Shadowmaker by Joan Lowery Nixon Page A

remember where she was and what I was doing there.
    “Sorry I interrupted you,” I said, and tossed my books and handbag on the coffee table. “You’re right in the middle of a scene, aren’t you?”
    “Does it show?” she asked, and we both laughed.
    “Go back to work,” I said, “but first, there’s something I need to tell you. Travis Wyman—Lana Jean’s Travis—is coming here this afternoon.”
    “Why?” she asked.
    “I guess the sheriff must have talked to him about what I told him. Travis said I have the wrong idea and he wants to explain.”
    “What time will he be here? Do we have Cokes in the refrigerator? Cookies?”
    I gave an exaggerated sigh. “Any minute, but Mom, this is not a date. I will introduce Travis to you, then I’ll take him down to the beach. You can go back to work on your novel.”
    “This is your house too,” Mom said apologetically. “If you’d rather talk to Travis in the living room, I’ll close down the computer.”
    “Keep writing,” I said. “The sooner you finish your novel, the better.”
    I heard the sound of a car approaching, along with the complaints of the rottweiler, and looked out the window to see Travis climbing out of a shiny black pickup. “Here he is,” I announced.
    Mom snatched up the morning paper, two dirty coffee mugs, and tried to straighten up as I stood by the door,waiting until Travis knocked. He followed me through the kitchen into the living room, where Mom greeted him pleasantly.
    “You’ve been doing a lot of research on the Hawkins brothers,” Travis told Mom as he stared with surprise at the stack of printed sheets next to Mom’s computer.
    “That printout has nothing to do with the Hawkins brothers,” Mom explained in a rather annoyed voice. “I’m writing a novel.”
    He didn’t answer, and I had no idea whether he believed her or not. Obviously, most of the people in town didn’t.
    Before Mom had a chance to offer him something to eat or drink, I said, “Mom has to get back to work on her novel, so why don’t we walk down to the beach?” Smiling, as though it was just what he would have suggested, Travis walked to the porch door and held it open for me.
    The breeze was still warmed by the sun, and the sea, which smacked the drizzling foam close to our feet, had an invigorating sour-salt fragrance. The walk would have been pleasant if I hadn’t been so nervous about why Travis had come to see me.
    “This is neat, Katie,” he said. “I’m sure I’d really like to be walking here with you, if we didn’t have to talk about what we have to talk about.”
    “That’s practically what I was thinking,” I said, being more honest than I probably should have.
    “You were?” He turned that handsome smile on me again. “Well, then let’s get it over with.”
    Nearby was a sand bank, scattered with wisps of sea grass. Travis reached for my hand and led me to the bank,brushing off a handful of broken shells. We sat down, and I stared out silently at the pale sea, with its gold skim broken only by two oil rigs and a ship in the distance, and waited for whatever Travis would tell me.
    “Part of what you said to the sheriff was right. I did talk to Lana Jean in the alley back of Kennedy’s Grill,” Travis began. “Only she made out what we said to be different than what was really said.”
    I turned to face him. “Lana Jean told me the two of you talked for a while.”
    He shook his head. “She talked. I listened.” He paused for a minute, then asked, “Did she tell you what we talked about?”
    I looked away from him and admitted, “She told you that she’d followed you a few times and—”
    Anger sparked in his voice as he interrupted. “It was a lot more than a few times. According to what she told me, she was practically a spy.”
    “She had this big infatuation for you, but you didn’t even know about it, so it couldn’t have hurt. Don’t get so mad.”
    “I did know. I heard a lot about it from some