"Mary Rosenblum - California Dreaming" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rosenblum Mary)

cool, judgmental face. She had no real friends in this Godforsaken town.
Ellen-and-Rebecca had been a complete and seamless universe. She could feel the
shattered bits of that universe crunching beneath her feet. “I’d better get back,” she
said.

“Oh yeah.” Jack crossed his arms on the top of the old-fashioned
wood-and-glass counter. “Aaron McDevitt was in yesterday, to pick up his share of
the food. He said he found a car up on the old logging road across Bear Ridge.” He
cleared his throat. “Aaron brought this in.” He fished around behind the counter, laid
a brown handbag on the scarred wood, put a woman’s wallet down beside it.
“Wasn’t no money in it,” he said.

Aaron would have made sure of that. Ellen picked up the leather wallet. The
bag was leather, too. It looked expensive. She opened the wallet. Credit cards from
stores and oil companies. A check guarantee card. All in the name of Julia DeMarco.
Ellen started to say that it didn’t belong to Laura, but she closed her mouth without
speaking. Laura’s dark, oval face smiled at her from a California driver’s license.

Julia DeMarco?

“This is . . . her bag.” Ellen folded up the wallet, stuffed it back into the bag.
“I’ll take it to her. Thanks,” she said too quickly. “Thank Aaron, too, when you see
him.”

She left the store, feeling guilty, as if she was partner to some crime. There
were hundreds of reasons to lie about your name — some good, lots of them bad.
Ellen stopped at the bottom of her driveway and opened the bag again. It held the
usual stuff; checkbook, wallet, makeup items and a leatherbound datebook. Ellen
found a leather card case full of business cards, printed on creamy stock.

Julia DeMarco
Attorney at Law

The address was San Francisco. Beth had told Ellen that her mother was a
nurse in Berkeley. The datebook listed court dates, appointments, and reminders to
pick up dry cleaning or visit the dentist. Ellen paged through it. Joseph’s Birthday
was written neatly at the top of the page for next Wednesday. Joseph. A dream,
Laura had said with her face full of anguish. Ellen stuffed everything back into the
bag and hurried up the lane to the house.

Inside, the watercolor Rebecca glowed on the wall. Ellen tossed the bag onto
the cluttered worktable and went into the bedroom.

“Hi.” Laura smiled wanly at Ellen. “Beth went to get more water. She said she
saw a pool up above the house.”

“The spring,” Ellen nodded. “That was nice of her.”

“Beth’s a good kid. She had to grow up a little too early. There was a divorce
— a custody battle. I think . . . it was ugly. I think it . . . hurt Beth,”