Conflict of Interest (The McClouds of Mississippi) Read Free

a curse beneath his breath and punched a key to close the file.
    “What’s the matter, Gideon?”
    She had a unique way of pronouncing his name, he mused. Nothing he could pinpoint, exactly, but it sounded different when she said it. “Nothing’s wrong,” he lied.

    “Are you writing another book?”
    “Trying to.”
    “Nate said you write good books, but they’re not for kids.”
    She always shortened Nathan’s name so casually, but then, Isabelle had known Nathan all her life. He had been the only one of the three elder McCloud siblings to maintain a relationship with their father after the bitter divorce from their mother a few months before Isabelle’s birth. “No, I don’t write children’s books.”
    “What are your books about?”
    “Most people call them thrillers. They have elements of science fiction and fantasy in them and what has been referred to as dark humor.”
    She blinked a couple of times in response to his dry description, then said, “I like Dr. Seuss.”
    Her matter-of-fact statement made Gideon grin. “So do I.”
    His smile seemed to take her by surprise. She studied his face a moment, then smiled back at him before returning her attention to her artwork.
    Okay, Gideon thought. Maybe this wouldn’t be so tough after all. How hard could it be to keep an eye on an exceptionally bright and well-behaved four-year-old?
     
    It was cloudy and dark by 7:00 p.m. on that Monday evening, and a cold drizzle had begun to fall, blown in on a strong northern front. Not a very experienced driver in the first place, since she rarely needed a car in the city, Adrienne struggled a bit with the unfamiliar rental car on the bumpy Mississippi road. She’d gotten lost twice before she found the town of Honesty, then had some difficulty finding anyone to give her directions to Gideon’s address.
    She should have known, she thought as she carefully negotiated a winding gravel road, that Gideon would live well outside of town. She was definitely forming a mental picture of a crusty hermit who was more comfortable with the characters in his head than the people in the real world.
    She had never met him—had never even seen a photograph of him—but she’d talked to him several times on the telephone during the past two years since he had signed with her father’s literary agency. Mostly, their communication had been through letters and faxes. She loved his books, but she hadn’t been able to get to know him very well through their limited contact.
    Based strictly on his behavior, she had formed a mental image of him that wasn’t particularly flattering. She guessed that he was in his late thirties or early forties. A bit geeky, most likely. Probably a real oddball. He wouldn’t be the first talented writer she had met who was downright strange.
    He was the first she’d bothered to track down this way—something she couldn’t explain. She had decided her motives were a combination of wanting to impress her father with her professional cleverness and the fact that she absolutely loved Gideon McCloud’s books.
    His house looked normal enough—a neat frame bungalow tucked into a woody hillside. The lot was naturally landscaped with mulch and ground cover, which would require a minimum of effort to keep it looking nice. And it did look nice, she had to admit. She’d bet it was really pretty later in the spring, when the trees and bushes would be in full bloom, and in the fall when the surrounding hillsides would be ablaze with color.
    Okay, so she liked his home. And more than liked his writing. That certainly didn’t mean she would like him.
    Parking at the end of the long gravel driveway, she climbed out of the rental car. As she hunched into her clothing against the chilly mist, she wished she’d brought a heavier coat. The wind seemed to slice right through the leather jacket she wore over a black pantsuit.
    There was only one pole lamp on the property, and as far as Adrienne was concerned, it