Charade Read Online Free PDF Page A

had been taken from him: his wife, his mother, his baby girl. Whatever the cost, whatever the consequences, he had to save his dad. Trace's last waking thought was, it will work—it has to.
    * * * *
    The next morning Trace arrived at The Upper Crust as Lynn was unlocking the front door. He pushed around her and came inside. “I'm ready to go to work. I'll do the outside repairs first. Nothing I have to do out there will disturb your customers. The inside work is a different story. It will have to be done after store hours. We can talk about that later."
    Lynn flipped the sign on her door so that it read Open instead of Closed . Anxiety sounded in her voice. “We haven't signed the contract yet. You can't start work until we do.” She pointed to a small table in one corner of the room. “Sit down. Would you like a cup of coffee and a donut?"
    Trace's breakfast had consisted of a bowl of dry cereal and a burned piece of toast. “That sounds good to me.” He sat and discovered that his long legs wouldn't fit under the table.
    Turning to one side, he studied the room. It was clean and inviting. Posters and advertisements decorated the walls, and a showcase counter ran across one end of the room. A long table holding a huge coffee urn, Styrofoam cups, cream and sugar occupied a space near the entrance. Tables and chairs were scattered intermittently around the remaining space.
    It occurred to him quite suddenly that running an establishment of this size and sort was quite an undertaking. He was so lost in thought that Lynn called his name twice before he barked, “Yeah, what?"
    She asked, “How many donuts and what kind?"
    Trace answered, “Three coconut crèmes.” He leaned back in his chair as Lynn bustled about the room putting donuts and coffee on a tray. As he watched her move gracefully about, he noticed she had substituted her baker's coat for a dress with short sleeves and a vee neck. In it she looked much younger and slimmer. How, he wondered, had she had come to be the owner of this place?
    Lynn came across the floor carrying the tray and smiling. Not until she said, “It's a long story,” did he realize he'd spoken his thoughts aloud. She put the tray on the table and sat across from him. “It's also incredibly boring.” Nodding toward the food, she instructed, “Help yourself."
    Trace dunked his donut in his coffee. “I'd like to hear it all the same."
    Lynn sipped her coffee and smiled. “I worked here part time all through high school. It was owned then by an older couple named McClure. Joel and I married the summer we graduated high school. After that, I went to work here full time.
    Then Mr. McClure died very suddenly and Mrs. McClure decided to go to Michigan to live with her daughter. She offered to sell us the bakery and we bought it even though it meant hocking everything we owned and going deeply into debt. Five years later Joel dumped me, the business, and the big debt, and left town.” She dusted crumbs from the table. “End of story."
    Trace licked his fingers before wiping them on a paper napkin. “Except now Joel is coming back again."
    "But not to me,” Lynn answered as she took a paper from her apron pocket and slid it around the tray and in his direction. “Are you ready to sign this contract?"
    Trace took a pen from his shirt pocket and signed on the dotted line with a flourish. “Now you sign, and our deal is sealed."
    Lynn reached for the contract. “Let me have your pen.” As she signed it she said, “Now I can tell Walter Winters to go to hell.” She slid the pen back across the table.
    Trace put his pen back in his pocket. “You don't like Walter very well do you?"
    Lynn put the contract back into her apron pocket. “I despise Walter Winters, and not without reason."
    Trace wondered what that reason was, but he didn't ask. He had other, more pressing questions that needed answers. “How do you plan to go about telling your mother that you and I are interested in each