Read Sleight of Hand for Free Online

what happens."
    Bailey drained his cup and stood up. "Hannah's been complaining about the big bare spot in the shrubs, so I'll be around the house for a day or so if you want me." He saluted and ambled out.
    "I'll give Meg a call and run out there," Barbara said, going to her desk, keeping her voice as even as she could. "I think for now she should just sit tight and not utter a peep. Are you coming with me?"
    "What?" Frank shook himself slightly. "No. No. I'll go on home. Plant those beans maybe and a hill of zucchini." He looked uncertain as he spoke, then shook himself again. "Plant beans," he said more firmly. "It's going to be hot for a few days."
    At the door he paused and glanced back at her. "Maybe you'd like a bite of dinner later?" He sounded almost shy.
    "I'd love it. Thanks."
    Barbara could have told Meg what little she had learned over the phone, instead of making the trek out, but she wanted to see for herself how long the drive took, and how isolated their house was. A real problem, or at least something to consider, was whether a neighbor had seen Meg leaving or arriving home again Saturday night. And that could go either way. It might turn out to be a blessing if someone had seen her, or it could be a serious problem. It would depend on the time of Jay Wilkins's death.
    She passed the commercial sprawl on Eleventh, big box stores, the industrial park and a few more miles of not much, then turned onto Hunter's Lane. One mile to a second turn, to Owl Creek Road, a narrow road in need of repair, with a leaning sign that warned, No Outlet.
    There was a ranch house near the corner, a stretch of unkempt trees and brambles and a green field of grass or wheat on the other side. Meg had said there were only five houses on Owl Creek Road and theirs was the first on the left. The nearest house in sight from it was at least a quarter mile away.
    Most likely no one could have seen Meg. Barbara stopped her car thirty minutes after starting. Add another ten minutes to reach that point from Jay Wilkins's home.
    Now pray that Wilkins was killed at midnight or later, she added to herself after doing the numbers.
    The house was tall and a little too narrow for its height, in need of paint. It had a deep porch with white pillars to the upper floor, a mixture of American late-twenties and pseudo-Colonial, not a good mix on such a tall house. Wally opened the door before she had a chance to ring the bell.
    "Come in. Come in. Our first real visitor and even if we're not formally receiving yet, you are welcome."
    The door opened into a living room where furniture was grouped in the center and boxes stacked about. The walls were dingy, like a peach that had grown moldy.
    "We're doing one room at a time," Wally said with his big winning grin showing what appeared to be too many teeth. "And this one was low on the list. This way."
    Meg joined them and smiled at Barbara as Wally led the way to a kitchen the width of the house, brightly painted in yellow and robin-egg blue. A big, much-scarred oak table and mismatched chairs were by a cluster of windows. "This was first," Wally said gesturing. "Needed new appliances, stove, fridge, microwave and such, but the cabinets were here. Pretty, aren't they? The table's from Meg's childhood, in storage for twenty years."
    "Wally," Meg said, "I'm sure Barbara didn't come here to admire our house. Come this way," she said gesturing to Barbara. They ended up in a room with comfortable furnishings, a television, fresh pale green paint on the walls and sparkling white cafe curtains. The view out back was of a brick-red barn with a cedar shake roof covered with moss.
    "I like your house," Barbara said. "It's going to be great when you're done."
    "We had priorities," Wally said, beaming. "Kitchen first for food and drink.
    Bedroom next, rest and... rest. This was next, and that's when we decided to get away from the paint smells and breathe some ocean air. Wish we had stayed home, but there it is." He