Blood Kin Read Online Free PDF Page B

“I can’t abide a store egg. Thin shells and no color to the yolk at all.”
    â€œYou keep chickens, too?”
    â€œSure do. Believe in doin’ as much for myself as I can. Always have a few dozen eggs to sell at Doris’s. Those ones she brings over from the mainland are storage age, old, no taste.”
    â€œMmm, I suppose,” Bailey agreed, amused. “Did you know Elizabeth Somers? Grace said that some people were unhappy that Elizabeth left me an inheritance. I was wondering if—”
    â€œLots of folks get their dander up about stuff that ain’t none of their business.” She placed a dishpan in the sink and turned on the water. “What did you think of my crab cakes?”
    â€œDelicious,” Bailey said. “And the pie was fabulous.” She rose. “Let me help you with those dishes.”
    â€œFair enough.” Emma stepped back from the sink. “You can wash and I’ll dry.”
    Later, when Bailey retired to her cozy bedroom, she realized that although she and Emma had chatted for an hour, the older woman had answered none of her questions. In fact, the entire day had been pretty much a loss, and she was beginning to feel like Alice down the rabbit hole. She’d never gotten enough signal on her cell to call Elliott; Emma’s house phone still wasn’t working; and she had been unable to get in contact with Forest McCready. The only thing she had done was to stuff herself with Emma’s cooking. She’d be surprised if she could pour her butt into her new jeans in the morning.
    She showered, pulled on a soft T-shirt and a pair of athletic shorts, and tried to read another chapter of the historical romance she’d brought with her. The story was a good one, but her eyes wouldn’t cooperate. They kept drifting shut. Finally she gave up, yawned, switched out the light, and lay in the dark listening to the waves lapping against the shore, the rustle of leaves, and the occasional hoot of an owl.
    Bailey dropped off to sleep almost immediately, waking sometime in the night wondering where she was. The sheets were clean and soft; the mattress was comfortable; she didn’t need to use the bathroom; and she wasn’t thirsty. What had roused her? She rarely had problems with insomnia, even when she traveled. So why . . . ?
    The sound of whistling came from outside, a nursery rhyme that she hadn’t heard in years. Bailey’smouth went dry as she slipped from the crisp sheets and went to the window without bothering to turn on a light. Wisps of fog enveloped the house, making it impossible to tell the exact source of the tune.
    Her windows, she remembered, faced the bay, but there were trees between the house and the beach. The water was so black as to be almost Stygian; the trees were smudges of dark against a darker background, but patches of sand along the shore glowed with a dull iridescence in the night.
    Goose bumps rose on her bare arms. She was on the second floor, her door securely locked with a dead bolt. Whoever it was outside—probably some kid or a drunk trying to find his way home—she was in no possible danger. So why did the old refrain unnerve her so?
    The whistler was definitely there in the yard, between the lapping waves and the porch. He must be. If she looked hard enough, Bailey could almost fancy she saw his outline in the shadows of the walnut tree. She shut the window and locked it, but still the sound filtered through the glass into her room. Unbidden, the words of the old refrain rose in her mind.
    Â 
    Papa’s gonna buy you a diamond ring,
    And if that diamond ring don’t shine,
    Papa’s going to buy you a coach and nine,
    And if that coach and nine won’t pull,
    Papa’s going to buy you . . .
    Â 
    What? What was the rest of the song? Why did she care? Annoyed, she climbed back into bed and buried her head under a pillow. If she didn’t get a decent night’s