Read Online Town in a Pumpkin Bash by B. B. Haywood - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: B. B. Haywood
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even farther. If Candy were
to venture a guess, it would be that Office Prospect had Native American blood in
her—possibly from the local Penobscot tribe.
They were going back through the sequence of events a second time when T.J. approached
them. “How are you doing?” he asked Candy during a break in the questioning.
She gave him a halfhearted shrug. “I’m hanging in there.”
“Well, listen, I’m headed back to the parking lot, but if you’d like, we can walk
together. I think the police have the situation pretty much under control here. In
fact, I think they’d prefer that we get out of their hair.”
He looked over at Officer Prospect. “You have everything you need from her at the
moment, right?”
The dark-haired officer jotted down a few more quick notes before she folded shut
her notepad and reached into a shirt pocket for a business card, which she handed
to Candy. She gave T.J. an agreeable nod. “I think so, Mr. Pruitt. We’re all done.”
Candy took the card, glanced at it, and slid it into her back pocket. It took her
a few moments to register what she’d just heard. Her eyes widened. “Wait a minute.
Did you just call him
Pruitt
?”
Her gaze shot to T.J., the surprise evident in her expression. “You’re a Pruitt?”
She noticed it then—the eyes, the nose, the shape of his face. It struck her like
a cold shower, sending brisk pinpricks of recognition through her as she realized
who he really was. “You’re Tristan Pruitt, aren’t you? You’re one of Helen’s sons?”
Helen Ross Pruitt was the richest woman in town, from one of the richest families
in New England. She regularly summered at Pruitt Manor, on the rocky point out by
Kimball Light, an old lighthouse that dated back to the early years of the previous
century. Candy had met Mrs. Pruitt—as the family matriarch was known around town—several
times, though she’d never met any of Helen’s siblings or children. But she’d seen
a few photos of them, and now noticed the family resemblance.
In response, T.J. held out his hand. “Actually, I’m her nephew,” he said smoothly,
“and the full name is Tristan James Hawthorne Pruitt. It’s a pleasure to finally—and
formally—meet you, Candy Holliday.”
TEN
“So you’re Helen’s nephew?”
Tristan Pruitt nodded as the wind caught his fair hair, flicking a few strands across
his forehead. “The family history’s a little muddled, but, yes, I’m the son of her
younger brother, Judson. He’s the middle child. Aunt Helen has four siblings in all.
She’s the oldest, and she has two sisters and two brothers, including my father.”
“And you decided to keep that fairly significant piece of information to yourself?
Why the secretive use of initials?”
The two of them were walking along the dirt road that led back to Low Field and the
parking lot. They’d left behind the hushed, solemn atmosphere that centered on Sebastian
J. Quinn’s body. The corpse had been covered with a sheet, and several of the officers
were fanning out across the field, searching for evidence while they awaited the arrival
of the crime scene van from Augusta.
Candy had to admit she was glad that T.J.—or, rather, the man now known to her as
Tristan Pruitt—had pulled her out of there. The suddenness of all that had happened in the past hour had left
her feeling emotionally on edge. But now that they were headed away from the scene
of the crime, she found herself breathing a little easier, and the tightness in her
chest and tingling in her arms and fingers were beginning to abate.
As they walked, she found herself stealing glances at Tristan Pruitt. Despite the
subterfuge of disguising his name, she found herself intrigued by him. She decided
she liked the way he held himself, the square of his shoulders and the leanness of
his body. Her eyes were drawn to the line of his jaw and the shape of his hands. She
to venture a guess, it would be that Office Prospect had Native American blood in
her—possibly from the local Penobscot tribe.
They were going back through the sequence of events a second time when T.J. approached
them. “How are you doing?” he asked Candy during a break in the questioning.
She gave him a halfhearted shrug. “I’m hanging in there.”
“Well, listen, I’m headed back to the parking lot, but if you’d like, we can walk
together. I think the police have the situation pretty much under control here. In
fact, I think they’d prefer that we get out of their hair.”
He looked over at Officer Prospect. “You have everything you need from her at the
moment, right?”
The dark-haired officer jotted down a few more quick notes before she folded shut
her notepad and reached into a shirt pocket for a business card, which she handed
to Candy. She gave T.J. an agreeable nod. “I think so, Mr. Pruitt. We’re all done.”
Candy took the card, glanced at it, and slid it into her back pocket. It took her
a few moments to register what she’d just heard. Her eyes widened. “Wait a minute.
Did you just call him
Pruitt
?”
Her gaze shot to T.J., the surprise evident in her expression. “You’re a Pruitt?”
She noticed it then—the eyes, the nose, the shape of his face. It struck her like
a cold shower, sending brisk pinpricks of recognition through her as she realized
who he really was. “You’re Tristan Pruitt, aren’t you? You’re one of Helen’s sons?”
Helen Ross Pruitt was the richest woman in town, from one of the richest families
in New England. She regularly summered at Pruitt Manor, on the rocky point out by
Kimball Light, an old lighthouse that dated back to the early years of the previous
century. Candy had met Mrs. Pruitt—as the family matriarch was known around town—several
times, though she’d never met any of Helen’s siblings or children. But she’d seen
a few photos of them, and now noticed the family resemblance.
In response, T.J. held out his hand. “Actually, I’m her nephew,” he said smoothly,
“and the full name is Tristan James Hawthorne Pruitt. It’s a pleasure to finally—and
formally—meet you, Candy Holliday.”
TEN
“So you’re Helen’s nephew?”
Tristan Pruitt nodded as the wind caught his fair hair, flicking a few strands across
his forehead. “The family history’s a little muddled, but, yes, I’m the son of her
younger brother, Judson. He’s the middle child. Aunt Helen has four siblings in all.
She’s the oldest, and she has two sisters and two brothers, including my father.”
“And you decided to keep that fairly significant piece of information to yourself?
Why the secretive use of initials?”
The two of them were walking along the dirt road that led back to Low Field and the
parking lot. They’d left behind the hushed, solemn atmosphere that centered on Sebastian
J. Quinn’s body. The corpse had been covered with a sheet, and several of the officers
were fanning out across the field, searching for evidence while they awaited the arrival
of the crime scene van from Augusta.
Candy had to admit she was glad that T.J.—or, rather, the man now known to her as
Tristan Pruitt—had pulled her out of there. The suddenness of all that had happened in the past hour had left
her feeling emotionally on edge. But now that they were headed away from the scene
of the crime, she found herself breathing a little easier, and the tightness in her
chest and tingling in her arms and fingers were beginning to abate.
As they walked, she found herself stealing glances at Tristan Pruitt. Despite the
subterfuge of disguising his name, she found herself intrigued by him. She decided
she liked the way he held himself, the square of his shoulders and the leanness of
his body. Her eyes were drawn to the line of his jaw and the shape of his hands. She
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