Sleeping Beauty Read Online Free PDF Page B

even on short acquaintance, he could tell that his temporary landlady was an interesting woman.
    When it became clear that nothing but an act of God was going to get the motorcycle back on the road that night, David Freeman had reconmiended The Blue Dahlia Motel.
    "My great-aunt Dorothy owns it. It's nothing fancy, but it's clean, and the rates aren't bad." He pulled a grease-stained rag out of his back pocket, found a reasonably clean comer and began wiping the grease off his fingers. It was late, and he was getting ready to close the station for the day. "Truth is, there isn't a whole lot of choice in a town this size. Gert Billings rents out the second bedroom in her house from time to time, but she's looking for something a little more long-term than you're likely to be. 'Sides, you're a little on the young side."
    "For what?" Neill asked, startled.
    "For Gert. She's been on the lookout for a husband since Willie died a couple years back."
    "Willie was her husband?''
    "Actually, he was her brother." Neill's eyebrows rose, and David laughed. " Willie was a terrific handyman. He could fix damned near anything, and he worked cheap—room, board and a color TV and he was a happy man. Gert's tight-fisted, and that old place of hers needs a lot of work. She figures a husband would be cheap labor, but she hasn't found any takers yet"
    "Well, tempting as the idea of free room and board is, I think I can resist Gert's charms."
    "Don't forget the color TV."
    "That does make it harder to turn down, but I think I'll just head over to your great-aunt's motel." Neill bent to pick up the duffle he'd untied from the back of the Indian. He gave David a cautious look as he straightened. "Your aunt isn't looking for a husband, is she?"
    David grinned and shook his head. "Nope. She buried Uncle Leo forty years or so ago, and she's shown no inclination to replace him. She's a bit eccentric, but she'll treat you right. Tell her I sent you over."
    "Thanks." Neill slung the duffle onto his back and then nodded at his motorcycle. "How long do you figure it's going to take?"
    David had already determined that the engine had sucked a valve, but there hadn't been time to determine the full extent of the damage. He shrugged. "Hard to say. I can tear down the engine tomorrow afternoon, figure out what parts I'm going to need."
    With an inward sigh, Neill resigned himself to the fact that he wasn't going anywhere for at least a couple of days. It would take that long to arrange alternate transportation if the Indian couldn't be repaired quickly, which seemed highly likely.
    Following David's directions, he found The Blue Dahlia Motel without trouble. Standing on the sidewalk, he viewed the place without favor. He'd spent too many nights in mediocre motel room beds to be impressed by the tidy landscaping and recent paint job. The name of the place was spelled out in blue neon script, with the dot over the i forayed by a multi-petalled dahlia. It was a striking display, especially for a rather nondescript little building in what appeared to be a nondescript little town, but he didn't allow himself to get his hopes up.
    Eccentric. Neill rolled the word over in his mind as he pushed open the door marked Office. David Freeman had said his great aunt was eccentric. Experience had taught him that the word could be used to describe a multitude of conditions from mildly unconventional to crazy as a bed bug. The woman who was watering a pair of rather sickly looking philodendrons didn't look like she fit at either end of the scale.
    He guessed her age to be somewhere around seventy, but there was nothing frail about her. Her hair was an uncompromising steel gray, worn cropped short around her square face. The practical style fit the direct look in her pale blue eyes. Her short, sturdy form was clad in a denim shirt and softly faded jeans. She looked exactly as he would have imagined a farm wife would look, except for her shoes—red sneakers with gold glitter