Trouble with the Law Read Online Free PDF Page A

head, angry at the irrational thoughts. So what? She had slept with a stranger. A quarter of the girls in her office did it on any given Saturday night. Most of the world she moved in didn’t burden itself with her antiquated moral standards.
    Justine squared her shoulders. So, she had indulged in steamy sex with a handsome man for her birthday, and good luck to her.
    She pulled on the jeans and white cotton shirt she’d worn for the drive from Philadelphia . Her room shared a bathroom down the hall, but she decided not to bother with a shower. She brushed her teeth and rinsed her face and returned to her room. It only took a couple of minutes to pack her toiletries and the few items of clothing.
    She left the folded shirt on the desk until last. Picking it up, she pressed her face into the fabric and filled her lungs with the scent. It didn’t smell of her perfume. It carried the musky odor of a male, and when she lowered the shirt to examine it, she spotted a dark line on the collar, and wrinkles where the sleeves had been rolled up.
    It wasn’t the shirt she had worn. Sheriff Taylor had taken the clean shirt, and had left her the one he’d been wearing. As she made her way down the stairs, Justine couldn’t help wondering if he had followed his usual practice of starting the week with a clean shirt, or if he wanted her to possess a lingering memory of him.
    Downstairs, the tall man from last night stood behind the reception counter. Justine racked her brains for his name. “Good morning,” she said, giving up the effort.
    He nodded at her. “Breakfast will start in a minute.”
    “I don’t usually eat breakfast.” She gave the man a guarded glance, trying to pick up some signs to figure out if he knew that Sheriff Taylor had spent the night. “How much do I owe you?” she asked. “I agreed with Mr. and Mrs. Simmons that I would pay here, and they’ll pay at the motel on Route 54.”
    “It’s been taken care of.” The man kept his eyes on the stack of postcards he was straightening by thumping the edges against the counter. “No charge.”
    Justine frowned. “I don’t understand.”
    “I guess it’s because of all the trouble you had last night.”
    “Trouble?” she repeated slowly.
    “Mrs. Harper,” the man explained, after a cautious glance around the empty hallway.
    “Oh,” Justine drawled out. “There’s no need. It was my fault. I’m quite happy to pay.”
    “No,” the landlord said as he crammed the stack of postcards into a slot on the plastic display rack. “I didn’t mean it’s on the house.” He smiled at her. “Sheriff Taylor will take care of it. He left a note on the desk when he drove you back last night.” The landlord regarded her with curiosity. “I guess he feels the Sheriff’s Department should pick up the tab after the inconvenience they caused you.”
    “Inconvenience?” Justine echoed, heat creeping along her skin. Too embarrassed to risk taking the conversation any further, she retreated to the door and bolted out, leaving the insect screen swinging in her wake.
    It wasn’t until she realized she didn’t have her car keys that Justine remembered she’d left her belongings on the bench under the wisteria before setting off on the climb up to the open window. She dropped her overnight bag on the ground and raced over to the wall.
    The bench wasn’t visible from the front drive, so she assumed Sheriff Taylor hadn’t noticed her belongings last night when he stopped to pick up the coins and lipstick and the credit card on the gravel ground.
    Her watch and evening bag and sandals remained intact, but the morning dew had painted water swirls on the grey silk of her Dior dress. Justine expelled an annoyed sigh. Maybe dry cleaning would remove the stains. She turned the fabric over in her hands, shaking her head in defeat as she inspected the damage.
    Two thousand bucks. She’d never owned a more precious garment.
    Then she recalled the khaki shirt packed away