That Runaway Summer Read Online Free PDF Page A

afford to let Penelope finagle another situation where Dan’s magnetism might get the better of her common sense.

    T HE CROWD AT A NGELO’S restaurant seemed particularly thick on Wednesday afternoon as Dan settled into a chair at a table across from Stanley Kownacki.
    Maybe it was often this crowded at Angelo’s for lunch. In the year that Dan had lived in Indigo Springs he’d eaten there only once, and that was for dinner.
    “This is a view of you I don’t often see.” Stanley leaned back in his chair. He was a big-boned man in his late sixties with a head of dark brown hair that didn’t match his graying whiskers.
    “We don’t eat out together much,” Dan pointed out. They wouldn’t be having lunch now if Stanley hadn’t pushed. Although he seldom acted like it, Stanley was Dan’s boss. Today he wouldn’t accept the excuse that Dan was too busy to break for lunch.
    Stanley’s laugh was a pleasant, low rumble. “I meant I don’t usually see you sitting down. You work too hard.”
    “So do you,” Dan countered. “What choice do we have? We’re booked solid every day.”
    “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” Stanley gestured to the menu on the table. “Go ahead and decide what to order first. I recommend the fettuccine Alfredo.” He put his fingers to his lips and kissed the tips. “Divine.”
    “I’ll have that, too.” Dan ignored the menu. He was far more interested in what Stanley had to say than the food.
    A skinny waitress with dishwater-blond hair who appeared to be about seventeen approached their table carrying a tray containing four glasses of water. The glasses knocked against each other with each step she took, some of the water sloshing over the brims.
    Her eyes cast frantically about, probably for somewhere to set down her burden. Finding no empty surfaces, she slipped one hand under the tray. Dan half rose and took two of the glasses before she could attempt the balancing act.
    “Thank you.” Her tremulous smile revealed a mouthful of braces. “I’ll be back in a minute to take your order.”
    “We’re ready now, sweetheart,” Stanley said. “Two fettuccine Alfredos. Extra garlic bread. A root beer for me. How ’bout you, Dan?”
    “Coke’s fine.”
    The young waitress glanced down at the order pad sticking out of the pocket of her half apron. The two remaining water glasses bobbled. The pad remained where it was.
    “Okay,” she said without much conviction, then left.
    Dan followed her slow retreat, rooting for her to get where she was going without incident. His gaze slid past the waitress and alighted on a woman with her back to him. Even if a hat had covered her short, curly dark hair, he’d have recognized Jill Jacobi. She had an innate grace and certain way of holding her head that telegraphed she was giving you her full attention.
    It seemed she was focused on the man across the table from her. He was about Dan’s age, with a familiar face Dan couldn’t place.
    “See someone you know?” Stanley asked, then laughed. “Of course you do. Half the people in this restaurant bring their pets to us.”
    “Actually,” Dan said slowly, “I see someone I probably should know.”
    “Who’s that?”
    “The blond guy in the white dress shirt and blue tie. Glasses. About my age.”
    Stanley took a look at the table Dan indicated. “That’s Chad Armstrong. He’s a pharmacist at the drugstore downtown.”
    Dan hadn’t filled a prescription since he’d moved to town, but could picture the man quietly going about his work on the raised counter at the back of the store.
    “What else can you tell me about him?” Dan asked.
    “You know Sierra Whitmore? The doctor? He dated her for years before she started going with that newspaper reporter. Ben Nash, I think his name was. Moved with him to Pittsburgh, she did.”
    He’d heard something about the reporter coming to town to solve a decades-old mystery, but he was far more interested in Armstrong. So