Sink Trap by Christy Evans Page B

shrugged. “He and Tricia only stayed married for tax reasons, and”—he leaned forward, his expression hard—“I can hardly believe I told you that. It’s a gross ethical violation.”
    “I didn’t hear a thing,” I said hastily. “But he’s still her boss.”
    “ Bzzzzzz! Wrong again, Georgie. He’s not her boss, never was. She’s an independent agent in his office. More like her landlord, if anything. Didn’t she explain that to you?”
    “We don’t talk about business.”
    Wade let go of my hand, sat back, and took a long pull on his beer. He shoved the empty basket that had held his chicken and fries to the edge of the table, and wrinkled his brow.
    “Then it isn’t just me.” He nodded. “That explains a lot.” He leaned forward again, and reached for my hand. “You don’t talk about business with anyone, do you, Georgie? You don’t talk about business, or where you’ve been, or what you did while you were gone. It’s all off limits with you.”
    “Wade . . .”
    He squeezed my hand. “You used to trust me, Georgie.”
    “I’m not the same girl that left Pine Ridge, Wade.”
    He laughed. “Thank heavens! She was seventeen, and that kind of dating would purely destroy my political career.”
    I laughed, too, then grew serious for a moment. I squeezed Wade’s hand, and let go, cradling my chin in my hands.
    “It’s been a long time, Wade. Things change. People change. Trust takes time.”
    Wade studied me over the rim of his schooner for a long while. I forced myself not to look away. He had to give me time, and if he couldn’t . . .
    “Okay,” he said at last. “But when you’re ready to reveal
the mystery of the missing years of Georgiana Neverall, just remember I’m waiting for the story.”
    I nodded. “I’m sure you’ll be among the first to know.” I reached across the table and shook his hand. Then I raised my glass.
    “To mysteries,” I said. “May they never be revealed too soon.”
    Wade grinned, and tapped his glass against mine.
    “Which reminds me,” I said as I set my beer down. I dug in the pocket of my jacket, hanging on the back of my chair. “Speaking of mysteries, do you recognize this?”
    “Miss Tepper’s brooch?” he asked. “Where did you get it?”
    I repeated my story again, omitting the drain pipe, and adding my visit to Paula.
    “You know who the brooch belongs to, and you can send it to her. Mystery solved. But you know Paula.” He chuckled. “That story will have as many heartbreaking moments as any romance novel in the library. Paula’s a sucker for a tragic love story.”
    “Maybe so, but don’t you think it’s strange that her brooch would be here, when she moved to Arizona? And her phone here isn’t forwarded, or even disconnected?”
    Wade shook his head. “Not really. You said yourself, she’s planning to come back. And people lose stuff all the time. Especially when they’re moving. You lost stuff when you moved, didn’t you?”
    I’d lost a lot of stuff when I moved, just not the material things Wade was talking about.
    “I suppose. I never did find the dogs’ water dishes. Had to buy new ones when we got here.”
    “That’s what I mean. Stuff gets lost. Sometimes it gets found, sometimes it doesn’t.
    “Nothing strange about it.”
    I let it drop. Wade was certain there was no mystery, and I was sure he was wrong. Miss Tepper wore that brooch every day. Even when you’re moving, you keep track of the things that are important to you.

    I thought about the things that had been important to me, the things I had kept close when I moved.
    There weren’t very many.
    But I’d bet that Miss Tepper hadn’t lost most of her life in the kind of crucible that had incinerated mine. And I bet her important things would have included that cameo.
    I glanced at my watch. The hour had passed.
    “I have to go,” I said. The reluctance in my voice was real. Whatever my thing was with Wade—if it was a thing—I truly enjoyed