What the Heart Knows: A Milford-Haven Novel - Book One Read Online Free PDF Page B

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    Gotta get the first pot o’ coffee started
. After putting her shoulder bag in the tiny private office she’d created out of a closet, she pulled the plastic lid off an industrial-sized tin of ground coffee, loaded several scoops into a filter paper, then snapped the basket-holder into place.
Okay, now for the biscuits. Maybe I can get the first batch in before June gets here
.
    Her hands moved almost by their own volition as they found the chilled batter—prepared the night before—in the fridge, greased the baking sheets, dusted the cutting board, rolled out the dough and began pressing into it a round cutter. When the sheets were ready for the oven, she slid them in. Just then the back door swung open again.
    “Mornin’, Sal,” June called cheerily in her distinctive Brooklyn accent. “Geez, it’s gettin’ light a lot later already!”
    “Well, that’s September for ya,” Sally confirmed. “How you doin’ this mornin’?”
    “Fine.”
    Sally smiled at the long sound of June’s vowels.
I s’ppose I sound just as funny to her as she does to me. Milford-Haven brings in all kinds
.

    Sawyer Construction Company was still closed and locked when early-morning sunlight slid past decade-old layers of dust on the Venetian blinds. There was no sign of life until the light on the office answering machine illuminated, and thecassette tape began to squeal softly while it turned.
    Jack’s outgoing message crackled over the speaker. The voice did nothing to belay the gruff impatience that set the tone at his office.
“You’ve reached Sawyer Construction. We’re out of the office at the moment, but leave your name, number and a brief message, and we’ll get back to you shortly. Wait for the beep.”
    “Jack, it’s Samantha. I read in the paper this morning that you’ve announced the start of construction on that shopping center.”
Not even the filtering of the tiny speaker on his machine could make her voice small.
“You know perfectly well the plans have not yet been approved by the Planning Commission. I’d advise you to call me the minute you get to your office.”

Chapter 2
     
    The tourist shops of Milford-Haven were still closed at this hour—especially now that summer had passed and the Central Coast was officially off-season. Main Street had almost no traffic except for local early risers looking for a good breakfast—and all of them had parked in front of Sally’s Restaurant.
    In the row of windows facing the street, miniature pumpkins marched along window sills, and cotton curtains with a tiny floral print were pinched into ruffles along brass rods hung midway down the panes. From the outside a passerby could see the tops of heads, but not patrons’ faces. It was the only concession to privacy observed at this establishment, where the owner herself felt that any word spoken in her restaurant might as well have been spoken to her.
    Inside, Sally’s was now a bustle of activity, as it usually was by 7 a.m. In the kitchen, two cooks performed miracles ofmulti-tasking: the fourth batch of biscuits was coming out of the professional-sized stainless steel oven, sending forth a yeasty, irresistible aroma; eggs flew on and off the griddle at record speed; and perfect rounds of pancake batter hissed as they turned golden brown. Meanwhile, June used her right arm to start another pot of coffee while balancing plates all the way up her left.
    Out front at the well-worn counter, old Mr. Hargraves folded his newspaper and gave himself a startle as he elbowed his neighbor on the next stool—a straw man wearing overalls and mouthing a corncob pipe. As Sally served her customer a heaping plate of steaming grits and eggs over-easy, he complained, “Can’t get used to Mr. Hay, over here.”
    Squeezing herself between two chairs to take another order, Sally replied, “Jus’ somethin’ we do in Arkansas, Mr. H. Don’t pay him no never mind.”
    “Not sure he oughtta be smoking,” Mr.