Out of Mind by Stella Cameron Read Free Book Online

his presence into her trailer and grinned at the odd expression on her face when she noticed a change in the balance of her “wheels.”
    She looked cute in her little yellow dress, brown sandals, and wearing the green-and-white crash helmet complete with oversize rearview mirrors. Her skirt hiked way above her knees—something else he enjoyed.
    The kiss had been enough proof for him. He wanted Willow more than ever.
    This was the first close-up look he’d had of the scooter. It was well equipped enough to satisfy a long-distancemotorcyclist, complete with GPS, a mount into which she slid a cell phone before adjusting an earpiece beneath her helmet, and a radar scanner.
    The scanner made him grin. He wondered about the top speed on a scooter pulling a trailer—even a very small trailer.
    With obvious increased effort, she wheeled the scooter into the passageway between the shop and one wing of the Millets’ flats. He did feel a bit bad about the way she had to strain, but he wasn’t happy with her at the moment.
    Willow hoped she wasn’t developing a problem with the scooter. Steering or something. The company’s small truck had cost a fortune in repairs lately and she needed to pad the bank account again.
    Sometimes Willow thought it would be faster to walk shorter distances than try to maneuver through city traffic with the scooter. Unfortunately, she wasn’t able to carry everything she needed in her arms.
    She set off for St. Charles Avenue.
    Honking on all sides. Vendors with carts on all sides. Screaming people on all sides. Usually when she was out here, she felt more alive than she did anywhere else. This evening she was steaming and everything annoyed her. Steaming, and so sad she kept blinking back tears.
    The only really important thing to worry about was that Billy Baker was dead. After the abrupt way Nat Archer left, she didn’t know if there was something she should be doing. Nat said he’d been told to back away from the case.
    When she reached St. Charles Avenue it wasn’t so busy. Willow could feel grit spitting against her barelegs. She should have taken the time to put an overall on top of her dress. Riding around like this had to look wacky and it wasn’t comfortable.
    The scooter was giving all kinds of signals suggesting it found the trailer too heavy. She had made the mistake of overloading it before.
    Billy’s death was unbelievable. His excitement over his own business rubbed off on her. He could make her grin with his ideas for whimsical sweets.
    That should be past tense now. Willow sniffed and her eyes burned.
    Too bad she had to do this job tonight. She was concerned about money right now. Business hadn’t been so great lately. If it had, she wouldn’t have agreed to do this job for the Brandts—she didn’t like the uncertainty of it. Cleo Brandt had told her to get there at eight to have time to talk to her husband, Val, before guests arrived. A pool party starting so late didn’t make sense to Willow.
    The Millets had their rules . Willow grimaced; she also had rules and the main one was that she was completely independent. She had to be vigilant because finance wasn’t her strength.
    Her cell rang and she turned it on. “Willow here.” She wished she didn’t have to be connected to all callers at all times, but she did.
    “Zinnia’s pissed,” a male voice said and she frowned. “It’s Chris. I didn’t want to bother you so I tried Zinnia at home and you should have heard that bitch.”
    Chris was one of Willow’s three supervisors. Zinnia ran the office.
    “You know she doesn’t work when she’s not beingpaid,” Willow said, checking her mirrors. They really gave her a great all-around view. “What’s the problem?”
    “I dunno.”
    She winced. Chris was good at his job, but there were definite gaps in his communication skills. “Okay, Chris, why are you trying to reach one of us?”
    “We’re not catering the Brandt job, are we?” Chris said.
    “No,”