Distant Obsession (7 page)

Her sister chuckled. “A bit edgy, aren’t we?”

Ashley stepped behind the camera and peered through the lens. “Oh yeah, that’s one fine man.” She glanced at Lilah. “This peeping Tom routine is kinda beneath you, don’t you think?”

“I’m not…”

“Don’t deny the obvious. There are other boaters on this lake, but you’ve singled out the pilot. At least it shows you’re still human, that you continue to entertain feelings for the opposite sex.”

Lilah ignored Ashley’s summation. “If we’re going to start slinging insults, you sure are coming in late or should I say early.”

Her features turned guarded. “I’m a big girl.”

“I take it your date went well.”

Again Ashley didn’t offer more than a casual summary of her outing. “Scott took me to eat and a movie afterward. Nothing special.”

“But you were out with him all night.”

“I was? Did you have us followed?” She slipped out of her shoes and rubbed her feet.

“What’s with you? You usually brag about your conquests and fill me in on all the juicy details, but…”

“But nothing happened. I dunno. Something is off about this guy. He’s fun. He’s dangerous, but maybe too dangerous for even me.”

“What happened to dull?”

“Yeah, well, I think he must have been tired on the plane, because last night he showed his true colors. And you thought I was wild. He brought me home around midnight and instead of coming inside, I walked the lake.”

“Alone? At night?”

“Sure. What’s the big deal?”

Lilah threw her head back and stared at the textured ceiling. “Sometimes I can’t believe we come from the same womb.”

“Did you fix any breakfast? I’m starved.”

“Muffins on the counter.” She trailed Ashley to the kitchen. “Will you be going out with Scott again?”

“God, you sound like Mom. Maybe.” The noise of clinking pottery, the fridge opening, and silverware rattling broke the awkward silence that followed her one-word answer. The microwave signaled its completion, and Ashley opened the door, letting a fresh wave of blueberry scent fill the cozy area. She took a bite before staring into space. “He asked me on a picnic. I didn’t give him an answer yet, but yeah, I’ll probably give him another shot. After all, what else is there to do around here?”

“How long you planning to stay with me?”

“I don’t know. I need to make some calls, see about getting my life back in order.”

“Stay as long as you like. I’m enjoying the company.”

“Thanks, Sis.” One corner of her lip lifted in a sheepish grin. “I owe you an apology. I should have moved in with you after the – incident, but I was selfish.”

“I don’t blame you. We would have fought daily as I wasn’t very good company then.”

“I’m glad I’m here now.”

“Me, too.” To stop the flow of tears that threatened, Lilah cleared her throat and turned away. “House is all yours for the day. I’m late for work and Miss Brewster is a stickler for punctuality. I’ll see you around six.”

“All right.”

“And Ash. It’s your life. You do what you want about Scott.”

Seven

Reece cracked one eye open from his pleasant slumber and focused on the scratching at the front screen door. In three seconds, the faint distraction faded into the silence of his isolated cabin near the back of Lunar Cove. He lowered the single eyelid, rolled on his side and tried to return to the sandman’s gift; the land of no worries, no aging pains, just the sweet surrender of pleasing dreams where he was never the jester, always the lord of the kingdom.

The abrasive sound continued like an annoying gnat swarming his head.

Damn. Not going to let me sleep are ya, you little thief.

Reece grunted beneath his breath at the gnawing ache four inches above the crease in his ass.

Never used to bother me.

Probably should have stopped after the second load of mulch yesterday, but no man wants to admit he’s getting older, especially on his forty-third birthday. Even through the dim glow of morning pastels peering above the adjacent mountain range, the lonely red circle around the ninth day of the ninth month on the wall calendar stared back; a recurring reminder of his solitary state this far into his life. No cake, no presents, not even a card.

Just like when I was a kid.

Reece rubbed the cold side of the bed with his palm. The relationship with his ex had never been what he’d expected; someone to ignore the minor flaws, encourage him to move above the doubt of unachieved goals, at least pretend some relief when her husband returned from serving aboard an eighty thousand ton welded slab of steel. Still, after six years, the void remained.

He perused his partially empty and drab dwelling.

Got to get some more furniture in here. Damn place looks abandoned. Just wanted to wait until…

The grating noise outside broke his concentration. He reached for the shotgun poised above his headboard.

Probably should have taken you out a long time ago.

He pulled back and released the final twelve-gauge solution. The old guy was simply trying to feed his hunger. No greed, no desire to be a nuisance, just a wish to survive. Reece pushed up from the bed, slid both feet across the cold floor, and grabbed the blemished piece of remaining fruit.

You were going to be breakfast, but I guess he needs you more.

 The periodic token, a minor payment to the resident neighborhood black-eyed bandit for a promise to ignore all their trash cans, had seemed a reasonable arrangement in the beginning, but lately the raccoon was becoming more demanding. He inched the door open and the critter backtracked a few feet then waited patiently for its prize. “Awful early this morning.”

Reece tossed the tax-for-services-rendered and bopped the rodent on the head. “Sorry, Oscar.” He scanned the pile of droppings left neatly stacked below the bottom step. “And thanks for remembering my birthday with your little gift.”

