The Secrets of Rosa Lee (10 page)

“Well, I'm the wrong crowd.” She took a long calming breath. “I own a bar. You run a church. I'm so far into the wrong crowd, I'm surprised we speak the same language.”

“So, we're never to speak to each other again?”

She opened her mouth, then closed it. It appeared she didn't like that idea any more than he did.

“We'll just act like we never met, Randi. Like we never talked. Is that how you want it?” He waited for her answer.

When she remained silent, he added, “I don't know if I can lie to myself enough to act as if I didn't connect with you.” He watched her. In the stillness, he heard her breathing. “You're the most real person I've met in a long time. Do you know what I mean?”

To his surprise, she nodded once.

“It felt good to just be together last night, even if we were putting two old-maid drunks to bed and cleaning up their mess.” He waited, then added, “I liked meeting you. I like being near you.”

She shifted, her stare never leaving his eyes. “Maybe, if
we're careful, we could just be friends. I'd like that. Can't say I've got many in this town.”

Micah leaned on his desk and folded his arms. “What are you suggesting? Being friends won't be easy. We don't exactly run in the same circles.”

She sat down, anger disappearing as quickly as it sparked. Lifting her red boots, she placed them on the desk and crossed her long legs an inch from where he sat. “I liked talking to you last night. I like being with you. But there can be nothing between us. No kissing. You and I are both old enough to know that it wouldn't stop with a kiss. What I saw in your eyes was a promise. I'm not in the habit of starting something I don't plan to finish. So talking is as far as we'll be traveling.”

“Where would we meet to do this talking?” He couldn't see her walking into the church socials, and he couldn't make a nightly stop at the bar. They could hardly meet for breakfast since he ate at seven, and she cooked after midnight. Walks were out. Everyone in town would see them. Sneaking around wasn't his style. Family dinners didn't seem hers.

“I don't know.” She bumped his leg as she swung her boots to the floor and leaned forward. “Maybe we shouldn't, but in a strange way, I don't want to say goodbye to you just yet. The way I see it, we got nothing in common except that we're both bored to death talking to everyone else we know.”

He laughed. She was right. Most days, he had the same conversations over and over. Sometimes, he felt as if he could just put his mouth on automatic pilot and not miss a beat. But with Randi, he had to stay on his toes. He had to listen. He had to be present in his life.

“Could I stop by for breakfast after closing some night? I usually run late after I put my son to bed.” He couldn't
believe he was asking such a thing. All night, he'd thought about how good it felt to talk with her. To be with her. Maybe part of it might be that they were an unlikely pair, but mostly it was her. Randi Howard was unlike any woman he'd ever met.

“If you'll be honest with me from now on,” she answered, “we could give it a try.”

“All right, then, I'd better start with the honesty part first. I'm not sure I want to be just friends, but I'll settle for it for now.”

Randi stood. She leaned so close he could feel the heat of her body. “Honest enough. But I'd better be straight with you. I don't think I can be any more than just friends to a man…any man. I've been burned so many times, I'm starting to look like the poster child for broken hearts. It'll take some time before I can even think about offering more.”

“Fair enough.” He kept his arms folded. Everything about this woman made him want to be closer to her.

“Eggs over-easy, steak and beer, any night you're interested. The back door will be open if you come by. You can walk through to my office if you don't see me in the kitchen. You know the way.” She leaned until her breasts rested lightly atop his folded arms and kissed his cheek. “Sorry I slapped you.” She straightened. “But you deserved it, Reverend.”

“Could you call me Micah?”

“Why?”

“I like the way you say my name.”

“All right, Micah. See you one midnight for breakfast.”

S
idney Dickerson had been dozing in her chair when the telephone rang. She jumped, sending the book on her lap flying across her living-room floor and into the potted plant the mayor had sent.

“Hello?” She noticed the news was on the TV she'd muted hours ago. It had to be after ten.

“I'm sorry, did I call too late?”

Sidney tried to place the voice. “Oh, no. I'm still up,” she lied.

“I just wanted to check on you, Professor Dickerson. Make sure you have everything you need.”

His voice sounded familiar. But from where? She mentally went down the role of faculty as she said, “I have everything. Thank you. Everyone has been so kind.” She felt like a fool, but she asked, “May I ask who is calling?”

