"Yvonne Navarro - Zachary's Glass Shope2" - читать интересную книгу автора (Navarro Yvonne)

shoulderblades had been the initial bait that had landed him marriage three
years ago to Miranda Cuyler, one of the richest women in the state.
A woman who had everything.
Inside, the small shop gave him used bookstore memories from his college
days:
the aged smells of mildew and dust swirled lazily on the currents pushed from
an
old ceiling fan. Channing stood uncertainly for a moment, taking in the
shelves
of colored glass and crystal, all of the would-be sparkle covered with a thin
coating of fine, white powder. Apparently the owner didn't believe in
housekeeping.
There wasn't much to see and he covered it all in about thirty seconds: a few
vases and some period glass to his left with a standard run of statuettes in
the
window, not much else -- certainly nothing special. There was a grimy display
case supporting an ancient-looking cash register, but Channing had no
intention
of trying to clean it so he could see inside.
He'd hoped for better. Wandering around unsupervised for another two or three
minutes did little to stall his disappointment and he turned to go, not
understanding how the owner didn't get robbed. There was a rustling behind
him
as he reached for the doorknob and he looked back to see a tall, thin man
with
wide shoulders step from behind a curtained doorway that Channing hadn't
noticed
in back of the display case. Of all things that might be extraordinary,
Channing's eyes fell on the man's hair -- thick, dark waves much like his own
fell from a side part to well past the man's ears, partially obscuring almost
colorless eyes.
"How may I help you?"
Channing started at the sound; in the short time he'd been inside, the
silence
had become... comfortable. Although the shopkeeper's voice was low and
carefully
modulated, it seemed to intrude on the atmosphere.
"Uh -- no, I suppose not." Channing thrust his hands into his pockets. The
proprietor said nothing, but raised a questioning eyebrow. Oddly, Channing
felt
obliged to explain. "I was looking for something different for my wife. It's
our
third anniversary." He gave the man a small apologetic smile. "I'm afraid I
don't see anything."
The man gazed at Channing solemnly, taking in the custom-sewn leather jacket
and
the four hundred dollar Gucci's; in the space of two pulses Channing felt
thoroughly probed.
"I have something you may be interested in, Mister...?"
"Mandell, Channing Mandell."