Hidden Hills (9 page)

“I like the
Hardy Boys
and
Harry Potter
.” He placed them on the bottom shelf of the bookcase. “Loretta says they're stupid, but they're not. She's stupid.”

“Who's Loretta?” she asked, thinking it was a neighborhood girl.

“Just one of the dopey women my dad knows.”

Charlotte hid her grin behind a large dictionary. In her opinion, children were much better judges of character than most men. She doubted Jake was an exception, but she wasn't about to air her opinion in front of his son.

“She's probably not so bad once you get to know her, or your dad wouldn't like her.”

He shook his head. “She's nice enough when Dad's around, but she's dumb as a rock.”

“Honest?”

“Yeah, like last week,” he said. “I asked Loretta who would win the World Series — she said, ‘the Crimson Tide.' Now I ask you, is she dumb or what?”

She laughed. “You're right. Seems pretty dumb to me.”

Bruce sighed in disgust. “It's been the same with all the women he brings home — dumb as dirt!”

Charlotte laughed in spite of herself.

“I can see where it would be a problem, but I hope you don't feel that way about all women. As for me, I played third base for three years in a row, and I ran track my senior year.”

“They had sports when you were in school?”

“Watch it, kid!” She cuffed his chin. “I'm also a pretty good fisherman.”

“No way!”

“Yes, way.” She rummaged through a cardboard box for proof. Her trophy catfish had grown a little dusty over the years, but it was still quite impressive. Smiling, she pulled it out of its hiding place with fanfare. “Ta-da!”

“You caught him?” he asked, eyes wide with wonder.

She winked. “Play your cards right, and I just might show you my fishing hole.”

Bruce rubbed the stiff whiskers, measuring their length against his fingers. ”Can we go now?”

“Let's see.” She glanced at the clock over the mantel. “Twelve-fifteen. It's a twenty mile drive to my house, so if your dad's not much longer getting back, then we should have time.”

Bruce sat the fish in the center of the mantel and readjusted it several times until it was just right. She'd had no idea the boy loved fishing.

“Charlotte,” he said in a singsong voice. “You're not half as bad as Loretta.”

High praise indeed from this kid.

“You know, Bruce, I chose this house because it was cheaper, and I liked it. But when we discovered you guys next door, well, it's almost perfect.”

His head ducked as a pink flush crept into his already rosy cheeks. He cut his eyes toward her, shoving the remaining books into whatever space he could find before bolting for the door. “Wait till I tell the guys we're going fishing!”

“Bruce?”

He stopped. “Yes, ma'am?”

“While we're waiting for your dad, why don't you and your brothers get the frogs out of my car?”

His mouth fell open. “W-o-w! How did you know?”

She stared him straight in the eye, a warning for the future. “I know a lot of things.”

Jake stopped by to see Ralph and Shelby Watts after picking up the van. Not only were they old friends, but Ralph was also his attorney and would possibly know Charlotte's late husband. He only planned to stay long enough for his boys to finish their job.

“Skipping church? That's not like you,” Ralph said when he opened his door, coffee cup in hand. “Come on in — the pot's still hot.”

“Maybe just a cup.” Jake followed him into the kitchen. The house was quiet now, but he could remember when it had been as noisy as his own, before Ralph's girls went away to college. Now the quietness reminded him of how fast time slips away. “I'm helping a neighbor move some potted plants today.”

“I'm assuming it's a woman.” Ralph raised his brows. “She must be something to make you miss preaching. What is she, single — divorced?”

“Widow.”

“Young — pretty?”

“Both.” Jake poured his own coffee. “And she's got two girls.”

“Interesting. Is she from around here?”

“Over toward Wills' Junction.” The coffee wasn't near as good as what he'd had for breakfast, or maybe it was the company. “She hasn't told me much about herself.”

Ralph burst out laughing. “She
must
be hot if she has you working already. Has this woman got a name?”

“McGregor. And get this, she was married to a lawyer. Any of your cronies go by the name?”

