The Secrets of Rosa Lee (9 page)

“The rodeo's nine months away. We don't need to plan advertising yet.” She wanted to add that, hopefully, she wouldn't be in town nine months from now, but with what her father paid her, it was a possibility. Also, men in oil exploration weren't known to stay long in one place.

“I know, but it may take some time.” He winked. “First I plan to organize a huge fund-raiser to improve what Clifton Creek laughingly calls a rodeo grounds. Second, I'd like to get to know everyone in town, or at least anyone who will help.” He stood, towering over her. “Your daddy told me yesterday that you wouldn't mind introducing me around. As an outsider, I'll need to move in the right circles fast.” He glanced down, seeming almost shy. Almost. “He said you would be at my disposal whenever needed.”

Lora swore she felt smoke coming out of her ears. She could almost hear her father telling this man that his poor daughter had nothing to do with her life and would be happy to take him around. After all, divorced women don't have an easy time getting back on the horse.

Talon had the nerve to grin when he added, “So, we'll be seeing a lot of each other over the next few months?”

She'd have to kill
Daddy,
she thought. “I'll talk with
my father,” she managed to say as she glanced through her glass walls.

He'd finally gone too far, pimping her out to a rodeo. And because Isadore would be impossible to live with as a widow, Lora would have to murder her, too. Maybe she could get a deal when buying double caskets and plots. She saw it all now, the church packed, the funeral procession long and loaded with the newest models on the lot. The coffins would be matching champagne white. Too bad the funeral home didn't have Casket Cash.

T
he afternoon rain drove Billy Hatcher's roofing crew inside. Most of the guys called it a day. Sam Davis and Billy drove over to do cleanup on the window replacement job at the Altman house.

The sky hung low, bringing the shadows of twilight early. Billy heard more than one person say the rain might freeze after sundown. If so, there would be no work tomorrow until the sun warmed everything up. He didn't care. Unlike the others, he had plenty to keep himself busy. Roofing was seasonal work anyway, but it paid well. He figured he had enough put away to last three months in an apartment when bad weather hit. A few inside carpentry jobs should carry him through till spring. If his plan worked, he wouldn't have to move back in with his father and whatever old lady he had playing house with him now.

But until it got too cold, he'd sleep out, sometimes in the country, sometimes in his car. Lora Whitman would have been surprised to learn more than just his car parked behind the Altman house last night. He'd slept there after he'd walked her home. A rich girl like her would never understand that the longer he could wait to get the apartment, the more chance he'd never have to see his old man again. He'd taken the rap for him once and almost landed in jail. He wouldn't do it again.

Billy had missed his class at the Y yesterday because of the trip to the hospital with Lora. He planned to spend extra time tonight to catch up with everyone. The aikido workouts were just one more thing he never talked about at work. He never discussed the classes with anyone except Sheriff Farrington, who'd talked him into starting the martial art. In class, while he practiced, Billy thought of himself as distant from the world, almost as if he were a lost soul floating without any place or past marking him.

As soon as they finished work today, he'd disappear from problems for a few hours. The workout would exhaust him and he'd sleep without nightmares for a change.

Sam Davis unlocked the back door of the Altman place and held it open while Billy carried in a couple of brooms and an empty box. They'd installed new glass in the bay window that morning at the sheriff's request, but they hadn't bothered to clean up. Sam wanted to get as much roofing done as he could before the rain hit.

So they were back, doing cleanup. The dining room looked as it had when Billy left it yesterday morning, with folding chairs scattered and fragments of glass everywhere. Only today the clouds brought rainy-day gloom and the house aged in the poor light. The dark wood seemed sinister. The shadows haunted. The hollow spaces lonely.

“Don't understand Sheriff Farrington,” Sam said, flipping on the portable work light and setting it in the center of the floor. “If that committee you're meeting with was organized to decide what to do with this house, why not wait until they make up their minds before adding a new window? Glass ain't cheap. We could be tearing this whole place down next week.” He bit off a chew of tobacco. “My feeling is most folks in this town wouldn't give a damn if it crumbled. It ain't good for nothing but feeding termites.”