The man laughed, low and rich, like a man who keeps his humor close to his chest. Sidney thought of what Lora Whitman had said about her having a secret admirer. Foolish, Sidney reminded herself as she straightened and waited. Women almost forty didn't have such things.

“Sorry,” he answered. “I'm Sloan McCormick. I had a meeting scheduled with you at your office yesterday afternoon, and I'm afraid you stood me up.”

Sidney believed him. The department secretary often
made appointments for professors during their scheduled office hours. She had no doubt that there would be a note posted on her door or in her box when she returned to work. “I'm sorry. I didn't make it to my office yesterday. Something happened. I assure you it was not intentional.”

He laughed again, as though nervous. “I know. I heard about what came up, or should I say
flew in
at the Altman house. Alarming.”

“Yes, very.” She had no idea what to say to the man. He didn't sound like a student, but people of all ages decide to go back to college. She knew he wasn't in any of her classes. Sidney made a habit of memorizing every name by the end of September. “Would you like to reschedule, Mr. McCormick? I hope to be back at work in a few days.”

“I could.” He hesitated again. She heard papers shuffling. “Only, if you don't mind, I'd like to bring you some papers to look over before we talk. I hate to bother you tonight, but time is critical.”

Sidney frowned. Maybe he was the father of some student who'd done poorly in her class last semester. She'd never had a parent show up, but it wasn't unheard of at small colleges. “I don't…”

“It concerns the Altman house,” he added, as if guessing her confusion. “I'm with Russell Wells and Drilling. We'd like to make an offer for the oil rights on the forty acres of land the city owns. We realize one offer has already been turned in. All we ask is that you consider our offer, as well.”

“But I have nothing to do with that.” She kept her voice formal. This was just a business call after all. He hadn't called to check on her, only about when to schedule a meeting. No secret admirer waited outside her door. “You'll need to talk with the mayor. His office will be taking the bids.”

The other end of the phone fell silent for a moment, then he said, “The mayor asked me to speak to you. He said he's leaving all decisions concerning the house and property to the committee. When I tried to hand him the paperwork, he backed away.”

She heard McCormick take a long breath and guessed she wasn't the first to notice the mayor had a habit of never making a decision on something that might lose him a vote. If the committee agreed to lease the oil rights on the forty acres, the city could make some money. If they voted to sell the land outright, there would be more money involved. But, in so doing, they'd destroy the homestead of the man who had founded Clifton Creek.

“I'll take it under consideration.” She didn't know what else to say. First, the committee had to decide on the house, then second, they'd look at who would buy the land. It didn't make sense to her even to think about the second problem until they knew the answer to the first.

“There's no pressure, but we're interested in buying, or leasing oil rights. We're willing to talk about whatever the committee thinks is fair,” McCormick said firmly. “As soon as the committee makes a decision I can have an offer drawn up.”

“I'll need to talk it over with the other members and, of course, call the mayor.” She liked his way of talking, slow and straightforward. She, on the other hand, probably sounded like a fool, all sleepy with no answers.

“Like I said, the mayor doesn't want anything to do with this.” His directness surprised her. “There are two drilling companies in town right now, besides the Howard Drilling outfit that bases here. If you give the lease to me, or vote to keep the land and turn it into something else, somebody isn't going to be happy. I just want to get the
facts to you. All my company wants is a chance to present our side.”

Sidney knew he was right about someone not being happy. She'd sensed it from the first. They weren't just a civic committee, they were the firing squad. No matter what the committee decided, somebody's plans would be shot down. “I understand,” she whispered, wishing she didn't.

“Sidney?” The low voice on the other end of the phone said her name easily, like he'd used it before. “Look. Let me help you out a little. I've been in the oil game for a long time. I won't try to talk you into anything. I just want you to know the facts.”

“The facts about what?”

“I'm a land man, Sidney. It's my job to do research on who owned what. I've turned up some interesting research on the Altman house and, though it won't help me talk you into selling, I think you should take a look at what I found.”

She didn't know if she should trust him. He was probably just trying to persuade her to his way of thinking. The recipe card's message flipped through her mind.

Never forget the secrets of Rosa Lee.

Logic prevailed. “I'll meet with you on Friday, Mr. McCormick. The doctor insists I rest tomorrow.”

