Free Pearl of Great Price by Myra Johnson Page B

the trash into the nearest receptacle and charged out into the muggy June evening. A death squad of vicious, half-starved mosquitoes caught up with me before I reached my Beetle. One or two managed to follow me inside, and I smacked them with unnecessary force before starting the engine and peeling out of the parking lot.
    Maybe it was crazy to feel so obsessed with an abandoned lake resort, as if Renata Pearl Channing and her mysterious past should mean anything to me at all. But it did. And somehow it all seemed bound up together—my father, the Pearl family, Micah Hobart, even my sweet dog Brynna.
    Yes indeed, Grandpa owed me some answers, and I intended to press even harder until I got them.

     

C HAPTER 8
    The flea market opened at nine the next morning, so my questions for Grandpa would have to wait. At least I had plenty to distract me through another busy weekend, because with all the craziness in my life lately, my brain was on the verge of spinning itself into a black hole of confusion.
    Fortunately, my precious Brynna and her darling pups helped bring a measure of peace to my soul. They kept me grounded in the here-and-now, reminding me all over again that the bond with an animal is about as close to true unconditional love as it gets in this life.
    Now that their mama provided their fill of healthy nourishment, those pups were plumping out nicely. And Brynna, though her coat was a bit sparse where I’d had to clip out mats and tangles, looked sleeker and shinier every day. I’d parked Brynna and the puppies in a used playpen behind the checkout counter during business hours that weekend, and even before closing time on Saturday, at least ten customers had expressed interest in adoption. Several would have taken Brynna and the pups right on the spot, but I turned them down flat.
    “Only the puppies are available,” I told them. “The mama’s a keeper.” I took names and phone numbers and told the interested parties to check back in six weeks, at which time I’d decide who could provide the best homes.
    At the end of the day, Grandpa yawned and eased his back. “Whew, I’m tired. Thank goodness tomorrow’s Monday. Don’t think I’d survive another busy day like we’ve had this weekend.”
    “Go on upstairs and put your feet up. I’ll be up as soon as I’m done here.”
    “You gonna do your computer entry stuff before supper?”
    “Thought I would.” I grinned. “Unless you want me to teach you how.”
    He chuckled and reached for the broom and dustpan. “This dog’s way too old to learn new tricks.”
    Katy Harcourt, one of the last of our tenants to call it a day, had just closed her booth across the way. Carrying one of her genuine imitation Gucci handbags, she moseyed up to the counter and rested her plump forearms on the edge. “What old dog you talkin’ about, Otto? Not this cute little thing y’all took in?” She craned her neck to see over the counter, where Brynna lay in the playpen letting her pups nurse while she licked them clean with her long, pink tongue.
    “No, no.” Grandpa waggled a finger. “Why, me, of course. Julie Pearl keeps trying to talk me into learning how to use a computer.”
    Katy pressed a hand to her ample bosom and let loose a chortling laugh. “That’ll be the day!” Her mouth curved downward in an accusing frown. “High time you joined the twenty-first century, old man. You can do e-mail, store digital photos, surf the ’Net, all kinds of stuff. I got me one of them fancy little laptops back there in my booth—keep a game of computer solitaire going on it all the time. Only thing that keeps me from being bored out of my gourd between customers.”
    Grandpa crossed his arms and harrumphed. “Ain’t got no digital photos, don’t know anyone to e-mail, and surfin’s for those crazies in Waikiki.”
    “Still stuck in the Dark Ages, you miserable old coot . . .”
    I tuned out and let them go at each other. The subjects varied, but it seemed to