Baylin House (Cassandra Crowley Mystery) Read Online Free Page B

for
the evening usually go home looking like drowned haystacks.” She craned her
neck to see around toward the back, then stood in Cassie’s face and said, “And
you do wear it well even with your nose.”
    Cassie huffed a sharp breath warding off the reference. She
inherited the Patrician shape from her mother’s side of the family. There were
plenty of times during her teen years when she wished for her dad’s ski slope
profile. Her prettier classmates often cruelly magnified physical flaws like
the boney hump on the bridge of her nose caused by a softball pop fly. Behind her
back, they bestowed her nickname ‘The Crow’, and then insisted it was only
short for Crowley.
    Cassandra-The-Crow had long ago outgrown that teenaged sensitivity,
and accepted the nickname with genuine affection, like the silhouette crow
stamped on her business cards. She considered having it tattooed on her ankle
once, but settled for an ankle bracelet with a tiny crow-shaped charm instead. That
did not mean she was immune to pointed comments like wear it well even with
your nose .
    “I’ve already made arrangements for a rental car,” Dorothy told
Cassie as they entered the baggage area. She marched straight to the cart rack,
poked quarters into the slot, and motioned for Cassie to retrieve a cart.
    Cassie clamped her jaw as she pulled the thing free. She
would have volunteered, given the difference in their ages, but it felt demeaning
the way it was ordered. Even more while Cassie retrieved all three of Dorothy’s
hard-sided suitcases that filled the cart before she could grab the Voyager
Duffel, and then struggle to balance the big duffel and her carry-on on the
apex without losing the whole load.
    It was obvious Mrs. Kennelly was establishing rank so Cassie
would know who was in charge. Dorothy Kennelly was the boss, and Cassie was
definitely hired help – not just hired to edit a manuscript, but for anything Her
Highness desired.
    Cassie should have guessed the high-paying contract had
fangs attached, but to be honest she would still have accepted the job. She told
herself she could tough it out for three or four weeks.
    At the Rental Car desk, Dorothy signed papers while the
attendant loaded their luggage into the back of a Ford Explorer (silver, of
course). She handed Cassie the ignition key, and slid her own boney bottom into
the passenger seat. She would be chauffeured from Austin to Cordell Bay; it
wasn’t a question.
    Cassie was a little surprised when Dorothy unfolded an
Austin City Map and directed her attention to a red circle near the top left corner
–traveling north on Interstate 35-- the opposite direction from the Gulf Coast.
    “The address is written there in the margin,” Dorothy told her.
“We’ll stop and have lunch with Lawrence before we leave town. That’s why I had
us both fly into Austin instead of directly into Cordell Bay.”
    Cassie had assumed they were in Austin because Cordell Bay had
no airport of its own. “Lawrence?” she questioned, blinking a few times to
adjust her eyes to the tiny print on the map.
    “Lawrence Baylin. Rosalie’s brother.” Dorothy settled back,
fastened her seat belt, and flipped the car’s air conditioner to full blast. Then
she snickered under her breath, “Or Rosalie’s father, depending on which story
you believe.”
    Cassie pretended she didn’t hear that. She used her finger
to trace a line of travel on the map before she drove out of the parking area.
    “He lives off campus near one of the University buildings,”
Dorothy said when Cassie began refolding the map. “He’s retired from his
tenured position now. Still guest lectures and gives occasional speeches for
professional groups. I think you’ll find him interesting to chat with.”
    Cassie nodded, though chatting with a University Professor was
not high on her list of things she wanted to do.
    Thirty minutes later the address on the map brought them to
a high-dollar assisted living facility across