Billy ran his hand over the banister, as always feeling
the wood as if it could somehow whisper to him as he greeted it. He liked the old house. It was out of place here, just as he felt he was. Billy had no idea what he waited for, but somewhere out there in the future was a chance. Maybe he'd only get one, but when it came he planned to take it.

Sam Davis felt no need to introduce himself to the house. “It ain't like the town's got memories to preserve in this place. Altman might've founded the town, but those who knew him are long gone. Rosa Lee Altman didn't do more than nod at anyone around here. Only person she ever let in was that nurse old Doc Eastland had and I guess maybe the doc visited now and then before he died.”

Billy started to work, noticing the light made the slivers of glass sparkle. “Why don't you ask the sheriff? I didn't see the salesman at the lumberyard griping when Farrington paid for the glass.” Billy didn't particularly like Sam Davis, but the old guy was friendlier than most at work. He knew everyone in town and treated Billy the same as he did all those he considered below him in rank. He'd worked for the lumberyard for forty years and made it to foreman of a work crew. Billy didn't see Sam as exactly climbing the ladder, but in Sam's mind he saw himself as successful.

“I did ask the sheriff.” Sam leaned on his broom and snorted. “He said the mayor told him to. But if you ask me, it's some kind of trap. Farrington figures if we put new glass in, the fools will come back. He's expecting to catch them, but I think all we'll do is sweep up more glass. The sheriff might catch them if they try something on his watch, but that Deputy Adams couldn't catch a dead rabbit and the guy who comes in from Wichita Falls to take weekend watch isn't much better.”

Billy thought of pointing out to Sam that he wasn't
the one sweeping up glass in the first place. “Maybe they want this house to look good, it being on Main and all. I heard someone say at lunch that there is more than one oil company in town looking at the land.”

Sam laughed. “If it was important to look good, half the buildings on this street would have to go. Willie's feed store hasn't had a coat of paint in thirty years. And don't forget that gas station Dixie Roberts turned into a flower shop in the sixties. She deserted the place to marry some trucker who drove by and honked. Now, ivy grows all over the roof. Realtor couldn't give the place away.”

Billy knelt to get a few pieces of glass out of the floor while Sam's voice played on.

“Be careful there, boy. Don't want you getting any more glass in that hand.” He moved closer so he could watch Billy work. “If you get hurt on the job, I have to fill out all kinds of paperwork.”

There'd be less of a possibility if Sam helped, but Billy doubted that was in the old man's plan. “I'm careful. You ever been in this place before today?”

“Once, when I was a boy not yet old enough to go to school. Miss Rosa Lee wasn't all that old then, maybe in her fifties. She ordered some lumber, big flat boards, delivered to the back door. My father brought it, and she paid him cash.”

“What did she need it for?”

Sam frowned. “I don't know. That's been years ago. But I do remember thinking it strange, because my daddy didn't usually take cash at delivery. Folks came in back then and bought the lumber before it ever moved out of the yard. My daddy didn't have the money to make change. He left me sitting on her back porch while he went to get her money.”

Sam scratched his head as if he had fleas. “She weren't
mean like some folks used to say. I remember. She brought me out a cup of lemonade and talked to me about her roses. I can't think of any one thing she said, but she sure made them bushes sound like they were priceless. Called each one by name, like they were her children or something.”

“What did she look like?”

Sam shrugged. “Like an old lady, I guess. I remember she had the palest blue eyes I ever seen. Ghost eyes, I heard someone say.”

“What does that mean?” Billy knew he shouldn't keep asking questions. Sam would never start work. But he couldn't help himself.

“I don't know. Maybe it means she sees ghosts. Maybe it means she was one. Haven't you ever heard someone say that about a person with light blue eyes?”

“Nope,” Billy answered. “But I haven't been around much.”

He was kidding, but Sam nodded as if he agreed.

Billy moved around the room, picking up every sliver of glass. He knelt, noticing the scratch Lora Whitman's chair had left. The fresh scar only added to the thousands already covering the floor. As he progressed to the hallway, checking for any shards that might have slid out the open door, Billy noticed nail holes running in a straight line in front of the stairs. No nails remained, but the holes forever blemished the floor. Whoever had ripped them out had been without skill, leaving marks where a hammer's claw had twisted.

