here?”
“Where’s here?”
“Uh, wait.” He turned to Crystal. “What’s the address?”
She told him.
“Okay, how do you get here from Route 611?”
Crystal reached for the phone. Without preamble, she gave explicit directions, then said thank you and goodbye. She looked up at him. “And thank you too. Who’s our white knight?”
“My brother.”
Chapter Six
“I still don’t understand. Who would want to do this?” Crystal felt the back of her throat tighten. She’d changed her mind about teenagers after she’d seen the ugly message. The police had come and gone, taking with them the rock and the paper, promising to check them for fingerprints, although they’d treated it as a teenage prank, too. She tried to get a grip while she poured herself another cup of coffee.
“A jealous boyfriend?” Soren speculated.
“No. That’s quite impossible.”
“Why is it impossible?” He looked at her with such an intense gaze that she had to lower her face to her cup and take a too-hot sip.
“I haven’t dated much.”
“That’s hard to believe.”
Her chin lifted. “Why? Because I’m a rich society girl?”
A look that might have been disbelief flitted briefly across Soren’s face. “Because you’re such a looker, you’re nice and you’re fun. I can’t believe men aren’t lining up three deep to take you out.”
She fingered the ever-present crystal at her throat. “I’m just too busy. I have my consulting work, my charities. I spend a lot of time looking after my grandmother.” She wasn’t about to tell him she’d been waiting—the crystal had been waiting—all these years for him to enter her life, so she hadn’t been interested in fleeting relationships with men.
“Seems to me there can only be one interpretation of that message.”
Crystal shuddered. Whore , the message said, in headline-size letters cut from a newspaper and pasted on a sheet ripped from a student notebook.
“Someone took exception to my spending the night with you,” Soren continued relentlessly. “Sounds like someone thought he had you to himself.”
She turned a troubled gaze to him. “But I don’t know anyone who feels that way. I’m telling you, I rarely date.”
“What about your job? Give me an example of your working day.”
She shrugged. “It varies. I go to estate sales. Sometimes to auctions where several estates are lumped together. I know most of the auctioneers and antique-store owners in a wide radius. Either my circle of acquaintances—mostly Grandma’s friends—ask me to keep an eye out for a specific piece or I find a sleeper that no one else is bidding on, so I buy it on spec. I can’t think of anyone who’s ever been overly friendly.”
“Boyfriends from college?”
“No. No one I spent a lot of time with.”
“Okay. You buy and sell antiques for others. Give me a for instance. Tell me how you went about your last purchase.”
“I found a terrific two-piece cherry corner cupboard at an auction that went for a fourth of its value. I bought it with no buyer in mind and took it to Time Treasures. The owner, Jack Healy, has a standing offer to buy anything I come across, because he trusts my judgment. He pays me a thirty percent commission and then sells it for up to twice his cost.”
“Tell me about Healy.”
“He’s owned that shop for about twenty years. He’s, oh, I’d say mid-fifties. Really nice guy. Very knowledgeable. High-quality merchandise, stands behind everything he sells.”
“How do you get the stuff to him?”
“I usually ask Augie to help me. He has muscle and time, and a beat-up truck that he doesn’t mind getting dirty on rutted farmland or dirt roads. I think he does grunt work to get his father upset.”
“Is that the father-son pair I met at Rowena’s home?”
“Yes.”
“Either of them ever put the make on you?”
She frowned at the thought of the young man who had done just that in his truck, but dismissed it as simply a
“Where’s here?”
“Uh, wait.” He turned to Crystal. “What’s the address?”
She told him.
“Okay, how do you get here from Route 611?”
Crystal reached for the phone. Without preamble, she gave explicit directions, then said thank you and goodbye. She looked up at him. “And thank you too. Who’s our white knight?”
“My brother.”
Chapter Six
“I still don’t understand. Who would want to do this?” Crystal felt the back of her throat tighten. She’d changed her mind about teenagers after she’d seen the ugly message. The police had come and gone, taking with them the rock and the paper, promising to check them for fingerprints, although they’d treated it as a teenage prank, too. She tried to get a grip while she poured herself another cup of coffee.
“A jealous boyfriend?” Soren speculated.
“No. That’s quite impossible.”
“Why is it impossible?” He looked at her with such an intense gaze that she had to lower her face to her cup and take a too-hot sip.
“I haven’t dated much.”
“That’s hard to believe.”
Her chin lifted. “Why? Because I’m a rich society girl?”
A look that might have been disbelief flitted briefly across Soren’s face. “Because you’re such a looker, you’re nice and you’re fun. I can’t believe men aren’t lining up three deep to take you out.”
She fingered the ever-present crystal at her throat. “I’m just too busy. I have my consulting work, my charities. I spend a lot of time looking after my grandmother.” She wasn’t about to tell him she’d been waiting—the crystal had been waiting—all these years for him to enter her life, so she hadn’t been interested in fleeting relationships with men.
“Seems to me there can only be one interpretation of that message.”
Crystal shuddered. Whore , the message said, in headline-size letters cut from a newspaper and pasted on a sheet ripped from a student notebook.
“Someone took exception to my spending the night with you,” Soren continued relentlessly. “Sounds like someone thought he had you to himself.”
She turned a troubled gaze to him. “But I don’t know anyone who feels that way. I’m telling you, I rarely date.”
“What about your job? Give me an example of your working day.”
She shrugged. “It varies. I go to estate sales. Sometimes to auctions where several estates are lumped together. I know most of the auctioneers and antique-store owners in a wide radius. Either my circle of acquaintances—mostly Grandma’s friends—ask me to keep an eye out for a specific piece or I find a sleeper that no one else is bidding on, so I buy it on spec. I can’t think of anyone who’s ever been overly friendly.”
“Boyfriends from college?”
“No. No one I spent a lot of time with.”
“Okay. You buy and sell antiques for others. Give me a for instance. Tell me how you went about your last purchase.”
“I found a terrific two-piece cherry corner cupboard at an auction that went for a fourth of its value. I bought it with no buyer in mind and took it to Time Treasures. The owner, Jack Healy, has a standing offer to buy anything I come across, because he trusts my judgment. He pays me a thirty percent commission and then sells it for up to twice his cost.”
“Tell me about Healy.”
“He’s owned that shop for about twenty years. He’s, oh, I’d say mid-fifties. Really nice guy. Very knowledgeable. High-quality merchandise, stands behind everything he sells.”
“How do you get the stuff to him?”
“I usually ask Augie to help me. He has muscle and time, and a beat-up truck that he doesn’t mind getting dirty on rutted farmland or dirt roads. I think he does grunt work to get his father upset.”
“Is that the father-son pair I met at Rowena’s home?”
“Yes.”
“Either of them ever put the make on you?”
She frowned at the thought of the young man who had done just that in his truck, but dismissed it as simply a
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