Ralph finished his coffee. “McGregor? If his name was Mitch, then you've hit the jackpot.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The McGregors of Wills' Junction,” his friend replied. “Don't tell me you've lived in north Alabama your entire life and don't know about the family. Judge Tom McGregor? Had two sons — Mitch and Mark? Mitch was a lawyer, died a couple of years ago, and Mark is a pediatrician. I can't believe you haven't heard of them.”

“Sure, I've heard of the judge — who hasn't? But are you sure it's the same family? What little I know about Charlotte doesn't seem to fit with what I've heard about him.”

“Positive,” Ralph said, warming to his story. “Family has old money. Before he died, Mitch inherited his grandfather's estate — huge house with lots of land. I'd say his wife knew exactly who she was marrying.”

Jake didn't want to hear this. “Have you ever met Charlotte?”

“No, but I saw her at the Wills' Country Club a couple of times right after they married. I got the impression she didn't fit in — probably used her looks to move up the ladder.”

Jake left a few minutes later with conflicting ideas about his new neighbor racing through his mind. Ralph had stirred his curiosity even more. And it hadn't changed the fact he was drawn to the woman like a magnet.

Charlotte had the kids ready to go when he pulled into her driveway. He liked punctuality in a woman. Hopefully, he'd have a lot more answers before the afternoon was over.

The twenty miles from Reader to Wills' Junction was cut short when she had him turn left about six miles north of the city limit. Another four miles passed before they eased onto a narrow road seeming to lead to nowhere.

“Is this the scenic route?” The thought crossed his mind she was leading him on a wild-goose chase. There hadn't been a mailbox in miles.

She settled the escalating dispute in the back seat before answering. “Afraid not. This is the only way, but we're almost there.”

He started to argue when the crumbling pavement came to an end, blocked by a set of ornamental wrought iron gates. Across the top, the name ‘Hidden Hills' scrolled in cursive, paying testimony to the artistic skills of a long-ago blacksmith.

“I'll have to open it.” She didn't give him time to protest. Instead of taking the key from her purse as he'd expected, she reached up and removed the
s
from the name above the gate, inserting it into the lock.

Jake waited till Charlotte was back in the van before taking his foot off the brake, letting the vehicle roll forward at a snail's pace. Pavement gave way to gravel as God's natural wonders came into view. The dirt road stretching before them was overgrown with grass and weeds, making it appear to be no more than a wide path in a hardwood forest. He could see where the neglect of the present covered the wealth of the past, and it was breathtaking.

As perfect as the place seemed now, he knew it would be even more impressive when the fall colors arrived. Early morning dews and evening sunsets followed by the rising moon of a cold, wintry night would be well worth the drive. While he welcomed the isolation for himself, he only could imagine the fear Charlotte must have felt each time she returned home to this loneliness.

“Would you look at those trees,” Jeremy said, his head jutting out the rear window as the breeze ruffled his hair. “They‘re huge, and get a load of those yellow leaves covering the ground over there. It looks like carpet. Can we camp here, Dad?”

Charlotte glanced over her shoulder. “You're welcome to camp, but you're looking at poison oak.”

He sensed the creeping getting on her nerves, but even so, the steep incline leading down to an old wooden bridge called for caution. The kids were glued to the windows, staring at large rocks hanging over the creek bed, some ten feet below the once-covered bridge.

As they left the surprisingly sturdy structure behind, the road curved again, and they topped another hill. His own anticipation surpassed the kids' when he glimpsed a large metal roof in the distance.

The state parks weren't as well kept as the last portion of the drive leading up to the old, two-storied antebellum home. He paused long enough to count eight marble columns connecting the wraparound porch to the roof. It was the epitome of the Old South.

Time stood still for a moment. Everything about the house was picture-perfect, as if it was staged for a photo shoot. The only things missing were cotton fields and horse drawn carriages.

“This place is awesome!”

