more entertaining than her brother, though.
“Why are you grinning?” she asked.
“Private joke. So what’s your last name? I forgot.”
“Jensen.”
Bingo. She’d confirmed what he already knew to be true. He now had a direct link to Elliot, which might help him uncover his old pal’s secret hiding place.
She tilted her head. “Do you hate the name or something?”
Since when did his face give away his thoughts? Answer: it didn’t. Usually. “Not at all. Just thought of something else.”
“Another private joke?” Her smile showed dimples. Curly hair, dimples—why did Ames look familiar? She didn’t remind him of Elliot, although her last name confirmed the relationship.
Of course—that girl in the movie he’d watched at four a.m. in some crappy motel, the night after his world turned to shit. “Hey, anyone ever tell you that you look like Shirley T—”
“No. No one has ever told me I look like Shirley Temple,” she said dryly, the smile vanishing. “I do not look like a simpering five-year-old. I am not cute.”
Okay, he’d hit a sore spot. “Good, because you don’t. Nothing like her.”
She grinned again.
“Except maybe a bit when you smile.”
She put a hand over her mouth. “That settles it. I’m never smiling again.”
Jesus, was Nick actually flirting with Elliot’s sister? For a few seconds, he’d enjoyed talking with the attractive woman and forgotten what had brought him here. Back to business. Time to coax more details from her. He’d have to step carefully to get what he needed without alerting her and the rest of the attentive ladies of Arnesville—Arnesdale. Whatever.
He flipped off the top to the container of chicken and put it on the counter. “Want a piece?”
“Thanks. Um, are there plates?”
“Nope.”
“Okay.” She fished out a leg, examined the dusty floor, then sank to sit cross-legged, the chicken in one hand. The farm girl wasn’t afraid of dirt—the first stereotype to prove true since he’d arrived here.
He put down the container, grabbed another leg and joined her, sitting on the worn linoleum. “So you and your brother spent a lot of time here? Kind of a special place, huh?”
“For me, definitely. Him? Not so much. He shook the dust of Arnesdale from his feet as soon as he could.”
Now was his chance to push his Elliot agenda, but instead Nick asked, “Why did you stick around?”
She stopped eating and gave a one-shoulder shrug. “I was thinking about leaving, but then my mom died and my dad got sick, and he needed me to take care of him.”
If he could meet the old man, maybe he’d know more about Elliot’s business. “Sorry to hear it. How’s your father doing?”
“Dead.” She looked down at her chicken leg as if it fascinated her.
“I’m sorry.”
Another shrug. “Do you have any napkins?”
“Nope.”
She got up and went down the hall, returning a moment later with a roll of paper towels. He remembered seeing them in the bathroom cupboard.
“Those are yours? I wondered where all the cleaning things had come from. I thought maybe the real estate company had left them behind.”
She carefully wiped her fingers and wrapped the chicken leg up in her towel before putting it in the trash bag. A fastidious type after all.
“You can keep the cleaning supplies. Consider it a welcome-to-Arnesdale gift.” She sounded brisk, as if she was about to head out the door.
“Naw. Listen, sit down. Have another piece of chicken.”
She shook her head, but then sat again. “Maybe I could tell you about the area. You must have questions, right?”
Perfect. He’d go at it sideways. “What was it like growing up here?”
“I thought you’d want to know where to buy groceries.” She laughed uncertainly. “It was good, actually. Fine. It’s kind of dull now, but I still like it here, even if everyone knows my business.”
A town of busybodies. He’d clear out as soon as he found what Elliot had hidden here and returned it to Bert Esposito as promised.
“So it was just you and your brother?”
“Yes. And my mother and father and a dog named Fatty and a school of goldfish. I’m a good shot with the ping-pong ball, and I would win about five a year at the county fair fish toss.”
“Fish toss?”
“Get the ball into the fishbowl and you win a fish. I bet it’s part of every county fair in the world.”
He didn’t have a clue about county fairs, but he nodded, which must have been enough encouragement. She’d lost the diffidence that had come over her as she spoke of the deaths in her family.
“You know how goldfish