The Secrets of Rosa Lee (16 page)

M
icah let himself into his duplex and paused to listen, making sure all was calm. Mrs. Mac's TV still sounded through the open door. He checked on Logan. The boy had kicked off his cover, but was sound asleep. The kitten, curled on Logan's extra pillow, opened one eye, then went back to sleep. Micah pulled off his shoes and moved into Mrs. Mac's quarters. She snored away in her extended recliner. He turned down the TV and covered her with a blanket. He'd made the mistake of switching off the set once and she'd jumped with the shock of sudden silence.

When he moved down the hall to his bedroom, he fought the urge to practice the two-step. It had taken Randi an hour to teach him enough so that they moved smoothly. Then, they'd danced like he'd never thought he'd dance in his life, fluid and free, as if blowing in the breeze.

If anyone had seen them dancing, they would have thought it strange, the preacher and the bar owner. But, somehow they'd found the one thing they could do together. He told himself they could never be lovers. Dating was probably out of the question. Neither wanted any involvement.

But they could dance. He could hold her close, feel her heart beat. For a short time, he wouldn't be so alone and maybe she wouldn't either. He'd never danced with Amy,
so Micah didn't feel as if he were replacing his wife. The feel of Randi in his arms took the edge off his loneliness. Maybe it did the same for her.

He pulled off his clothes and fell into bed, thankful tomorrow was Saturday and maybe Logan would let him sleep until nine. The boy's favorite thing to do on Saturday morning was to sneak the cereal and milk into Mrs. Mac's place. They'd eat together and watch cartoons until Micah awoke. It was their special time together.

Closing his eyes, he guessed Mrs. Mac would probably get her fill of cartoons and Cheerios tomorrow. Just before he fell asleep, he reached for his other pillow, pulling it against him. But tonight, it was Randi he pulled into his embrace, not Amy.

T
he phone rang as Sidney pulled her keys from her purse. She'd given up on waiting for Sloan McCormick and decided to drive over to Wichita Falls alone to visit with Dr. Eastland's old nurse. Sloan might have some reason for not showing up, or he could have changed his mind about wanting to go with her. Either way, talking to the person who'd found Rosa Lee's body had to take priority.

She caught the call on the third ring, already preparing to hear his excuse. “Hello,” she almost shouted.

“Professor Dickerson?” The voice was definitely not Sloan McCormick's.

“Yes.” She straightened, all business.

“This is Mayor Dunley. I hate to bother you so early on this Saturday morning, but I'm feeling some pressure to find an answer to the Altman house problem and I need to know if anything was decided yesterday.” He hesitated. “I tried to phone last night, but you must have gone to bed early.”

Sidney wasn't aware the house, or her private life, was a problem. The mayor had made serving on the committee sound like an honor only a few weeks ago. Now, it was a problem he felt he had to check on.

“What kind of pressure?” She knew offers were coming in to buy or lease the land, but the oil companies surely
could wait a few days—after all, the oil, if it was down there, had been beneath the land for hundreds of thousands of years.

“I got a call about an hour ago from Howard Drilling. They're interested in placing a bid, even though they say they've got all they can handle right now. Normally, I'd want to give it to a local company, but Talon Graham's been in my office every day this week. He seems to think that since his grandfather owned a ranch north of town, he's local, even if he did grow up in Austin. If you add those two offers to the one a man named McCormick set on my desk Friday afternoon, that's three.”

Sidney remained silent. Sloan must have made his offer Friday while the committee was meeting, but true to his word, he hadn't mentioned it to her. He'd said any offer made would be between the mayor and him.

The mayor cleared his throat. “I told both Talon Graham and Howard Drilling that they'd have an answer as soon as possible.”

“Can they lease the oil rights and not bother the house?”

“No. Both claim the house is on the crest and that's where the drilling needs to be. Talon suggested moving the house, but it would crumble for sure if we tried anything like that. Even the Harvey brothers, who moved picky Old Man Hamm's house to town, aren't up for a job like that.” The mayor laughed. “I forget you're not from around here and don't know everyone, but you've probably seen Old Man Hamm. He's got six kids living in the county, not counting grandkids and greats, and far as I know not one of them speaks to him.”

Sidney glanced out the window. She really didn't have time to play the mayor's favorite game of who is related to whom in Wichita County. Since she had no roots here,
he always took it on himself to go over local family trees with her.

The mayor grew silent for a minute. “I told Talon we'd have an answer in a few days. He's really in a hurry to know. He seems to think this job is vital to his career, even though we all know he's only in the oil business until he decides to run for election.”

