Читать книгу Silver River Secrets - Linda Hope Lee - Страница 12
ОглавлениеLACEY UNLOCKED THE door to Gram’s old apartment and stepped inside. Having been vacant several weeks, the apartment’s air was hot and stale. She strolled through the rooms, bare of furniture except for a sofa, a couple of overstuffed chairs and a few end tables. Those items could be sold to the town’s used furniture store or donated to the thrift store. She would deal with them another day. Today, her task was to clean out the basement storage unit.
She took the elevator to the basement and located Remy’s locker. Cardboard boxes were stacked from the floor nearly to the ceiling. Lacey sighed. Chances were, very little of the boxes’ contents could be kept. Gram’s Riverview apartment was nearly full now, and although the building had basement storage as well, that space was much smaller than this one.
A peek in one box revealed a set of dishes with a pink rose pattern. Gram’s “company dishes,” brought out when they had guests for dinner and sat at the farmhouse’s dining room table under the crystal chandelier.
She’d bet they hadn’t been used since Remy moved out of the farmhouse, and that would have been right after the murder. Unable to bear living in the house where the crime had occurred, she and Lacey moved into this apartment. Lacey had soon graduated high school and had gone off to college in Boise, where she’d stayed. She hated leaving Gram alone, but Cousin Bessie and her family were nearby, and so she knew Gram would have someone to look after her. Plus, she made periodic trips to Silver River to visit.
Even though Gram hadn’t used the dishes for years and probably had no plans to use them now, she wouldn’t want to give them up. Gram hung on to her possessions. The empty farmhouse was a prime example.
Retrieving a hand truck from the hallway, Lacey loaded it with several boxes. She wheeled them out the basement’s back door to the parking lot, where she’d parked her car.
The Camaro’s top was down. She opened the trunk and stacked the boxes inside, and then returned for another load. These she put in the backseat. The last box was heavier than she expected, and it slipped from her hands and fell to the ground. The top burst open, and the contents tumbled out. A trinket dish made of pink glass broke into several pieces. Oh, oh, Gram wouldn’t like any of her treasures damaged.
Lacey retrieved a plastic bag from her car’s glove box. As she gathered up the pieces, she realized the dish belonged not to Gram but to Mom. She’d seen it on the dresser in her parents’ bedroom. Examination of the rest of the box’s contents revealed they were her mother’s, as well. Included were several more trinket dishes, a blue silk scarf, a pair of black high-heeled shoes, a long black skirt and a frilly white blouse, and a scattering of books.
One book, which had a picture of pansies on the cover, caught Lacey’s eye. She had often seen her mother writing in it.
What are you writing? she once asked. Poetry?
Her mother smiled. Some. Mostly, I just...write.
Lacey picked up the book and ran her fingers over the pansies on the cover. Now, she could find out for herself what her mother had written. She opened the cover and idly flipped the pages. Yes, there was some poetry, but other pages with dated entries appeared to be a journal.
Excitement rippled down Lacey’s spine. Perhaps her mother had written on the days leading up to the murder and her own death. Maybe she’d recorded something on that very day.
Lacey turned more of the pages but then stopped and closed the book. She’d wait until later, when she had time and privacy. Now, she must finish the task at hand.
Should she replace the journal in the box or put it aside? She and Gram planned to go through everything, and she would surely notice if the book were missing.
Lacey didn’t want to go behind her grandmother’s back, but what if Gram forbade her to read the journal? She stood there clutching the book and debating what to do.
* * *
RORY DROVE ALONG Park Street on his way to work at his auto repair shop. Ordinarily, he’d take Main Street, but today he drove down Park Street so that he could stop by Alice Helmer’s. He’d put a new battery in her Chevy last week and wanted to make sure it was running well. When he arrived at Alice’s, he found no one at home. Her car was gone, too, which answered his question.
As he rounded a corner, he saw the Towne Apartments and recalled that was where Remy Whitfield had lived before moving to Riverview. A familiar white Camaro convertible sat in the parking lot. Lacey’s car. And there was Lacey, too, standing by a broken cardboard box and a scattering of the contents.
He pulled into the lot and lowered the window. “Need some help?”
She looked up from the book she’d been studying. “Rory!”
