First Frost Read Online Free PDF Page A

latest mark lived. This was fortuitous, indeed. Perhaps things were looking up.
    Instead of walking to his mark’s house to scope it out, which was better done under the cover of night, anyway, he walked up the sidewalk to the inn. The house was painted pink with brick-red shutters. The gingerbread trim along its arches was white, as was the porch. No fewer than four pumpkins were on each step leading up to the porch, each of varying sizes and colors; some pumpkins were even white, one was purple. Dried pampas grass was in an urn beside the door. Someone had put a great deal of effort into the autumnal decorations.
    He opened the door, which had a wreath made of bittersweet on it, and entered.
    It looked as most old houses turned into inns did, lots of shiny dark wood, a sitting room to the left, a dining area to the right, and a staircase leading to the upper floor. A check-in desk was in the foyer. More pumpkins were in here, too, and displays of dried silver dollar plants and Japanese paper lanterns. Someone had also taken their floral arranging class very seriously.
    He set his suitcase down and looked around. There was no one here this evening. They must not offer dinner to guests. But the dining area hinted at breakfast or lunch, which meant there was a kitchen he could quietly raid. It had been hours since he’d last eaten. He tapped the bell on the desk and waited, studying the photos on the wall. Most were of a prissy, prudish-looking man in his sixties, shaking hands with people who appeared to be local bigwigs.
    But the man in the photos wasn’t the person who appeared from a room behind the staircase.
    It was an excruciatingly thin woman, someone who reminded him of a contortionist he once knew named Gretel. This woman was in her late fifties or early sixties. Her hair was dyed dark brown and her skin was the sallow hue of someone with a two-pack-a-day habit. Her eyes, probably her one beauty as a youth, were quite green. He sized her up right away. This was a woman who had long ago figured out she wasn’t getting her own happily-ever-after. But, like all disappointed women, she still believed in it, just that it was meant for someone else.
    â€œMay I help you?” she said, without much enthusiasm. She reeked of cigarette smoke.
    He smiled at her, holding her eyes with his own. He was older than she was by twenty years, but he knew he was still attractive, in a genteel kind of way. His hair was thick and silver, and his eyes were an unusual bright gray. They were eyes that could hypnotize, which was the only reason he’d been allowed to stay on with Sir Walter Trott’s Traveling Carnival when his mother left. Well, one of the reasons. “I’d like a room, please.”
    She turned to the computer on the desk and woke it up with a shake of the mouse. “Do you have a reservation?”
    â€œSadly, no.”
    She looked at him with exasperation. “This is leaf-looker season. We’re booked. Sorry.”
    He leaned in slightly, showing his appreciation for the small effort she’d made with lipstick by looking at her mouth. “Surely you could make an exception for this weary traveler? I’ve come a long way.”
    She looked startled, as if this kind of attention was unexpected. Unexpected, but not unwanted. No, he had not read her wrong. He rarely did. “My brother would have a fit,” she said, her hand going to the collar of her white polo shirt with the Pendland Street Inn logo embroidered on the chest.
    â€œBut something tells me you know how to work around that,” he said with a smile. He let her know that he noticed she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring by looking at the hand that was playing with her collar. “I’ve always found that the smartest people aren’t the ones in charge, it’s the ones who let them think they’re in charge. Older brother?” He could see from the photos on the wall that he was.
    â€œYes.