“One was of dogs playing poker. Another was of Elvis. And the third was of a deer with a target drawn around it. Hunter couldn’t identify the significance of any of the paintings—except for the one of the dogs. He sort of liked the one of a young Elvis, microphone in hand, hips gyrating. He left it hanging, and took the others down, stacking them in a corner facing the wall. The desk was a little rickety, but a matchbook under one leg steadied it. Across the scarred wooden top, he’d spread o...ut the original blueprints for the hotel. Casa de Mariposa had been built in the late seventies just as Reno really started to grow. The best materials had been used. At least he had something to work with and the builder hadn’t used cheap materials. A knock sounded on the door and he called the person in. Lydia opened the door and smiled at him. “Do you have a moment?” He felt a tiny thrill at the sight of her. Since he’d met her yesterday, the image of her delicate face had hovered around the edges of his thoughts.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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