No Place Like Home - A Camilla Randall Mystery (The Camilla Randall Mysteries) Read Online Free PDF

house." I'll get the address." At least Doria's little red and gold leather address book was still there. Its familiar feel brought the sting of unexpected tears.
    Harry had written his number in it, the first time they met. Before people stored everything in their phones. So very long ago…
    Mr. Sanchez was still smiling.
    "Sorry." Doria used a crumpled tissue to blow her nose.
    "I know where Miss Betsy Baylor lives." Mr. Sanchez said. The car started with a prodigious 'vroom.' "Everybody does. She's on the Hollywood Starline Tour."
    Great, Doria thought. With her luck, there would be a busload of tourists from Milwaukee snapping photos as they rattled in.
    But her only available transportation rattled, and her only possible destination seemed to be Betsy's, so it was a chance she was going to have to take.

Chapter 12—Disasters Waiting to Happen
     
     
     
    Both Plant and Silas's cars were gone when I walked back to my cottage, and the place was blissfully empty. They'd even done a bit of tidying up. I hoped this meant things were okay with them now.
    Well, as okay as they could be in the middle of a financial catastrophe.
    I was not looking forward to telling Silas about Brianna's bounced paycheck.
    Or my own, which had probably bounced as well. I'd brought the rest of the mail back to deal with after dinner.
    There was something from my bank. I didn't expect it to be good news.
    But I wasn't going to think about it right now. I wanted to relax in the solitude. I pulled off my aging Marc Jacobs blouse and my bra and scrambled into my oldest, grungiest sweatshirt.
    My new definition of luxury.
    I wondered how I'd managed to stay married for fifteen years. Trying to look nice for other people was such hard work.
    I kept thinking about Mr. X in his uncomfortable-looking suit. It was flattering that he knew who I was, since my fifteen Warhol minutes of fame were pretty much over. He sure was curious about local wine country. I was pretty sure he'd been leading up to asking me to that wine event in Edna Valley tomorrow.
    If only his phone hadn't rung just then.
    When I was writing my Manners Doctor column, I'd been very vocal on the subject of cell phones and how they were destroying civility in our culture.
    Now I had one more reason to hate them.
    An afternoon of wine tasting and music with someone that cute would have been such a welcome distraction. I hoped the fire hadn't affected the wineries in the neighborhood. I should check out the local news to find out what had happened.
    I couldn't afford TV these days, but I booted up my laptop and brought up the local TV station. The lead story showed a huge two-story house engulfed in flames. Underneath was a photo of the ageless Doria Windsor in her dark, precision-cut bob, standing next to her grizzled financier husband, Harry Sharkov—known in some circles as Harry the Shark.
    Plant had seemed to dislike Harry from the beginning, but Silas called him a financial wizard. I always tried not to listen when they fought, but the Harry Sharkov battle had been going on for months so I'd been forced to hear a few tiffs. At least that was over now.
    I clicked on the photo of the burning house and brought up the full screen video. It had been a gorgeous place—a restored Victorian with a scattering of well-kept out-buildings. Seeing it destroyed like that brought me pain. The reporter was interviewing neighbors. I recognized a woman who lived on the other side of Silas and Plant's property—an older woman with an elaborate white coif that looked like swirls of merengue.
    "It's those homeless people," the woman said, diamond earrings flashing. "They start fires down by the creek. Those camps are disasters waiting to happen, with all that dry brush down there. Somebody has to clean that place up. It's a menace. We'll all end up like Mr. Sharkov. And I don't care what they say. He was a good neighbor. A nice man. Always cheerful."
    Was. They were talking about the cheerful Harry