Scandal by Patsy Brookshire Page B

was done with that stuff, until Sammy and I stumbled back into
each other's lives. I'd worried that I was in a pickle, being married and all, but now that problem's
solved. Sorta, kinda.
    I still couldn't figure out who'd killed him. I knew it wasn't me. Why was he in the back
yard?
    "He'll be here any minute. Thanks for this, I'll give it back to you."
    For a minute I was confused, as I'd been thinking of Tommy. He? Oh, Len. "Just don't let him
tear it off you!"
    She laughed, dumped the last of her coffee into the sink and went into the guest room. A
few minutes later she came out, wearing the camisole and carrying the sheets from her bed. "I'll put
these in the washer. Where do you keep your clean sheets? You want the bed to be fresh for
Sam."
    I pointed to the linen closet just as the doorbell rang. Len. I let him in.
    She was right behind me, clean sheets in hand. "Just in time to help me make a bed."
    He is cute, especially when he smiles like that, though there is still something about him
that puts me off.
    "Glad to be of help." They went into the bedroom while I gave the kitchen a slapdash wash
up.
    "All ready!" When they came out, Annie's face had a soft glow that hadn't been there
before.
    Len patted my shoulder, said something about hanging in there, and opened the front door
for us. "Beauty before age." He swept us out the door in front of him.
    As I passed him I said, "You're a sweet talker, ain't you?"
    He didn't answer, but smiled as he closed the door behind us.
    Annie and I gasped together when we saw what was in the driveway.

Chapter 22
Retrieving Sampson
    In the driveway was a classic powder-blue Thunderbird. four-door. Len stepped to the front
passenger door "You called Madam? Your carriage awaits."
    "Oh, Len. It's beautiful. I had no idea you had such a fantastic car." I trailed my hand against
the light blue paint as I walked to the front to admire the classic Thunderbird logo stretched across
the wide grill, the wings of the powerful icon balancing either side.
    Len came up beside me, saying, as he put his hand on my shoulder, "Oh, this old thing?" He
leaned close to whisper, "I do have my secrets," and nibbled ever so lightly on my ear.
    Magda said, "Ahem!" right behind us. "Now, that's why I'm coming along." She stared at the
car, finally said, "I should'a guessed you'd have a fancy rig to match your talk."
    "Oh, Miz Magda, you say the sweetest things." He left me to my examination of the car and
went to Magda, who was standing beside the rear door on the driver's side. He opened it, offering
his hand to help her in.
    She put her purse and coat into his hand and slid onto the black leather seat, going only
halfway across. "I'll just stop here so I can be close behind to help you with your driving." She took
her purse and coat, placing them beside her, and buckled up. "Glad to see you've modernized
her."
    "Hey, of course. It's the law." He shut her door, gently, but with a firm thrust.
    I was at my door and reaching for the handle when he called, "Wait a minute, I'll be right
there." He crossed behind me to grasp the handle and give it dramatic pull as he opened it. Bowing
slightly, he waved me in. "Miz Annie."
    We followed the same road as I'd taken the week before, but with more attention from
other travelers. Len loved it, raising a finger off the steering wheel in acknowledgement of honks or
waves. I think he was sorry we made such good time, so much so that he passed up the first
entrance into Cannon Beach and drove the few miles to come into town from the north end,
allowing him to parade the T-bird back through town.
    We took the street that parallels the ocean. Shops lined both sides, mostly old cottages with
multipane windows and flowerboxes, now converted into specialty stores, galleries, or cozy
restaurants. The dirt or gravel alleyways were red-bricked over, each brick edged with green moss.
Streetlamps hung with flower baskets, pansies and nasturtiums flowing over the edges. Attractive
to