“On my way to the shop. Saw you and thought you might need some help.” He nodded at the broken box and the scattered items.
She closed the book and laid it on her car’s front seat. “I’m cleaning out Gram’s storage unit.”
“I figured.” He cut the engine and stepped from the car. Approaching the box, he knelt to examine it. The flaps and one side were torn. “I have some tape in my car. I’ll fix this for you.”
She put out a hand. “Thanks, but you don’t have to. I can—”
“I know I don’t. But I’m betting you don’t have any tape.”
“No, but I can find another box.”
“No need.” He went to his car, opened the trunk and rummaged through his toolbox. “Okay, we’re in business.” He held up a roll of tape and a pair of shears.
She held the pieces of cardboard together while he taped them. Their fingers tangled in the process, sending him an unexpected rush of heat. He shot her a glance. She was looking down, but he could swear her cheeks were pink.
When the box was mended, he helped her replace the contents. “Remy has quite a collection of fancy little dishes,” he commented.
“These are my...my mother’s.”
The catch in her voice made him wince, and he fell silent. When they finished packing, he taped the lid shut and added the container to the others in her car’s backseat.
“Is this all?” he asked.
She rolled her eyes. “I wish. No, there’s more in the storage locker. I’m looking at another load, at least.”
“Maybe not, if I help you.”
“Oh, no, no, no.” She vigorously shook her head and then frowned. “Don’t you have to go to your shop?”
“John’s there. Best assistant I ever had.”
“Still, no. I can manage.” She folded her arms and stood with feet planted apart.
“Is that the door to the basement?” He pointed.
“Yes, but—”
“We’ll have you and the boxes back to Riverview in no time.” He headed toward the door.
She ran to catch up. “Why are you doing this?”
“Lacey, don’t make a big deal out of it, okay? Let’s just get the job done.”
“You always were kinda bossy.”
“Huh! So were you, as I recall.”
They managed to load all the boxes into their vehicles and were soon on the road to Riverview. As he followed Lacey’s white Camaro along the highway, he experienced a wave of guilt. His offer to help was an honest one, but at the same time, he also hoped to see Remy Whitfield. Not just see her; talk to her. He went over in his mind what he would say. Since working for his grandfather, he’d had plenty of experience sealing the deal. He might not especially like working in the investment property field, but he was good at it.
* * *
LACEY PULLED UP to the service entrance at Riverview with Rory’s truck right behind her. She jumped from the car and went back to him. “Some of the boxes need to go to Gram’s apartment and the rest to her basement storage unit.”
“Just tell me which is which.”
She found a hand truck, and they sorted the boxes, transferring those to the basement first. “I can take the ones to her apartment,” she told him.
“I got ’em.” He kept a firm grip on the hand truck. “You lead the way.”
“But—”
He waved her on ahead of him.
Okay, she’d stop him at the door to the apartment.
But when they reached the door and she opened it, he swept by her, pushing the truck inside.
“That you, Lacey?” her grandmother called from the apartment’s interior.
“Yes, it’s me.” She followed on Rory’s heels, unable to squeeze ahead of him in the kitchenette’s close quarters.
“Rory Dalton? Is that you?” she heard her grandmother exclaim.
“Yes, it is, Mrs. Whitfield.”
Lacey finally reached the living room. Her grandmother sat in her wheelchair staring at Rory. “What are you doing here?”
Surprisingly, Gram’s voice held more curiosity than the anger Lacey expected.
Rory propped his foot on one of the truck’s wheels. “I just happened to be passing by your old apartment and saw Lacey loading up in the parking lot and stopped to help.”
Gram slowly shook her head. “You always were the helper. Why, just last week, I was on the shopping bus, and I saw you take Agnes Crawley’s arm and walk her across Main Street.”
Rory grinned. “Aggie’d just given up her crutches after a broken ankle, and she wasn’t too steady yet. But where do you want these?”
Gram looked around. “Ah, over in that corner.” She pointed to a space near the bedroom door.
Lacey helped Rory unload the boxes. The sooner they completed the task, the sooner he could leave.
“So, how’re you doing, Mrs. Whitfield?” he asked when the last container had been stowed away.
“Pretty good. But I’ll be a lot better when I can walk again.”
“I hear you on that.”
