The walk to the diner took Anne along tree-shaded streets with century homes set back in expansive lawns. Her mood didn't improve in spite of the signs of spring. She came to Vermont for a holiday and here she was, investigating crime again. The fear was starting to get old.
On her last visit she'd been hurtled down a cliff by a car pushing her off the road, shot at, near-drowned and all to find out who killed a blackmailing woman. The murderer turned out to be more sympathetic than the victim. No wonder the jury and the judge were lenient. Now the victim was a thief and who knows what else.
Why should she waste her time here? She wanted to visit with her friends, sketch a little, see where the relationship with Thomas was going—apparently not far—and that was because she came here. If she had seen him in Toronto, there would have been no nasty scene. What was the matter with her? The man cared, and she treated him as though he wanted to shut her in a house without sunshine. Perhaps, she thought again she'd go home.
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