He glanced back at Sam, who now leaned against the door frame. “What do you think of these holes?”

The old man didn't move. “Termites probably. I told you this place ain't good for nothin' else.”

“In a straight line? All about two inches apart?”

Sam walked over and took a look. “Strange.”

“Why would anyone want to damage this floor? What could they have nailed here in front of the stairs?”

“Beats me, boy, but it's quittin' time. I'm heading home. You want a ride back to the lumberyard?”

“Sure.” Billy brushed his fingers against the strange holes. “You want me to drop the key off, Sam? I got to go in and pick up my check anyway.”

Sam handed him the Altman house key. “Thanks. That'll save me getting wet.”

Billy slipped the key into his pocket then touched the marring in the floor one last time as if to say goodbye.

“P
lease, come in out of this rain.” Sidney Dickerson held the door open to her bungalow situated along what everyone called Faculty Row. “Welcome, Lora. Reverend. I can't believe you came to check on me on a day like this.” The afternoon sky had darkened to evening hues.

Micah and Lora hurried into the small entryway of the professor's home. He juggled the gift basket he brought the professor while he pulled off his jacket and left it on a bench by the door.

When Micah faced the professor, he noticed the lack of color in Sidney's face, but her smile was warm and genuine. She had been home long enough to take a nap, because the back of her hair flattened to her skull.

Sidney must have read his mind, for she ran her fingers through her mousy-brown curls as she led them to a living area.

Micah glanced around the small apartment. It probably had the same floor plan as the ten others located on the north side of the campus. The bungalows had been remodeled a few years back and were offered to faculty for half what they would pay to rent a similar place in town. It had been a way to attract teachers to a college where the salary couldn't compete with larger schools.

Sidney looked comfortable in her jogging suit and walk
ing shoes. She straightened pillows on the couch as she moved about the room. Micah didn't miss the quality of the furnishings or the collection of art crowded between bookshelves. He had a feeling that all the professor owned rested in the confines of these walls. One framed photograph stood out on the cluttered desk that divided the living area from the kitchen.

“We just wanted to check on you, Sidney.” Her name still wasn't comfortable on his tongue, but after what they'd been through, they should be on a first-name basis. “Hope we didn't disturb you.”

“I'm so glad you dropped by, but there's no need to worry. I'm fine. I was just relaxing and enjoying the rain.” Several potted plants with huge bows were stuffed in corners. Sliding glass doors ran along one wall of the room, with a screened-in patio beyond. The sunroom area was also lined with potted plants, all in straw baskets with big bows.

She motioned them to two comfortable chairs before she sat on a bench by a small fireplace. “I got home a few hours ago and students have already dropped by to check on me. I'm surprised how fast everyone in town knew about the mishap. My neighbor said flowers started arriving yesterday afternoon.” She pointed at the largest plant. “The mayor sent that.”

Micah placed a basket from the Women's League on the coffee table. “The ladies at my church knew you'd be having more company than usual and thought you could use coffee and cookies.” The standard gift appeared more personal with the handwritten note sticking out between a bag of coffee and a tin of cookies.

“Thank you.” Sidney smiled with delight. “I'm glad it wasn't flowers. I'll have a devil of a time keeping all these
alive. My grandmother and mother had talent for gardening, but I'm afraid the gene wasn't passed to me.”

Micah couldn't think of much to say, but thankfully Lora seemed to know all the right questions to ask. While he waited, the women talked of hospital food and how long Sidney planned to take off work. Without being obvious, he studied the small paintings clustered on available wall space. Originals, he'd bet. Nothing too modern. But quality, museum quality, if his three-hour course in art appreciation was worth anything. She must have inherited the paintings, for Sidney's passion was obviously books. Volumes were everywhere, hardback, paperback. Even a tall shelf, circling the ceiling like a border, bowed from the weight of reading material.

Sidney drew Micah back into the group as she laughed, then hesitated. “I had the strangest thing happen late last night. I dreamed a man came into my room and held my hand after he asked me to dinner. I haven't told anyone for fear they'll think I'm crazy, but his visit seemed so real.”

Lora moved to the edge of her chair. “Maybe he was real, Sidney,” she whispered. “Maybe you have a secret admirer.”