“Well, thanks for your help today, Rory,” Lacey said stiffly. “You can put the hand truck back by the door on your way out.”
“Now, wait, Lacey.” Gram held up a hand. “Least we can do is offer Rory a cup of tea.”
Rory shook his head. “No tea, thanks, but I’d go for a glass of cold water. That sun’s blazing today.”
Gram turned to Lacey. “There’s a pitcher of water in the fridge.”
Lacey tried to catch Rory’s eye to glare at him, but he was gazing around the apartment. She went into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator.
“Sit,” Gram told Rory, pointing to an overstuffed chair across from her.
Rory sat, leaning back, settling in. He gazed around. “Nice place you got here.”
“I like it,” Gram said. “What’re you up to these days?”
“My car shop. Working for A.J.”
Lacey returned to the living room with the glass of water and handed it to Rory. When he looked up, she got in her glare. He seemed not to notice, smiling as he accepted the water. “Thanks so much.” He took a long swallow. “Ah, that hits the spot.”
“Would you like something, Gram?” Lacey asked.
Gram shook her head. “No, I’m fine. Had tea a while ago with my next-door neighbor.”
No one said anything. Lacey shifted from one foot to the other. Gram smoothed her skirt. Rory drank his water.
Then he cleared his throat and sat forward. “I drove by your old farm the other day...”
“Rory—” Lacey began.
Gram interrupted. “The other day? I ’spect you drive by it quite often, being it’s on the highway to Milton.”
“True enough,” Rory said. “Anyway, it occurred to me what a fine piece of property you have there.”
“If you’re about to make me an offer, save your breath. I’ve told your grandfather time and again I won’t sell. There’s plenty of land around here for him to play with. He doesn’t need mine.”
“Would you consider selling to me?”
“You? Why would you want the place? Never mind, it don’t matter. It’s not for sale. Never will be.”
“I just thought that now you’re living here, you might find a use for the money.” He named a sum.
Lacey sucked in a breath.
Gram dropped her jaw. “That much?”
Rory smiled. “That much.”
Gram frowned and turned away to gaze out the patio door. Long moments passed. Lacey’s stomach clenched. Should she tell Rory to leave? She’d been itching to since he’d pushed his way in. She was about to speak up when Gram turned back to them. Her eyes were misty.
“No amount of money will make me change my mind, Rory. I don’t expect you to understand, but—” She dug into her blouse pocket and pulled out a tissue.
Lacey ran to Gram’s side and placed a hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay, Gram.” She looked up at Rory. “We need you to leave. Now.”
Rory stood. “Of course. I didn’t mean to upset you, Mrs. Whitfield... I thought my offer would interest you.”
“Enough.” Lacey grabbed the glass from his hand. “Leave the hand truck. I’ll take it back myself.”
Rory strode to the truck, grasped the handle and wheeled it into the kitchen. “Goodbye, Mrs. Whitfield.”
Lacey plunked the glass on the counter and all but pushed him out the door. Instead of letting him go, she followed him down the hall, seething inside.
When they reached the entrance, he set the hand truck back in its cubbyhole. “I didn’t mean to upset her.”
“Did you honestly think she’s changed her mind about selling the property?”
“How should I know? I haven’t spoken to her for quite a while.” Rory went through the door and into the alley.
His defensive tone fueled her anger. She followed him, not about to let him leave yet. Thankfully, no one else was around. “And you didn’t stop earlier to help me. You were using me to get to Gram.”
Rory fished in his jeans pocket and pulled out his truck keys. “No, Lacey. I really did stop to help you.”
“Okay, but while you were helping you got the idea that if you followed me here you could make your offer to Gram.”
“Yeah, that’s probably the way it happened.”
“Probably. Huh. And why do you want the property? You’ll just resell it to someone who wants to build mini-ranches or condos or a motel.”
“I want to get rid of that house.”
“The house is the main reason Gram hangs on to the farm.”
Rory propped his hands on his hips. “Lacey, you can’t tell me you like having that house still standing.”
Lacey winced and then steadied herself and lifted her chin. “It’s not for me to decide. Or you, either. The house—and the farm—have nothing to do with you.”