“Thank you. How about I pick you up for lunch Friday? I promise not to try and talk you into anything.”

“All right.” Don't start thinking wild things about a secret admirer, she reminded herself. He only wants to have a business lunch, nothing more.

“Mexican food. No onions,” he added. She could almost hear the smile in his words.

Before she could form a question, he hung up the phone.

Sidney put the receiver down and frowned. “Interesting,” she said aloud. “Very interesting.”

The phone rang again.

“Hello.”

She expected it to be McCormick asking where to meet her, but a panicked Ada May yelled, “Professor! We need your advice.”

“Yes?” Sidney had talked to the two ladies a few hours ago and they'd seemed fine, though still shaken by yesterday's excitement.

“Beth Ann thought I should call and tell you we've gotten three phone hang-ups in the last hour. Have you had any?”

“No.”

“Well, the sheriff told us to call if we noticed anything strange. Do you think the hang-ups count?”

Sidney smiled. Though they were slightly younger, the ladies reminded her of her grandmother Minnie, who had once blocked a closet door with every piece of furniture she could shove in front of it because she was certain an intruder hid among the coats. When the police had arrived, they'd found one very hungry squirrel.

“I think the hang-ups count. It wouldn't hurt to call and report them to the deputy on duty tonight. The deputy will probably circle by your house on rounds.” Sidney knew the ladies would feel better if they believed they were taking an active role. “I wouldn't bother the sheriff yet. Not with his wife being pregnant and all.”

“Oh, of course not. The sheriff should make her his top priority. We know he doesn't have much time to do overtime. He needs to be home. Beth Ann and I plan to help him out with this investigation as much as possible.”

“I'm proud of you.”

“Thanks.” Ada May hesitated. “We're also listing every
car that passes our street. I take down the license number and Beth Ann tries to guess the make and model just in case someone's switched plates. I saw that done on
CSI.
”

“Good idea.” Sidney decided it couldn't hurt. “But don't get frightened. Call me if you need me.”

“Thank you, Professor.” Ada May said the words as if she considered Sidney their field commander. “We'll be on watch.”

“You're welcome. See you Friday at the meeting.”

“We'll be there.”

Sidney hung up the phone, laughing. She would love to listen in on the next call coming into the sheriff's office.

As she carried her empty dinner glass and plate to the kitchen, the phone rang again. It took her three rings to answer.

“Hello.”

The line went dead with a click.

L
ora Whitman pulled her Audi behind Billy's Mustang that was already parked in back of the Altman house. She flipped off the lights and climbed out with only the midnight stars to guide her. She'd told her parents she planned to go for a drive. And she had. At least a mile stretched from Candy Lane to the end of Main Street where Rosa Lee's house sat back from the road.

She'd used driving to relax since she'd been in her teens and her parents never questioned where she was going. But her father often wondered aloud why she couldn't drive a GM product. He'd given up offering her a Cadillac and she'd given up trying to explain how she just liked the feel of her car.

As she stared at the shadowy house that looked like the perfect setting for a horror film, she remembered the stories of a wild man running in the rose garden, and people hearing chanting that seemed to breathe with the house. Everyone said the madman was the ghost of old Henry, but Lora had never known anyone who had seen him, only people who claimed to know someone who knew someone who had seen the madman.

“Lora?” Billy's voice came through the blackness as she closed the car door.

“Present and accounted for,” she answered, remember
ing how her ex-husband, Dan, always thought he had to know where she was every minute. The habit had irritated the hell out of her. She swore he put a stopwatch on her shower time, and heaven forbid she pause to window-shop.

“Thanks for coming out.” When excited, Billy sounded younger than his twenty years. “I wanted to show you something and couldn't get free until now. Hope I didn't wake you when I called your cell. I didn't dare call the house.”

“No problem. I've given up sleep.” A few days ago she would have brought Mace to meet Billy Hatcher behind the Altman house at this time of night. But Lora had quickly grown to trust him. There was still something about Billy that made her nervous, though, but she couldn't pinpoint what it was. Not a violent streak, as she might have expected, more a calm undercurrent. As far as she knew, Billy Hatcher had little going for him, but nothing bothered him. He seemed to be one of those rare people who was comfortable in his skin. Beneath the rough look were intelligent eyes that missed little.

