Free Still Lake by Anne Stuart Page B

“I was helping him out.”
    â€œSure you were.”
    â€œHe wanted my advice on what needed to be done around the Whitten camp, so I showed him. I told him to have it done and have them send the bills to you.”
    â€œLike hell you did,” Marge said in horror.
    â€œLike hell I did,” Sophie agreed placidly. “Whenever the town finally decides to sell the old place you’ll get the money back. In the meantime it can come out of the rent.”
    â€œThe town’s garnishing the rent for back taxes.”
    â€œThen tell them to sell it to me.”
    â€œYou can’t afford it right now.”
    â€œGood point,” Sophie said morosely, stabbing her slice of peach pie. The two women sat on the porch. “And that man probably can. He said he wasn’t interested in buying it, but I don’t believe a word he said. There’s no way a stranger would just show up here toting a bunch of books on serial killers if he didn’t have some kind of agenda. And why the hell would he want to buy it? He was just trying to scare me. Though why would he want to scare me?”
    â€œHe told you he’s really a reporter?” Marge broke in on her rattled musings.
    â€œOf course not. And I could be wrong—instead of a reporter he could be writing the kind of true-crime thrillers my mother used to devour. I bet if I look through her stacks of books I’ll find one with his picture on the back cover.”
    â€œAs long as it’s the back cover and not the front,” Marge said. “You know, it seems to me that you’re the one whose imagination has gone into overdrive. Lots of people read about serial killers.”
    â€œThen he’s probably a very rich writer,” Sophie said grimly. “Which means he can afford to buy the house out from under me.”
    â€œI think you need to take a deep breath and calm down,” Marge said, pushing her empty plate away from her. “And you need to stop feeding me your food. I’ve gained fifteen pounds since you moved here.”
    â€œSo have I,” Sophie said mournfully. “And I can’t afford it.”
    â€œTell you what. Get your mother and sister to help with the cooking. That way no one will be tempted to eat much.”
    Sophie made a face. “Great idea. Then I’ll be flat broke in a matter of weeks.”
    â€œI thought you were already flat broke.”
    â€œClose to it.”
    â€œSo why are you wasting your time worrying about the Whitten place and your Mr. Smith?” Marge asked, practical as always.
    â€œNot my Mr. Smith!” she protested. “And maybe I just want to be distracted from my problems.”
    â€œAnd maybe you’re more interested in Mr. Smith than you want to admit. There’s no question he’s a very attractive man if you like that sort.”
    â€œWhat sort? Tall, dark and loathsome?”
    Marge grinned. “Yeah, you keep on thinking that way, missy. If you ask me, the man’s hot, and you’d be a fool not to do something about it.”
    â€œThe only thing I’m about to do is check on my mother and sister. Mr. Smith can snoop around all he wants—I’m planning to ignore him.”
    â€œAs you’ve ignored him so far? Good luck, babe,” Marge said lazily. “If you’re really not interested in him I’ll have a crack at him. He’s too young for me but I can be open-minded.”
    Sophie opened her mouth to protest, then shut itagain. Marge was baiting her, and the awful truth was, Sophie was rising to it. She didn’t want Marge sleeping with her mysterious neighbor. She didn’t want anyone having him. She wanted him to simply disappear, as Sara Ann Whitten had so long ago, so she could concentrate on important things like her family and her extremely shaky business venture. She didn’t have the time or energy to waste on a stranger with a hidden agenda.
    â€œFeel