Free That Special Smile/Whittenburg by Karen Toller Whittenburg Page A

have my license.” Juliette leaned against the side of the house and began rummaging through her purse. “My billfold wouldn’t fit. Oh, wait, here’s something.” Paper rustled, but Sylvie didn’t pay much attention. She just wanted to get the window opened, the door unlocked, and herself into bed.
    “It’s that letter,” Juliette said. “I meant to tell you about this, Sylvie Anne. But after I read it, I stuck it in this purse and…” She bumped against Sylvie as she tried to hold the piece of paper toward the light. “…I didn’t think of it, again. Until now.”
    “Watch out, Juliette.” Sylvie managed to keep the flashlight steady.
    “What? Oh, sorry. It’s from an attorney in Fayetteville about the house.”
    “This house?” Sylvie watched as Max carefully pried the window up a bare quarter of an inch.
    “No. Hannah Lee House. The one we bought for the business. There’s a…” She held the paper closer to the flashlight. “…a lien on the property.”
    “What?” Sylvie turned the light fully on the paper. “A lien? Are you sure?”
    “Hey! How am I supposed to break in if I can’t see?”
    Sylvie ignored Max’s grumbling as she read the letter. “Benton Prestridge,” she said when she’d finished. “You were supposed to contact him, Juliette. Did you…by any chance?” It was a foolish question, but Sylvie felt she ought to ask.
    Juliette stiffened in self-defense. “I just found the letter, Sylvie. How could I have contacted him when I didn’t even remember I got it until just now?”
    There was no point in asking how she had come to misplace the letter in the first place. “When did you receive it, Juliette?”
    Max sighed in frustrated patience. “Look at the date, Sylvie. Then please hold the light so I can get this damned window open.”
    The flashlight beam flicked to the upper right-hand quadrant. “Two weeks ago. Didn’t it occur to you to do something then, Jules?” Sylvie let the useless question fade and mimicked Max’s sigh. “I’ll phone him first thing in the morning.”
    She pointed the light downward and found Max frowning up at her, his eyes indigo in the darkness. “I thought the business belonged to Julie,” he said.
    “It does. Of course, it does. But as you can see, she doesn’t always take care of things.”
    “She can handle this.”
    Juliette folded the letter, her discomfort obvious in the noisy way she crumpled the paper. “Max is right, Sylvie. Let me handle this.”
    Sylvie had no idea how she had become the bad guy in the overall scheme of things, but Juliette certainly wasn’t upset with Max for butting in. And she didn’t seem overly upset with Mr. Benton Prestridge either. So that only left Sylvie to take the blame.
    Max should have kept his unsolicited opinion to himself.
    There was a splintery sound as the wooden sill gave way. Max pushed open the window. “All right, Julie,” he announced. “You can slip through the opening and go around to the front door.”
    “Thanks, Max.” Juliette tugged at the front of her pants’ legs before putting one foot over the sill and into the room.
    Once inside, she leaned out to smile in triumph. “I knew you could do it, Max.”
    Her voice was perfectly innocent, but it irritated Sylvie nonetheless. She resolved that she wouldn’t, absolutely would not , feed his ego. Holding the flashlight steady and with equally steady intent, she reached to touch the sill and examine the damage done to the window frame.
    “I’ll fix that tomorrow.” He straightened and moved away from her, and Sylvie wished she hadn’t let her irritation goad her into such pettiness.
    After all, what difference did a few scratches in the wood make?
    “Unless, of course…” He turned to her with a smile that, in the darkness, might have been teasing or challenging. “…you want to take care of it.”
    Her hands clenched, but she maintained her composure. “I’ll have you know that my wood refinishing skills