Serenity's Deception (Texas Sorority Sisters Book 1) (6 page)

Tears burned at the back of her eyes for lost friendships, lost dreams. She’d give a lot of thought to the move and the money, and if she could come up with a credible reason for turning down the bequest, she would.

H
e
had watched the whole thing go down from the second floor window of a vacant building a half block away. Little Goldilocks finding his handiwork. Cowboy-to-the-rescue. And later, Johnny Law.

Watching the lawman check out the Jeep and not find a thing gave him a sense of pride. Not a print, mark, nothing. He’d been careful. Always was. The reason why he’d lasted this long in his line of business. Though there’d been a few close calls, he’d never made any slipups.

Noticing Cowboy had completed the job of replacing the tires, he slipped out the back into the alleyway. Steps sure and silent, he walked to his truck and slid inside. With a flick of his wrist, the engine turned over and purred softly.

His truck might not look like much, but he’d made sure it was in excellent working order at all times. In towns like these, his 85 Chevy blended in with all the other battered heaps. Anyone noticing his vehicle—several dents, fenders rusting, chips and cracks in his window—would think it was just another old clunker on its last legs, not good for anything except farm or ranch work.

Looks can be deceiving
. Under the hood sat a super-charged stroker engine with 383 ci, church-mouse quiet, until he tromped the gas pedal. Could outrun pretty much everything in sight. His baby had pulled him out of a few tight spots. He caressed the dash as a loving father would a newborn.

When he exited the alley, he maneuvered his ride until he was on Main. He passed the Jeep without glancing in the direction of Goldilocks and Cowboy-to-the-rescue. Slowing his truck to a crawl, he pulled in front of Ruby’s Cut n’ Curl, pulled the shift out of gear, yanking on the emergency brake handle, and left the engine idling. He reached for the
Serenity Sentinel
and held the opened newspaper eye level, leaving just enough room to watch his target in the side view.

He watched Cowboy walk away. Even witnessed the disgruntled look on Goldilocks’ face before getting into her car.

As soon as the backup lights on the Jeep lit up, he threw the paper in the seat and waited until the car drove around the corner. He backed out and then made a quick U-turn, following his target at a safe distance.

When she turned left onto High Street, he didn’t follow. Instead he pulled to the curb at the corner. The Jeep stopped in front of a closed gate with a twelve-foot high wrought iron fence stretching out both ways. From what he could see, the fence probably encompassed the whole property.

The name
Heritage House
was chiseled deep into the ornate Hill Country stone corner post at Elm and High Streets.

He moved around the corner, made another U-turn, then parked, leaning back against the custom-made headrest feigning sleep with a perfect view of anyone coming or going at the orphanage.

B
J
rolled down the window then punched the button to the intercom.
Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea
.

“Heritage House. May I help you?” The voice came through the intercom distorted and unfamiliar.

Too late.
She didn’t recognize who spoke but why would she. After so many years, staff would have changed.

“Ah-h, hi. I’m BJ-Billy Jo Spencer. I’m a former resident of the home. I don’t have an appointment, but I’m wondering if I might be able to speak to the headmistress or the person in charge?”

Nothing but dead air. Not a
yes
or a
no.
Was the person going to ignore her completely? Maybe there had been a disconnect. Before she could reach for the gearshift to back out of the drive, the grinding sound of a motor and the squeaking hinges alerted her she hadn’t been ignored after all.

“
W-ell
. I guess Igor decided to let me in.”

A chill attached to her bones. The whole scene played out like something out of an old Dracula movie. Funny. She’d never thought of Heritage House in any way sinister. But her active imagination was working overtime today.

She eased her Jeep through the opening. In the mirror she witnessed the gate shut behind her, the clank echoing
finality.
An eerie certainty that her future had just been decided washed over her, twisting her gut. Back to where it all began for her thirty-one years ago except a fatalistic notion surged through her …
this time she wouldn’t be able to escape
.

The old stigma of being an orphan, the taunting, the wondering who she was, all rose up to choke and smother her. Weakness and dread overwhelmed her until she berated herself for allowing the home to affect her so.

Another time when she was less tired would have been better to visit the place. However, after the meeting and the pressing issues of making a decision, now was her only choice.

The short drive brought old memories flooding back. She, Billy Jo Spencer, had lived … no existed here. A name. A face among those coming and going, yet different, no one ever wanted her. The dream of being part of a family—s
omeone’s daughter
—something she had never experienced.

Like all orphans at Heritage, the town’s children loved to poke fun and taunt her about her questionable parentage.
Little Orphan Annie.
Trash. Gutter rat
.

She winced; surprised the names could still hold power over her. The taunts she’d blocked out of her mind and hadn’t thought of them in years. As far as she was concerned, those names, gestures, and derisive terms had been expunged from her mind, or at least she’d imagined them to be.

Does one ever truly purge targeted cruelties? Or do malicious deeds live on forever to be pulled out at a moment’s notice to continue to inflict pain? I pray not
.

The images and words wouldn’t be banished, and the dark, painful opening of the past threatened to swallow her whole.

Remember the good times.
Randi.
Miranda Sue Walker
.

BJ smiled at the thought of her dearest friend. A scrawny, spitfire girl. Freckles on almost every inch of her body. Deep-red hair that later turned to a much-envied auburn. From day one, she didn’t want to be called Miranda or Mandy.
Randi’s the name—
she’d say to anyone who asked or didn’t ask. She’d challenge any kid who called her by any other name. Too often she received punishment for not answering when her given name was used.

