Читать книгу Your House or Mine? - Cynthia Thomason, Cynthia Thomason - Страница 10

WADE TOOK HIS beige uniform shirt out of the dryer, examined it for wrinkles, and slipped his arms into the sleeves. He was buttoning the front as he came from the garage into the kitchen.

Roone looked up from the sink where he was standing a clean plate in the dish drainer. “How late you gonna be tonight?” he asked.

“Midnight or so I imagine, assuming there are no emergencies. I’ll sweep the businesses along Center Street a couple of times and probably nab a few speeders on the county road.” He caught his daughter’s eye as she dried a plate and stacked it in the cupboard. “If it’s like every other Friday night, the high school boys will try to turn Route 21 into a drag strip.”

Jenny spun around and glared at him. “Oh, great. I can just see my popularity soaring in this podunk town.” Under her breath she added, “Everybody already hates me as it is.”

Wade tucked the shirt into his trousers and buckled his belt. “I don’t think anybody hates you, and besides you’re only thirteen. You’re not even in high school yet.” Quietly, he said, “Thank God.”

She took the next plate from the drainer. “So what am I supposed to do tonight?”

“How about homework?”

She rolled her eyes. “Dad, it’s Friday.”

Having expected that reaction, he chuckled. “Maybe Gramps will take you to the Video Market to rent a movie.” He gave his father a pleading look.

“Sure, why not?” Roone said. “I think there’s a Rambo flick I haven’t seen yet.”

Jenny groaned and Wade winked at his father. “Too bad, Pop. I think you’re stuck with Brad Pitt or Tom Cruise.”

“Puh-leeze,” Jenny moaned. “They’re so old!”

“Sorry, pumpkin. I guess I missed a couple of issues of Teen Idol,” Wade said and then checked the snap on his holster. While he’d never have considered patrolling the streets of Manhattan without a weapon, he hated carrying one in Mount Esther. He thought the image of deadly force was inappropriate in the quiet community, but the sheriff had told him that first day on the job that small towns weren’t exempt from crime. He emphasized his motto that a smart cop was a prepared cop. So Wade sported a Smith and Wesson 40 caliber automatic, though in six months, he’d never had the safety off unless it was to test the weapon at a firing range.

Ready to go, Wade picked up a plate of spaghetti from the table. “Okay you guys, behave yourselves. And Jen, tomorrow we’ll take Lady Jay to the equestrian park. Sound good?”

“Yeah, I guess so…” She never finished her sentence because she burst into a fit of laughter which was obviously aimed at her father. “Are you sure you want to go out like that, Dad?”

“Like what?”

She circled around him and pulled something off the back of his shirt trailing a crackle of static electricity. When he turned around, he saw a tank top in her hands that didn’t look like it would fit a Barbie doll. It was a postage-stamp-sized piece of white jersey with shoulder straps the size of pencils. Across the front was the image of Lady Liberty with sparkling paint on her torch. “Tell me that’s a costume for one of your dolls,” he said.

She gave him one of those looks teenagers use when they are talking to clueless antiquarians. “Geez, Dad. We donated my dolls to that kids’ charity in Brooklyn, remember? I don’t play with dolls anymore.”

“More’s the pity,” he said and then hesitated as he tried to erase an image from his mind that would make any father’s blood flow cold. “Then…you actually wear that thing yourself?”

She stretched the top against her chest where her small breasts barely made an impression in the jersey. Still, the fabric was flimsy enough to interest an adolescent boy’s imagination. “Of course I wear it,” she said. “Just not around you or Gramps.” She sighed dramatically. “I guess I goofed when I put it in the washer with your uniform.”

“Oh, yeah. You’re busted.”

“Dad…”

“Tomorrow, Jen. Make some time for me to take a tour of your closet.”

She put a fist on her hip and gave him a pinched-lip, how-dare-you look of a woman filled with righteous indignation. “You can be so ridiculous.”

“So I’ve been told. But heck, you’re stuck with me.” He went to the door. When another disturbing thought occurred to him, he stopped, looked at the spaghetti, and then narrowed his eyes at his father. “You didn’t put any Tabasco in Meg’s sauce, did you?”

Roone hung the dish rag over the sink divider and stared at his son. “No, but I thought about it. I still don’t know why you’re being so neighborly to a woman who’s determined to pull our house out from under us.”

Wade thought they’d put this discussion to bed earlier, but he should have known better. Feisty old Irishmen live to hold a grudge. “For one thing, I’m not jumping to any conclusions about Meg Hamilton’s motives or her plans.” He stared down at the plate in his hand. “For another, I ate your spaghetti myself tonight, and I think serving her up a plateful ought to send enough of a message that she’s in for the fight of her life.”

