Talk of the Town Read Online Free Page B

would bother him if they’d had any sort of spark of commonality.
    But Ada was focused on becoming a country music star and told him up front she was headed for Nashville, if he’d like to come along.
    There was Mr. Miller sweeping up in front of his hardware store, even on a Sunday afternoon when he was closed. Red Miller was going to wear out the sidewalk someday, Sam swore. Red had submitted his wife’s cousin Charlene for blind date number ten. Charlene was four years Sam’s senior. Charlene wanted a rancher and was quite dismayed to learn Sam had no plans to take up cattle.
    Paradise seemed to be short on age-appropriate women—at least any that he felt drawn to. Most of the girls he’d gone to high school with had either left or gotten married. Except for Lynnette, and he’d nipped that one in the bud.
    Sam adjusted his binoculars and caught sight of Myrtle Crabtree as she jumped out of the cab of a semi. What the heck was that crazy old broad up to now? Her suitcase was handed out. She must have gone to one of her conventions.
    He had to look twice to believe his eyes as a pair of incredibly shapely legs stuck themselves out of the truck door with no shoes on them, followed by an extremely short black skirt.
    Sam leaned against the window and refocused. What was that? Some sort of vine or snake design started at the ankle and went up…up.
    The rest of the emerging woman was just as well proportioned, in a tight black sweater and cropped black leather jacket. The whole package was topped off with a shock of spiked black hair and…a nose ring. Damn.
    Sam took a long, hard look. Heat rushed around his body. He felt beads of sweat on his forehead.
    The semi drove off with a honk. Myrtle waved. Nose Ring parked herself on the sidewalk and slipped into a pair of long black boots that zipped up the side and laced up the front. It took her quite a while. His binoculars steamed up. Damn!
    He moved away from the window, set downthe binoculars, and sat with a thud at his desk. Sam put both hands on the sides of his head and encouraged the blood to seek his brain again instead of his other parts.
    Why did he go for the ones with trouble written all over them? It must be the same thing as being a lifeguard. He must be compelled to save people.
    Not this time. When Myrtle called, as she undoubtedly would, he’d just tell her thanks, but no thanks, and to let the rest of the good folks of Paradise know all blind dates were off. Sam was going to do this wife-hunt on his own.
    He shook himself like a dog to snap out of whatever had possessed him.
    Sam took up his black fountain pen again. He’d come downstairs from his apartment to his office for a reason on this Sunday afternoon. He wrote, no tattoos, no pierced anything, on his ad draft.
     
    The afternoon sun was making Kelly sweat in her black leather jacket and warm sweater. They’d walked quite a few blocks to get here. She peeled off her coat as they stood on the steps waiting for Myrtle to unlock the Hen House door. The shades of the shop were drawn and a CLOSED sign hung inside the door.
    “We’re always closed Sunday and Monday,”Myrtle said as she whipped out her many keys and opened the glass-paneled door. Inside, it was dark and stuffy. She flipped on a few lights and a ceiling fan. The air started clearing right away. They dragged their suitcases in the door.
    The Hen House had an extraordinary amount of Halloween decorations up, Kelly thought. She jumped, startled at a witch dummy with its black and gray hair in curlers, sitting under a dryer.
    A stuffed black cat with glowing orange glass eyes perched menacingly on the counter. Kelly touched it and let out a gasp. It was real. Well, formerly.
    “Mavis Peterson’s cat. She had it stuffed. She lets me borrow it every year. Name’s Fluffy. Scariest damn cat I’d ever seen in real life. I figure it’s his destiny to be a Halloween icon.”
    “You take this Halloween thing pretty seriously, Myrtle. It’s