Still Lake - Anne Stuart [25]
“He told you he’s really a reporter?” Marge broke in on her rattled musings.
“Of course not. And I could be wrong—instead of a reporter he could be writing the kind of true-crime thrillers my mother used to devour. I bet if I look through her stacks of books I’ll find one with his picture on the back cover.”
“As long as it’s the back cover and not the front,” Marge said. “You know, it seems to me that you’re the one whose imagination has gone into overdrive. Lots of people read about serial killers.”
“Then he’s probably a very rich writer,” Sophie said grimly. “Which means he can afford to buy the house out from under me.”
“I think you need to take a deep breath and calm down,” Marge said, pushing her empty plate away from her. “And you need to stop feeding me your food. I’ve gained fifteen pounds since you moved here.”
“So have I,” Sophie said mournfully. “And I can’t afford it.”
“Tell you what. Get your mother and sister to help with the cooking. That way no one will be tempted to eat much.”
Sophie made a face. “Great idea. Then I’ll be flat broke in a matter of weeks.”
“I thought you were already flat broke.”
“Close to it.”
“So why are you wasting your time worrying about the Whitten place and your Mr. Smith?” Marge asked, practical as always.
“Not my Mr. Smith!” she protested. “And maybe I just want to be distracted from my problems.”
“And maybe you’re more interested in Mr. Smith than you want to admit. There’s no question he’s a very attractive man if you like that sort.”
“What sort? Tall, dark and loathsome?”
Marge grinned. “Yeah, you keep on thinking that way, missy. If you ask me, the man’s hot, and you’d be a fool not to do something about it.”
“The only thing I’m about to do is check on my mother and sister. Mr. Smith can snoop around all he wants—I’m planning to ignore him.”
“As you’ve ignored him so far? Good luck, babe,” Marge said lazily. “If you’re really not interested in him I’ll have a crack at him. He’s too young for me but I can be open-minded.”
Sophie opened her mouth to protest, then shut it again. Marge was baiting her, and the awful truth was, Sophie was rising to it. She didn’t want Marge sleeping with her mysterious neighbor. She didn’t want anyone having him. She wanted him to simply disappear, as Sara Ann Whitten had so long ago, so she could concentrate on important things like her family and her extremely shaky business venture. She didn’t have the time or energy to waste on a stranger with a hidden agenda.
“Feel free,” Sophie said breezily. “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you. He’s probably only here to research a new book on the Colby murders, and he doesn’t care who he uses.”
“I think you’ve got one hell of an imagination yourself, Sophie. You ought to start writing fiction instead of columns on the perfect strawberry jam and how to turn your lawn mower into a planter.”
“I plead guilty to the first, but not the second. And speaking of which, I need someone to help with the garden and the mowing. Jeff Pritchard went back to college early. Can you think of anyone?”
“I’ll send Patrick Laflamme over,” Marge said, sounding amused at the notion. “He’s the only one I can think of who’s strong enough to resist Marty’s siren lures.”
“Is he old and ugly? Anything less would be too dangerous.”
“Sorry, he’s young and cute. He’s also tough enough to ignore Marty. Don’t worry about him—he’s got good old-fashioned Yankee values and a mother who’d put the fear of God into anyone. He won’t lead your sister astray.”
“I’m more worried about the other way around,” Sophie said grimly.
It was late afternoon by the time Sophie got back to her kitchen. The