Jake echoed their sentiments. As a kid, he'd heard people talk about the Wills family and their mansion in the woods, but he'd never seen it. Over time, he'd forgotten it even existed. Now he was here in a place where time seemed irrelevant, except for the modern-day version of the Southern Belle, gazing at the home she'd given up. A solemn resolve etched in her delicate profile gave him cause for concern.

The elegance, the beauty, and the lifestyle seemed to suit Charlotte McGregor, yet she was giving it all up for an old house in a middle-class neighborhood with faulty plumbing. It was a puzzle he intended to solve.

He stood back as she unlocked the massive double doors leading into the entrance hall, letting the children enter first. The dim interior burst to life with the flip of a switch, revealing a spotless room. His eyes were drawn to the crystal chandelier, hanging from a sculptured ceiling some twenty feet above. Even more impressive were the two floating staircases, which circled the foyer walls before merging into one on the second-floor landing.

The kids ran wild in all directions, their clear voices echoing with their footsteps on the hand-planed hardwood floors. A low whistle escaped his lips. “This is
some
house you've got here. Mind if I look around?”

“Not at all. It's for sale if you're interested.”

“Afraid not.” He chuckled at the absurdity of the idea. “A few million bucks for a house doesn't fit my budget too well.”

“I know what you mean.” She opened a large set of French doors and touched a wall panel. Heavy drapes moved aside, letting in the mid-day sun. The only furniture left in the room was an antique grand piano. “This was the original music room. Not only is it soundproof, but I was told the acoustics are perfect. And, of course, it was built to show off the beautiful grand over by the lovely wall of windows.”

“Do I hear a note of sarcasm there?”

“No,” she said. “You hear an entire song of sarcasm.”

“Sorry you're selling it?”

“I'm just sorry we ever bought it in the first place.”

He crossed the room to sit on the piano bench. “Sounds like an interesting story. Do you want to tell me about it?”

She shook her head. “No sense in dumping on you.”

He knew a lot of women, but he'd never met one with such an obvious burden who was so determined not to talk. As a gesture, he slid over, making room for her on the piano bench. She ignored him.

“Come on,” he said, patting the cushion. “What are friends for? Dump on me all you want.”

“It's my problem. I'll handle it.”

He wanted to fly into her for being so obstinate, but he opted for changing the subject instead.

“Listen to this.” He opened the piano top as if he knew what he was doing. Then flexing his fingers, he attacked the beautiful instrument with the worst rendition of “Jingle Bells” known to man.

Charlotte burst out laughing.

“What?” He pretended a hurt pride. “It took me a year to learn the song.”

“It shows,” she said, wiping the tears away. “Thanks. I needed that.”

Jake reached for her hand and she slid onto the bench beside him. “Do you know it's the first time you've laughed since we've met.”

“No, it's not!”

“Afraid so.” He nudged her shoulder while searching for a familiar key. “I've been there, Charlotte. I know what you're going through.”

A heavy sigh seemed to deflate her resolve. He sensed she wanted to talk, but was quickly proven wrong.

“You know, Jake,” she said softly. “I find it hard to believe.”

“Try me.”

She moved away, but he caught her before she could stand. The kids were nowhere around, so it was a rare moment indeed. “Talk to me, Charlotte.”

“You're a glutton for punishment, aren't you?”

“Maybe,” he said, encouraged at last. “If you didn't like this house, why did you buy it?”

“I didn't say I didn't like it.” She waved her hand at her surroundings. “What's not to like? This house has about anything you can imagine, and it sits in the middle of eighty acres of the most beautiful land in the entire county.”

“So the reason for buying?”

“Was to keep it in the family.”

“In your family?”

“Not hardly,” she replied, as if he should have known better. “Mitch's… actually it was his grandparents' estate on his mother's side.”

He frowned. It seemed as if Ralph's source might have been wrong. “If his mother wants to keep it in the family, then why doesn't she live here?”

“Because Ellen likes neighbors, and there aren't any.”

He gave up tickling the ivory to use the piano for an arm rest. “Do you mean to tell me, you and the girls have been alone since Mitch died?”