Holly Grove Homecoming (5 page)

He slipped out of bed. Crossing to the window, he looked down into his aunt’s front yard. She and Carly were visiting beside the flowerbed.

A slight movement from a window across the street drew his attention. Mrs. Abbott was spying on them again. Myrna had said that Larry’s mom spent all of her time indoors but that she also passed a good portion of her days staring out the window and watching her neighbors on Sugar Maple Drive.

He couldn’t help feeling sorry for the woman, even though her son had admitted to killing Trooper’s mom and dad. The thing was, Trooper was almost certain that Larry’s admission had been based on his delusions. The boy had never been the soundest apple on the tree, and the fact that his mother obviously worshipped him had done nothing to help the situation. Instead, her devotion had convinced him that he was inherently entitled to anything he wanted.

And what he wanted was to be accepted by his peer group as their superior. That attitude, of course, had earned him nothing but their disdain.

Trooper had spent a lot of years hating Larry Abbott. In fact, he’d gone into the FBI hoping to learn the skills necessary to prove that Larry had been lying about having an affair with Mary Myers, who was not only old enough to be his mother but who was also his junior English teacher.

But the years had slipped by and he’d discovered that he was, if not happy, then certainly content to push that convoluted incident to the back of his mind while he dealt with the details of other people’s tragedies.

Until April. April the twenty-first to be exact. The date would be forever ingrained in his memory. The date he’d watched a child die and then lost his partner. His own wound had been of no significance to him at the time, although they told him later in the hospital that he’d almost died from loss of blood.

There had been days he’d wanted to die. But his body had ignored his wishes, fighting to live, as was a body’s duty to do, to preserve the spark of life even when the mind insisted that life wasn’t worth preserving.

Movement below pulled him back from his descent into the past. Carly had turned and appeared to be looking toward Mrs. Abbott’s window. What did she think of her neighbor who never left her house? Did she know the story behind Mrs. Abbott turning her back on the world?

Come to think of it, Carly herself was still a bit of a mystery. Although she’d shared with him the fact that she’d left her high profile job in the city because of a stalker, she still had no obvious means of support. Even if she had accrued quite a bit in savings before leaving her job, she surely couldn’t live indefinitely without earning some additional money.

Besides, her stalker had been caught and was in prison now. If the stalker was her only reason for going to ground in Holly Grove, then why wasn’t she moving on? It didn’t make sense for an unusually attractive woman to bury herself in a small town and do nothing beyond trying to turn her dissertation into a book. And based on the dry-as-dust title of her dissertation, she’d better not expect the book to become a best seller.

Suddenly a memory cell stirred. Something about the words “best seller” had seemed for a second to bong a bell deep within Trooper’s brain. But almost immediately the reverberations faded and Trooper was left grasping at echoes.

Cursing under his breath, he shrugged and watched Carly throw up a hand to take leave of his aunt and then make her way across the street. Once she was back in her yard, she picked up her water hose long enough to inspect the container on the end of it. Then, after making a trip to the side of the house so she could turn the water on, she returned to the front of the lot and started spraying her wilted impatiens.

He needed an excuse to see Carly again, one that was legitimate. He wanted to talk to her some more, to try to find out what she was doing in Holly Grove and how she had picked this little town out of thousands of others when she’d decided to hide from her stalker.

Because his gut told him that there was more to Callie Morris/Carly Morrison than she’d told him thus far. And he’d learned over the years to trust his gut. It had never failed him.

Discounting, of course, April 21.

H
alf an hour later
, after he’d showered and dressed in clean jeans and a cotton shirt, Trooper went downstairs looking for his aunt. He found her seated at the kitchen table writing on an index card. He smiled to himself. The scene brought back memories of his early teen years when he would visit Myrna after school and sit at her kitchen table doing his homework. She’d often sit down with him and copy off requested recipes on index cards for church friends who’d tasted one of her specialties at a recent church supper.

“What mischief are you up to this morning?” he asked, his tone teasing.

Myrna looked up and smiled. “I’m copying my recipe for chicken salad. Carly asked for it. I told her you’d bring it over to her sometime this afternoon.”

