Free Ripped From the Pages by Kate Carlisle Page A

emphasis. “Absolutely not. Trudy is wonderfully
     impulsive and would never have been able to keep it a secret.”
    He was right about that. His cousin was a generous free spirit who loved life and
     people. She would’ve wanted to share all that bounty with others.
    “Who lived on this land before the commune bought up all the property?” I asked.
    “It belonged to my grandfather and his brothers. As they died off, their children
     inherited the land. Two of them returned to France and another one died, until Trudy
     and my father were the only ones left. When my family moved to the city, Trudy stayed
     and leased the land to a few local farmers, until I came back years later and asked
     to take it on. She was more than happy to relinquish all that responsibility, and
     the commune continues to pay her a monthly dividend.”
    “Then we’ll talk to Trudy,” I said.
    Derek told Guru Bob that he planned to take pictures of the objets d’art and send
     them to his contacts at Interpol in case they’d been reported stolen by their owners.
    “If more damage was done, it is best to find out sooner than later,” Guru Bob said,
     agreeing with Derek’s plan. “There has been too much secrecy. Even Trudy has never
     been willing to share stories of what happened to her during the war, but I have a
     feeling she will open up to Derek if she knows that it is part of a bigger mystery.”
    “I’m sure she will,” I said, confident of Derek’s powers of persuasion.
    Guru Bob’s frown softened into a smile. “My cousin does love her mysteries. And she
     has always had a soft spot for the British.”
    *   *   *
    “T rudy is so excited to meet you,” Mom said to Derek the next day as he drove across
     town to meet Guru Bob’s cousin—or first cousin once removed, to be precise. “And you’ll
     love her. She’s a sweetie pie.”
    “I’m looking forward to meeting her, too,” he said.
    I’d given Mom the front seat while I sat in back with a pretty pink bakery box on
     my lap.
    Trudy lived a half mile on the opposite side of the Lane from us, on a pretty, hilly
     street lined with sycamore trees and California bungalows of every color and size.
     Hers was painted pale blue with white trim, and the wide front porch held a set of
     cheerful white wicker chairs, perfect for relaxing on warm fall afternoons.
    Trudy was smiling as she greeted us at the door, wearing chic slim jeans and a pretty
     green sweatshirt over a preppy blue-collared shirt. She was as tall as I was, about
     five feet eight, and her hair was a beautiful shade of light reddish brown.
    I introduced her to Derek, and she took his arm, pulling him into the house. “I’ve
     heard all about you. You saved our Brooklyn’s life.”
    “She’s saved my life as well, on more than one occasion.”
    “Isn’t that sweet? I like you so much already.” She turned and beckoned me and Mom
     to follow. “Come in, come in. Amelia, is the tea ready?”
    “Yes, yes,” groused Trudy’s companion, Amelia, as she fluffed up the pillows on the
     sofa in Trudy’s living room. “What do you think I’ve been doing?”
    I had never seen Amelia in a good mood, but Trudy seemedto take her companion’s curmudgeonly attitude in stride. The woman was in her forties
     and wore a drab blue plaid dress that hung down to her calves, with a gray cardigan
     buttoned all the way up. Her hair was dirty blond tinged with gray and it hung in
     straggly clumps to her shoulders. She was a complete contrast to Trudy’s brightness,
     cheery attire, and attitude.
    I vaguely recalled that the two of them had met in the hospital when Trudy was laid
     up with a broken leg—or was it a fractured hip? Amelia needed a job, and Trudy hired
     her to be her cook, housekeeper, and general companion. Or something like that. I
     would have to get the complete story from my mother later.
    “Wonderful,” Trudy said, clapping her hands. “We’ll have tea momentarily. And, Amelia,