He handed Angelica the backpack.
Angelica couldn’t argue the point, but she wondered how obvious she appeared. She felt like a stranger on a different planet. Glass and concrete canyons shadowed by tall buildings was her milieu. The breeze blowing from the Hudson. Or freezing winters fighting slush and traffic and time.
Her reluctant guide turned and began walking back the way they’d came.
“Thank you,” she called, ever mindful of manners her mother had drummed into her head.
He didn’t acknowledge her appreciation.
“He can’t hear you,” Sally Ann said. “Come on in. I’ve got a nice room right on the front of the house. Gets the breeze at night. Quiet, too, unless those Slade boys are carrying on.”
Angelica nodded and followed her hostess into the house, wondering who the Slade boys were and what carrying on meant.
The tall ceilings kept the temperature tolerable. It was a relief to be out of the sun. Climbing stairs that creaked with each step, she wondered how old the house was. The faded wallpaper on the walls gave the feeling of days gone by—long gone by. But the house was spotlessly clean. And smelled like apple pie.
“Here it is. What do you think?”
Sally Ann stepped into a large room with wide windows overlooking the street. The oak tree in front shaded it from the sun. It wasn’t as cool as air-conditioning could achieve, but itwas pleasant enough. Definitely twenty or more degrees cooler than outside.
The double bed was covered with an old quilt. There was a slipper chair near one of the windows, a large double-wide bureau and knickknacks galore from little ceramic kittens playing with yarn to old figurines of ladies in antebellum attire.
“This is nice,” Angelica said, taking it all in.
It was vastly different from her sleek Manhattan apartment, with chrome and leather furnishings and modern art on the walls. This was warm and homey. She’d never seen a place like it. She liked it.
“Supper’s at six. If you don’t eat here, there’s a good diner in town. Which isn’t too far a walk. Without a car, you’re going to be hard-pressed to find anything else you can walk to and get back before dark.”
“I’d like supper here,” Angelica said, slowly lowering her backpack to the floor.
Her precious violin she hugged against her chest for comfort. She felt it was the only familiar thing in life right now.
“Meals are extra.” Sally Ann quoted a figure that was ridiculously low.
Angelica smiled and nodded.
“I’d like that.”
If everything was that cheap in Kentucky, she could stay longer than originally planned.
If Webb Francis got well and agreed to help her.
And if she could keep her mind on work and not the disturbing presence of Kirk Devon.
Kirk planned to call Webb Francis as soon as he reached a phone. Did the man know Angelica Cannon? He hadn’t seemed worried about an invited guest showing up when Kirk saw him yesterday.
The more he thought about it, the odder it seemed. What would a young woman whom no one ever heard of have in common with Webb Francis—except for the fiddle. Webb Francis was a world-class fiddle player. At the music festivals and hootenannies held in and around Smoky Hollow, Webb Francis was renowned for his talent. Could she be a student wannabe? That would explain the violin case she guarded.
Melvin and Paul still held the fort on the porch of the store. There were a couple of others from town chatting with them. Waiting. When they spotted Kirk, the questions began to fly as everyone wanted to know more about the woman who came to visit Webb Francis.
“I don’t know any more than you do. I’m taking her over to see him tomorrow. Maybe that’ll clear things up.”
He spoke another minute or two to the neighbors then headed for home. It was hot. Late July in Kentucky was always hot. He’d been in hotter places. But a long time ago. Time and places he didn’t want to remember.
Next time he’d take his motorcycle. It wasn’t a long walk to town, but midday wasn’t the time to be out walking in the sun.
Reaching the log cabin built as if it grew directly from the forest floor, Kirk went straight to his phone. In a moment he was connected to Webb Francis at the hospital.
“You expecting an Angelica Cannon?” Kirk asked after ascertaining his friend was improving.