Trooper’s pleasure at his aunt’s words struck him as completely out of proportion to her news. Of course he’d been hoping to see Carly again soon, but there was no reason for him to get all excited about the prospect.

“Okay,” he said, crossing the kitchen to open the refrigerator door and pull out the jug of cold water his aunt always kept on the top shelf. His desire to keep Myrna from reading his expression was actually more pressing than his thirst. The thing was, he didn’t want her drawing unfounded conclusions about his interest in Carly.

Not that he actually
had
feelings toward Carly. That was the point. Since he didn’t have feelings, he didn’t want Myrna thinking he did.

And how foolish could he be? He quickly reached the conclusion that his reasoning was reminiscent of his sophomore crush on Chrissie Scolis, who was head cheerleader and two years ahead of him at Holly Grove High. Trooper clenched his teeth and shut the refrigerator door a little harder than necessary.

“Is your shoulder bothering you, Nelson?” his aunt inquired.

“A bit,” Trooper lied, then felt like a heel when his aunt looked up from her chore with a quick frown.

“But I had a good nap,” he interjected quickly.

“Well, that’s nice, dear, because you’re going to need your strength. Karen and the kids are coming over to see you in a little bit.”

“The kids? All of them?”

“No, fortunately. The three oldest are at camp. She’s just bringing Martha and Jonah. They’re four and two. They’re not bad children, although we’ll have to watch Jonah like a hawk. He’s in the terrible twos, of course.”

“Okay.” Trooper wasn’t sure he wanted to see Karen all grown up. He might prefer to remember her as the three-year-old he’d chased all over Myrna’s yard, but it didn’t sound as though he had any choice in the matter.

“When will they be here?”

“Any minute now, I assume. She called while you were in the shower and said she was leaving in half an hour. It’s a fifteen-minute drive.”

Trooper glanced at the wall clock. “Should I wait outside so I can help her get in with the kids?”

The racket of car doors being slammed barely preceded the sound of running footsteps approaching the kitchen. “Sounds as though I’m too late,” Trooper said. “Obviously she’s here now.”

Karen hadn’t changed nearly as much as Trooper had expected. She was still petite, and she sported the same mop of red hair that stood out around her head as though it had never been touched with a comb or brush. Freckles still marched across her nose and sprinkled her cheeks, and her grin was as wide and welcoming as it had always been. She dashed into the house and flung herself into Trooper’s arms. “Trooper, Trooper, Trooper,” she murmured into his shirt collar. “It’s so good to see you.”

“Lord, child,” Myrna said, pushing back from the kitchen table and standing. “Don’t squeeze Nelson to death. The man’s just getting over a gunshot wound and you’re probably half killing him all over again.”

Karen gasped and jumped back, releasing Trooper so quickly that he had to balance himself with a hand on the kitchen table. He grinned, hoping to prove he wasn’t hurt, and grabbed a handful of his cousin’s hair. “Come here, brat,” he said, tugging gently.

She laughed and slapped his hand away. “I’d almost forgotten, but that was your method for making me go where you wanted me to go. I should be mad at you.”

Myrna turned to glare at Trooper. “You pulled her hair?”

“Only when she wouldn’t mind any other way.”

Karen laughed. “Don’t look so horrified, Aunt Myrna. He didn’t really pull my hair. He just threatened to if I was about to wander off or to get into trouble in some way.”

A little girl’s voice sounded from the doorway between the kitchen and dining room. “Mommy, is this the fib man?”

Trooper glanced toward the doorway. Two children stood there, a little girl who was the spitting image of the Karen he remembered from twenty years before. The little boy beside her must take after his daddy, Trooper decided, because he had brown hair and eyes. He stared solemnly at Trooper, not bothering to take his thumb out of his mouth.

Karen’s lips twitched. “That’s FBI, honey, not fib.”

“But Stevie says F-B-I spells fib,” the girl protested.

“No, honey. F-I-B spells fib.”

“Then what does F-B-I spell?”

Karen sighed. “Not anything really. It’s just short for words.”

