A Stranger in Wynnedower (6 page)

“Whatever you say.” She
stepped back. “Are you sure they couldn’t have come loose on their own? That
dirt road is very bumpy.”

His expression bespoke
pity. He let her question go and asked one of his own. “Wynne said you arrived
yesterday afternoon?”

Wynne? Jack Wynne, of
course.

Could Jack have
unhooked her battery? Nonsense. Rachel pushed the thought away.

“I drove down from
Baltimore yesterday. It was parked in this spot for several hours.” She shook
her head. “Who would do such a thing?”

Mike started the engine
and it hummed sweetly.

“What’s the cost?”
Rachel asked. She pressed her fingers to her temples. If she’d looked under the
hood herself maybe she could’ve....

“Hello.”

Startled, she looked
behind her. The young man smiled broadly. Both his jeans and his boots were
well-worn. He looked at home in them.

He asked, “Are you just
passing through? Or here for a visit? You’re a friend of Jack’s?”

“I’m Rachel Sevier. I
came here looking for my brother, the most recent caretaker. Do you know him?
Jeremy Sevier? A little over six foot and skinny with blond hair? About your
age?”

He looked aside,
crossing his arms.

“Nah, don’t think so.
Usually, I go in the opposite direction, toward town. I do odd jobs here from
time to time.” He looked at Mike. “You ever meet him?”

Mike wiped his hands on
a towel, and then shoved it into his pocket. “No, don’t think so.”

Rachel turned to Mike
and asked again, “How much do I owe you?”

He shook his head. “I
drove out and I’ll have to drive back.”

“I understand. How
much?”

“Wynne promised me one
of May’s casseroles so I think we’re about even.”

“May?” A calendar
popped into her head showing casseroles of the month.

The younger man spoke.
“May Sellers. She cooks for him, lucky guy.”

Mike added. “Worth a
drive out here any time.”

“It sounds like an
excellent deal for me.”

“Wynne’s a good friend.
Known him all our lives. Happy to help a friend of his.”

“Thank you.” Now that
she had transportation, she was in a hurry to visit Jeremy’s employer and to
get away before her car suffered some other vandalism.

She wondered briefly
about the person who had stood in the hallway as she begged for help. If it
truly wasn’t Jack Wynne, then could it have been a vandal? Perhaps the same
person who tampered with her car? Someone with a grudge against Wynnedower?

“I’ll tell Jack the
car’s fixed,” she said and headed to the porch to fetch her suitcase.

He was already there,
coming down the front steps with her suitcase in his grip “So, Mike’s got your car
all fixed? Good deal.”

“Especially for me. May
Seller’s casserole?”

He laughed. His face
lit up, and the heavy brows now seemed to fit his face, his dark eyes and
strong features. Rachel noticed his hair was smoother today and neatly
controlled by the band. He’d shaved. He looked almost civilized.

She added, “The only
thing wrong was that the battery cables were unhooked. Any idea how that
happened?” She watched his face closely, but saw nothing more than mild
surprise.

“Not a clue.” Jack
turned away He stowed the suitcase in the trunk and closed it with a firm slam.

“Good luck, Rachel. If
I hear anything from your brother, I’ll contact you. Probably nothing to worry
about. He’s a young man, and there’s a lot more life in the city than in this
old place.” With a quick wave, he walked straight over to Mike and the younger
man. They all went into the house together.

She was left holding
her farewell ‘thank you’ like a wilting bouquet that nobody wanted.

Good riddance could
work both ways.

She drove through the
broken gates and down the old dirt road, looking in the rearview mirror one
last time, almost disbelieving she’d spent the night in Wynnedower Mansion.

Thick woods lined
either side of the dirt road. The road followed a ridgeline, and it was about a
mile to the main road.

With a little luck,
Jeremy would be at work when she arrived. He’d be sitting at his desk with a
perfectly obvious reason for why he was no longer at Wynnedower Mansion and why
he wasn’t answering his phone or returning voicemails. She’d listen, and then
she’d kill him for putting her through this worry.

The car jolted down and
up again. She avoided a big rock and concentrated on navigating the ruts and
potholes.

****

Strom and Sons was an
accounting firm on the west side of Richmond and probably only a thirty or
forty minute drive if she hadn’t gotten lost. The firm was the perfect employer
for Jeremy, poised, as he was, between a Bachelor of Science and the master’s
program he was beginning in September. Then the CPA exam. Rachel enjoyed
teasing him they were both making careers of counting things. He’d stopped
laughing a while ago, so she needed to think up a new joke.

It was a building of
steel and glass. Only two stories, but shiny and appearing transparent at the
same time. Every angle was perfect.

Rachel walked into the
lobby and stopped at the reception desk. “Hi.” She nodded at the receptionist,
a young man with perfectly mussed hair. “I’d like to see Jeremy Sevier.”

He tilted his head as
if considering her request, then looked down to punch a button on the phone. He
listened, presumably to ringing. She found his manner dismissive.

“He doesn’t answer.
Would you like to leave a message?”

“I’d like to speak to
his manager.”

“Do you know his
manager’s name?”

“No, but surely, you can
find out.”

“Excuse me.” He
consulted a list, then punched a line and looked away. When he turned back, he
said, “He doesn’t answer. You’re welcome to leave a message with me.”

She leaned halfway
across the counter and dropped her voice to a low, more serious key.

“My brother, Jeremy,
doesn’t answer his personal phone, and I don’t know where he is.”

“We can’t give out
personal information.”

“I understand, but if
he’s not showing up at work, then he’s missing, so I need to know.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I can’t
help you.” He tapped his pen, one quick snap on the desktop.

Arrogant twerp. He’d
said ‘ma’am’ like an indictment.

