The Spring at Moss Hill Read Online Free Page B

poured another beer. “It’s cool she likes this place.”
    And because she did, Russ thought, he was working with Sawyer & Sawyer as an investigator, living in Julius’s guest room and on his way to Knights Bridge, Massachusetts. Russ had met Daphne when he’d come up from San Diego in February to check on Marty, make sure he wasn’t living under a bridge. She’d been sitting two stools down from where he was now, drinking a French martini and bitching about some nonexistent problem. She’d found out Russ was just out of the navy, doing security and investigative work on his own in San Diego, and put him in touch with Julius.
    â€œThis place suits Daphne’s contrary nature,” Russ said.
    â€œShe likes to surprise people. Also I make a damn fine French martini, if I do say so myself.”
    Three young women came in and ordered margaritas, laughing and chatting about their plans for the evening as they sat on stools down from Russ. He left his brother to his work and took his beer to a small booth. He ordered fish tacos and settled in for the next hour, until Marty was free to take him to LAX. In exchange, he could use Russ’s Rover while he was back East.
    After Russ finished his tacos, Marty delivered a fresh beer and set a squishy, tissue-wrapped package on the table. “A present for you. Don’t get taco grease on it.”
    Russ unwrapped the tissue to reveal a well-made Hawaiian shirt. “It has palm trees on it, Marty.”
    â€œDamn right. I figured now that you’re a real PI, you need your own Magnum, PI shirt, just like Tom Selleck in the ’80s—except you’re not as tall as he is and you don’t have his sense of humor.”
    â€œI don’t live in Hawaii, either.”
    Marty grinned. “A little devil-may-care attitude wouldn’t hurt you, Russ. Selleck was about your age when he was playing Magnum.”
    â€œThanks, Marty. A Hawaiian shirt with palm trees on it won’t stick out at all in Knights Bridge, Massachusetts.”
    â€œGo ahead, little brother. Put it on while I finish up.”
    Russ held up the shirt after Marty disappeared behind the bar. The palm trees were relatively muted. What the hell. It would make Marty happy for him to wear it, and it would be comfortable on the long overnight flight across the continent.
    He changed in the men’s room. When he got back to his booth, Marty was ready. “Looks great. You want to finish your beer or head out now?”
    â€œNow’s fine. Thanks for the shirt, Marty. I feel cool.”
    His brother laughed. “You are the definition of cool. Come on. Let’s get you to the airport.”
    * * *
    Marty drove. He hadn’t had any alcohol, and he wasn’t distracted by the prospect of spending the next few days in a little New England town to make sure Daphne Stewart could do her master class without incident. Not that anyone—Daphne included—was concerned or had any reason to believe there would be an incident.
    Russ grimaced at the prospect of wasting the next few days of his life, but he said nothing.
    â€œI’m buying a car,” Marty said. “A friend is giving me a good deal on a clunker. All I need.”
    â€œYou’ve managed to get where you need to go without a car.”
    â€œFriends, Uber and public transportation. It’ll be good to have wheels for a few days. I won’t take off up the Pacific Coast Highway, though. Promise.”
    â€œI recorded the mileage.”
    â€œOf course you did.”
    Russ hadn’t, which Marty knew, but it was the game they played with each other. Marty, the irresponsible dreamer. Russ, the feet-flat-on-the-ground military type.
    Wasn’t that far off from the truth.
    â€œHave you decided to take a permanent position with Sawyer & Sawyer?” Marty asked.
    â€œI’m there now. That’s all I know.”
    â€œYou can’t camp out at Julius