“You’re a funny man, Murdock,” his father called as Wade made his escape out the door. “But you ask her to show you that deed. Until we see that document in black and white, everything she says is just her blowing smoke.”

Wade waved toward the back door where his dad was silhouetted against the kitchen lights. “Will do, Pop.” He set the plate on the floor of his patrol car, backed out of the drive and headed toward Ashford House. His dad was ornery, but he was also right.

MEG LOOKED DOWN at the mess she’d created in the middle of the parlor and released a long groan of frustration. She’d opened every drawer in every end table, desk, and cabinet and pulled out a mountain of paperwork chronicling her aunt’s life. She’d scrutinized each scrap and found receipts dating back to the 1940s, warranties from companies that had long since gone out of business, and phone numbers that consisted of only four numbers on note paper that had yellowed with age. But she hadn’t found the deed prepared just four years ago.

She stepped carefully among the debris of her aunt’s past, hoping that maybe this time she’d see the legal document she’d missed on first inspection. “There has to be a copy here somewhere.”

Disappointed, she sat heavily in a frayed old wing chair and grimaced at the chaos of paper that marked a fitting end to a demoralizing day. Besides the fruitless result of her investigation, she’d discovered after a brief tour through the rooms, that Ashford House was in need of numerous repairs. The wainscoting was rotted and mildewed. The wallpaper was dry and peeling. And the windows—Meg decided that nothing short of a miracle kept the cracked and scratched panes in the frames.

At least the frantic search for the deed during the last two hours had kept her from reflecting on the fragile state of the home’s security and the fact that she was completely alone in the rambling old house. She tried to push the creaks and moans of the ancient framework to a far corner of her mind, but realized that the eerie sounds would probably translate to a sleepless night.

“Damn. Where is that deed?” she said, “and why didn’t I request a final copy for my own records when it was prepared?” She had a copy of the original document somewhere in her house in Orlando, but it was an unsigned facsimile Amelia had sent to her so she could check the wording for accuracy. Without Amelia’s signature, it was worthless.

In spite of the run-down state of Ashford House, Meg wanted it now more than ever. This place was like a member of her family, one she could count on when others had disappointed her. She couldn’t give up on it or toss it aside just because its hair had turned gray or its old bones were brittle.

She stood up and went to a front window. Beyond the limited sphere of the porch light, the yard and surrounding acreage were fading into the bleakness of a moonless night. The trees already seemed like ghostly specters in the descending darkness. Meg told herself that in time Ashford House would feel like home again.

She started to turn away from the window when she noticed headlights twinkling through the shrubbery lining the driveway. Someone was approaching the house. Moments later, the Mount Esther patrol car pulled in front of the house and Wade Murdock got out. He had a plate in his hand.

Meg’s stomach tightened into a knot as she stared at the litter on the parlor floor. She’d become so involved in the search for the deed that she’d forgotten the deputy had promised to bring her supper. She certainly couldn’t let him see that she’d been rummaging through the house like the desperate woman she was. Absolutely not. She had to show that she had the same strength of conviction as he did. She raced to the front entrance as he rapped lightly. Opening the door just a crack, she said, “Oh, hi.”

He held the plate out to her. “I told you I’d bring some spaghetti.”

She nodded, took the plate, and set it on a foyer table. “Yes, yes, you did.”

“You might want to nuke it a little in the microwave. I think Mrs. Ashford has one.”

“Oh, she has one, all right. The control pad looks like the instrument panel of a 747.”

“I guess that’s one of the things she bought in the last few weeks,” Wade said.

“No doubt. Well, thanks for the spaghetti. I’ll give you the plate back tomorrow.” She started to close the door.

“You’re welcome,” Wade said. Instead of leaving, he raised up on his toes and peered over her shoulder.

“Is something wrong?” Meg asked.

“No. I was just wondering if you’d gone through any of the boxes.”

Meg maintained a narrow opening in the doorway. “Not yet, but I’ve seen evidence of Aunt Amelia’s shopping all over the house. She’s decorated one of the bedrooms upstairs in a jungle motif complete with a fake fur Zebra-striped comforter on the mattress. Somehow it doesn’t seem like her taste, but I suppose there’s a lot about my aunt that I don’t know anymore.”

As if determined to chat, Wade leaned against the jamb preventing Meg from shutting the door. “I suppose you’ve noticed that the house needs a little fixing up,” he said.

Wade Murdock was an expert at understatement.

“I promised to do some of that work for Mrs. Ashford,” he continued. “But lately I’ve been concentrating my efforts on the barn. It needs a lot of attention, too.”