Rory’s eyes blazed. “Nothing to do with me? My father was murdered there. Shot in the back by your father, while he was running to his car. And then, your father turned on your mother, and as she crawled from the bed trying to escape him, he pushed her, and she cracked her head on the fireplace hearth. Fell into a coma and died a week later. Isn’t that what the prosecutors proved in the trial that sent your father to prison?”
Tears burned Lacey’s eyes. She slapped her hands over her ears. “Stop. Stop. You have no right to come here and talk to me like that.”
“You want my sympathy?”
“No, of course not!”
She spoke the truth. Whatever she and Rory had together all those years ago—the fresh, bright new beginnings of love—was long gone now. As dead and buried as their parents.
The rumble of a delivery truck in the driveway brought them both to attention.
“Gotta go,” Rory mumbled and, without looking at her, flung open the door to his truck and climbed in.
“My father was not a murderer, Rory Dalton. And I’m going to prove he wasn’t.”
But between the delivery truck’s approach and the start of Rory’s truck engine, her words were lost.
When Lacey returned to Gram’s apartment, she found Gram where she’d left her, sitting in her wheelchair by the open patio door, gazing outside. She went over, knelt in front of her and took her hands.
“I’m so sorry. I tried to keep Rory out of the apartment, but he barged his way in. I had no idea what he was up to.”
“That’s all right, honey. I’m fine. Just had a little lapse for a few minutes. Don’t blame Rory. He was doing his job.”
“He wants to tear down the house. He told me so just now. I told him you’d never let that happen.”
“No, I won’t.”
“Let’s not talk about it anymore.” Lacey checked her wristwatch. “It’s time for lunch. Then we’ll play Scrabble or do something else fun this afternoon. The boxes can wait till tomorrow.”
* * *
RORY SPED AWAY from Riverview, twisting the wheel so hard on one curve he nearly careened off the road. He hadn’t intended to lose his cool with Lacey, but she’d been so angry with him, at what she considered a betrayal, that he couldn’t contain himself and had lashed back.
Still, he wasn’t sorry he’d stopped to help her or that he’d gone to Riverview and seen Remy Whitfield. The one other regret was Remy’s discomfort. He hadn’t meant to upset her. But they all were upset, and had been all these years. That was why the situation needed to be dealt with. He firmly believed that once the house was no longer standing, they all could heal and move on. Somehow, he needed to convince Remy.
Lacey would be leaving town soon. Once she was gone, he would contact Remy again. He hadn’t sensed she disliked or rejected him; in fact, she’d been downright friendly until he started talking about the Whitfield farm.
Rory drove through town and across the bridge, catching the road leading up the hill to his shop. He parked in his spot in the back, under a maple tree.
Inside the garage, he approached John, who was changing the oil in a Honda. “What’s happening?”
John straightened and stepped away from the car. “Lots. Harry Selznick dropped off his Chevy.” He pointed to the car sitting in the adjacent bay. “Tire keeps going flat. I took a look. Needs a new rim. Subaru’s waiting.” He gestured to the SUV on the other side of the Chevy.
Rory stroked his chin. “We’ll need to check the junkyards to see if they have a tire rim that’ll fit the Chevy. If not, we’ll go to the internet.”
John nodded. “I’ll finish up with the Honda, and then I’m on it. Oh, there were a couple of calls, too. Messages on your desk.”
“Thanks. I’ll check those and then get started on the Subaru’s transmission.”
Rory went into the office, feeling much better now that he was back at the shop. Being on the job he loved allowed him to put aside all his other problems and frustrations—at least for a while.
* * *
LACEY CLOSED THE flaps on the box she’d finished unpacking and added it to the other empty boxes ready for the recycle bin. As she’d promised Gram, they’d waited until Sunday afternoon to tackle the boxes from her old apartment. This morning they’d attended the church service in the Riverview chapel and then enjoyed lunch in the dining room with the other residents.
“We probably should quit now,” she told Gram. “But we did manage to weed out a few things to donate.” She pointed to several decorative plates, a few old cookbooks and some costume jewelry piled on the sofa.
Gram reached out and ran her fingers over the embossed roses decorating one of the plates. “Giving away these things is like giving away pieces of my life.”
“I know. But we’ve kept a lot, too.”
Gram pointed to the one container that remained. “What happened to that one? I don’t remember all that blue tape.”