“So Stevie’s wrong again,” Martha commented with a delighted grin. “He’ll never get an A on spelling.”

Karen turned to Trooper to explain. “Stevie is in first grade and is learning to spell. He’s not particularly good at it yet.”

“At least he has the letters right, even if the order’s wrong.”

The little girl spoke up. “Stevie’s mad cause he’s at camp and can’t see you. He wanted to see your gunshot. He’s never seen anybody that’s been shot before.”

“Oh?” Trooper hadn’t been around children often in recent years and wasn’t quite sure what to say.

Myrna came to his rescue. “Guess what, Martha? I’m pretty sure I saw some lemonade and cookies on the table on the screened-in porch, and I suspect if you ask her real nice, your mother might let you go out there and have some.”

Martha immediately turned to her mother. “Can we, Mommy?”

“Okay. But be sure and help your brother so he doesn’t spill lemonade on Aunt Myrna’s table.”

Both children took off in a hard run and a second later Trooper heard the scraping of chairs on the porch floor.

Karen immediately pulled out a chair and seated herself at the kitchen table. “Do you mind staying in the kitchen while we visit, Trooper? I need to stay close to the porch so I can keep an eye on the kids.” Trooper noticed that she had seated herself so that she could look through the connecting doorway and see the children.

“Not a problem.” He helped his aunt be seated again, then pulled out a chair and sat down opposite her.

Karen picked up the index card still lying on the table and glanced down at Myrna’s writing. “Ah, your chicken salad recipe is in demand again, I see.” She looked across the table at Trooper. “Aunt Myrna is still famous locally for her chicken salad.” She placed the card back on the table. “I figured everyone in town already had your recipe. Who is this one for?”

“Carly Morrison,” Myrna responded.

Karen nodded. “Oh yes, the lady who lives across the street in the old Jarvis house.”

“Have you met her?” Trooper asked.

“A time or two. Most recently, it was at the newspaper office. I’d gone in to renew my subscription, and she was just leaving. Millie Coward, who’s the secretary there now, said that Carly had been looking through their archives all morning.”

Trooper frowned. “I wonder what she was looking for. Did Millie say?”

“I asked but she didn’t know. Then, fortunately, Oliver Kinnard stepped out of his office. You wouldn’t know Ollie. He moved to town and bought the newspaper from old Mr. Sloan a few years ago. Ollie goes to our church and I know him fairly well, so I asked him what Carly Morrison was looking for in the archives.”

“And what did he say?” Trooper asked.

“He said she was a little vague about it but mostly she just said she wanted to get more familiar with the town. I don’t know as I buy that. I mean, if she wanted to get more familiar with the town, she could just talk to people, but she doesn’t much. She didn’t join a church and she doesn’t mingle with people. Frankly, I think there’s something a little off about her.”

Myrna sat up straighter. “Lord, child, you think just because a body doesn’t talk their head off that there’s something wrong with them. We had Carly over for supper last night and you couldn’t ask for a nicer person. Could you, Trooper?”

“She was very pleasant.”

Karen raised her brows. “What’s that they say about damning with faint praise?”

Trooper spread his hands. “I don’t know the lady well enough to judge her one way or another. However, I certainly didn’t intend to damn her with faint praise.”

“Well,” Myrna interjected. “I like her.”

Karen grinned. “You like everybody, Aunt Myrna.”

“Now that isn’t true. But I do try to give a body the benefit of the doubt if there’s any doubt to speak of.”

Because Myrna appeared to be growing agitated, Trooper shot his cousin a look and said, with a less-than-subtle attempt to change the subject, “So tell me about your children, Karen.”

Karen’s tales about ten-year-old Meagan, eight-year-old David Jr., six-year-old Steve, and the two who were eating chocolate chip cookies on the porch filled the next half hour, at which time she jumped to her feet. “Why, look at the time. I’ve got to get these two to the church or they’ll be late for Sunday School.”

The next five minutes were a whirlwind of her gathering her two youngsters off the porch, washing chocolate from their faces, and bundling them out to the car with a promise to come back to visit Myrna and Trooper real soon.

