Small-Town Secrets

“Well, she didn’t come past me. I’d have seen her.”

Annoyed, Yolanda said, “Which means she went out the back door, which is definitely not a public exit. And just how did she know where it was?”

“Are you talking to me or just muttering to yourself?”

“Both,” Yolanda retorted. She patted a bookshelf, moved a book then looked at the shelves below and above. “Oh, I almost forgot. She flicked the ashes...”

“What?”

Yolanda had gone pale. Not a color he liked seeing on her. She whispered a response, “She used my favorite yellow coffee cup as an ashtray. But the cup is gone.”

She kept searching the shelves and then went to the end table and chair in the corner of the room.

“You think she swiped your cup?” Adam asked.

“I can’t imagine why. This makes no sense.”

“You’re probably overreacting.”

“I don’t overreact, ever.”

That was true. She was always in control, always did what she was supposed to do. Yolanda had once been in a school play, and the stage had collapsed under her feet. She’d kept saying her lines even as the actor playing the cowardly lion helped her out of the hole.

“You had to have seen her.”

You have to pay more attention...

He’d heard that a million times growing up, mostly from his father. They’d never seen eye to eye on anything, particularly after he’d dropped out of high school, and Adam had been desperate to leave Scorpion Ridge as soon as possible. Now he was back.

“No one walked past me. She must have gone out the back.”

“But—”

He ruffled her hair, knowing it would distract her. “It doesn’t look like anything’s missing. It was probably some tourist who wandered in, realized she’d made a mistake and then wandered out.”

Yolanda nodded, though she didn’t appear convinced.

Adam checked his cell phone and turned to leave. “I’ve got to be at the Tae Kwon Do studio in thirty minutes, and I still need to finish the door.”

“Tell your brother I said hi.”

“I will.”

Snapp’s Studio, his family’s business, had employed the whole Snapp family for years—except for Adam. He was there now, though, once again working for his father. Only this time if his father made a request, Adam jumped to it, trying to make his dad’s life easier.

Tonight Adam was scheduled to give a lesson to a beginner class. His twin brother, Andy, would be there stacking mats, folding towels, offering advice from the side of the room. If the noise and chaos got overwhelming for Andy, he’d go into the back office away from everyone. But usually it was where Andy felt most comfortable.

Right after his brother was diagnosed with autism, a well-meaning counselor had handed Adam’s mother a pamphlet and recommended a group home for him.

Both parents decided that was not in Andy’s future.

Adam respected all they’d done to keep that from happening. Snapp’s Studio was the result of taking what Andy loved most and making it his life’s work.

Yolanda followed Adam. “You know, the old woman didn’t give me her name but she did say something about a relative. Have you heard of Chester Ventimiglia?”

“His name is on the courthouse wall. On a plaque.”

“Trust you to remember that. If an historic politician is commemorated anywhere in an artful way, you’ll know. Are you sure you don’t mean Richard? Wasn’t he a judge?”

Adam bent down, opened his toolbox and soon cleared the floor.

He was sure. Both Chester and Richard’s names were written on the courthouse, but they were two different engravings.

All his life his father had been telling Adam to pay attention to what went on around him, not to lose himself in whatever project he was engaged in.

And he’d been right.

Adam Snapp had become a successful artist, but he hadn’t been able to balance art and life. His art had become his sole focus.

All the while, the rest of his life had fallen apart.

CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_a708273f-43c2-5167-b967-0c6379d46832)

IF ANYONE HAD told Yolanda that Adam would become Mr. Fix-it, she’d have laughed. He was a dreamer, an artist and a wanderer. His family and friends had always worried about him, sometimes even more than they had about his brother. But Yolanda had to admit, Adam always seemed to land on his feet, albeit wobbly.

After dropping out of high school, he’d managed to become a pseudo artist-in-residence, surviving by doing caricatures during the weekend and then masterminding most of the artwork—mostly murals—at Bridget’s Animal Adventure. Back then, a whole five years ago, he’d painted during the day and during the night, acted as a security guard in exchange for room and board.

Yolanda’s mom had called him a loser. But Trina Sanchez had thought only a man wearing a suit and tie and bringing home a four-digit-a-week paycheck was to be admired.

Yolanda had never met that man. Her memories of her own father were shadowy. She remembered that he was tall and that his chin and cheeks had always felt rough to her touch. He’d smelled of ink, as he’d worked in Phoenix at some type of print shop. He’d died when Yolanda was four. Her mother hadn’t talked about him much, simply saying he should have had more drive.

Yolanda had long suspected that no one possessed enough drive to please her mother. Yolanda certainly hadn’t.

When it came to Adam Snapp, Yolanda couldn’t get a handle on whether he had drive or not. He was passionate about his art, and never seemed to worry about anything else, like rent or food. In his teens and early twenties, he’d been content to live in an old house, more a caretaker’s cabin, on BAA’s property. Existing day to day, almost like a hippie. Yolanda had almost envied him this worry-free existence.

Unfortunately, there’d been only so many walls to paint in Scorpion Ridge, which was just a tiny spot on the Arizona map. Fortunately, his talent had gotten noticed, big-time, and he’d left Scorpion Ridge with a suitcase of clothes and four suitcases of art supplies. At least that’s what Yolanda’s grandmother had heard from Mr. Teasdale, who’d heard it from... Well, the small-town grapevine had many roots.

What Yolanda remembered most was that when Adam left Scorpion Ridge, her mom had shaken her head and given him six months before he came back, head hanging, to move in with his parents.

Yolanda had refrained from mentioning that she still lived with her parent. And, although Yolanda nodded in agreement with her mother’s prediction, secretly she believed Adam would do something great with his talent. She respected that he had the motivation to follow his muse to other places. She’d been so busy making sure she got straight A’s that she’d not had time to develop a muse. Wasn’t sure she knew how.

And, though she’d never admit it, especially to him, she thought Adam was quite good.

To everyone’s surprise, two years after Adam left, an article in the Scorpion Ridge Gazette reported that he’d won a national competition and was becoming fairly well-known, with patrons willing to pay in the five digits for his art.

Even in black-and-white, the winning mural featured in the newspaper was riveting. It was as if Adam had only been practicing when he’d painted all the murals at BAA. His real talent lay elsewhere.

And now he worked for her, removing hinges.