Southern Charm by Stuart Jaffe Read Free Book Online Page A

things like that, Max?"
    The steering wheel had no answer — and neither did Max. He stared at the straight, unchanging road and promised himself that this would be the last time. Not that he had done anything wrong — but he'd had plenty of guilty thoughts. He just didn't want those thoughts to lead to actions. At the next opportunity, he promised himself, he would hash things out with Sandra, fix things, get them back on the right track. And not just a little talk like the previous night. They needed to find the root of this problem and kill it so it never grew back.
    Ten minutes later, he pulled into the drive and parked his car, noticing a new rattle from the engine that assured him of a hefty mechanic's bill in the coming weeks. Melinda must have heard the rattle as well because she opened the front door and walked out as Max stepped from the car. She wore old jeans and a low-cut top that left little to be discovered. He fought to keep his eyes on her face.
    "You again," she said with a playful half-grin.
    "I'm sorry to bother you, but I just need a few minutes of your time."
    "There's nothing I can tell you."
    "Please. You don't have to give me loads of information or betray any family secrets. I just need a little help from you to point me in the right direction."
    "You said you were writing a book on art forgers?"
    "That's right."
    She snapped her fingers and pointed at him. "See, that's a lie. Why should I help you out when you've begun this whole thing with a lie?"
    Opening his arms like a thief claiming innocence, he said, "I admit it. I lied. But you have to admit, too, that you'd never have spoken to me, if I had told you the truth."
    "Depends on what the truth is."
    "Well, the truth is that I've been hired to find that painting for you."
    "For me?"
    "I was told to find the painting, find you, and put the two together."
    "And who hired you?"
    "I can't tell you that."
    "That's really too bad. You almost had my interest." She turned away.
    "Wait, please. I don't know what's so special about this painting, but you're clearly in it deep, and you'll get buried, if you're not careful."
    "Lucky for me, I'm a careful person."
    "Melinda, please —"
    She placed her hand on the door and said, "Good-bye, Mr. Porter. Do not come here again."
    Desperation took hold. Max blurted out, "You don't want to be messing with the Hulls. They're dangerous."
    Melinda froze. Her seductive yet light lips became a hard, cold line. "What do you know about them?"
    "Let me in. I'll tell you all about it."
    Any sense of wild youth vanished from Melinda. She looked meek and even vulnerable. She stepped back into the house, leaving the front door open.
    Max walked into the foyer and tried not to betray his awe. He did not often step into such a wealthy home. Dark wood floors led up a small step into the main foyer which was garnered with a baby-grand piano. The walls were old Southern white, a summer breeze color that whispered of a South that had died long ago.
    "This way," she said, passing through a wide arch into a lush living room — thick sofas, a brick fireplace, and paintings on every wall — Max lacked the skill to know if they were authentic or not. Everything he saw looked valuable and vibrant. Even the plants.
    Max stood next to a deep red sofa, unsure if he should sully it with his common pants. Even as he had these thoughts, another part of him complained in his head — Since when do you care about rich assholes? Sit down and take command of things.
    Since when? Easy answer — since he saw that red number on his computer screen.
    "Please, sit," she said. Max settled on the sofa's edge and noticed a large plant in front of a narrow door — the rich hiding the broom closet. Concern over his pants itched stronger than before. Melinda slid onto the opposite sofa, her legs tucked under in a pose reminiscent of a college girl, and continued, "So, Mr. Porter, enlighten me about the Hulls."
    "I worked for Hull a year ago. He was a