Pennyroyal Christmas (A Ruthorford Holiday Story Book 1) (5 page)

Kat walked through the downstairs, stopping in each room, using her artist eye to peruse for details. Like a showplace. Very little was out of place. They could have sent Architectural Digest in and not moved a thing. Even the kitchen was spic and span, gleaming with white cabinets and granite countertops. She opened cabinets to find white dishes neatly stacked—all matching, all plain. She opened the refrigerator. Empty. So, someone had come in and cleaned it out. Thank heavens. That could have been rough, not that she was expected to clean anything, but still….

Upstairs, there were three bedrooms. The master was done in a very masculine theme. Warm colors, warm woods. A small change container rested on the dresser. Two dimes shone like they’d been polished. She turned and walked out of the room. She’d bet her commission on her last statue that her mother had never stepped foot in that room.

She walked past the open door of a guest room. It shared a bath with the room farthest from the master. She walked through the bathroom, noting a small carved box on the vanity. Kat stepped into what had to be her mother’s room. It felt only slightly warmer than the guest room. However, it was painted yellow, her mother’s favorite color. She walked to the closet and pulled open the door. Her mother’s clothes hung neatly across the rail, perfect little spaces between each hanger, shoes lined up underneath. This woman would never be accused of being a hoarder, she mused, thinking of her own over-stuffed closet. She went to the dresser and pulled out each drawer. Underwear—bras, panties, all neatly folded. Sweaters. Socks and stockings. She crossed to the bedside table. A worn bible inside the drawer. A notepad and pen.

She stopped and turned in a circle, looking for something…anything that was her mother. Or, at least the mother she remembered. She went into the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet. Advil, Tylenol. No prescriptions? Toothbrush, toothpaste. For a second she was tempted to get a bag and put the toothbrush in it to check for DNA.

She retraced her steps into the neat little room. The bed gave slightly as she sat down. Where were the items she’s sent her mother? The notes. Anything. She rushed into her father’s room and quickly opened and closed drawers and doors. It was the same. Nothing personal.

Kat moved into the hallway and looked around. She walked to the end of the hall and pulled open what she figured was a closet door. It opened, not to reveal a closet, but steps to the attic. In the darkness, she let her hand run along the wall, until she found the switch. Thank God they still had the electricity on, since Kat wasn’t into dark scary spaces.

She made her way up the steps and stopped. Boxes lined each side, tucked under the eaves. At one end, near a small window, sat an old armoire, jutting out at an angle. In front of the armoire sat even older rush bottom chair, with a trunk pushed up beside it. She knelt in front of the trunk. It was locked.
Shit
. Kat glanced behind the armoire. In the corner, shoved out of sight, stood an antique flip-top table with a tiny drawer in the front. Kat smiled, walked over, pulled open the drawer, and felt as far back as she could. A small felt bag moved under her hand. She pulled out the black bag, opened it, and out dropped two keys. She’d used this trick for her diary when she was eight.

One key unlocked the trunk, its hinges creaking as she raised the lid. The faint smell of mint drifted from the contents. She gingerly shifted papers. It was crammed with “Kat,” her existence until she was sixteen, including the princess diary. Kat lifted out memory after memory, so lovingly hidden away. She ran her fingers over the locked diary whose key had long disappeared, trying to recall a young girl’s entries. She gently put everything back inside and closed the lid.

Tears streamed down her cheeks unchecked as she turned the lock in the armoire. Items she’d sent her mom over the years, among them some of the statues she created especially for her, filled shelf after shelf. Letters, cards and articles about her showings rested in different stacks. She lifted one pile of letters.

“Oh, Mom,” she cried at the worn edges of the envelopes and sank onto the rush bottom chair.

It was getting late and she still needed to find a place to stay. No way in hell was she staying here. Plus, she wanted to make arrangement to have this taken back to the cabin. Kat closed the armoire and went down the stairs, looking back once before she switched off the light. She’d make a more thorough search of the place tomorrow, but she felt certain this room contained the only things of any value to her.

The GPS led her to a Hampton Inn and, after stopping at Applebee’s for a quick bite, Kat had her computer hooked up and was making notes on places to call in the morning when her cell phone rang.

“Hey. How’s it going?” Rowe’s voice sounded so warm. She couldn’t help but glance around the clean, functional motel room.

“Fine. It’s so strange. It’s like they stayed there but didn’t live there. Everything was just so…so…perfect.”

“Maybe someone came in and cleaned,” he suggested.

“Oh, I’ve no doubt,” she agreed. “The fridge was empty. But, it’s more than that. It’s like there was nothing really personal about either one of them there. The only thing personal was of mom’s and that was in the attic.”

Her declaration was met with silence before he asked quietly, “You mean you’ve never been there?”

All she’d said was that she needed to go help settle the estate. “No. They sent me to Aunt Ada’s. His sister.” It was hard to keep the venom out of her tone. “Then college. Then on my own.”

“No holiday visits? Ever?”

“Nope.”

“I’m sorry, Kat.” His voice was caring. She almost caught what sounded like remorse.

“Rowe, don’t go there. It isn’t your fault.”

The silence stretched out before he asked, “Anything I can do?”

“You are.” She let herself smile. He was still the most caring person. “How’s Tramp behaving himself?” She changed the subject.

Kat heard the loud bark. “I love you, too, boy.”

“Wow. This is sudden,” Rowe teased.

