“What sort of research is she doing?”
“Something to do with French culture around Old Mines.”
“Hmm.” Angie pursed her lips and tapped her order pad against her palm. “I wonder if it has anything to do with those old journals Ms. Boyer has. Paul Coleman’s been after her to donate them to the historical society.”
“What kind of journals?”
Angie hiked up her eyebrows. “You don’t know about those?”
“Should I?”
“No, I suppose not. I doubt many people do. But Paul mentioned them once while he was having lunch here. Let me get your order placed and I’ll fill you in on what little I know. Hang tight.”
She zipped off, detouring to top off coffee mugs at another table after a patron summoned her.
Brad leaned back and scanned the street outside the window of the corner booth that let him keep tabs on the action inside and out. Tonight was quiet, though. Not many people had ventured out into the steamy weather. Despite the waning day, heatstill shimmered from the sidewalks, more intense now than it had been while he’d stood outside Natalie Boyer’s house this morning talking to the professor he’d mistaken for a student.
He flinched.
That had been a major faux pas.
But her tank top and slim capris hadn’t been stereotypical professor attire.
Fortunately, she’d seemed to take his gaffe in stride. Found a touch of humor in it even, if his reading on the tiny flex in her lips had been correct.
Her very generous, soft-looking lips.
He took a sip of his cold water and erased that image.
Strange that he was still thinking about her hours later. And blaming his musings on the prompt from Angie would be disingenuous. The truth was, she’d been on his mind since they met. Not just because she was beautiful, though she was, but also because of her intensity and singular focus. While they’d conversed, she’d given him her rapt attention. As if every word he said mattered.
There’d also been a unique quality to her speech. An accent, perhaps. Almost as if English wasn’t her first language. What was the story there?
Whatever it was, there wasn’t much chance he’d hear it. She’d be sequestered at Natalie’s for the duration of her stay in the area, and he had no excuse to venture out there again.
Too bad.
Cara Tucker was an intriguing woman, and it was rare for intriguing women to cross his path these days. Not that he had any interest in her personally, of course, but she did pique his curiosity.
“Sorry. I had to straighten out an order with Chuck.” Angie paused beside his booth and propped her hands on her hips. “Where were we?”
“You were going to tell me about the journals.”
“Right. According to Paul, Ms. Boyer has some journals written in Paw Paw French by one of her relatives. Paul said they’re one of a kind, because as you know, Paw Paw was a spoken, not written, dialect, and unique to this area. Maybe the professor got wind of the journals and convinced Ms. Boyer to let her use them for research.” Angie lifted one shoulder. “I can’t imagine what else at that house would merit an extended stay.”
Brad didn’t try to hide his skepticism. “Unless the professor speaks the dialect, they won’t help her much.”
“But Ms. Boyer speaks it. Or she used to. I’m thinking the professor may have sweet-talked her into translating them for her. Why else would she be staying out there for the semester?”
It was hard to fault Angie’s logic.
“You may be right. But how on earth did she convince Ms. Boyer to let a virtual stranger invade her privacy?”
“You’ve got me. Either they clicked, or the professor charmed her into agreeing. Did she strike you as—” A loudbrrriiinnngsounded from the call bell, and Angie cast an annoyed glance toward the pickup window. “Oh, for pity’s sake. After all these years, does Chuck really think I’m going to let an order sit on the counter and get cold? Sheesh.” She smoothed out the apron she wore over her jeans. “I’ll have your food out in a jiffy, hon.”
“No rush on my end.”
“We don’t like to keep our customers waiting.” She winked and bustled off.