Sidney shook her head. “I don't think so. But I can dream anyway.”

Micah didn't say anything. He'd had his own share of strange things happening late last night. In fact, Randi Howard had been in the back of his mind all day. He tried to guess at what time she found out he was a minister. Sometime today, someone probably started talking about what happened at the Altman place. After a minute or two they'd mention who was there: the Rogers sisters, Lora and Sidney and a kid doing community service and the preacher. At that point, he could almost hear Randi
saying, “What preacher?” in that rich country-and-western voice of hers.

He closed his eyes trying to picture how Randi would react. He'd bet her red hair would fly as she stomped around. She'd probably think about how she talked to him just like he was a regular guy, even flirted with him.

He wondered whether, once she got over her embarrassment, she'd tell anyone about cooking him breakfast. Maybe she'd laugh about the way he'd almost kissed her. He saw it as no sin, but wasn't sure he wanted half the town hearing about it. Would she tell everyone? Or would she write it off as another drunk trying to grab a kiss at the end of the night shift?

Only he hadn't been drunk. And he wouldn't take their time together back even if he knew it would be announced on the evening news.

“Are you ready, Preacher?” Lora tapped his knee.

Micah realized he'd been lost in his own problems and not paying attention.

“You were staring out at the rain as if you were hypnotized.” Lora sounded more sympathetic than scolding.

“Sorry. I was just thinking about something I have to face.” He noticed they had already forgiven him before he could think of an explanation. “I guess the lack of sleep is catching up with me.”

Both women nodded as they stood. When Micah passed the photograph once more, he asked, “Your family?”

Sidney's smile had a sadness about it. “Yes. I'm the little girl.” She lifted the picture. “That's my mother, Marbree, and that's my grandmother, Minnie, standing beside her. I was an only child of an only child. They were nuts about taking pictures of me, but this is the only one I have of the three of us. My father died in Vietnam before I had many memories of him, and my grandfather died before
I was born.” She brushed her thumb across the glass in a caress. “We called ourselves the Three Musketeers, my grandmother Minnie, my mom and me.”

When she looked up from the photo, Sidney tried to hold on to her smile. “They were killed in a car wreck a few years ago. They were my only family.”

Micah opened his arms and Sidney stepped into them hesitantly. He knew there was little he could say that would help. He hugged her gently until she straightened and pulled away, thanking him for his kindness with a nod.

“I'm sorry,” Lora whispered.

“It seems a long time ago. I can't believe I'm allowing it to upset me now.” Sidney led the way to the door. “I guess it's just the strain of the last twenty-four hours.”

They made plans to hold the next committee meeting in Sidney's classroom. Lora complained about the rain and ran to her car. Micah waved goodbye to Sidney and walked to his car that still had the faint smell of apricot wine lingering in the damp carpet.

He started the engine and thought about how Randi had shoved him out in the rain last night because she wouldn't ride back until he'd cleaned up the mess Ada May had made.

Forget about Randi,
he thought. He had plenty on his mind already. But the tall, long-legged bar owner had jump-started his heart. It had been so long since he'd felt it beating, he'd almost forgotten about living. He'd been walking around in the fog for three years and he finally found the door. The only problem was, he couldn't—wouldn't—step out. He'd lived in the fog too long. It welcomed him home. He belonged there.

He drove through rainy streets, telling himself he'd never take Randi up on that offer for another breakfast,
but if he accidentally crossed her path again he'd thank her. She'd reminded him he was still alive.

Dropping by the church, Micah unlocked the back door. Reverend Milburn and Nancy, the church secretary, always left at five, but Micah still had almost an hour to kill before he picked up Logan from Tiger Cubs, so he might as well get some work done.

Logan loved thinking of himself as almost old enough to be a real Boy Scout. Micah knew his son would talk all the way through dinner about every detail of the meeting. After school, the troop planned a tour of the pizza place out by the interstate. All parents were to pick up their sons after six where they could buy a pizza made by their seven-year-old. Logan had promised to save Mrs. Mac two pieces of his, and Micah thought he'd heard his boy say he'd bring the cat a bite.