“I thought you were Tramp.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, he can’t dial a phone.”

“Hey, don’t tell him that.”

The mood lightened. He told her about the Black Friday event and warned her that at least four people were holding items for her inspection.

“What’s your schedule look like?” he asked.

“I’m calling a couple of movers in the morning. I hope they’re open on Saturday. I want to get boxes and go back through some things. Pack. And, hopefully, meet them Monday or Tuesday at the latest.”

“So you did find something to bring home?”

Home. She liked the sound of that.

“Yeah. She kept some of my stuff in a trunk and the statues I sent her in an old armoire.” She was quieter. “I’ll look tomorrow but I think that’s all I want.”

“Then we look forward to seeing you sometime next week. Oh, you call me, okay? I tried you, but your reception’s iffy out there. I couldn’t get through.”

“I will. Thanks for taking care of Tramp for me.”

“He’s having a ball. Ran the range with Pharaoh and me. They are becoming quite a team, those two. Pharaoh’s teaching him how to herd. And Tramp’s teaching Pharaoh how to beg.”

He heard her moan. “Later,” Rowe said with a laugh.

“Later.” She hung up to the silence of the room.

The next morning, getting boxes to use turned into more of an effort than she’d planned. The local haulers didn’t carry supplies. The big stores broke them down almost immediately. The place she was staying finally sent her to a local place in a little town called Adams Grove.

Following directions, she pulled in front of Huckaby House, Real Estate & Renovation Supplies & Rifle Range. Kat was smiling as she pushed open the tall wooden door and stepped into a renovator’s dream.

“Be with you in a minute,” a voice boomed and she watched as a man with a grey-blonde mane of hair eased through the back doorway wielding a mantel. He leaned it against three others, stepped back and brushed his hands. “What can I do for you?”

“I called about the boxes.”

“You Kat Chance?” He studied her face, pulling at the corner of his bushy mustache.

“Yes. I’m packing up some things of my—”

He reached over and squeezed her arm. “I heard about the accident. I am so sorry. I have something for you.” He turned and strode into the back room, returning with a small object in his hands. It was the tiny raccoon she’d fashioned for her mother.

“Where?” She couldn’t continue. Tears welled and threatened to spill.

He rolled an old office chair over so she could sit, pulled a three-legged stool in front of her, sat and took her hand. “Your mom came in here a bit,” he softened his voice. “She needed a place to call you from. One day she brought this. Wouldn’t take no for an answer. Said she didn’t have money but wanted to pay me for the calls.” His eyes got misty.

Kat held the figure out to him, unable to speak.

“No, child. I could tell she didn’t want to part with it, but felt a need. She was a good woman. I figured I’d hold it for her for a while.” He sniffed and drew out a checked handkerchief, blowing loudly. “She never came back. She’d want you to have it.”

Kat nodded and slipped the tiny sculpture into her purse, tears falling with each blink.

He cleared his throat and stood. “Now, let’s get you set up with boxes and some help, shall we?”

The wizened older man loaded the trunk with boxes and made arrangements for some guys to come move the items she chose. With the newspapers he’d loaded in the back seat and a clipping about her mom he’d saved from the Crosstown Gazette, she was ready to leave. She rose and planted a kiss on his weathered cheek. Huckaby blushed.

It was mid afternoon when she pulled into the driveway.

Struggling with the flattened boxes she stepped up on the porch and stopped. The door stood slightly ajar. Kat stared at the open door until comprehension struck and she backed down the steps, juggling the boxes. When she realized she was still grappling with the awkward cardboard, she let it fall and fled to her car, jumped in, locked the door, and started the engine.

She flipped through her phone’s address book and called Harden, her father’s business partner. When she heard his voice, she spoke, realized her voice was breathy, and slowed down.

“This is Kateri Chance. Did you give a key to anyone else?”

“The attorney. Why?”

“Because I just got here today and the door’s open. I know I locked it yesterday.”

“Don’t go inside. I’ll call the police.

“Okay, I’ll wait here.”

“Kat,” he warned again, “do not go inside.”

“I won’t.” The phone went dead. It wasn’t but a few minutes that two police cars pulled up behind her, blue lights flashing.
Great, I’m blocked in.

An officer stepped to the side of her car, hand on his hip. “Ms. Chance?”

She nodded, since her window was still up.

He reached for the door handle and opened her door. “Want to tell us what’s happening?”

As Kat stepped out of the car, her knees wobbled slightly.

“I just got here a little while ago. I was here yesterday and locked up when I left. I know I did. The door’s ajar.”

“Okay. You stay back here. Let us take a look.”

“I’ll be in my car with the doors locked.”

The young officer smiled at her, nodded, and headed toward the house. Kat slipped back into the car and locked the door, glancing behind her at the police vehicle still blocking her. Hell, she’d shove it out of the way, if she had to. It seemed like forever before they returned. One of them was talking on the radio.

“Whoever it was, is gone. Would you mind coming inside and taking a look around? You said you were here yesterday, right?”

She followed the policeman to the house stepped into the hallway. The mail was on the floor, the drawer hanging open.

“Try not to touch anything,” the officer cautioned.

“I won’t.” She moved through the house. Draws were open, contents strewn. It was the same in every room. She reached for the attic door. The light touch on her arm stopped her. He used his latex-gloved hand to open the door. She pointed at the wall switch and he turned it on. He pulled her back, drew his gun and went up the stairs.