Forgotten Boxes by Becki Willis Read Free Book Online Page B

back to.
    “Okay, so it’s hardly a glamorous life,” she admitted aloud.
“It’s rather boring, to be honest. Stale and stagnant. And, yes, it’s lonely. My
best friends are a hypochondriac stepsister and a fellow graphic artist I’ve never
even met in person. Being self-employed, I don’t even have an office life. I haven’t
had a date in two years and I’ve developed this nasty little habit of talking to
myself… exactly like I’m doing right now!” She thumped the steering wheel in aggravation
as she realized what she was doing.
    She set her jaw in a sulk and concentrated on driving.
    A few curves later, and her mood lifted. It was a beautiful day,
bright and sunny with only a few clouds dotting the azure sky. It was one of those
rare weeks in Vermont, where the days were suspended in a season without a name.
Summer lingered in the warmth of the afternoons, dawdling through still-lush grasses
and late summer flowers. Autumn had yet to arrive, but it was on its way. The promise
was in the chill of early morn, in the shift of sunlight filtering through leaves
with their first hint of color. Another week and much of the green would be transformed
to a glorious mix of yellow, orange, and red.
    Maybe she would stay. Maybe she would find a nice little cabin
somewhere and settle in for the show. Maybe, she mused, she would go back to Aunt
Nell’s: free lodging, no reservation needed, no fighting over space with leaf-peepers.
What more could she ask for?
    Answers, of course. Answers like what really happened to her
uncle. Answers like where he died. Answers like whether it had been suicide or murder.
    For a reason she could not explain, she was reluctant to buy
into the suicide theory. Her hesitance had no rationale; she never knew her uncle,
after all, nor knew anything about his life with Aunt Nell. Yet suicide was so…
so stark. So drastic. Maybe she was being foolhardy, and just hated to accept such
a desperate reality existed within her own family circle, but the notion of an untold
story had planted itself in her mind, and she could not shake it.
    Even if she never knew the truth of her uncle’s untimely death,
she hoped that delivering the packages would give her a sense of closure. And if,
in the course of carrying out her mission, she learned more about that fateful day,
all the better. Maybe then, she could consider returning to the cottage.
    Determined to think happier thoughts, Charity concentrated on
the scenery. It could have come straight off a postcard, or gleaned from the pages
of a travel magazine. She had taken a southwestward path that led through the farmlands
of Vermont, traipsing her way through pastures dotted with fat jersey milk cows
and fields ripe with orchards and early fall crops. At one point, she pulled over
on the shoulder of the road and whipped out her camera. With views like these, she
would hardly need stock images for her designs. The red barn, perched high on the
hill and overlooking the green meadows below, would be perfect for one of her newest
clients.
    By the time she came into the sleepy little village, she was
in fine spirits. When she saw a small market called Dan’s Vermont, she pulled in
on a whim. Not only did it remind her of another store with a similar name, but
she could use a snack about now. No telling how far out of town she would have to
travel to reach the first address on her list. She might be in the right zip code
but still be an hour away, especially if Cunningham Road was on that mountain she
saw up ahead.
    Tucking her camera away and locking the car, Charity stretched
her back as she walked up to the store. One step inside, and she wondered if Dan
had a chain of stores strung along the highway. There were marked similarities to
this store and Dan’s Market. Her heart quickened when she saw a familiar kiosk in
the center of an aisle, filled with maple syrup.
    The erratic beat tripled when she saw a large man standing near
the display with his back to