Sidney didn't want to get into another long discussion about someone she didn't know. “The committee meets again Wednesday, but I'll call everyone and tell them to be ready to vote. As far as Talon Graham goes, I've never met him, so his impatience isn't my concern.”

“Oh, you'd know him if you saw him,” the mayor told her. “Looks just like his father.”

Sidney crossed her eyes in frustration. “I assure you, the committee is working, Mayor. We'll have a decision as soon as possible.”

The mayor coughed into the phone. “I'm sure you are, and I want you to know I'm not trying to influence you in any way. Just let you know the facts. A group out of Dallas wrote saying they would take a look at the place to see if it qualified as a historical site, but they didn't much think it would. If the committee goes that direction, you'll make a lot of the older residents happy and I promise you we'll try to survive without the extra revenue.”

“Thank you, Mayor. I'm glad you're not trying to influence me.”

“You're welcome. It's the only fair way, but I got to tell you I don't know how the town will pay the bills this winter much less come up with any money for fixing up the house. I had to pull the money for the new window out of our snowplow budget. We'll just have to hope it doesn't snow bad enough to close the roads before Christmas.”

“I understand.” His not-so-subtle hints were growing stronger with each passing minute.

When he began telling her about the snow of 1970 that closed even the interstate, she leaned away from the phone enough to see out the window. Sloan pulled up in his pickup and stepped out. His long legs looked even longer in jeans. She had no idea what he'd been like as a young man, but she had a feeling he was in his prime in his forties. The slight gray at his temples suited him, as did the laugh lines.

“I have an appointment,” Sidney interrupted the mayor. “I hate to leave, but I must if I plan to be ready for the vote Wednesday.”

He mumbled something about telling her more later and hung up.

The doorbell rang just as she put the phone back in place.

“Morning,” Sloan said when she opened the door. “Sorry I'm late.”

She waited for him to explain, but he didn't. After an awkward pause, she held up her hand for him to wait for her on the porch. Stepping back into the hallway, she grabbed her briefcase and purse. Sidney thought of telling him about the mayor's phone call, but wasn't sure how much she wanted him to know. A tiny part of her couldn't shake the feeling that he might be playing her for information. Maybe he even thought she'd swing the committee his direction if he flirted with her.

When she stepped outside and locked her door, she asked as casually as if they were simply going for a drive, “I forgot to offer to take my Jeep.”

Sloan glanced over at the rusting Jeep parked in the carport beside her bungalow.

“If you'd like to drive?” He studied her car as if trying
to decide if he'd fit into the thing. “We can take whatever you like.”

“I hate to drive,” she admitted. “And sometimes my Jeep hates to run.”

He relaxed. “I guess living on campus you don't drive often.”

“Right.” She walked toward his pickup. “It does have its disadvantages. Students drop by without calling sometimes. Usually to turn in late papers as if shoving them under my door at 11:59 p.m. still counts.” She thought of adding that sometimes anonymous people dropped off yellow slips of paper telling her how to vote, but if he didn't know about the paper, she wasn't about to tell him.

“Everyone in town knows where you live,” he added more as a statement than a question. He helped her into the truck.

“I wondered how you knew which place was mine last night.”

He closed the door without commenting. He seemed occupied, not fully in the conversation.

While he walked around to his side, she noticed he'd cleaned up his work space between the seats. His small laptop was off and folded into a pouch. The papers and notepads were all stuffed into a pocket. The cords to cell phones, computer or whatever he used were gone. Even the cups of half-finished coffee usually stuffed in his holders had disappeared.

When he climbed in, she noticed he'd dressed more casually today. Boots, jeans, pressed shirt. The shirt was a pale blue, not white, with snaps not buttons. The boots expensive, but worn.

“Ready?” He started the engine without waiting for an answer.

She wanted to ask him again how he knew where she
lived. Another time, she decided. She only nodded and opened her briefcase. As he drove, she told him all the information about Rosa Lee that she had found in the county records. The woman had been born in 1910 and had died ninety-two years later. Her mother had died the day she was born with Rosa Lee being her first and only child.

Sidney glanced at Sloan. He didn't interrupt, in fact she wasn't even sure he was listening.

“Rosa Lee must have been friends with my grandmother Minnie during her short stay in Clifton Creek during the Depression,” Sidney continued, needing to organize the facts whether he listened or not. “Minnie couldn't have lived here long for my mother's birth certificate was registered in Chicago on April 3, 1934.”

“You have no proof they knew each other?” Sloan interrupted, finally interested.

