Manhunt Page 6
“That’s because you’re looking for a New Jersey-type store.” Casey pulled into a section of field that had been worn down to rutted dirt and parked beside the clapboard building. “This is an Alaska-type store.”
Alex looked at the building and felt the blood drain from her face. “This is a joke, isn’t it?”
“Welcome to Harry’s store.”
“I think I’m going to be sick.”
“It’s not so bad. This is an excellent location. This road is well traveled, the university is just around the bend, and the train tracks are on the other side of that stand of birches. The store has electricity and running water. It looks a little rough around the edges, but I think it could be very profitable if handled properly. Harry was content to just get by. If you put your mind to it, you could make money here. Of course, it would help if you knew something about what you were selling.”
Alex sighed and heaved herself from the truck. “Okay, let’s take a look inside.”
Casey stopped her before they went in. “Did Harry tell you about Andy?”
“Andy Crump, Harry’s clerk? Harry said Andy was keeping the store going for him. That’s all he said.”
“Kids call him Crump the Grump. He’s been clerking this store for twenty years. Lives in a little room off the back.”
Harry hadn’t shared that information with Alex. “Does he pay rent?”
“No, and I wouldn’t suggest that he begin. In fact, I’d go very slow with any kind of suggestions.”
“You’re trying to tell me something.”
Casey draped his arm around her shoulders. “When we walk through this door, I want you to stay very calm. And it would be good if you found something nice to say about the store. You could comment on the knives in the display case by the register. You could tell Andy you thought they were arranged nicely.”
“I don’t like the sound of this.”
Casey tugged at the door and stepped aside for Alex to pass. “Just keep an open mind.”
“An open mind,” she repeated as she inspected her property, which consisted of a large rectangular room heated by an ornate potbellied stove around which stood a scarred redwood picnic table and several chairs.
“For the boys,” Casey explained.
A huge dusty moosehead hung on a wall over an ancient cash register. A filthy glass display case housed a motley assortment of hunting and fishing knives and fishing reels. Small wooden boxes partially filled with rusting nuts and bolts and nails lined the long wall and cluttered the middle of the room. A bare bulb hung from an overhead fixture, but since the light switch was off, the only illumination was what came through the grimy windows and open front door.
The disappointment was almost crushing. Harry had swindled her. The lawyer had been right. Intelligent people didn’t go around buying property sight unseen. She could forgive the cabin, at least it had a view, but the store was unforgivable.
“Do they sell guns here?” she asked Casey. “Suicide is beginning to have some appeal. Maybe I could slit my throat with one of those knives.”
Casey grinned. “You think you’re depressed now? Wait until you meet Andy. This is nothing compared to him.”
Alex turned from Casey to gather her wits, feeling like a total fool. Tears were swarming in her eyes, and she angrily blinked them away. The last thing she wanted to do was burst into tears like some weak, nitwit female. She crossed her arms over her chest and kicked at a keg of nails, then began prowling the room.
Casey saw the brightness in her eyes and swore softly. Damn that Harry. What the hell was he thinking, sending some New York fashion plate up here, leading her to think she was getting a fancy hardware store? He ran his hand through his hair. It wasn’t Harry’s fault. Harry loved his cabin and his store. He undoubtedly thought Alex was getting the better deal. In fact, maybe she was. The store actually was in a decent location, and it sat free and clear on a large piece of land that was going to become prime real estate someday.
Casey walked over to her and again slung his arm around her shoulders. “Alex, it’s not as bad as you think. The ground this store sits on is going to be worth money.”
“Is it worth money now?”
Casey made an exasperated sound. “I don’t know. A little.”
She closed her eyes and leaned against him. “Lord, I’ve made a mess of things.”
He pressed his cheek against her silky hair, hating the store for not being what she’d expected, hating himself for falling for a gullible woman who would take off for warmer climates the minute the snow got to the tops of her shoes.
Alex pushed away from him and looked around the room. Now that the initial shock was wearing off, she began a more professional assessment of her situation. “Do you really think this is a good location?”
Casey was slow in answering. “Yes.”
“Do you really think I could make money here?”
“I think someone could make money here. I’m not sure that someone is you.”
He leaned against the display case and crossed his arms over his chest while a small war was waged in his mind. She was in a hopeless situation, part of him said. Leave her alone, and she would be forced to pack her bags and go home to New Jersey. Better to get rid of her before he got any more involved. The other part of him wanted her to stay. More than that, the other part of him wanted her to succeed. It took a lot of guts to uproot yourself and search for a better life. He respected her for that. And she’d worked side by side with him on the cabin yesterday and never complained, then had the pluck to want to sleep in her tent. He respected her for that, too. The war ended.
“I think there’s a lot of potential here if you forget about the hardware and turn this place into an all-around sporting goods store. Hunting, fishing, backpacking, camping, cross-country skiing. But you’re going to have to do it slowly. This place is sort of a watering hole for seniors and diehard sourdoughs. If you make too many changes too fast, you’ll lose a bunch of steady customers. I know this place looks really bad to you, but if you’re frugal, it’ll probably support you through the winter. In the spring you can start beefing up your line of fishing gear.”
