Stealing Mercy by Kristy Tate Read Free Book Online Page A

wealth and prestige, why would he have anything to do with Belle and Melanie? Why kill his wife?”
    “Why did he go to your apartment in the middle of the night with a drawn knife?” Georgina tapped her finger on Mercy’s soft blue skirt. “Some of these questions just don’t have answers. It’s extremely difficult to understand evil.”
    A snapping twig interrupted their conversation. Mercy looked up as a shadow fell across the bench.
    Georgina took Mercy’s hand. “We must pursue this conversation in depth and in privacy. Can you come by my home tomorrow?”
    “Ah, Miss Faye, Miss Meyers.” Miles took a deep breath and brushed the hair from his eyes. “I’ve found you.”
    “Yes, how fortunate,” Georgina smiled up at him. “We were just talking of evil, and yet here you are, a good man in direct opposition of our conversation. You give us hope, Mr. Carol.”
    Miles flushed. “I was hoping to accompany you home.”
    Georgina flashed him another coquettish smile and Miles seemed, for a moment, star struck.
    “Yes, it’s obvious that you and evil can’t coexist,” Georgina said and although she addressed Miles, Mercy understood that she spoke of herself and Steele.
    Mercy nodded. “One of us will have to leave.”
    Miles’ stunned look turned to puzzlement.
    Mercy stood, shook out her skirts and took Miles’ arm. “Perhaps Mr. Carol’s escort is the answer.”
    Georgina winked at Mercy and took Miles’ other arm. “For the moment.”
    “We must stop the visitation to lone girls,” Georgina said as they walked towards the city.
    “I never --” Miles stammered.
    “Not you, dear heart,” Georgina said, her voice silky and smooth. “Evil.”
    And Miles, perhaps so shocked at being called dear heart, didn’t utter another word on the long walk back.
     

CHAPTER 6
     
    In cooking, there’s no substitute for experience. Become acquainted with and understand the peculiarities of your oven and the temperament of your tools. Setting out all the necessary ingredients before beginning is sound advice. But even perfect technique can’t remedy a lack of flavor.
    From The Recipes of Mercy Faye
     
    Trent Michaels sucked in his breath. After all these weeks, he’d finally spotted her. And in the most unlikely place. What was she doing outside Steele’s hotel room door? He watched from behind a large potted fern while he speculated. Had Steele invited her? A distant outside door opened and closed sending a cold, stiff breeze blew down the hall. If Steele hadn’t invited her, how would he react to finding her breaking into this room?
    Two floors below, the organ crashed into the second act. Soon, his sister Chloe, acting as Lady Persephone, would swoon into Lord Hampton’s arms, and the audience would stomp their feet, spit their chew and bellow their approval. For Miss Faye’s sake, Trent hoped Steele was among those spitting and chewing. He thought of Steele finding Mercy breaking into his room and he clenched his fists.
    Where had she been? He hadn’t seen her since that afternoon in the chemist shop and he’d looked. In fact, the promise of seeing her had made his commitment to his grandmother bearable. He’d come to town, watchdog his baby sister, try to find his missing cousin, and he hoped, bump into Mercy Faye. Just as he had that morning by the display of Lifebuoy soup. The scent now conjured her memory; he’d taken to thinking of her whenever he bathed, a thought that even now heated his neck. He’d only held her a moment and their conversation had been brief, yet, whenever he used Lifebouy soap, he thought of holding her. He’d hoped for longer conversations, more holding opportunities.
    But it hadn’t worked out that way. Sure, he found the shop where Mercy worked and had been very successful in conversing with the aunt, a middle-aged woman with a generous bustle. But whenever he’d asked after the Mercy, the aunt, a chatterbox, had puckered her lips and the flood of communication