 He returned inside to the bathroom and studied the minor stubble in the mirror.

Hate to shave on Saturday.

Problem was, you never knew who you might see that close to your hometown. He slowly traced the razor among the layers of foam. Through the open window screen, a symphony of sounds and smells announced the birth of a new day. Across the cove, the rabbit beagle yelped and howled.

Daniels needs to get that bitch spaded. She’s always in heat.

Mrs. Williams, next door on her patio, tapped a spoon against a porcelain cup in rhythm to some invisible metronome. Three docks down, Reverend Evans yanked and cursed at the antique Evinrude until it finally started. The twenty-year-old 9.9 horsepower motor spit and sputtered before he cranked her full throttle and raced up the lake to his favorite fishing hole for crappie. The wake from the fourteen-foot Jon boat rocked the only love of Reece’s bachelor world, the
Jenny May
, until the cable snapped against the main mast.

“Ouch, damn it.”

He drew back a bloody finger. The slapping sound, like hide smacking skin, returned memories; the familiar crack and burning sting of their many disciplinary sessions, behind the tool shed. The anger refreshed, but not the tears. He was too old for that now, yet the resentment still flooded back.

Reece washed the residual lather from his face, tore a sliver of toilet paper as a makeshift bandage, and padded the thick red liquid oozing from his chin. “Crap, that’s going to leave a scab.” He returned to the bedroom, selected the first outfit in the closet, and dashed out the door, only to be greeted by another of his frequent woodland visitors. “Hello little fellow.”

The spotted fawn couldn’t be more than five or six weeks old. Unaware of the normal dangers associated with
people scent
, the small buck simply glanced at the invader to his territory, flipped the tiny white flag of a tail twice, and returned to nibbling the freshly mowed clover at the edge of the yard. He scanned the boundary of the pined forest for movement from either the parent, or a canine hunter, of this unsuspecting creature.

Mother must be just behind that cedar grove.

Reece eased by the deer and left him undisturbed as he started his car and backed up the asphalt. The drive provided too much time for bothersome thought, so he set the radio to his favorite country station and tried to get lost in the music. Before long, he pulled into Andrews Corner store, brought the Charcoal gray Dakota pickup alongside the pump and slid the credit card in the slot.

The ting ting of the gas pump ticked rhythmically as a backdrop to the sunrise edging above the horizon
. Reece drew in half a gallon of crisp unpolluted air, chilled by the autumn night, and his body sighed in appreciation. The serene setting offered in the Cherokee Valley, shadowed by the eastern rim of the Southern Appalachian mountain range, and protected by a rich blanket of mature trees from the adjoining national forest, was an experience he’d never regret.

The nozzle clicked to the off position, indicating a full tank. He punched the
yes
button on the dial for a receipt but instead, a note displayed on the monitor,
see attendant
.

Reese scratched his nose and walked inside the country style store. “Need a receipt for pump number four.”

The young girl with a flawless complexion extended a paper slip across the counter. “Right pretty weather we’re havin’.”

Reece smiled. “Yep. I plan to take advantage of the day and enjoy the Apple Festival in Fayeville.”

“Get lots of customers headed that way.”

Reece pocketed the receipt and started toward the door when the large print across the top of a local newspaper drew his attention. He picked up the issue and squinted at the photo of Senator Ben Randall’s wife accompanying an article with the headline;
The Wife Knows More Than She’s Telling
. The first sentence claimed the whereabouts of the missing woman was still unknown, while the remainder of the story cast suspicion on the wife without offering any proof. Another prime example of the media reporting more gossip than fact. He shook his head at the nonsense but continued to study the female’s face.

“Newspaper will cost ya a dollar,” announced the voice, with the southern accent, from behind the cash register.

Reece dug in his pocket for change and tossed four quarters onto the worn Formica countertop.

Something about the lady in the fuzzy image, surrounded by reporters, echoed across his brain.

I’ve seen her before, or someone like her.

The name referenced,
Mrs. Randall
, meant nothing, but the face… Reece searched his memory, but returned nothing. He shrugged and slipped the paper under his arm as he made his way back to his double cab truck.

Eight

The tree-lined streets, the nineteenth-century homes, even the brick sidewalks screamed welcome home to its lost son. Reece crawled along Lee Highway, passed the cornucopia of vendors, art centers, cafes and restaurants; enough to delight the curiosity and palette of male and female visitors to the visual splendor and rich history of the Blue Ridge Highlands of Virginia.

To the left, along Arch Drive, the classic early American architecture of the Stasny Art Museum announced,
you’re almost there
. Half a mile farther, near Park Plaza, the Queen Theatre stood ready to house another gathering of thespians, both locals and Hollywood notables like Peck, Spacey, Beatty and a dozen more. Two blocks north and to the right on Bain Street, he noted the early activity at the Garden House in preparation for the Fall Festival near Cherry Blossom Trail. One by one, each corner, each landmark, all birth sites of historical figures, reflected the wonder of his scenic hometown nestled in the foothills of White Top and Iron Mountain.