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careful not to induce any more pain. "It's just that it seems strange for someone to send her a package here. It's obviously from someone who hasn't been in contact with her for a long time, or they'd know." |
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Linda turned the package around and read the postmark. "Did she have friends in Newfoundland?" |
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Bartholomew raised his eyebrows. "Who knows? If she did, she never talked about them. Besides, what difference does it make? Look how long it took to get here. Whatever it is, it's probably all busted up after floating around the postal system for seven or eight months." |
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It was Linda's turn. She slid the candle across the table so she could see his face. "Tell me about her." |
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"Are you serious?" His question was nearly drowned out by a sudden rush of wind that sent a shudder through the old tavern. |
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She nodded. "Real serious. You and I have gotten rather intimate in the last several weeks. You know a lot about me, a lot more than I know about you. Maybe it's time you share some of what's going on inside that head and heart of yours." |
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Few people were that direct with Bartholomew Miller. He had a reputation for being a private person, a singular man, all too often unapproachable. He had been that way long before Ruthie had faded from the Gull House |
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