Terrible Tide Read Online Free Page B

it. My sister-in-law is picking me up on her way back from getting the groceries. Otherwise, I’d be glad to ride with you.”
    She would have. Geoffrey Cawne was the kind of professor who made college freshmen—the female ones—swoon on the spot. He was an inch or so taller than she, which would bring him close to six feet. Shell-rimmed glasses added just the right note of strength to what might have been almost too blandly attractive a face. His slacks were handsome Crombie tweed; his cardigan knit of the finest New Brunswick homespun. He must be twice her own age, but Holly couldn’t help wondering if there was a Mrs. Cawne in that ultramodern gray house. Not that it would do her much good if there wasn’t. A man like Cawne wasn’t apt to be much interested in a mangled assistant housemaid, if that was what she’d so recently become.
    Anyway, they stood chatting about nothing in particular until Fan’s truck stopped outside with a squeal and a loud honking. After a hurried goodbye, Holly grabbed her books and ran.
    Fan leaned over to open the door for her. “Did you get what you wanted?”
    “Yes, and I met a friend of yours.”
    “Didn’t know I had one.” Fan didn’t ask who it was. The truck, always temperamental, had picked this time to stall.
    “His name is Cawne,” Holly persisted. “He says he’s a neighbor.”
    “Geoffrey Cawne?” Fan quit fiddling with the ignition long enough to stare at her. “You mean he actually came up and spoke to you?”
    “He let me use his library card.”
    “I’ll be darned! You may not know it, but you’ve been honored. Cawne’s our local celebrity. He’s a famous writer.”
    “I’m not surprised. He looks the type. What does he write?”
    Fan shrugged. “I don’t know, but he’s well-known in his field.”
    Holly didn’t ask what his field was. If Fan had known, she’d have said. It couldn’t have anything to do with antique furniture or Fan would have been cultivating his acquaintance like mad on the chance he might be able to do Roger some good.
    There was still a chance he might be able to do Holly some good, though. “He told me he was sorry not to see more of you and Roger,” she remarked.
    “Did he really?” Fan started to put on the Westchester manner she hadn’t used for so long, then gave it up with a sigh. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to ask him over. He’d be somebody for you to know. Though what good it would do—still, if he lent you his library card—”
    “Oh, that was just because the librarian was being stuffy and he heard me tell her I was Roger Howe’s sister. What is he: divorced, a widower, or just not interested?”
    “A widower, I think. They were saying something once at the Women’s Circle about his wife dying young of cancer, but it might have been hearsay. Blast this starter!”
    Fan climbed out and lifted the hood. Holly stayed in the cab, opened one of her books, and pretended to read with one eye on the library door. She was glad she’d chosen a biography. It looked intellectual. Ah, here he came, with a book under his arm and both hands in his pockets. Did he look pleased at seeing the truck still there, or was he only amused by the sight of Fan’s fuzzy brown behind sticking out from under the hood? Anyway, he wasn’t going to pass on without speaking again.
    “Having problems, Mrs. Howe? What a bore. Anything I can do?”
    “Yes.” Fan backed out and stood up to face him. “Find me a halfway reliable second-hand truck, dirt cheap. This heap’s about had it. How are you, Professor? Holly was just telling me how you bailed her out with your library card.”
    “Marie’s a stickler for the rules, I’m afraid. What seems to be the problem?”
    “Oh, the wiring’s all shot. I don’t know whether I’ve made it better or worse. Try the starter again, Holly.”
    “Where’s the key?”
    “In my pocket, most likely. Force of habit.” Fan wiped her greasy hands on a tattered tissue and fished out