Myrna and Trooper trailed after her to the front porch and waved to the children as she backed out of the driveway. When her car turned the corner at Sugar Maple Drive and Dahlia Way, both breathed a sigh of relief.

“Lordy, Lordy,” Myrna said. “I dearly love that girl, but she wears me out with her energy. No wonder I called you a trouper for watching after her all those years ago.”

“She could be a handful,” Trooper admitted.

“Well,” Myrna said. “I’m about ready for a rest. I think I’ll go inside, sit down and prop my feet up for a while. What are you going to do?”

“I’m not sure. Do you want me to take the recipe to Carly?”

“No, if you don’t mind waiting, dear, I want to make a couple of additions to it. Just little changes I make to the original recipe that I’ve always thought improved it a bit.”

“In that case, I think I’ll go for a drive.”

Myrna cut her gaze to look at him out of the corner of her eyes. Clearly she wanted to ask where he was going but just as clearly, she decided it was none of her business.

“All right, dear. If I’m napping when you get back, feel free to wake me.”

“Okay.” There was no sense in arguing with her, although Trooper knew he wouldn’t wake her. “How about I stop somewhere and pick us up some lunch on the way back?”

Myrna’s eyes brightened. “Why that would be wonderful. I haven’t had any chicken from the Simpson Diner out south of town in years, and one of their plates with a chicken breast, mashed potatoes with gravy, and green beans would hit the spot.”

“Anything else?”

“Well, they always have good yeast rolls if you want to get us a couple, and if Janice has made any fresh pies, which she usually does, a piece of Dutch apple wouldn’t be bad.”

Trooper nodded. “Chicken breast dinner, yeast rolls, Dutch apple pie. Got it. Anything else?”

“Lord, no, child. I won’t need any supper as it is.”

“Okay.” Trooper bent and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. “You rest while I’m gone and I’ll bring lunch.”

“Sounds wonderful.” Myrna reached up to pat his cheek. “Be careful and I’ll see you after while.”

Trooper watched until his aunt stepped inside and closed the door. He ran his hand in his pocket and pulled out his car keys, tossing them into the air as he hurried down the porch steps.

It was pretty obvious that Myrna had a good idea where he was going. Otherwise she wouldn’t have mentioned the diner located south of town. Situated just before the turn that led to the cemetery.

Half an hour later, Trooper stood at the foot of his parents’ graves. The gray granite marker hadn’t been there when he’d left town. He’d ordered it and paid for it, but he hadn’t waited around to see it set in place. He figured his aunt had seen to that.

No doubt she was also responsible for the upkeep of the graves. The grass was neatly trimmed, and each grave was topped with a bouquet of seasonable silk flowers. Trooper had known Myrna would care for the graves without help from him, but he’d sent money to her anyway.

On his parents’ birthdays, on Mother’s Day, on Father’s Day, on Memorial Day and for Christmas. Every day except on the anniversary of their deaths because that was a day he could never celebrate.

It had happened in early May. School was winding down for the year. He’d completed his coursework early and was finished except for the graduation ceremony, a ceremony he wouldn’t attend after all.

On that particular day, high school principal Charles Graham, knowing Trooper’s parents had given him a truck as an early graduation present, had asked him to drive to Millertown to pick up the school’s banner. Trooper had been happy to oblige. The banner, which had been ripped during one of the football games in the fall, had been sent to Millertown to be repaired and cleaned in preparation for its use during this year’s graduation ceremony.

Being a teenager, there was nothing Trooper had loved better than to drive, and having a legitimate reason to go all the way to Millertown had thrilled him. He’d rolled the glass down on the driver’s side and propped his arm in the window, enjoying the warmth of the sun in conjunction with a cool May breeze. He’d driven slowly so as to drag out the time he could devote to his errand.

It was a little after three when he got home and found two cruisers from the sheriff’s office blocking his driveway. He’d pulled into the grass to get around them, more irritated than frightened. That would change quickly when the sheriff stepped out the front door and walked toward him, just as the undertaker’s hearse pulled in behind him.