“I haven’t been inside the barn,” Meg admitted. She shifted from one foot to the other. Did Wade intend to chat half the night away? If he did, Meg wasn’t sure how she felt about that. She definitely didn’t want him to see the clutter in the parlor, but it was kind of nice having a lawman on the property to offset some of her fears. Still, Meg couldn’t forget that she and this particular lawman had a huge, three-story Queen Anne obstacle sitting between them.

After a few moments of silence, Wade finally said, “I guess I’ll be going then.”

“Okay. Thanks again.”

He stepped down from the veranda and walked away. Meg was about to close the door at last, but suddenly the subtle creaks of Ashford House were snuffed out by a tremendous crash originating somewhere in an upstairs room.

Meg flung the door wide, ran onto the porch, and screamed, “Deputy Murdock!”

He was already tearing back to the house. He rushed by Meg and burst through the open door. “Stay here,” he ordered as he took the stairs two at a time.

Meg watched him until he disappeared upstairs. Then, her heart pounding, she clutched her arms under her breasts and tried to obey the deputy’s instructions. It was no use. She chose the more appealing protection of Wade’s presence over the blackness of the landscape around the house. She darted inside and followed him up the stairs.

He snapped his attention to her while his back was flattened against the wall outside the bedroom where Meg had slept as a child and where she’d put her suitcase earlier. The room still had a comfortable, cozy appearance, but that was before Wade stood outside the threshold with a weapon in his hand.

Wade waved her back with the barrel of his pistol. She interpreted the look he gave her to mean he wasn’t pleased that she’d ignored his orders. Her breath coming in short gasps, she crouched down in the door frame of an adjoining room and watched as Wade slowly slid along the wall toward the open door. Oddly, a beam of light sliced across the threshold and into the hallway.

Pivoting with one giant step into the open doorway, Wade pointed his weapon with two hands and announced his presence. “Police,” he said with a resounding and authoritative tone. And then he dropped the weapon to his side and expelled a long breath.

Meg scurried up behind him and tried to see over his shoulder. “What is it?”

“The lamp fell from the nightstand,” he said. “I’m afraid it’s shattered.”

That explained the strange spear of light. “It must have been the wind,” Meg said, remembering that she’d opened the window a few hours ago.

Wade secured his weapon in his holster as he moved into the room. “Maybe. But unfortunately the lamp isn’t the only casualty.”

Meg understood what he meant as she followed him inside. She covered her mouth with her hand and whispered, “Oh, no.”

Wade scooped up a lifeless bird from the floor. And then he poked his fist through the corner of the window screen revealing how the bird had gotten inside.

“The poor thing,” Meg said. “I didn’t notice that tear earlier when I opened the window.”

Wade looked around the room and then down at the bird. “Just as I thought,” he said. “This is definitely the work of Mr. Cuddles.”

Meg gaped at him. “The bird has…had…a name?”

“Not the bird. The cat.”

“Cat? What cat?”

Wade pointed over Meg’s bed to the floor on the other side of the room. There, peering up at both of them with piercing golden eyes was a long-haired champagne-colored feline, whose insolent expression clearly indicated that he was not happy about two humans invading his space.

“My aunt never had a cat,” Meg said.

“She does now. I forgot to tell you. She bought Mr. Cuddles from a private breeder over in Lake City a few weeks ago.”

Meg closed her eyes and counted to ten. “Don’t tell me…with your money?”

“I suppose so. He’s a purebred Persian. Anyway, either the maid or I have been feeding Cuddles since Mrs. Ashford’s accident, but with all the commotion earlier, I forgot, so the ingenious fellow went into the trees to do a little grocery shopping.” He regarded the casualty of Mr. Cuddles’s appetite still in his hand. “This poor bird was intended as supper. I guess Cuddles misjudged his entrance into the bedroom and knocked the lamp over which in turn scared the sparrow right out of his jaws.”

Meg had never been a cat lover and was even less so now that she realized she would have Killer Cuddles to take care of until arrangements could be made for his adoption. Her sympathy definitely lay with the poor mangled sparrow. She glared at the cat. “I hope you’ll eat spaghetti, Cuddles, because you’re not getting so much as one bite of this poor bird.”

She caught Wade’s smile out of the corner of her eye. He folded his long fingers over the bird and headed for the door. “I’ll show you where the cat food is,” he said, “and then I’ll do something with the victim.”

“Thanks.” Meg started to follow him out the door but Cuddles strutted in front of her, his head high and the end of his tail twitching with an arrogant indifference to her presence. She trailed the cat down the rear staircase and into the kitchen.

