Page 8 of Ask for Moore
I had suspected that to be the case, but I still found myself at a loss for words. “Is that…uh…a regular occurrence?”
“He doesn’t hang out here all the time, but all of my stepdad’s cousins make a point of coming in to support my mom.” Handing my card back to me, he chuckled. “When Vienna—she’s Dean’s girlfriend—first came to town, she made a comment about them being eye candy. It gave my mom the idea to do a sign-up sheet so the guys could call dibs for when they wanted to drop in.”
If the rest of these cousins were half as attractive as the guy who had been in line ahead of me, Vienna had nailed the eye candy description. And she was a lucky woman to nab one for herself.
“I’m not sure how long I’ll be around, but you can count on seeing me again.” I waggled my newly purchased book. “The cookies and tea were great, and a new release signed by my favorite thriller author made my visit even better.”
“Cool.” Simon grinned at me. “A new regular customer who came in hoping for coffee but liked her tea will make my mom very happy.”
I found myself oddly curious about Simon’s mom and her billionaire husband as I left the shop and got into my rental car. Before I backed out of my parking spot, I put the phone in speaker mode and dialed the number Roger Burkhart had given me for the lawyer representing the farmer who’d sold him the land that was at the heart of his lawsuits.
“The law offices of Ryland Moore, how may I help you?”
What were the odds that opposing counsel would be another Moore man? The family had to be huge…and well connected since the town was named after them.
“Yes, hello. I need to schedule an appointment with Mr. Moore. Is he available tomorrow?” I asked.
“Hmm, let me check.”
Since nobody could see me, I rolled my eyes. No way in heck was this small-town lawyer’s calendar so jam-packed that his assistant didn’t know he had at least one opening tomorrow.
“Is two o’clock good for you?” she asked.
Opening my calendar app, I added the appointment to my schedule. “Since this case is the only reason I’m in Mooreville, I’ll make it work.”
“Ahh, you must be the lawyer representing Burkhart Development.”
“Yes,” I confirmed, shaking my head at how easy it had been for her to figure out who I was. My assumption about opposing counsel’s calendar appeared to have been accurate. “And I need to speak with your boss about my client’s pending litigation against Mr. Sanderson.”
“Does Marty need to be here for the meeting?”
I considered my options for a moment. “Not this time.”
“Okie dokie,” she chirped. “I have you down for two o’clock, Miss Duncan.”
“Thank you,” I murmured before disconnecting.
Marveling over the fact that I hadn’t given her my information but she’d still known exactly who I was when the caller ID would’ve just displayed the firm’s name, I plugged the address of the bed and breakfast where I was going to be staying into my maps app. It was conveniently located less than a mile away from downtown—or whatever small towns called the tiny main strip where most of the shops and restaurants were located.
The bed and breakfast Judy had booked for me was bigger than I expected. The Queen Ann-style house was three stories with a wraparound porch and had a freaking turret, for goodness’ sake.
Grabbing my rolling luggage from the back of the car, I slung my briefcase over my shoulder and crossed the parking area to climb the steps. Before I made it to the top, the front door was flung open by a woman who was about my height and weight, with silver hair, twinkling green eyes, and reading glasses hanging around her neck. “Hello, you must be Waverly.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I confirmed with a nod.
“Pish posh, ma’am makes me feel old. Please call me Julie instead,” she requested as she hurried toward me. “I was hoping to catch you before you lugged all of your things into the main house.”
My brows drew together. “Is there a problem with my reservation?”
“Oh, no. Sorry.” She met me in the middle of the steps and gestured toward the side of the house. “It’s just that you’re booked in the carriage house, and it’s at the back of the property. The woman who called to book for you said you’d need as much privacy as possible, and none of the other guests will bother you out there.”
I assumed that she was using the term “carriage house” liberally and was expecting a small room above the garage. So I was surprised when we entered the two-story Tudor-style structure and realized the room I was staying in was bigger than my studio apartment. The two-bedroom suite had a living room, fireplace, kitchen, two bathrooms, and a screened-in veranda. One of the bathrooms even had a whirlpool tub big enough for two. “Wow.”
Julie beamed a smile at me. “I’m so happy you like it.”
“What’s not to like?” I asked, setting my rolling suitcase near the door of the bigger bedroom. Then I wandered into the kitchen area to look at the basket on the counter. “There’s even pastries.”
“I had some left over from breakfast this morning and thought you might be a bit peckish when you arrived.” She padded over to the fridge to open it. “I also put some sliced fruit and quiche in here for you.”
