Lure of Song and Magic by Patricia Rice Page A

the right hands would have the project in motion and talent lining up within a week. He had time to ponder the neurotic singer’s vanishing act.
    Pippa wasn’t quite as fragile as she seemed, he was beginning to suspect. She’d broken when he’d revealed that he knew about her past. But she’d recovered swiftly enough to retaliate.
    He based his career on knowing people, understanding their idiosyncrasies, judging how far he could push them. Pippa had the tensile strength of fine steel concealed behind that skin-and-bone facade.
    Which meant she probably wasn’t shivering in fear in some dark corner but carrying out her threat until he restored her privacy. He respected that.
    But if she was the key to his son’s disappearance, he couldn’t let her out of his sight. He’d better hope he discovered something soon because it could get damned tricky sticking close to a devious madwoman who didn’t want him around.
    It was dark by the time he booked a room at the B&B. He’d flung an air mattress in the truck with his suitcase. He’d buy new mattresses for the lumpy beds in the morning. He was used to the finer things in life and saw no reason to accept less.
    He’d had the drive up the mountain to develop a strategy. It wasn’t much of one, but his patience was limited. After checking into the El Padre Inn, he strode across the road to Dot’s Café and let the screen door slam behind him. Dot’s customers stared as he stalked up to the counter still wearing his office attire of silk pullover and designer blazer, although today the shirt was white and the coat silver-gray. He could aw - shucks with the best of them, but tonight, he meant to make an impression.
    â€œCoffee, black,” he told the waitress behind the counter. She was young enough to be Dot’s daughter. “And the biggest burger you can fry. A side of fries with that.”
    When she had the order, Oz turned with his back and his palms resting against the counter so he could sweep the room with his gaze. Old ladies in a corner booth glanced up at him and then whispered among themselves. A couple of old men at the counter pretended he wasn’t there. A young Hispanic family ignored his posturing and stayed focused on keeping the toddlers fed and in their chairs.
    Oz might never persuade Donal to eat his spinach again. Forcing down the familiar pain, he concentrated on the adults in the room now that he had their attention.
    â€œI understand the church needs a new roof,” he said in a mild voice that easily carried over the whispers and dying conversations.
    â€œThe whole town needs roofs,” declared a wag wearing a billed cap bearing a tractor image.
    â€œI’ll be hiring shortly,” Oz acknowledged. “Buy roofs with your wages if you want. But the only reason I’m here is Miss James. Without her, I go away. She doesn’t like me much, so I’ll have to rely on you to keep her interested in the project. Can I have your cooperation?”
    He didn’t hear footsteps behind him, but he ducked instinctively at Pippa’s first words.
    â€œYou’re a jerkwad, you know that?” she declared.
    The remains of a lemon pie skimmed the top of his head, leaving whipped cream to dribble down his cheekbone. He wiped off a smear and licked his finger, turning around to admire the irate fairy who had flitted in from the kitchen. Damn , but he was good. He’d expected it would be morning before his theatrics would draw her out. Somebody at the B&B must have warned her of his arrival.
    â€œYou’re a hysterical nutcase, but I can deal with that.” He grabbed a handful of paper napkins from the dispenser to wipe down his blazer. His dry-cleaner would earn his pay.
    While dabbing off lemon pie he kept an eye on Pippa. She’d painted her teeth today. The streak in her hair was gold, to match the glitter on her cheekbones. She looked like sunshine