"Hansen, Maxine Joy - The Letter" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hansen Maxine Joy)
A muffled giggle from another room brought up the image of the young girl who had initially opened the door when Kathryn rang the front bell. The pretty youngster was about eleven or twelve from what Kathryn could guess. Clothed in blue jeans and a matching sky blue T-shirt with the words 'Florida Or Bust' emblazoned on it, her hair a shiny golden brown cap of curls that framed a sweet heart-shaped face, her tomboy figure could not quite hide the slight beginnings of womanhood emerging. Her beautifully expressive brown eyes were filled with mischief and fun, and something else Kathryn couldn't quite make out. A maturity beyond her years perhaps. Kathryn smiled for a moment when she remembered how those eyes had momentarily gazed at her hands, as though expecting them to be holding something; a pan of food perhaps. Maybe the comely Sue Ann was among a selection of hopefuls who came to the door bearing gifts.
She couldn't see Colt Riverton's wife putting up with such charitable actions, nor could she picture a troop of hardworking, dedicated cooks daring to come to the door only to find a Mrs. Riverton smiling at them with welcoming pleasure. Before she could wonder, Colt walked back into the room.
"I brought some of these sweet rolls just in case you're hungry. Sue Ann does a good job on them," he proffered the plate in her direction.
Grudgingly she admitted to herself that they smelled tantalizing, so she took one. Colt put the plate of rolls down on a nearby end table, picked up one of the plump raisin-filled sweet buns, and invited her to join him on the couch.
"Now that urgent letter from 19...48 I believe," he offered.
With another blush staining her cheeks she proceeded to tell him her story. "I live in Los Angeles and I just moved; well, a few months ago. Anyway, I have some time off work and I was in the process of fixing up my apartment. About a week ago I found a wonderful antique secretary. When it was delivered and I was going through the drawers I discovered a letter wedged in one of the corners. I certainly don't go around reading other people's mail," she hastened to assure him. "I wanted to return it to its rightful owner."
"Naturally, I thought that might be the person who owned the desk originally or at least the last owner. So I called the gentleman who had sold it to me, only he wasn't able to help because there wasn't enough of a paper trail. I didn't want to just throw it way. My only clue was the name and partial address on the envelope - James Hazlett, Magnolia Lane, Clearwater. I didn't have a clue where Clearwater was to begin a search for Mr. Hazlett. I thought the contents might shed some light on where to start looking or give me some idea of what to do." Kathryn took the letter from her purse, and turned it over in her hand.
"After reading it and making some calls, I decided to fly down here. Mr... Riverton, please believe me, I'm usually not so impulsive. I'm really very practical." Kathryn looked thoughtfully at the envelope she held. "It just seemed like the right thing to do. Something I had to do." Looking into his eyes, instinctively trusting him, Kathryn handed Colt the letter. She watched his face as he read it. She was sure, as he took in the neat, purposeful handwriting, and the pleading words written by a young woman over fifty years ago, that he would understand. Although they had barely met, she was certain that he would be as touched as she had been. Taking in the myriad of expressions that chased across his features, she knew she had not misjudged him.
Colt silently folded the pages, only mildly faded with time, and put them back in the envelope. He studied the address written in the same hand. "Fifty years ago. That's a long time in a man's life, Kathryn."
The use of her first name sent a small shiver through her body.
"And a woman's," Colt continued. "Hell, in just a few years. . ." he hesitated, then stood for a moment, massaging his neck with the back of one hand. "For all you know, anything could have happened. The desk you bought could have been his. He got the letter, it upset him, he stuffed it in a drawer and got on with his life." Colt turned to her. "Or maybe she never sent it. Maybe she wrote it, decided it was a bad idea and left it at that. Maybe she forgot to tear it up. Maybe. . ."
"I know," Kathryn interrupted. "There are a hundred variations of 'maybe' and I've been through most of them." She rose from the couch and went over to where he stood.
"Mr. Riverton...Colt...I don't know. It's just a feeling, a crazy impulsive...something. I'm not sure if it's for me, for her, or James Hazlett. It feels...incomplete. I touch this letter and I read it, and in my heart I have to do this."
Colt looked at her. It wasn't just her beautiful heart-shaped face lovingly caressed by the reddish brown curls, the inviting liquid eyes a man could drown in, the not quite perfect mouth made to be kissed, it wasn't really any of these that held him captive; it was her. Her honesty, her sense of commitment, her seemingly practical approach to life warring with the hint of reckless adventure and romance. And it was something else; a deep spiritual bond he understood and had felt once before when he had dared to reach out and touch the heart and soul of the child he now called his daughter. Crazily enough, as he held the letter he knew she was right. It was something that had to be done. There was something to complete here.
"Well, Kathryn Cartwright, let's just team up and see what kind of trouble we can get ourselves into," he shook his head and smiled and she breathed a sigh of relief.
"Sam, Colt Riverton here. Have you got a couple of minutes?"
"Absolutely, Mr. Riverton. How's the house? Everything okay?"
"Perfect! And thanks for all your help in getting this property for us."
"My pleasure. Now what can I do for you?"
"Well, you know the fellow I bought this house from, Tom Selkirk. I was wondering if he had a relative by the name of Hazlett."
