False Impressions Read Online Free Page B

her hair on her neck and lifted. The swoop across her eye, across her scar, stayed in place as though hot glued there. Rocky was a beautiful woman, but a scar that ran through her eye and onto her cheek marred her good looks, and she made sure it was hidden. April wondered when she would learn the truth behind the scar. Mitch had already made it clear he wouldn’t be the one to tell her. Rocky would tell April when she was ready, according to her brother.
    Maybe soon. Maybe I should just mind my own business, April thought.
    But . . . “Rocky, did you know Mary Lou’s brother?”
    “Which one?” Rocky’s computer dinged, and she looked at the screen.
    “She has two?”
    “Yeah. J.B. and Gregg. Gregg just moved to California.” She smiled at something and began to type.
    J.B. Joseph Bartholomew. That’s him.
    “J.B.”
    Rocky looked up at her, something in April’s voice signaling that she was interested. “He was killed last year. Why?”
    April knew better than to share Deana’s secret with Rocky. She shook her head. “Nothing. I just heard her mention brothers and I didn’t know she had any.”
    Rocky studied April. April kept her face neutral, meeting her gaze.
    April decided to stop talking before she gave away too much. Like the fact that Mary Lou had never claimed her brother’s ashes.
    “So what time is the council meeting?”

CHAPTER 3

    April left, promising to meet Rocky at the borough hall. The afternoon sun was so weak the air temperature seemed to have dropped another twenty degrees since she’d left the funeral home. She shivered as she tried to get her key into the frozen lock, and once inside, prayed that the car would start. Last week she’d been stranded when her car had sat too long outside Perkins and wouldn’t start after lunch. That never happened in San Francisco.
    April knew dinner would be waiting for her when she got home, but a steady diet of veal chops, pierogies and meatloaf was leaving her feeling overstuffed, slow and cranky. She’d dreamt last night of a giant green salad of organic arugula with Sonoma County goat cheese and grilled Alaskan salmon. Fat chance that was on the menu tonight.
    Barring that, she’d have liked nothing better than to microwave herself a frozen diet dinner, but Charlotte wouldn’t hear of it. She’d have spent all afternoon cooking dinner, starting preparations almost as soon as the breakfast dishes were cleared.
    She stopped at the mailbox at the end of the road, pulled out the day’s offerings and then continued up the drive. Parking next to Charlotte and Grizz’s snow-covered sedan, she ran for the door, telling herself that Charlotte’s homemade bread made up for her tasteless, greasy fried chicken. She stamped her cold feet and let herself in.
    “Hi, Charlotte. Hi, Grizz.” April yelled to be heard over Fox News. Charlotte bustled over to take her coat, brushing it with her hand and hanging it in the closet. April sat down to take off her boots and lined them up on the plastic tray Charlotte had set out.
    Grizz was ensconced in the middle of the barn, his corduroy recliner looking as faded as his flannel shirt. Charlotte had tried to cover the worst of the stains with her homemade afghans, but still the chair was an affront to the discerning eye. Any eye that was open, really.
    “Dinner in fifteen minutes, dear,” Charlotte said. Grizz grunted. It was only five o’clock, but April knew he’d have eaten earlier if it weren’t for her.
    The barn used to be wide open and too big for her. Her lowly futon had sat in the space like a forgotten garage sale item. She could have ridden her bike in there when she’d first moved in. Heck, she could have parked her car in the open floor plan.
    Now every available bit of floor space was taken up with the Campbells’ stuff. A large bed sat in the far corner. Huge carved dressers, one with a fancy mirror, sat where April had had a TV and her futon. A card table with a puzzle on it was