Flipping on the office light, Micah checked his messages. Nothing that couldn't wait until tomorrow.

He thought he heard the back door bang closed again and decided the wind must have caught it. Next time, he'd be more careful shutting the door when the weather was stormy. Micah continued working. He thought of turning on more lights. The rainy day made his normally sunny office gloomy.

Footsteps moved fast down the hallway. He glanced up. Whoever headed his way made no attempt to conceal their arrival. Micah moved around his desk and took one step toward the entrance to his office.

As if the storm had rushed inside, his door swung open with a pop.

Micah stood face to face, eye-to-eye, with Randi Howard.

Her hair flew wild around her, curly with moisture as it had been last night. She wore a Western-cut leather
coat with four inches of fringe hanging off the shoulders. Angry green eyes reflected the lightning outside. Or, Micah reconsidered, the flashes outside reflected the sparks in her eyes. He couldn't be sure which.

Micah took a step backward. One thing was certain, Randi had found out about him. “Now, Randi.”

She stomped into the room, her fists rising to her hips.

“I know you're probably embarrassed.” He inched backward, bumping into his desk. “But there is nothing to be embarrassed or sorry about.”

Before he could think of anything else to say, her hand flew, slapping him so hard his neck twisted.

Never in his life had he been hit in anger. The shock rattled him all the way to his core. It came so unexpectedly, he didn't think to shield himself. He just stood there, taking the blow full force.

“I'm not embarrassed, Reverend.” She said his occupation like it was a dirty word. “But, I'm real sorry.” She paced, and it crossed his mind she might be backing away to get a running start next time.

He rubbed the side of his face and tried not to think about how beautiful she was, all fiery and wild. “Sorry for slapping me?” he guessed.

“No.” She continued marching back and forth in front of him, her fringe brushing his arm each time she stormed past. “I kind of liked slapping you. But, I'm sorry I let you almost kiss me last night. I couldn't sleep last night wondering what would have happened—no not wondering,” she corrected. “Knowing what would have happened if I hadn't backed away.” She pointed at him. “And that kind of thing happening hasn't happened to me in a long time. I spent the night thinking I was real sorry I didn't let it happen even though I knew I'd probably regret it come morning.”

Micah tried to follow her reasoning, but was having trouble. Maybe if she'd slow down. Or stopped using the word
happen
like it was some kind of sexual term he'd missed having explained to him. Maybe if she'd stop moving.

She must have rattled something in his brain. He couldn't think straight. “Because I'm a minister?”

“Hell, I don't care if you're a minister.”

She stopped, and he considered the possibility that she might try to hit him again. He wasn't sure he was up to turning the other cheek.

“I just don't like being so attracted to a liar.”

“I didn't lie to you.” Her words hurt him more than the slap. “The subject just didn't come up.”

His statement did nothing to calm her. She was off again, a one-woman tornado in his ten-by-ten office. “No, it didn't come up, did it? You just forgot to tell me you were the minister at the largest church in town. You must have known I'd find out. I hear every detail of everything that happens in this town. I could write the confessions of most of these folks before they had time to tell them to you so you must have guessed I'd find out.”

“Second largest,” he offered. “The Baptists have us beat in numbers. And I'm not
the
minister, I'm the associate minister. Most of my duties are in teaching and counseling.” He knew he pushed his luck, but he added, “And Methodists don't take confession.”

She didn't look like she appreciated his clarification. “Then, Mr. Associate Minister of the second-largest church, why'd you almost curl my toes with the heat between us? Aren't there enough eligible
Bible-thumping
women around for you?”

Micah smiled. “We don't call anybody
Bible thumpers.
And, yes, there are quite a number of eligible women in the church. None of whom I'm interested in kissing.”

She calmed slightly. “Why me?”

“Why not you?” he countered. “You're single. What's wrong with me, a man, being attracted to a beautiful woman like you?”

She jabbed her finger against his chest. “Let me explain something to you, Reverend.”

“Micah,” he interrupted. “Micah with an
h.
”

She poked him again. “All right, Micah with an
h.
Let me explain the facts to you. You know when you were growing up and your mother told you to stay away from the wrong crowd?”

“I remember.” He smiled, guessing where she headed.