Colt could picture the man on the other side of the line. Sam Seplezio was an outgoing fellow, with a wide smile and an even wider girth. Exercise had never been high on his list of priorities although he wryly claimed that showing prospective buyers through a property was a good trade-in for half an hour of gym time. An avid sports fan, he was delighted when Colt had contacted him about the house. An autographed baseball had cemented the relationship and Colt knew he could count on this man's help. It was just a matter of presenting the facts in the proper light. Sam didn't seem like the kind of guy who would sit through Gone With The Wind or An Affair To Remember.
"You know Mr. Riverton, if there are any problems with the house. . ." Sam started in and Colt could almost see the furrow edging his worried brow.
"No, No! Everything is just fine," Colt hastily assured him. "The fact is. . . It's just that I came across this. . uh, this document that appeared to belong to a James Hazlett." Colt smiled. The acceptable truth. Well, it wasn't a lie exactly.
"You came across this in the house?" Sam queried.
"A drawer?" clearly Sam was puzzled. "I didn't know there was any furniture left in the house."
"A kitchen drawer." Okay, one lie, and a little one. That was Colt's limit. It seemed to satisfy Sam.
"Ah, well that happens," Sam agreed. "Now that house was owned by the Hazlett family for many years. Let's see, it was originally built in the late 1920's; probably around '27 or '28 off the top of my head without looking at the records. Anyway, I'm sure you understand client confidentiality even in the real estate business, so I can't give out personal information from my files. But I'll tell you what, it so happens Richard Hazlett is a good buddy of mine. That's how I first got involved with the property. Dick's mom had passed away a few years before and his dad was rolling around in that big house by himself. Well, he was getting up there and Dick didn't think it was good for him to be alone, especially after he retired. Dick's dad was a doctor, very prominent in the Clearwater area. Anyway, Dick decided his dad would be better off in a retirement community. We've got plenty of those you know. Dick didn't want to keep the house. Tastes change, and he and his wife opted for a nice condo on the beach. Easy to maintain; you come home after a hard day's work and you relax. On the weekend no gardening to do, no heavy repairs, you know the stuff that comes with a house. Dick and Irene don't have any kids, so this was perfect. Anyway, he asked me to sell the house, which I did to Mr. Selkirk and then a year or so later to you."
Colt easily cut into the conversation when Sam paused for a breath. "Is Dick's father's name James or Jim?"
"Exactly, Dr. James Hazlett. Good man. Went to him for stomach problems just before he retired. Very common in this business as you can imagine. Real estate. In this market great for ulcers." Sam laughed and Colt joined in.
"So, is Dick's dad still alive? Colt didn't want to seem over anxious. It would put up a little red warning flag for Sam or anybody for that matter given the circumstances.
"Oh, sure. Doesn't practice anymore like I said but, hey, if you need a good doctor for your little girl I've got a terrific one..."
"Oh, well, thanks. I may get that from you later. Right now, we're doing great," Colt assured him.
"Well, that's good," Sam beamed over the telephone wires. "You stay that way. I'll tell you what. Like I said, I can't give out personal addresses and phone numbers but, hell, I'll give you Dick's office number. He'll be glad to hear from you. He's more of a football fan but keeps his eye on the baseball scores. He sells insurance. I know he has a fair amount of appointments in the field, but you just might catch him in the office this time of day unless, of course, he's playing golf." Sam punctuated that last comment with a conspiratorial laugh, then rattled off the number.
Colt offered his appreciation to Sam for his valuable time, shared a quick joke about insurance salesmen, and once again assured him that the house was perfect for Jesse and him. He rang off and, in a heartbeat, he was dialing Dick Hazlett's office.
"Good afternoon, Hazlett Insurance. Can I help you," the breathy voice of a young receptionist floated on air over the phone.
"Yes, I'm looking for Mr. Dick Hazlett," Colt offered.
"Your name please?"
"Colt Riverton. I was referred by a friend of his, Sam Seplezio." The name registered with the receptionist and with a polite "Just a moment." Colt was put on hold.
In the silent seconds he waited, Colt conjured up a picture of Kathryn Cartwright. He imagined her face alight with pleasure when she learned how quick and successful his detective work had proven. While, he reasoned, it was normal for a man's head to be turned by a pretty face, he didn't dare question the fact that four very pretty faces with beautiful bodies and sparkling personalities, bearing gifts of food, had elicited nothing more than sincere appreciation and indulgent amusement from him.
"Richard Hazlett here. How can I help you?"
"Mr. Hazlett, my name's Colt Riverton and I was referred to you by your friend Sam Seplezio."
"Sam, how is that bugger? Haven't spoken to him in a few weeks."
"He seems just fine. He thought you might be able to help me."
"Colt Riverton. . .you related to a ball player of the same name? Hell of a player. Course I don't follow baseball that closely. Football's my game." This last he said with an air of pride.
Colt normally kept a low profile off the field, but there were times when he would pull his ace card if he wanted something bad enough. This was one of those times. "Well, I played ball for a few seasons, in California mainly."
"I knew it! Damn!"
Colt felt Dick Hazlett warm to the subject and was a little worried he might get off the track so he tried to steer the conversation back to the point.
"Sam sold me the house you and your family used to own."
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