Page 42 of Shadowed Witness (The Secrets of Kincaid #2)

Friday morning at Wool Fest, Allye straightened a few of the photos she’d spread across the front table of her booth. She frowned, then tilted some of them. Better.

She grabbed her backup camera and took a picture, then stood back and surveyed the finished setup.

Despite how far behind she’d felt over the last several months, she’d managed to put together a good display.

She smiled. No, she hadn’t made it back to her studio to print the extra postcards from her new photos, but there were still plenty to choose from.

The larger prints and canvases depicting local nature and places of interest would be the big draw—along with the hand-knitted projects scattered tastefully among the artwork.

For now, each knitted piece was carefully placed where its color scheme would best complement the surrounding photos.

That would be short-lived once festivalgoers began picking through her offerings, but she didn’t mind.

She checked the time. The festival didn’t officially open for another hour, but anticipation was high among the vendors.

Shows like this could be hit or miss on immediate profitability, but they didn’t do it just to make a buck.

They did it because they loved their craft and the excitement and camaraderie of the festivals.

Allye shared that sentiment, although this was the only area festival that she regularly participated in.

She’d probably still set up regardless of whether she recouped her costs, but she always made at least that much.

And she usually booked a few photo shoots that resulted in repeat customers.

All in all, it was worth her time and effort.

She moved behind the table and lowered herself into the lawn chair she’d brought.

Normally, she’d take this extra pre-festival time to greet the other vendors in her tent and admire their handiwork, but her own setup had drained her.

Perhaps if she rested for a bit, she’d find the energy to make her rounds before the first festivalgoers arrived.

And if not? She frowned as she reached for the extra-large knitting bag she’d packed for today.

She didn’t like not knowing her limits and abilities anymore.

But she wasn’t going to let anything ruin her day—not her health, not the danger stalking her, not the emotional baggage from yesterday.

She was going to enjoy this festival if it killed her.

She pulled out her current project. The fingerless glove, second of the pair, was nearly finished, but she’d come prepared.

Before leaving this morning, she’d stocked her bag with several sets of needles and a variety of yarn so she’d have options to choose from after completing the gloves.

She hoped to make it to the Wool Tent later and browse the selection of naturally dyed yarns too.

The first couple of hours of the festival passed in a blur, and Allye was glad she’d taken the time to rest. By midafternoon, she was ready for a nap. But she was enjoying herself enough that she didn’t mind.

After placing another handful of postcards on the table to replace the last dozen sold, she took a few moments to stretch before returning to her seat.

Her phone vibrated, and she glanced at it.

There was a missed call and a text, both from Eric.

She frowned. She still wasn’t sure what she ought to feel toward him since his apology, but she hadn’t intentionally ignored him this time.

The phone just hadn’t rung. Reception was always spotty out here near the state park. She checked the text.

Forensic artist coming back early. Can you meet with him Sunday?

Before she could answer, a second text came through.

*After the festival, of course.

The festival did end earlier on Sunday than on the first two days—6:00 p.m. instead of ten, but that didn’t mean she could leave at six. The takedown process would require quite a bit of work on her part, and she wasn’t sure how late it would be by the time she made it back to Kincaid.

I’ll have to pack up and load my car before I’m free.

I can help

Her finger hovered over the screen. Should she accept the offer? No doubt she’d be more than exhausted by that point, and she had no idea how long a session with a forensic artist would take. No matter how much she might prefer space from Eric right now, she’d be foolish to refuse his help.

She sent him a simple Okay , then reached for her insulated mug of iced tea. But she misjudged the distance. The container tipped, and in her attempt to right it, she dropped her phone. It tumbled to the ground and bounced under the table and out of reach.

Someone from the opposite side of the booth stooped to pick it up. “Whoops.” The man rose, her phone in hand, and offered it to her. “Here you go.”

“Thank you.” She hit the power button to black the screen and set it aside. “Good to see you, Thomas. Enjoying the festival?”

“Always.” The reporter flashed her a toothy grin and held up his camera. “Mind if I take some photos?”

“Of course not.” She’d gladly take the free publicity if he chose to include a photo of her booth in the paper. She smiled for a wide-angle shot, then scooted her chair back to give him extra room as he focused in on her collection of offerings.

Once he’d taken several shots, Thomas let the camera rest against his chest as he looked more closely at her postcards. He picked up one featuring the outside of the historic newspaper office. “You really have an eye for this stuff, Allye.”

“Thank you.” She felt herself blush.

“I mean it. These are good. If you ever want to freelance for the paper, let me know.” He selected a few more and paid for them. “I’ll see you around. Keep up the good work.”

“Thanks,” she said again as he continued to the next booth.