She shook her head. “I remember Grandmother Minnie talking about how she and my grandfather married and worked the farm until fall. Then, she stayed in Texas while he went north to find work. He had family he stayed with and saved money until they had enough for her to join him.”

“Times must have been hard then,” he said, more to himself than her. “But, at least they had each other.”

She knew without asking that no one waited for him.

Sidney flipped to Henry Altman. “Rosa Lee's father was born 1878; one record shows he died in 1964, the same year I was born.”

“Me, too,” Sloan added. “Sixty-four must have been a good year for everyone but old Henry.”

“Strange thing is, everyone thought of him as the father of the town even though it had never been official. He established one of the first ranches in Wichita County, shipping cattle as soon as the railroads came in. He donated
the land for the railroad station and the city hall. He was remembered as a kind man who did a great deal to help others.” Sidney paused and lowered her voice. “But, the paper reported that he was buried next to his wife in the Wichita County cemetery without a funeral. Not even a graveside. Apparently, Rosa Lee refused all visitors.”

“Strange.”

“I read through the society notes from back then. She was never mentioned, not before or after her father died.”

“Maybe she just didn't like people?” Sloan pulled around an eighteen-wheeler.

“Probably,” Sidney said halfheartedly. “Rosa Lee never married. Fell on hard times in her later years and died penniless except for the forty acres she still owned where the house and her gardens stand. In her last few years some people said she kept her money hidden away in her house, but more likely, she'd been selling off first land and later furniture to live.”

“You think there's more to the story than just a dislike of people?”

“Maybe, but we'll never know.”

“Lonely life,” Sloan said. “Maybe she was homely, or had a wart on her nose. Or bald. I had an aunt once. Head looked like a bowling ball. We all figured she'd be an old maid for sure, but one day she brought home the hairiest man you've ever seen. He was crazy in love with her and she said he kept her warm at night.”

Sidney laughed. “You have an interesting family, Mr. McCormick, but Rosa Lee wasn't ugly. I have a picture of her.” Sidney pulled a small framed picture out of her briefcase. “The librarians found it on a shelf among the books. It seemed she never gave away or sold a single book all her life. Books and roses were her loves, I guess.”

Sloan took the picture. “She looks sad,” he said hand
ing it back. “She also could've been an ancestor of yours. Same strong chin.”

Sidney smiled. “Not likely, my grandmother's people were from Tennessee. The few my father had were from Chicago. I've got a box of the most bored-looking ancestors you've ever seen. Mother's side in Confederate uniforms, Father's in Union. My grandmother Minnie used to laugh and say even though they married seventy years after the War Between the States, some of her relatives never forgave her for marrying a Yankee.”

He laughed. “I come from a family like that. I'm not sure some to this day would be too fond of you. They'd still hear that hint of northern accent in your speech.”

“I don't have an accent.”

“I know, but I like you anyway.”

She couldn't help herself, she had to say, “Why?”

He backed off the gas a little. “You have no idea, do you?”

“What?”

“How intelligent you are. Or what a fine-looking woman lies beneath that brain.” He said it more as a statement than a compliment. “I guess with teaching eighteen-year-olds you must see yourself as older.”

“And what do you see?”

“You probably don't want to know.”

“I think I do.” She didn't want to admit it but he was right about her looking at her students with their cute young bodies and trendy clothes. She feared she suffered in comparison.

“First, promise you won't get mad. I don't want to be out here in the middle of nowhere with an angry woman.”

Sidney nodded, trying not to look as if anything he might say would affect her one way or the other.

Sloan winked at her before turning back to stare at the
road. “When I look at you, I see a body that could offer heaven and pale blue eyes that promise honesty. It's a deadly combination.”

She laughed knowing that he was teasing her. “We'd best get back to Rosa Lee's life. I brought a map of Wichita Falls that should help us locate the retirement home.”

He caught her hand before she could pull the map out. “You don't believe me, do you, Sidney?”

“No, but I'm not angry.”

She thought he might say something else, but he just held her hand a moment longer and then stared straight ahead. She wished she'd known him better—she might have joked with him. She might have admitted wishing his compliment could be true.

Two hours later they walked into the third retirement home. Sidney had been given the name of a developer who built and managed several facilities. Since it was Saturday, the main office was closed, so their only choice was to go to each building complex. The first one was more like apartments than a nursing home. A young girl at the desk didn't have a list with her, but swore there was no one by the name of Carter in the building. The second complex fell more under assisted living. Here, the nurses seemed well able to handle anything. They were professional but of no help in finding Rosa Lee's nurse.