He took her hand and they moved into the blackness of the back porch. “I could help you with that,” he said in easy conversation.

“With what?” She could almost feel the invisible night creatures sniffing at her ankles. Within seconds they'd probably bite deep enough to drain her blood before she could make it back to her car. Lora moved closer to Billy as they walked across the back porch.

“With getting to sleep.” He fumbled with a key, then pressed it into a lock. “I know a few simple breathing exercises. The court made me take anger-management classes even though I didn't need them.”

Curiosity got the better of her. “Oh, now I understand. It was a case of mistaken identity when you got arrested
for whatever it was. Now you're doing penance by serving on the committee.”

“Something like that.” He laughed and leaned his shoulder against the door. “If you want to know something, just ask, Lora. I'll tell you all about it. Not that there's much to tell. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time with no one to back up my story. My father could have set things straight, but in doing so the cops would have looked his direction next. I guess he figured it was better for me to take the rap as a minor.”

She wasn't sure she wanted to know more. “It doesn't matter. I'm sure you learned your lesson and will never do it again.”

His laughter brushed her ear. “Not a chance. No lesson learned. Except maybe to stay as far away from my old man as possible. I've got no remorse.”

Swallowing slowly, Lora wished she could see more than shadow. Maybe she'd be able to tell if he was teasing her. He didn't volunteer more, and she realized she wasn't brave enough to ask. There were other problems at the moment. She needed to pay attention. The night creatures might be moving closer. She'd always known they were there, hiding in closets and in shadows. As a child, she had held them at bay with screams until her daddy reached her. Now an adult, she tried ignoring them and hoped they'd return the favor.

Standing next to Billy she tried closing her eyes, pretending it really wasn't dark, that she just had her eyes shut. She had no time to think about what crime he had, or hadn't, committed. She had to concentrate on staying alive in the night.

Silence was worse than talking. “I don't need exercise to breathe,” she mumbled. “I do it fine.”

“Then maybe you need to feel safe where you sleep.”
Billy shoved the door open and pulled her into the low glow of the work lantern Sam had left. “You're afraid of the dark!”

“I am not.”

“Then open your eyes.” He moved out of her reach with a suddenness that left her grasping for air.

She took a deep breath and opened one eye. When she saw it wasn't total blackness, she opened the other eye and relaxed. “I'm no more afraid of the dark than I am of anything else.”

Billy lifted the light so he could see her face. “Then you're afraid of everything, Lora Whitman.”

She didn't argue. Billy had known her two days and already guessed more than Dan had in the three years they were married. Her ex-husband never saw through the act. He'd thought her a warrior to fight against. He never saw the frightened child beneath the armor. He never knew his not wanting her had hurt far more than all the battles he'd won in divorce court. And, in the end, she left him angry because she'd given up when he'd prepared to fight. She'd walked away with nothing, leaving him to feel like the loser.

Billy offered his hand again. The bandages had been replaced by a huge Band-Aid that looked almost like skin. “I'll keep your secret, if you promise not to be afraid of me.”

“All right.” She gripped his hand. How could she be afraid of him? He very well may have saved her life. It didn't take much to figure out that if he hadn't knocked her to the floor, she would have been hit by an oil drill bit three times the size of her fist.

He led her through the back of the house toward the front foyer. Lora refused to even glance toward the bay window where the committee had met.

She rubbed her fingers over his hand. “Why'd you take the bandages off?”

“I couldn't get my hand in my work gloves,” he answered. “The cuts are healing. Don't worry about it.”

She felt a spot on his thumb where dried blood had hardened but she didn't comment. In a few days, she promised herself, she'd take a serious look at the kid's wounds. If they weren't healing, she'd drive him to the doctor herself.

“I wanted to show you something strange.” He knelt at the foot of the stairs. “See these holes in the floor?”

Lora bent over his shoulder. Someone had marred what had once been a fine wood flooring with a row of nail holes. “I don't understand.” She ran her hand along the wood.

“I didn't either, but I've been thinking about it all evening, and an hour ago I came up with an answer.” He reached around the door facing and produced a long board. “At first I thought someone might have put in carpet, or nailed a rug down. But no one would hammer a rug down with four-inch nails.”

