Free The Reckoning Stones: A Novel of Suspense by Laura Disilverio Page A

week—“and eight years ago, our elders decided we should share our bounty with others.”
    Rake in some tourist bucks , you mean , Iris thought, but didn’t say. She wondered whose brainchild the store really was, unable to imagine the stodgy group of elders she had known, all middle-aged men, coming up with a concept like this.
    “You work here?” Iris groaned inwardly at the stupidity of her question.
    “We all do,” Rachel said. “We have to. It’s part of our service to God and the Community.”
    Iris suppressed a smile at the resentment lurking in Rachel’s voice. Clearly, the girl would rather be stalking boys at the mall with her friends, or working some place a bit more happening than this senior citizen shopping Mecca in the woods. The phone rang and Iris examined some hand-drawn note cards on a revolving carrel as Rachel answered it.
    A door opened somewhere in the rear of the shop and a young man appeared behind the counter, bringing the scent of outdoors with him. With collar-scraping light brown hair, a willowy build, and finely drawn features, he seemed almost delicate, a little like the blond elf in Lord of the Rings . At first, Iris thought he might be Rachel’s boyfriend, even though he looked too old for her, but his tone dispelled that idea.
    “Chloe’s sick and can’t work her shift today,” he told Rachel when she hung up. “Mom says you have to stay until six tonight and close up.”
    Rachel flushed angrily. “Abby and I are … we have plans.”
    “Not any more you don’t.”
    Her tone turned pleading. “Aaron, you could do it. It’ll be quiet … you could get some studying done.”
    “Not happening. I’m meeting friends at The Thirsty Parrot.”
    The revolving stand creaked as Iris turned it and the man noticed her for the first time. “I didn’t see—. Sorry.” He smiled apologetically. “I didn’t know we had customers.”
    “No problem.” Iris realized that Aaron must be Jolene’s son, even though he didn’t much resemble her. If he was as old as he looked—twenty-two or -three—Jolene must have had him within a year of Iris leaving the Community. She hadn’t even been dating anyone, as far as Iris knew, so who was his father? She studied him, trying to think who he reminded her of.
    “Do I have a smudge on my face?”
    He sounded half-prickly, prepared to take affront, and Iris gave him the slow smile that rarely failed to win men over. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to stare. It’s just that you remind me of someone.”
    Aaron’s stiffness melted under her smile and he asked, “Who?”
    Iris started to shake her head, but then said, “Orlando Bloom.”
    Aaron looked pleased and Rachel snorted. “Shakespeare’s Orlando, maybe, mooning through the woods after Rosalind.”
    Iris arched her brows.
    Correctly interpreting her expression, Aaron said, “Our mom teaches Shakespeare.”
    “Ah.” The idea of Jolene teaching took a minute to sink in. Iris had been so sure she’d follow her passion for performing. Aaron, she thought. His birth had trapped her here. Iris eyed him, surprised to find she was half angry with him on Jolene’s behalf. She shook off the feeling.
    “I’m Aaron, by the way,” Jolene’s son said, gazing at Iris with more interest now that his sister had moved away to swipe a sleeve over a smudgy handprint on the refrigeration unit. He reached over the counter to shake hands.
    “Iris. Do you live here?”
    Aaron shook his head. “My folks do. I’ve got an apartment near UCCS. I’m working on my psych master’s. How’d you find us, anyway?”
    “I used to live around here.” Damn. Iris regretted the truth the minute it was out of her mouth. Now he’d want to know when she’d lived here, if she’d known Jolene’s family, the Ashers, Pastor Matt.
    The phone on the counter rang and Aaron answered it, lifting a “just one moment” forefinger. He listened for a few seconds, covered the receiver, and called, “Hey, Rach, did you