Today's Reading
Von Sharpe was another echo from the past that nudged the tender, dark place inside her. Her mind insisted on traveling to those sad memories, like a tongue prodding at a broken tooth. At least the sensation was mostly resignation now, instead of anger, with a side helping of guilt folded in.
She peered out the windows for any sign of her client, or the solitary hiker. The mile marker was clearly visible a yard from her front fender, near a mailbox colored with equal parts yellow paint and rust. Drifting pine needles drew her attention to the canopy. There was no sign of bark beetle damage on these sturdy pines, but Smith sounded positive his trees were infected.
Matt Smith. Such an innocuous name, she thought idly. The name someone might choose as the perfect alias.
Alias? She sat up straighter. The muscles in her belly quivered. Just anxiety talking, her constant companion. There was nothing to worry about. She smoothed her hair and smoothed it again. But what if the meeting wasn't what it seemed to be? A branch scuttled across the windshield. She jumped.
Intrusive thoughts, Stella. You know how to deal with that. She was doing her job. But what if...?
Smith didn't know his trees. So what? Not everybody was a plant person. Still, the Yosemite region was a wild place, where people didn't subdue nature as much as they learned how to thrive alongside it. But who wouldn't be able to tell a maple from a pine?
She stilled her bobbing knee and tried to reason her way through her unease. Locals in the area knew each other, depended on one another. Had Smith mentioned how he'd heard of Kip's business? A neighbor's referral? And why had he chosen her from the trio of arborists pictured on the website? She patted down her hair and twisted a strand until it cinched tight.
The situation is fine. You are fine. She freed her finger from the knot.
Was it illogical to feel suspicious? Or was it prudent?
She sat on her hands and considered.
Her fears were probably groundless, her distrust of his bland name, his weak grasp of botany. She gnawed at her lower lip.
Von would've said she should trust her instincts, but since their engagement imploded his advice was no more than an echo from the past. Besides, she wasn't sure how to separate instinct from fear. Not anymore.
She was reaching for her phone when a man appeared on the steep drive, his plump body filling out a puffy white jacket, a knit cap framing his full-cheeked smile. This had to be her client. She exhaled as he raised a hand in greeting, his breath steaming the air. She rolled down the window a few inches.
"Hello, Ms. Rivers. Matt Smith. Thanks for meeting me. Did you feel an earthquake a few minutes ago?" Friendly. Innocuous.
"I did." Chagrined at her imaginings, she got out and took his offered palm.
He wiped his brow. "That's what we get for living in California. I should never have hiked down from the cabin." He patted his stomach. "With this boiler? I'm gonna need a winch to get back up."
She smiled and considered the trees. It was time to do her job and get to Zoe's. "I don't see much in the way of bark beetle infestation around here."
He lifted a shoulder and jerked a thumb past the mailbox. "That's cuz my place is up the road about two miles. You can't see it from here. Those trees, man. Swiss cheese with all the beetle holes. They look like they're gonna fall over at any moment. I'm worried with the winter storms coming. Drive on up. We can talk there. Maybe you can give me a lift, huh? Save me from a heart attack." His gaze darted to the tree line, brows crimping. After a moment he smiled at her again.
Over his shoulder, she caught the remnants of a painted name on the mailbox, now peeled and almost obliterated. Only the last two letters remained. An I and L? Two Ls?
"You said you own the cabin, Mr. Smith?"
"Call me Matt. Cabin's been in my family for years. Granddad and Dad lived here before me. As a kid, I used to come up here every summer and do some whitewater rafting on the Tuolumne River, but it's just me now."
...