Alex felt a smile creeping across her mouth. It wasn’t much of a store, but it was hers. She’d do what Casey suggested, and next spring she’d begin to make improvements.
“This is going to be great,” she said to Casey. “I can do some cleaning, can’t I?”
Casey shook his head. “The eternal optimist.” He swiped a finger across the glass case of knives and looked disgustedly at the filth. “Yeah, you can. Andy’s not going to like it, but what the hell.”
Alex looked around. “Where is this Andy person?”
“Andy!” Casey shouted.
Alex could hear him mumbling before she saw him.
“No need to yell,” he said from the back room. “A body can’t do nothin’ around here without being disturbed.”
He was small and wiry, with a stubbly gray beard and tufts of coarse gray hair sprouting from his ears and nose. His eyes were faded behind round spectacles, but they narrowed speculatively when they focused on Alex, and she had the impression that they didn’t miss much. His plaid flannel shirt was frayed at the collar but clean. Thermal underwear peeked from the open neck and showed through a small hole in the knee of his gray work pants. “Well?” he said to Casey. “What do you want?”
Casey made an attempt to look serious, but laughter was bubbling deep inside. This was going to be some combination. He didn’t know if he felt sorrier for Alex or for Andy.
“Andy, this is Alexandra Scott. I assume Harry’s been in touch with you about selling the store?”
“Harry’s a horse’s rump.”
Casey grinned broadly. “The ball’s in your court,” he whispered to Alex.
Alex extended her hand. “It’s very nice to meet you, Andy. I’m sure you’ll be a great help to me this winter while I’m learning about the, um, bait and tackle business.”
Alex drew her shoulders back slightly. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I am,” she said with cheerful authority. Casey raised his eyebrows in admiration, and Andy glared at her.
“Well, I ain’t gonna be pushed around by some female who don’t know squat,” Andy said.
“Then I’ll make an effort to learn squat as soon as possible.” Alex moved to the case by the register. “This is a very nice display,” she said, smiling at Andy. “Did you do this?”
Andy wasn’t about to be bought off by a compliment. “Hmph,” he said, standing his ground.
Alex looked at the unlit bulb hanging over her head. “It’s dark in here. Why don’t you turn the light on?”
“Ain’t nobody in the store now. No reason to burn electricity.”
“You turn the light on when customers come in?”
“If I think they’re worth it.”
Alex turned to Casey. “Makes perfect sense to me.”
Casey stuffed his hands in his jeans pockets. “Me, too.”
“Well, keep up the good work,” Alex said to Andy. “I’ll be in tomorrow to do some cleaning. Maybe we should close the store for the day.”
“Don’t need to do that. Won’t be nobody in the store tomorrow anyway.”
Alex let herself out and closed the door behind her. “Are you sure this is going to support me?” she asked Casey.
“Trust me.”
“I’m getting rid of Andy.”
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Andy’s what keeps this store in the black. He knows everything about hunting and fishing. People don’t come here to buy. They come here to talk to Andy, and while they’re here he gets them to buy stuff.”
“Swell.” It was only one word, but it combined the multitude of emotions she felt. Amusement, disgust, anger, determination.
Most people were intimidated by Andy, Casey thought, but Alex hadn’t blinked an eye. He liked that. She was no pushover. Wall Street probably breathed a sigh of relief when she left. He found her easy assumption of authority to be oddly stimulating. He pulled her to him for a long, hard kiss. It wasn’t a sensuous, passionate kiss. It was impudent and possessive and very thorough. His voice was pleasantly raspy when he ended the embrace. “Nice.”
Alex swayed toward him slightly. There was a sharp intake of breath when she realized he’d stopped kissing her, and she narrowed her eyes, just as he knew she would.
Casey had kissed her as if she were his private property. Not an attitude she appreciated since he’d made it clear he wasn’t about to assume mortgage payments. She glowered at him. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. It’s going to be the last kiss you get from me.”
“We’ll see.”
“What do you mean, ‘we’ll see’?”
Casey grinned and tugged at a chestnut curl. “I like to kiss you. C’mon, let’s attack that cabin of yours.”
Alex was certain her back was broken. She had pain in muscles she never knew existed. And her nails were grotesque, she thought grimly. They were cracked and chipped, and the polish was peeling off. It was a good thing she was too tired to care, she decided.
But as she stood on the threshold of her cabin and surveyed her handiwork, she felt a burst of pride. Six hours of sanding and varnishing had produced a floor that was glistening clean and slick. The woodwork around the windows and the walls had received similar treatment. She hoped tomorrow everything would be dry so she could move her furniture in and hang curtains. Her life was now divided into two distinct segments—before sanding and after sanding.
Alex turned toward the sound of the chain saw whining deep in her driveway. Casey had been right—she wouldn’t be able to drive her little car through until the gravel was laid, but at least the path looked more civilized now that Casey had leveled the vegetation.
