Free To Trust a Stranger by Karen Robards Page A

everybody, or knows everybody, or something. Word would get out. There'd be gossip. Sid would find out.” Julie shuddered.
    “Not if you got somebody you could trust.”
    “There's nobody I trust. Not when it comes to Sid.” It was so true that there was a tinge of bitterness in her voice.
    Sid was a Carlson, and a Sidney, and in
South Carolina
the Carlsons and the Sidneys, along with the Pughs and the Pettigrews and the Hughleys, were God. He was related, by blood or marriage, to half the population. The other half, like her own less-than-pedigreed family, just didn't count.
    “You can trust me.”
    “You?” She glanced at him in surprise.
    “I'm the McQuarry half of McQuarry and Hinkle, Private Investigators.” He said it almost apologetically. Julie's eyes widened.
    “You’re a private investigator? Are you serious?”
    “Serious as a grave.”
    “I never would have guessed.” Julie realized she still sounded incredulous. Debbie-a private investigator? Turning the notion over in her mind, Julie realized that it was no more mind-boggling than picturing him as a bank clerk. In fact, less. Everybody had to have a job. “Do people actually hire you to spy on their husbands?”
    “All the time.” The skin around his eyes crinkled as he smiled.
    “Wives, too. You'd be amazed at how many spouses cheat. Sometimes I think most of ' em do. What you're going through isn't anything out of the ordinary, believe me.”
    That was so depressing that Julie was momentarily silenced. She didn't say anything more until a big green sign just a few hundred yards ahead jolted her back to reality.
    “This is the exit!”
    She thought he was going to miss it-she'd given the warning way too late-but he was already pulling into the appropriate lane as she spoke. Of course, she'd told him the first Summerville exit. Good thing he'd remembered.
    The Blazer rolled down the ramp, paused at the red light at the bottom, then headed into the sleepy bedroom community of Summerville.
    The tiny, picturesque town had an old-resort feel to it. The streets were wide and perpetually shady, lined with huge bearded live oaks and masses of azaleas. The historic district consisted of gracious antebellum structures complete with soaring Greek columns, some of which had been converted into shops and hotels and others of which remained private residences, nestled cozily side by side. Carolina Belle was located in an area of newer development a little to the north. At Julie's direction they turned the other way, heading toward the
Ashley
River
, where some of the finest new houses in the area had been built, many of them by All-American Builders. As they drove along the deserted streets, she checked the time again: 2:50. They were going to be cutting it close.
    Butterflies took wing in her stomach. Returning to her house sudddenly seemed about as appealing as a convict might find returning to prison. She was going to have to face Sid and lie, face the police and lie ....
    She really, truly, positively didn't want to go home. She had to struggle with herself not to ask him to turn the car around and floor it in the opposite direction.
    “How long is it going to take you to break into the garage, do you think?” she asked, careful to keep her voice even.
    “Not long. A couple of minutes.”
    “Is that all?” It seemed a ridiculously short amount of time to circumvent metal garage doors and deadbolt locks.
    “The house is new, you know. The locks are pretty sturdy. Oh, and what about the alarm system?”
    If it went off, the police would come right away. He could be caught in the act.
    “Was the alarm set? Did Sid set it when he left? Did you?” Julie thought. She'd been in such a hurry not to lose Sid ....
    “Sid usually sets it before he goes to sleep. But it wasn't set when I left-it would have gone off-and I never touched it. So it's off.”
    If Sid had set it before he left, he would have had to turn it off when he got back home. And whenever