Free T's Trial: A Bone Cold--Alive Novel by Kay Layton Sisk Page B

coming up with you.” He began gathering the dessert plates. There hadn’t been a crumb of homemade strawberry shortcake left. Chalk one up for his culinary talent. T and Harrison had each had two helpings. Someone was going to eat his words and apologize for the nasty remarks about the cuisine before this respite was over. “I don’t suppose you garnered any interesting facts about our landlady?” He would save his own for later.
    “No.”
    “Did you try?”
    “No.”
    “Why not?”
    “You’re the one’s so nosy, you ask all the embarrassing questions. What was I supposed to say—is your husband dead? Did your sarcasm kill him?”
    “At least you were polite to the kid. Withheld all rude comment about his playing.”
    “It wasn’t so bad. I don’t think he has any sort of gift.” He began Moonlight Sonata. “I’d have to hear Mom before I could pass judgment on her.”
    Among other things you’d like to pass, Fletch thought. He balanced on the arm of the loveseat. It went beyond his good judgment to suggest what he was about to, but— “I suppose if you behave yourself, you could.” T raised an eyebrow. “Tomorrow, even.”
    He quit the music. “I’ll bite. You have my attention.”
    “Harrison informed me that Lyla and his piano teacher are performing a special duet tomorrow at church. We’d have to go late, slip in quietly, leave early…”
    “You mean let me out of the house? What’s the catch? Do I wear a mask? A brown paper bag over my head?” There was a hushed excitement in his voice, a quality too long missing.
    “Well, we made it through the airport anonymously. This seems to be a pretty hick part of the world—”
    “I don’t want to sabotage my own coming-out party, but that news rag I bought Thursday was on the stands here. If you say we’re going to go, Fletch, then tomorrow morning I don’t want any second thoughts about what magazines these people read or shows they watch. They know what’s going on in the world.”
    Fletch was already contemplating driving though Lost Oaks looking for appropriate mailboxes to surprise T with. He smiled slightly at the possibilities.
    “Let’s just hope they don’t know what’s going on in their own backyard.”
     

Chapter Seven
     
    F letcher stepped into the kitchen, stepped just as quickly back out. He poked his head through the doorway.
    “What’s wrong, Fletch?”
    “I’m checking out the possibility that I’ve just gone through the looking-glass.” He stepped back in gingerly. “Let’s see, it’s eight o’clock on Sunday morning, about the time you’re usually going to bed, and the smell of coffee I didn’t brew wakes me up. What do I find? Looks like you’ve had your shower, made the coffee, poured the juice, and burned the toast just right for breakfast. Good Lord, T, there is a domestic side to you. I am astonished. Amazed. Astounded.”
    “Enough already. Eat. You’ve promised me a Sunday drive and a church concert. I’m holding you to it. I’m about to go stir-crazy.”
    Fletch picked up a piece of toast. “Services don’t start till eleven.”
    “Surely we can find someplace to see between now and then.”
    “Well, there was a little spot Harrison mentioned last night.” He sipped the coffee. Not half bad. “Lost Oaks.”
    T raised an eyebrow. “How did that come up?”
    “You remember passing it on the way up?”
    “Sure. Once you see it, it sticks in your mind.”
    “Then we won’t have a problem finding it again.”
    T narrowed his eyes. “No. What’s so special about,” he paused, “this place?”
    “I’ll tell you when we get there.”
     
    *  *  *
     
    “This is Lost Oaks? You’re sure?” Fletch stood in front of the massive white wrought-iron gates.
    “Well, what does the sign say, Fletch?” T balanced half in and half out of the Mercedes. “You wanted Lost Oaks. This is it. Now what’s the mystery?”
    “Well, I guess it does make sense.” He walked forward and pushed