Patterns in the Sand Read Online Free PDF Page B

She forced a smile. “I guess the window’s not an option? If it hadn’t been for kitty here, I probably would have settled on the couch in that back room. But the two of us were getting acquainted, and the next thing I knew, her purring put me to sleep.”
     
     
Ben had returned from convincing Tommy and his partner to go on back to the station. There would be no charges pressed, he’d told them, much to Tommy’s dismay. Ben stood just inside the door, listening to the conversation. Finally he stepped forward, into a circle of light next to Nell.
     
     
Nell looked up at her husband, and she knew what he would say before the words formed. Thirty years of marriage did that.
     
     
“You can’t stay here, Willow,” Ben said. “This is Izzy’s shop. And someone else rents the apartment above. Come home with Nell and me. We’ve a guesthouse that happens to be empty right now. It has a bed that beats Izzy’s window—even with that ocean of yarn in it. It’s yours for tonight.”
     
     
Before Willow had a chance to respond, Ben had lifted the lumpy duffel from the floor with one hand and threw Willow’s backpack over his shoulder.
     
     
“But it’s now or never, ladies. This body needs a bed.”
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter 4

 
“I zzy, is Willow at your shop?” Nell walked out onto the deck, the phone pressed to her ear. She looked down toward the guesthouse, shielding her eyes against the early-afternoon sun. The gray, shuttered cottage was partially screened from view by sheltering hawthorn and pine trees and a giant oak that still held a children’s rope swing. The cottage nested cozily at the east end of the property, tucked up against a thick wooded area that was striped with paths worn smooth from years of Endicotts traipsing down to the ocean beach beyond.
     
     
“Nope,” Izzy said. “But she was waiting on the front steps when I opened the store. She must be an early riser. She only stayed a half second and didn’t seem at all interested in talking about her art to me or anyone else. She just wanted to thank me for not turning her in to the police last night, she said, and then she was off again, balancing a cup of coffee in one hand and that lopsided old bike that I totaled more times than I care to remember. Where’d she get that?”
     
     
“That old bike? Willow was riding it?” The bike had been hanging on a hook in the garage. Willow must have seen it when they drove in the night before. It was surprising that she had taken . . . well, had used it. It was fine, of course. But . . .
     
     
Nell leaned against the railing. “I got up early for a run today and it was quiet down at the cottage. I assumed she was still asleep. The poor thing looked like she needed a few days of it. Ben went down later to invite her up for breakfast on the deck, but she was gone.”
     
     
“The whole situation is a little freaky, Aunt Nell. Willow showing up like that. She seems sweet—and maybe just a little bit sad. But on the other hand, it’s all a little strange. It was nice of you and Ben to offer her a place to spend the night.”
     
     
“The guesthouse wasn’t being used. It made sense.”
     
     
“But we don’t even know her. She could be another Lizzy Borden.”
     
     
Nell laughed and took a sip of her coffee. “No one who creates such lovely pieces of fiber art can be an ax murderer. I dug up that old poster before I went to bed last night and was reminded how beautiful her pieces are. She has a unique design sense. Quirky, kind of unexpected.”
     
     
“Quirky. Unexpected. That fits, doesn’t it?” Izzy’s full laugh traveled over the line. “Do you suppose that she has some of her creations in that duffel bag? She was wearing the same jeans and T-shirt today, so I don’t think it held clothes.”
     
     
“She looks like she needs someone to care for her. But I agree. The situation is a little strange. Ben says to remember that she’s an artist and lots of our artist friends have