Meg didn’t know what Wade would do with the dead bird once he went out the back door. But she was glad she had the job of feeding Mr. Cuddles to occupy her mind. The cat attacked his bowl of food with relish, including the special cat treats she spread on the floor next to his bowl. If she had to endure days in the house with only this sullen cat for company, she was determined to do her best to make friends with him.

After a few minutes Wade returned. He pulled out a chair for Meg and said, “Now you. Sit. I’ll go get the spaghetti.”

He came back with the plate, set it in the microwave, and deftly pressed a few buttons on the control pad. When he set the food in front of her, Meg realized her mouth was watering. She twirled a few strands around her fork and took a healthy bite. “This is good.”

“I’ll tell Pop you said so.” Wade stood watching her for a few moments as if he was uncertain if he should stay or go. Finally he opened a drawer, withdrew some masking tape and said, “I’ll fix that screen upstairs tomorrow. For tonight you might want to patch up the hole with this.”

She took the roll of tape. “Okay, thanks. But, under the circumstances, if you don’t want to fix the screen, I’ll understand.”

His mouth twitched upward in a strange sort of grin. “What circumstances are you talking about?”

Was he pretending ignorance of their obvious dilemma? She felt her face flush. “Well, I’m sure you’ve been repairing things around here because you thought the house was yours…”

He shrugged a shoulder. “I still do believe it. I bought this house.”

A spark of anger flared inside her. “Look, Deputy Murdock…”

“Wade.”

“Fine, Wade. I told you. My aunt gave the house to me. I plan to live here someday, and any repairs that need to be done are my responsibility. I don’t want you to put any more effort into a property that will one day be mine.”

“I’ll take my chances,” he said. “Besides, fixing this old place has sort of become a hobby. A labor of love you might say.”

“But you’re wasting your time…and money.”

“I don’t see it that way.” He leaned back against the counter and appraised her with cool, confident eyes. “And if you don’t mind an honest observation, I don’t think you’re that sure of your claim.”

She dropped her spaghetti-laden fork. “What? I’ve been sure of my claim to Ashford House for years, Deputy.”

“Wade.”

“Whatever. Why would you think such a thing?”

“Because I just went through the parlor to pick up the plate of spaghetti.”

“And?”

“And I saw that mess on the floor. You’ve been looking for something, Meg. Rather frantically, it seems to me.”

“What I’ve been doing is none of your business.”

“You didn’t find it, did you?”

“Find what?”

“The deed.”

She picked up her fork and began twirling spaghetti as if her life depended on curling the strands into a concise, compact roll. “I don’t want to talk about this with you. I don’t think we should talk about it.”

“That’s funny. When I’ve got twenty thousand dollars invested in something, I don’t consider it a taboo subject.”

She raised the fork and peered at him over the top of the pasta that had immediately begun to unravel. “Don’t you have some crimes to solve? Aren’t there cats to get out of trees?”

“That’s the fire department. Besides, I’ve already had one cat caper tonight. But, yeah, I’ve got to go.” He crossed the kitchen and pressed one hand on the swinging door to the dining room. “Just one more thing…”

She whirled around in her chair. “What now?”

“When I went through the parlor, I noticed you did find the contract of sale.”

Right. The contract had been in the lap drawer of Amelia’s desk. “You’re quite a snoop, aren’t you?”

“Training. When you’re part of a two-man law enforcement team in a hotbed of crime like Mount Esther, you don’t leave any stone unturned.” He smiled as he pushed the door as far as it would go. “And it helped that you left the contract on top of everything else on the desk…like maybe you’d been reading it.”

She crossed her legs and began pumping the right one up and down. “Okay, I may have looked it over, and I’m glad I did…”

“Me, too.”

“…because it’s only a lease-option agreement. You haven’t actually bought the house.”

He took a step back into the kitchen and let the door close. “It’s a binding contract, Meg. I’ve paid Mrs. Ashford a down payment and I’ve been giving her rent on the barn. It’s a done deal.”

Meg didn’t know enough about real estate contracts to rebut his argument, but she did know that four years ago, Amelia had prepared a clear deed with her name on it—if only she could find it. “I wouldn’t be so sure, Deputy,” she blustered.

“We’ll see,” he said. “Anyway, you’ve seen mine. Now it’s time for me to see yours. Then maybe we’ll figure out what to do about this mess.”

She listened to his footsteps recede through the house. “I’ll find the deed, Deputy,” she called out. “And I’ll be only too happy to show it to you.”

His voice carried from the parlor. “It’s Wade, Meg, for the third time. And you know where to find me.”