She leaned against the
counter. “Understand this is a courtesy visit. A check with Strom and Sons
before I go to the police. The authorities will be around asking questions.
Hopefully, they’ll be discreet. Police tend to make clients nervous.”

Would the police take
her concern seriously? She didn’t know, but she read in the twerp’s face that
he wasn’t willing to take a chance if it might boomerang back on him.

“Have a seat over
there. I’ll see what I can do.”

Rachel sat. He spoke
low into the phone, and she couldn’t hear a word. A few minutes later, an older
man entered the lobby and walked over to her.

“Miss Sevier? I’m John
Brookes. Jeremy reports to me. May I see your ID? A driver’s license, maybe?”

It was a commonsense
request. “Here it is.”

“Thank you, Miss
Sevier.” He handed it back.

“Please call me
Rachel.”

“Thank you. Rachel,
Jeremy isn’t here. I’m sure that’s obvious; otherwise, he’d be out here
speaking with you. You understand I can’t give you specific information, but
I’m also sure Jeremy wouldn’t want you to worry. I can tell you he requested
some time off.”

Relief lightened her
mood. “When will he be back? Do you know where he went?”

He leaned toward her.
“That’s all I can say. Privacy, you know.”

“But I’m his sister.
Surely, you can….”

“If he wanted you to
know, or thought you needed to know, he would’ve told you. Likely it was an
oversight on his part, but I have to respect his right to privacy. I will let
him know of your concern when he returns or if he contacts me. Again, I’m
sorry.”

“Thank you. I
appreciate your help. Do you mind if I keep in touch? Here’s my number. If
there’s anything else you can tell me, please call.”

Rachel pushed past the
glass doors and walked to the car. She rested her head against the seat back
and sat in silence. It felt like giving up.

So, Jeremy was on
leave. A trip? For how long?

And with whom? Her
heart sank.

He knew she was
planning to visit, but not for another couple of weeks. If he hadn’t gotten her
voicemails, he couldn’t know she’d moved her plans up.

How long could she hang
around waiting? There was the interview with Mr. Ballew, but she could drive
back for that. She’d taken two weeks of vacation time to spend with Jeremy,
intending to stay at Jeremy’s place—Wynnedower. He’d said the house was empty.
Now, he wasn’t there and it certainly wasn’t empty.

She preferred to stay
in the area.

A hotel would break the
budget.

There was a room
available at Wynnedower.

Ridiculous.

Well, she wasn’t done
in Richmond yet, anyway. She’d passed a hospital on her way in. Silly of her
not to have thought to check the hospitals. After that, she’d visit the
authorities, but she had to face facts, including the reality that Jack Wynne
and John Brooks were probably right.

****

The police weren’t very
helpful, but at least the folks at the hospitals would talk to them. Not so
with her. Turned out she couldn’t just stop at the desk and get info about recent
admissions, unknown or otherwise. The good news was there were no recent John
Does.

She was driving the
dusty road back to Wynnedower. Jack had been friendlier this morning. Probably
because she was leaving, but still…hadn’t he bribed the tow truck driver with a
casserole to help her out?

In her head, she heard
Daisy saying that life was about choices and options. Rachel might have only a
few options, but it was still her choice to make.

Wynnedower’s wrought
iron gates were permanently propped open because otherwise they’d fall down.
Here she was, back again. Like in those scary haunted house movies where the
gates, once passed, never allowed an exit.

An iron-clad memory and
vivid imagination could be a curse. In this case, she didn’t worry. In fact,
she laughed. Jack Wynne would tolerate no haunts and no vandals. He’d bring
those thick, dark brows together and exorcise them instantly. She liked that—no
distractions, no hemming and hawing.

A mystery, too. Both
the man and the house.

The house and grounds
looked as deserted as before. Rachel parked a short distance from the house,
but not as close as yesterday. Even in daylight, she didn’t want to be near the
ground level floor and that dark area behind the bushes.

The front door was
unlocked. She found him in the kitchen, leaning into the fridge, one hand
clasping the top of the door. When he stepped back, a pickle jar in his hand,
he saw her.

“You’re back.”

Not an encouraging
welcome. “I need to speak with you. I hope this is a good time.”

He went straight to the
counter and unscrewed the lid. Tossing it aside amid the usual sandwich
preparation litter, he used a knifepoint to skewer a pickle. “You went to his
workplace?”

“How did you know?”

“Not hard to figure.
Judging by your expression, I’d say you didn’t find him, but you also don’t
look as worried as before, so they must have been able to give you some
information.”

She was stunned he’d
read her face so easily.

“Have you had lunch?
There’s bologna.” He picked up his sandwich and his cup of coffee and settled
at the table.

“Help yourself if you
want a sandwich or coffee. It’s still hot.”

“Thanks, no.” She
watched him turn away, regretting the ‘no.’ A companionable approach could be
very helpful. “Coffee would be great.”

“Mugs are in there.” He
nodded toward the cabinets next to the fridge. “Don’t worry too much about him.
I used to be that age. I remember, at least vaguely. Let him live his life.”

Rachel was taken aback,
but calmly took a mug from the shelf. “I don’t interfere in his life. In fact,
I’ve done everything I can to help him get a good, solid start in life. I want
him to be independent.”

“Sorry, not my
business.” He turned away, as if his interest had evaporated with the rebuff.

“No, I’m the one who’s
sorry. I’ve made it your business. Believe me, I don’t want to live through my
brother. I want to know he’s well and happy and then I can get on with my own
life.” She poured the coffee, added milk, then wiped the counter with a paper
towel, mopping up a few spilled drops as well as the stray crumbs from Jack’s
sandwich-making. She picked up the terrycloth towel to dry her hands.