The Puzzle Read Free Page A

forward to reclaiming their town. The air got cooler, the pace a little slower, and the echo of traffic and people became somewhat muted.
    Shops extended along Main, spilling onto a few side streets here and there, one on which my shop was located. Some were plain brick, nestled close, abutting one another. Others had brightly painted clapboard siding. Awnings revealed paned windows and bowed fronts, filled with gifts, antiques, books and toys. In the summer, tourists meandered along stone paths and courtyards bordered with flowered gardens, while they leisurely enjoyed an ice cream. You could sit on benches or under the canopied shade of the old oak trees, or stroll among the various shops.
    Over the years, long-time summer residents bequeathed gifts such as land and money, which I heard were greatly appreciated by the town. A few buildings and inns were renovated or built occasionally, but the small town remained exactly that, a small town. This time of year many of the businesses closed up for the winter, but several remained open. I noticed a few people in, what I liked to refer to as, the diner when passing by on my way home, probably locals. I still checked anyway, out of habit. You never knew who might be spotted talking together.
    After leaving town, the road clung to the mountain, snaking around bends and curves, intermittently allowing views of the valley below. Within minutes I turned in at my drive and slowly began the steep descent. Now on my own and without Stephen, I kept feeling as though a piece of me had been erased, but in some mysterious way he was still there beside me, watching and waiting. For what? And like usual, I turned half expecting him to be in the seat next to mine staring at me, but of course he wasn’t. I turned and looked back behind my car.
    A cold mist of uneasiness settled over me. Would I always be looking over my shoulder? It was surreal, but this was a challenge I had to face. Alone . I slowed down, then stopped midway mentally replaying that first day I arrived. Was it only several months ago I had negotiated that first tentative trip down this long, narrow driveway?…
     
    (My past)
     
    …I was feeling energized, but edgy, as wild brush scraped the sides of my car. It was early spring, and I was feeling almost hopeful. I was certainly not prepared for what appeared below as I approached. Trucks and workers were everywhere, caught up in what seemed like a maze of confusion. I slowly came to a stop, suddenly unsure of the intimidating task before me. My eyes darted left and right, taking in the whole area, and I wondered if I had made a terrible mistake.
    Because of my lack of communication, it didn’t appear as though I was expected anytime soon. Bewildered glances were thrown my way as I looked for Mike Cummins, the foreman. After a few minutes, I spotted him coming out of the house, and his sour expression spoke volumes. I stepped out of my car, anxious and unsure.
    As he approached, I asked, “Not ready yet, is it?”
    Mike was upset. “You know, I tried calling you, Samantha, but your home phone was disconnected. I tried your cell too.”
    “I’m sorry. I had to get away and didn’t think. On the trip up here, I had a terrible signal on my cell…” I stopped. I was getting tired of making excuses for my life. “Tell me what’s up.”
    “The electricity is out, and of course, that affects the electric baseboard heat. Also, the well out back is acting up. We’re finishing off some carpentry work and touching up the last of the outdoor paint on the back porch, but this electrical problem may take another twenty-four hours.” He looked sorry for me. “Trust me, Sam. This is no picnic here. My advice? Go and stay down in Franklin.”
    I expected him to say that, so I squared my shoulders. I needed to be convincing not ambiguous. “Mike, it’s going down to thirty-three tonight. Most hotels and inns in town are already closed for the season, and the rest will be booked