Deep in the Valley by Robyn Carr Read Free Book Online

a dog, warn you if someone’s letting themselves in your house.”
    That was a dead giveaway.
    “My father used to be the most discreet person in the valley. And now I think he has just about the biggest mouth.”
    “He’s been fishing too much. Fishermen—big-mouthed liars, that’s what they are. Plus I think keeping all those secrets he had to as a doctor ate a hole straight through him and now he just can’t shut up. That’s what I think.” Burt put the scones in a box while June dug out her money. “He still has a poker face, though, old coot.”
    “Says the pot.”
    “Tonight’s meat loaf night, isn’t it? Why don’t you take some dinner rolls with you. Elmer likes these potato rolls.”
    “Burt, don’t you think there’s something wrong with living in a place where people know what you’re eating for dinner?”
    Burt grinned and popped four dinner rolls into a white bag. “Naw, honey, I don’t worry about that. I take comfort in it.” He handed her the bag and she reluctantly smiled, but she did not go for her purse. Damned if she’d take his bull and pay him for it, too. “What I think is worrisome is running around naked in front of strangers,” he stated. Then he laughed so hard a little tear gathered at the corner of his right eye.
    June snatched the bag out his hand. She gave him a warning glare as she left, but she could hear his laughter long after the bakery door closed behind her. She got into her Jeep. “Serve him right if he popped a vessel,” she said to herself, and headed for the gas station.
    The garage door was down and the shade on the window at half-mast. June pumped the gas herself, and while her tank filled, she thought about the situation. This was going to change. People were moving to the valley and they didn’t understand these old ways. The station was Sam Cussler’s and he worked when it suited him and fished when he wanted to. He might have locked the station, but then again, it might be open. Since people were driving more foreign cars, Sam was doing less mechanical work. The pumps were left running, and if you needed gas, you pumped it yourself, then scribbled the amount you took on a slip of paper and stuffed it in a box with a slot that hung on the post by the pump. Once in a while, probably when he needed bait, Sam would go around and collect.
    “Hey, young woman,” he called, coming out the side door with a tackle box and fishing pole. “You caught me. I was just slipping away.”
    “I didn’t see your truck,” June said.
    “I gave it to George’s boy to run some errands.”
    “You want a lift to the river?” she asked.
    “Naw. I’m gonna worry Windle Stream, right back of Fuller’s Café. I don’t know if I’ll catch anything, but I’ll avoid work, which is my main occupation. Heard you got yourself caught naked by some family from back in Shell Mountain. Some people George sent out to your place.”
    Sam Cussler was a good-natured man, with a deep tan, pink cheeks and twinkling eyes, a full head of lush white hair and a thick white beard. If he were round, he’d resemble Santa, but though he was probably seventy, he had the physique of a much younger man—tall frame, muscled arms, flat stomach. All those years of hefting auto parts and casting fishing line, no doubt. He was vigorous and healthy and his blue eyes shamed Paul Newman.
    “That’s pretty much the story,” June said.
    “What would we do without old George?” Sam asked.
    “We almost had a chance to find out. I gave serious thought to killing him.” She reached into the truck and got out her purse while Sam stopped the pump for her. She pulled out a twenty and handed it to him. The price on the pump was 16.78. He removed a wad the size of a large orange from his pocket and peeled off four ones. She saw him pass by twenties, fifties, tens, fives.
    “It’s your lucky day…I’m running a special,” he said, giving her more change than she had coming. He obviously didn’t