The saw sputtered to a stop, and Alex thought the sudden silence was filled with suspense, as if the mountain might be holding its breath. After a moment the world whooshed a sigh of relief. Air swished through the trees, and birds began chirrupping songs in anticipation of night. Alex was suffused with pleasure at the sight of Casey and Bruno heading for her in the truck. They’re coming to get me, she consoled herself. They’re going to put the lid on my can of paint, and then they’re going to take me up the hill to die in peace.
They stopped and got out. Casey walked over to her and pried the can of varnish from her sticky fingers. “You okay? You look kind of dopey.” He hammered the lid down. “Looks to me like you passed tired about two hours ago.”
“Not me. Us girls from New Jersey never get tired.”
Casey shook his head and laughed softly. She was a sight, and she was out on her feet. “Do you think you can make it to the truck?”
“No sweat.”
“I’d carry you, but you’re covered head to foot with varnish. What did you do, roll in it?”
Alex looked at her spattered jeans. “It just sort of sprang from the brush onto me.”
“I don’t know whether I should put you in the front with Bruno and me, or just lay you out in the back.”
Alex’s shoulders sagged. “For all I care, you could drag me behind.”
Casey tenderly kissed her on top of her head. “Poor Alex.” He helped her into the cab, wedging her between Bruno and the door to keep her propped up while he bumped along the rough, freshly cut “driveway.”
When he pulled up in front of his house, she had a glazed expression on her face. Her eyes were open, but Casey wasn’t sure she was awake. He gently eased her from the truck.
“Here we go,” he said. “You can do it. Just put one foot in front of the other.” He opened the patio door and put his hand to the small of her back. “Not far now. Pretty soon you’ll be standing in a nice warm shower.”
“Mmmmm. Shower.”
Casey led her down the hall and adjusted the water. “Are you going to be all right? Do you need help?”
“Don’t need help.”
“I’ll make some soup.”
“Soup,” Alex parroted. She locked the door, dragged herself out of her clothes, climbed into the steaming shower, and wondered where she would find the strength to wash her hair. She was still wondering when she heard Casey pounding on the bathroom door.
“You okay?” he called.
“Okay.”
“You’ve been in there for twenty minutes.”
Alex leaned her head against the tile wall. “I think I fell asleep.”
“Maybe you should come out now.”
Alex stepped out of the shower and wrapped herself in a towel. She opened the door. “I don’t have any clothes.”
“They’re in the backpack in my bedroom.”
“Oh, yeah.”
Casey grinned down at her. “Good thing you’re a tough tootsie from New Jersey. Imagine if you were some wimpy female from Virginia or Rhode Island.”
“Good thing.”
Casey pushed her into the bedroom. “Why don’t you get into your Dr. Denton’s and climb into bed, and I’ll bring you some soup.”
Alex rummaged through her clothes and put on purple cotton panties and an oversized Princeton University T-shirt. She towel dried her hair and slid into bed, too tired to care about propriety, independence, or modesty. It was Casey’s bed, so what. Let him sleep on the couch. She closed her eyes and gave a satisfied groan as her bones relaxed into the mattress.
Casey returned, placed a bed tray on her lap and tucked a napkin into the neck of her T-shirt. “I made tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches.”
“Looks great.” Alex took a bite of sandwich. “I didn’t realize how hungry I was.”
“I should never have let you work that long.”
“It wasn’t your fault. I was the one who didn’t want supper, and I was the one who wanted to finish the varnishing.” Alex tasted the soup and sighed happily. “Yum.”
“It’s my specialty. I’m really good a
t opening cans.” He nibbled a corner off her grilled cheese. “I don’t suppose you’re going to let me sleep with you tonight.”
Alex gave him a light tap on the forehead with her soup spoon. “Get real.”
“Thought there wasn’t any harm in asking.”
“Mmm, well, the answer is no.”
Casey took a sip of the soup and chomped off a large bite of sandwich. “This is damn frustrating.”
“You’ll have to excuse me if I don’t sound too sympathetic. My libido is definitely second in line to my stomach.”
She quickly gobbled the remainder of her sandwich and took possession of the soup spoon just as Casey was reaching for it. “Touch that spoon and you’re a dead man.”
Casey raised his eyebrows slightly and talked from the side of his mouth. “Better watch it, Buttercup, I’m the guy who’s gonna plow your driveway this winter. And I’m the guy with the hot shower, the seven-cycle washer, and the power saw. Better be nice to me.”
“What nerve. Instead of being embarrassed because you were snitching my supper, you threaten me with your middle-class appliances. And if that isn’t bad enough, you do it with the worst impression of Bogart I’ve ever heard.”
“Boy, that really hurt. And I was going to get you some ice cream, too.”
“Ice cream? Oh Casey, I’d love some ice cream. Is it chocolate?”
A slow, mocking smile stole across Casey’s face. “I bet you’d do anything for chocolate ice cream.”
Alex instinctively drew the covers up to her neck. “What did you have in mind?”
“Heh, heh, heh.”
“Shame on you. That’s horrible. That’s the dirtiest laugh I’ve ever heard. You know how bad I want that ice cream!”