From the minute Randi bounced into BJ’s life, she brought sunshine to her otherwise drab existence. The headmistress often called the two of them the scourge of the earth and the bane of her existence.

 Once
the girls
, as Randi and she were called, got acquainted, they became inseparable. After school and chores they would run off to their room or out in the backyard away from prying eyes and listening ears to make secret plans for their future—their escape.

Randi, a rich explorer and adventurer.

BJ, a small home with a picket fence and Prince Charming.

But their secret plans had never included a return to Serenity, and definitely not Heritage House.

The front door swung open. A woman in her fifties stepped over the threshold and stood primly on the porch, hands together at her waist. BJ didn’t recognize her, but by the keys dangling from her belt, knew this must be the headmistress, the one in charge.

Her unsmiling face and black hair, along with the navy dress against her pale-white features, made the woman seem harsh and lifeless. Her thin, straight nose gave her an air of superiority, and the haughty lift of her chin caused her skin to be drawn tight over sharp angles of chin and cheekbones.

Though BJ refused to flinch, dark eyes seared holes through her. The desire to turn and run for her life brought on a silent lecture for such childishness
. Behave. She isn’t Elvira or Dracula’s bride. She can’t keep you against your will.

BJ disliked people who made snap judgments of others. Yet here she stood, doing just that. But she couldn’t help herself. This woman’s severe features had already tainted her impression to the true person she might be inside. One thing for sure, she was glad the lady wasn’t headmistress when she lived here. If the woman had been, she and Randi might not have survived through junior high, let alone high school.

BJ, determined to find a redeeming quality, smiled. “Hello. I’m BJ Spencer. I used to live—”

“Yes, I’m well acquainted with
who
you are.” Her eagle eyes blinked once then took in BJ’s appearance with a slight flaring of her nostrils. “I’m the headmistress Ms. Blackthorn.”

Why am I not surprised. No doubt, to become the thorn in my side.

That’s uncharitable.

“If you’ll follow me, please.”

BJ stepped over the threshold. Lemon oil mingled lightly with the aroma of food. Lifting her wrist.
4:45
. The children would gather for dinner at five. Another time might have been better but her need to see Heritage weighed heavy in her decision.

Everything looked the same as when she’d snuck out that fateful night in June and was driven out of town. In the middle of the foyer sat the large oval table beneath the shimmering crystal chandelier. On the tabletop, a tall, full bouquet of flowers, no doubt from the garden, gave a hint of beauty and color to the otherwise austere entry. The oak hardwood floors shined, and the clean staircase runners were the same except a little more threadbare. No change had been made to the room.

Almost as if she’d never left.

A movement at the top of the staircase landing caught BJ’s attention. A sparkly-eyed, curious cherub, with long, blonde pigtails, face scrunched tight against the oak newel posts, watched from on high. However, when she saw BJ glance in her direction, her little mouth formed an O and she ducked back out of sight.

BJ remembered doing the very same thing every time the house had visitors or new children were delivered. She also recalled reaping the punishment when caught.

Ms. Blackthorn led her down the hall to the back of the house to the office, known to Randi and her as
inner sanctum.
The only time either of them visited this room had been for an infraction of rules and ultimate punishment.

The headmistress motioned to a chair facing the desk as she continued around behind the desk to sit down.

“Ms. Blackthorn, the reason I’m here is to take a look over the orphanage. It’s not public knowledge, but I’ve been asked to become the overseer and sit on the Board of Directors for Heritage House. I haven’t accepted the position yet. However, to help make my decision, I’d love to tour the home this afternoon. Maybe even meet with some of the staff, if that’s permissible.”

 BJ watched the woman closely for shock or dismissal of the news. Not one muscle, one eye twitch, not even one blink. The woman was too good at hiding her true feelings and closing off her thoughts.

“Yes. Mr. Hampton called earlier and said this might be the case, and I should ready myself for your visit.”              

BJ knew she should be glad that Horace T. had prepared the way for her, instead she stewed inwardly that her visit had been preempted and forewarned. She was beginning to like Horace T. less and less. He couldn’t keep from meddling or being the one in charge.

Ms. Blackthorn stood. The keys dared to jingle at her waist. She placed a quieting hand to the noise, lifted an ornate watch hanging around her neck, giving it a quick glance before allowing the watch to rest between her small bosoms once again.

“The children will be called in for dinner in precisely thirteen minutes. We will have that short time to partially show you around the facilities. Would you care to join us for supper? I will have a place set at the head table.”

BJ wanted to scrunch her nose, but didn’t. “No. I won’t have time. But thank you for the invitation. Maybe I could take the suppertime to look more fully around the house and grounds. That way I wouldn’t interrupt dinner for you or the children, and since I’m already familiar with the facility I won’t need a guide.”

She witnessed a slight flicker of what? Compliance? Defiance? BJ wasn’t certain, but it was there for only a brief moment before Ms. Blackthorn’s placid look was back in place.

“I’ll see to it that you have access to all rooms and storage before I sit down with the children.”

When BJ arrived at the front door, she really hadn’t known what to expect, but this type of cooperation wasn’t what she’d envisioned.

The tour held no surprises for BJ. From all appearances, the place was clean and ran efficiently under Ms. Blackthorn’s management. The children were well behaved, offering the expected
Yes, ma’am. No, ma’am.
Shy smiles from the very little ones, and
nice to make your acquaintance
from the older ones. But the dull look, the lackluster look in their eyes was shocking. Almost as if they had no expectations for a future.

Did I look that void of feeling and hope?