Goddess of Light Read Free Page B

Faust was Nora Roberts.
    â€œHis current release is Pillars of the Sword , but he’s published more than fifty books, and most of them have appeared on all the major bestseller lists.”
    â€œNever heard of him, but then I like a good crossword puzzle more than just about anything.” She cackled again. “Well, anything except a long, tall man in a cowboy hat with a cold beer.”
    She elbowed Pamela as she laughed, this time on purpose. Pamela was surprised to feel herself smiling back. There was something honest and real about the old woman that made her craggy face and her gruff manner strangely appealing.
    â€œPamela Gray,” she said, holding out her hand.
    â€œBillie Mae Johnson.” She returned the handshake with a firm grip and a warm smile. “Pleased to meet ya. If you need a friendly face or a cold beer, come on by the Flamingo. I’m usually working at the bar on the main floor.”
    â€œI may just take you up on that.”
    The stewardess announced that they were landing, and Pamela returned her seat to the full and upright position. Billie Mae shook her head and grumbled at the squares of the crossword puzzle, most of which were still empty.
    â€œYa have to know that the hoity-toity New York Times has gone to hell when they start lettin’ divorce lawyers from Texas write their puzzles.” She sighed and concentrated on one of the questions before looking askance at Pamela. “Hey, the snooty clue is ‘metaphoric emancipation.’ The answer has seven letters. All I can think of is Budweiser, but that’s nine.”
    â€œIs the attorney who wrote the puzzle a man or a woman?”
    â€œMan.”
    â€œTry alimony,” Pamela said, smiling wickedly.
    Billie Mae filled in the letters with a satisfied grunt, then she winked at Pamela as the plane touched down. “You just earned yourself a free beer. Hope you’re as good at decoratin’ as you are at crosswords.”
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    PAMELA approached the uniformed man who was holding a sign that spelled out Pamela Gray, Ruby Slipper, in gold embossed letters. Before she could speak, the man executed an efficient little bow and asked in a clipped British accent, “Miss Gray?”
    â€œYes, I’m Pamela Gray.”
    â€œVery good, madam. I shall take your luggage. Please be so good as to follow me.”
    She did, and had to hurry to keep up with his brisk pace as he whisked confidently through the crowded airport and out to the waiting limo. Pamela wanted to stand and gawk when he opened the door to a lovely vintage stretch Rolls-Royce, but she slid into the dove-colored leather seat gracefully, thanking him before he closed the door.
    â€œWell met, Miss Gray!” a deep voice boomed at her from across the limo.
    Pamela jumped. Out of the shadows a man leaned forward, extending a beefy hand. As she automatically grasped it, the crystal chandeliers hanging from both sides of the car blinked on.
    â€œI am, of course, E. D. Faust. But you must call me Eddie.”
    Recovering her composure, she smiled smoothly and returned his firm grip. Her first impression of E. D. Faust was one of immense size. As soon as he had hired her, she had gone immediately to the nearest bookstore and purchased several of his novels, so she was familiar with his author photo. But the pictures in the back of his books hadn’t begun to capture the size of the man. He filled the space across from her, reminding her of Orson Welles or an aging Marlon Brando. And he was dark. His hair, which formed an abrupt widow’s peak, was thick and black and tied back in a low ponytail. His long-sleeved silk shirt was black, as were the enormous slacks and the glistening leather boots. Though insulated by layers of fat, the strong lines of his face were still evident, and his age was indeterminate—Pamela knew he must be somewhere between thirty and fifty, but she had no clue exactly where. He watched