Page 32 of The Aura Answer
Once in town, Evie ran into Mayor Larraine emerging from Jax’s office building. Her normal welcoming smile took a moment to warm up until she was certain Evie was alone. “Pumpkin, you need a warmer jacket! Where are your gloves?” She was wearing a fur stole and gorgeous tanned leather gloves.
“Sun is out. I don’t need gloves. Are the reporters still bothering you?” Evie fell in step with her, figuring the mayor was heading for city hall on the far side of the courthouse. Having a mayor she could actually talk to almost felt like she was a respectable citizen—instead of one step above homeless Bertie.
“At least that Lawless Jane blogger has hushed up since she tried to burn down the town. I checked, and they’ve got her in a mental cell block.” Larraine returned to her normal swagger and waved at people on the street.
“I was wondering about that. Jane hated enough people that she was my suspect number one for Patel’s arson. Do you think one of her fellow bigots set a copycat fire?”
Larraine sighed. “You don’t think that mob scene was sufficient? If I’d known I’d stir up all those old hatreds, I might not have let you talk me into running.”
“What, you want the cockroaches to stay hidden and breeding in the dark? Does that help anything? This way, you know your enemies. Besides, look at everything you’ve accomplished in a few short months! The library has their funding. You kept the old goats from throwing out every business they don’t like...”
Larraine nodded, looking a little more reassured. “And I wouldn’t have met Reuben. I’m just having a bad day. I was trying to help Mr. Patel get what he needed to open that convenience store, and now he has nothing to put it in.”
“Insurance?” Evie stopped at the courthouse steps.
“Estimator is a prick. Says old places like that aren’t worth a thing, he should sell for the value of the land.”
The land next to the Satterwhite farm? Oh, that could not be good. “The land? Why do I have the feeling someone’s been bribed?”
Not giving Larraine time to question, Evie ran up the courthouse steps. Looked like the place was back in business. She’d have to hope her ghosts hung out in public. She had a lot of questions—starting with who would want useless land in Afterthought? Blockhead had been a Realtor. His ghost should know if anyone did.
“Whatcha gonna dowith all this old crap of Bertie’s?” Sammy asked, helping Nick pry the sketches out of the cheap discount store frames.
If Teddy Jr. was after these sketches, then Nick had beat him to them. He shouldn’t feel triumphant about ruining his credit card, but he didn’t want the lawyer’s son Gracie didn’t like to have Bertie’s artwork.
Although that offer of a real job was mighty tempting. He probably ought to call the number on the business card he’d been given. It would mean staying here instead of returning home to the big city lights... He should at least make inquiries.
The workshop off the back of the Antique Barn smelled of old manure and damp wood. An ancient gas furnace rattled and clanged and wasted good heat on the uninsulated shed. Sammy’s workbench seemed to be held together by crooked nails and string. But he had hammers and screwdrivers, and that’s all they needed.
“Thought I might scan them into a computer, use them for graphics, things like that,” Nick said vaguely, figuring Sammy would have no idea what he was talking about.
The dealer probably had kids who knew Nick was full of blarney, but he nodded as if he understood. “Bertie would like that, I guess. He shoulda thought of it himself.”
“I suppose the world is full of graphic artists. I’m just not one of them.” Nick popped a sketch out, checked the back, saw nothing of interest, and changed the subject. “The Malcolm ladies were wondering if you had space you might rent to Mr. Patel while he rebuilds. It seems he needs a parking lot.”
Sammy shrugged. “Don’t know how much longer I can keep this place going.” He brightened a little. “But if Patel can help with the rent...”
Excellent, they’d planted a little seed. A community that worked together, stayed together. Good motto. Maybe he could sell it.
“Is that your door ringer?” Nick asked at a clanging in front.
“Monday, right.” Sammy set down his screwdriver and hurried to greet his customer.
A regular Monday visitor, perhaps?
The inept Sammy had agreed to sell the sketches for fifteen apiece without the frame. Nick didn’t feel too sorry for a man who’d probably paid his starving brother a mere tenner for hours of work. If Nick’s strategy worked, and he actually made a profit, he’d have to donate ten percent to Bertie’s mother.
None of the sketches Sammy had produced had been mantel size. If even Bertie’s ghost didn’t know where the surprise drawing was, then it was long gone. Damned shame. Curiosity was killing him.
He pried the last sketch out of its cheap frame and added it to his designer leather briefcase. Maybe he could sell the briefcase for half the fortune it had cost in his glory days. He really wasn’teager to cash in that first class ticket just yet. But if he took a job... Cashing that ticket would put him in a place of his own.
Wiping the frames down so Sammy could put them back in stock, he considered leaving by the back door so he didn’t disturb any customers. He’d already paid with his nearly maxed credit card. He’d better sell these fast.
The furnace popped loud enough to startle. Worrying the thing would explode, Nick hurried to set the workbench to rights.
The front door rang again. New customer or the other one leaving? He waited for Sammy to return. When he didn’t, Nick carried his briefcase out the back and to the little red car he’d parked there.
In London, he hadn’t needed transportation of his own. He’d had public transit and a company car when needed. If he stayed here, he’d have to earn enough to buy a vehicle. Why was he even considering it? No way could he afford so much as a bicycle.
