place as a Ming vase at a Tupperware party.
    The phone booth was shaking. Renie appeared to be hopping up and down inside, screaming into the receiver. Judith grimaced, then glanced at Iris. She was regaining her composure, smoothing her black hair, wiping her eyes, pressing the swan pendant against her breast.
    At last Renie emerged from the phone booth. “What century is this?” she shrieked. “That damned phone must have been the first model after the crank!”
    Judith bit back the urge to tell Renie she was the crank. Instead, she inquired as to what would happen next, as far as the county law-enforcement officials were concerned.
    â€œThey’re sending somebody,” Renie replied, simmering down and brushing bugs off her T-shirt. “It’ll take a while, though. After all, the county seat is thirty miles away, and they don’t have anybody in the Glacier Falls area at the moment.”
    Judith was about to suggest that they go back to wait at Riley’s cabin when a chubby redheaded woman bounded out of the house behind the gas station. “Yoo-hoo! Wait! Stop!