“Maybe someone put a gate at the bottom of the stairs, like a child guard?”

“No kids ever lived here.”

“Good point.” Lora frowned. She was never any good at guessing games. “I give up.”

Billy placed the board on the stairs. As it rested on the incline of the steps, the end of the board came to a stop at the holes.

“So?”

“So.” He smiled. “When I was a kid—”

“Last year,” she interrupted.

Billy ignored her. “We used to build skateboard ramps.
Someone hammered nails in the floor here big enough to hold a board in place.”

“That's brilliant. Rosa Lee spent her old age skateboarding around the house. Everyone always wondered what she did besides garden. Now we know.”

He laughed. “More likely she built the ramp to move something down these stairs that she couldn't carry. And if she built the ramp, she must have had little or no help.”

A chill slid down Lora's spine. “Something she had to get downstairs and felt it was worth scarring her floor to move.”

“Something she had to move alone,” he whispered. “The job's too sloppy not to have been her work. Any kind of workman wouldn't have scarred the floor. I figure they couldn't have been made when old Henry Altman was alive. He cared too much about this place to have left those marks. A man doesn't bring carpenters in to build a place, then scar it.”

“Maybe someone broke into the place and used the ramp to haul everything away?”

Billy shook his head. “I asked the sheriff tonight if anyone ever robbed anything. He said no. He said Rosa Lee died of natural causes. A nurse who checked on her twice a week found her in her bed. The nurse reported that it looked like the old lady had passed peacefully during the night.”

Lora backed away. “Let's get out of here.” Her imagination was already coming up with too many possibilities and she didn't like any of them. If no one robbed her, could her father have somehow trapped her here in her youth? That would answer the question of why she never met the man named Fuller who gave her the book. No, that didn't make sense. Everyone said Rosa Lee tended her gardens every day of her life. She could have just waited until she
was outside and then run to the road. If she'd wanted to be with Fuller, she would have found a way. Lora was sure of it.

Billy carried the light and headed back through the house.

Lora stayed one step behind him. He flipped off the work light as they stepped onto the back porch. “Wouldn't want the deputy hauling us in. This time it might not be so easy to talk our way out of a free ride to his office. He's got it in for me, always has. Says he can smell trouble.”

“Now who's afraid?” Lora took his hand. “Don't worry. I'll protect you from the big bad deputy.”

Halfway down the back steps, they heard a splashing sound. For a moment, Lora thought it might be a sprinkler hitting the windows, then she realized how ridiculous that would be.

A second later, she smelled gas.

Billy pulled her toward her Audi. “Get in the car and lock the door. Call the sheriff.” He shoved her in before she could ask any questions.

Lora saw his shadow turn the corner of the house heading toward the front as she fumbled frantically in her purse for her cell phone.

By the time she finished telling the deputy on duty where she was, Billy was back standing beside her window.

“He's on his way,” she cried as she rolled the window down.

“It's too late. Whoever it was must have heard me and took off into the bushes before I could see much.”

“What were they doing?” Lora feared she already knew the answer.

“It looks like they tried to set the house on fire. I stumbled over a can of gasoline and someone had stacked dead branches across the front door.” He leaned against the car
and took a long breath. “If a fire caught, this old house would burn to the ground before anyone could put it out.”

Lora heard the deputy's car screech to a halt out front. She climbed from her car and followed Billy.

For once, Deputy Adams didn't ask questions. He just walked around the house, took their statements, and helped Billy pull the brush off the front porch. Then, while they watched, he sprayed the spilled gas with foam from his patrol car fire extinguisher.

Lora watched him drive away, then followed Billy to the cars. “Why would anyone try to burn the house?”

Billy opened his trunk and pulled out a sleeping bag. “I don't know, but I'm sleeping here tonight. I doubt anyone will be back, but I'll camp out on the back porch, just in case.”

She didn't try to argue, she only handed him her cell phone. “Just flip it open, press Talk. It will redial the sheriff's office.”

He nodded. “Someone seems to be trying to make up our minds for us about this house. Someone seems determined to
let the house fall.
”

“Either that, or someone planned to kill us both.” She'd accidentally spoken her fear.

To her surprise and horror, Billy didn't argue.