Believe me, the place wasn’t thriving. It was in the middle of nowhere, and I remember thinking that a nice little dog just might do wonders for that old guy’s nasty disposition. In any case, he didn’t want him, no one had come looking for him, and he told me to take him.”
“So you adopted him on the spot.”
“I had to. Look at that adorable little face and those trusting eyes. No way could I have driven away and told myself he would be all right on his own. He was hungry and frightened, and he probably wouldn’t have lived very long if I had left him there. I gave him a bath in my motel room when I stopped that night, and…well, you can see how white his coat is.”
“All except for that little patch of black on the tip of his tail.”
“After seeing that, could I call him anything else?”
“Nope. Tippy fits him to a tee.”
Linda was suddenly embarrassed over her unnecessarily detailed story. For one thing, her rambling had kept Tag from his work much longer than an abbreviated version of the story would have. For another, it wasn’t like her to make mountains out of molehills when relating a simple incident.
“I’m going now. See you later,” she said almost sternly, although any chastisement in her voice was for herself and her ridiculous urge to impress this man.
“I’ll be here,” Tag said cheerfully.
Tippy ran ahead of her to the front door. Pondering Tag’s extraordinary effect on her, Linda took Tippy outside.
At the street she automatically went to the left. In that direction State Street led to Lake Monet. It was only about three miles away, and Linda had been smitten by the pretty little lake on her first visit. The water level was lower than normal for June, people kept telling her, as the area had had very little snow last winter, followed by pathetic little rainfalls instead of the hard, drenching rains that spring usually delivered.
But even if the water was shallow in Lake Monet, Linda saw great beauty in the bulrushes, pussy willows and lily pads along its southern curve. There were also amazing light patterns and colors in the water itself, and she understood very well why some romantic had named the small body of water after the great artist Claude Monet. Still, her thoughts weren’t on art today, or the lake, and she only walked about a quarter of a mile when she turned around and went in the opposite direction. When she came to Main Street she crossed it and kept walking. Tippy was happy. He didn’t care where they went, as long as they were outside.
Linda had driven every street in Rumor, just to acquaint herself with the town. She knew where the businesses were located, and she could put together most of the people she’d met with their homes. But until today there had been no reason even to notice the striking, lightly varnished wooden house that sat on a large lot with a number of evergreen trees. The name on the mailbox read Taggart Kingsley, and while Linda slowed her steps so she could take a really good look at his home, Tag’s last name registered. He was a Kingsley!
But he was a carpenter—such an honest, basic, simple vocation—and why would one of the incredibly wealthy Kingsleys paint and renovate apartments?
Frowning, Linda pondered that puzzle and decided it made no sense. She’d heard about the Kingsleys. They were wealthy from decades of successful cattle ranching even before they’d created MonMart, which was a huge superstore on Kingsley Avenue that sold groceries, clothing, household goods, tools, garden supplies and almost anything else a Montana resident might need. MonMart was, by all accounts, extremely profitable. Gossip had it that many more MonMart stores were planned for Montana, and some predicted that the Kingsleys wouldn’t stop until the whole country was peppered with their stores.
But that image didn’t coincide with Linda’s impression of Tag. Could he be a shirttail relative of the more ambitious Kingsleys? Should she ask around and find out?
No, Linda thought vehemently. She was not going to pry into anyone’s affairs, family or otherwise. Everyone deserved some privacy, which, she had already been warned about several times, was difficult to preserve in this small town.
After another thirty minutes of walking, Linda turned around and headed for home. When she passed Tag’s place, though, she slowed down again, and this time she spotted the building in the trees that appeared to be his shop.
She admired his yard and from her present viewpoint was able to see the swing set in back, some scattered toys and what appeared to be a sandbox—all evidence of a child. Thinking of Tag’s personal life—widowed so young and with a little daughter to raise—Linda walked on.
Past his place, she picked up her pace. Inside her front door she freed Tippy from the leash and the dog ran for the kitchen yapping a “Hi, I’m back” for his new friend’s benefit. Linda hung the leash in the foyer closet and then started up the stairs for a quick shower. She hadn’t done any running, but she had walked fast and worked up a sweat. The day was warm, bordering on hot. According to longtime residents, it was much too hot and dry for this time of year. Actually, Linda thought the weather was just about perfect, but she knew that a lot of people, including the U.S. Forest Service, were concerned about the tinder-dry conditions throughout the area.
She was halfway up the stairs when she heard Tag say, “Linda, a friend of yours came by. A man.”
Linda turned. “A friend? Did he give you his name?”
“No, he didn’t.”
A frown appeared between Linda’s eyebrows. “Well, did you know him? I mean, was it someone from the school?”
“I never set eyes on the guy before today, but he walked in without knocking, so I figured you must know him very well.”
Linda’s jaw dropped. “He walked in? That’s impossible. I locked the door when I left and just now unlocked it to get in.” She held up her key for him to see.
“You had to unlock the door because I locked it after that guy took off.”
“Wait a minute.” Linda went back down the stairs and confronted Tag on the same level. “Listen to me. I locked the door when I left.”
“Then that guy must have a key.”
Linda’s voice became slightly shrill. “Nobody has a key!”
“Well, he got in, and he sure as the devil didn’t announce his visit with a knock. Linda, are you saying you don’t know this guy?”
Linda was breathing deeply to calm her racing heart. Who in Rumor would just walk into her apartment? Even if the door had been left unlocked.
“What did he look like?” she asked, sounding a little breathless.
Tag frowned. Was Linda scared of someone? Scared for a reason? “Like a fish out of water, to be honest,” he said slowly, watching her closely as he spoke. “When I heard him come in I thought you were back, but then I didn’t hear Tippy and something felt off-kilter. Anyhow, I came in here to see what was going on and the look on that guy’s face when he saw me was almost funny. He mumbled something about being in the wrong apartment and took off so fast he practically left skid marks. Kind of strange, don’t you think?”
“Yes…strange,” Linda murmured thoughtfully. Was she wrong about having locked the door? Could she recall with detailed certainty stepping outside, inserting the key in the lock