“The box split apart in the parking lot when I was loading it into my car. That was when Rory came by, and he taped it. It’s full of Mother’s things.”
Gram’s shoulders stiffened. “If you think I’m giving away any of her belongings, think again.”
“No, I wouldn’t ask you to do that. But one of her trinket dishes broke.” She pulled off enough tape to remove the plastic bag enclosing the pieces. She laid the bag in Gram’s lap and opened it.
Gram reached into the bag, pulled out a couple pieces and held them up. “Ah, the dish your granddad and I got her for Christmas. She admired it at Trinkets and Treasures. Can you put it back together? There’s some superstrong glue in my kitchen drawer that ought to work. Did you get all the pieces?”
“I’m sure I did, and, yes, of course I’ll mend it.”
Lacey retrieved the cement, and while she carefully glued together the broken dish, she listened to Gram’s stories about Norella and her collection of decorative boxes and dishes. Some were gifts and others were souvenirs of places she’d visited.
By the time Lacey set the mended bowl on the side table to dry, her mother’s presence was so alive in the room she almost expected her to step from the shadows.
“I don’t want to see any more from that box,” Gram said. “Take it down to storage.”
“Just one other thing we need to discuss.” She picked up her purse and pulled out the book with the pansies on the cover. She held out the book to Remy. “I found this in the box, too, and put it aside.”
Gram nodded but made no move to take the book. “Norella’s journal.”
“Yes. Have you read it?”
“Of course not. A journal is private.”
“But Mom’s gone now. I’d like to read it, but I wanted to ask you first.”
“And I’m saying no.” Gram held out her hand. “Give me the journal, Lacey,” she said in a tight voice.
Lacey pressed the journal to her chest and took a step back. “It’s as much mine as it is yours. I’ll give it a look and then put it back with the rest of her things.” She tensed, waiting for further argument.
Several moments passed before Remy leaned back and gave a resigned sigh. “All right. But I’m betting you’ll be sorry.”
Lacey tucked the journal back into her purse. “Maybe so, but that’s a risk I’m willing to take.”
* * *
“WHICH BLOUSE DO you like, the white one or the pink?” Lacey pulled the blouses from Gram’s closet and held them up. Five o’clock had rolled around, dinnertime, which called for a change of clothes. For Gram, anyway. For Lacey, her jeans and navy T-shirt would have to do.
Gram tilted her head. “Hmm, the white has a pretty lace collar, but pink is my favorite color.”
“Pink it is.” Lacey handed her the pink blouse and returned the white one to the closet. Her cell phone rang. “Who could be calling?” she wondered aloud. Maybe Kris wants to set up a lunch date.
Lacey pulled her phone from her pocket. The number was local but unfamiliar. Could it be Rory? Why would he call? Hadn’t they parted yesterday with a finality that discouraged further contact? Just in case it was him, though, she wandered into the living room, where she’d be out of Gram’s earshot. Strolling to the patio door, she idly gazed out. The lowering afternoon sun sent long shadows through the willow trees bordering the river.
The caller turned out to be Elton Watts, publisher of the Silver River Sentinel.
“Remy gave me your number,” Elton said. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“No, not at all. What can I do for you?” As a high school senior, Lacey had written a few articles for the paper to fulfill assignments in her journalism class. Since then, she’d had no contact with Elton, other than to exchange greetings during chance encounters around town.
So, why was he calling her now?
“I’d like to discuss something with you, but not over the phone. Can you drop by the Sentinel tomorrow morning? You’ll still be in town, won’t you?”
“Yes, I’m here for a few more days. But can’t you tell me what this is all about?”
“I’d rather talk to you in person.”
“Well...all right.”
They settled on nine thirty. Lacey ended the call and rejoined Gram. “That was Elton Watts. He wants me to come to his office tomorrow.”
Gram looked up from fastening the last button on the pink blouse. “I forgot to tell you he called this morning, and I gave him your cell number. Was that okay?”
“Of course. But did he tell you what he wants to talk to me about?”
“Not a word.” Gram shook her head. “Are you going to meet with him?”
“Yes, of course.” Elton was one of the few people who had not taken sides when Rick Morgan was accused of killing Al Jr. He might have had an opinion, but if he did, like a good journalist, he kept it to himself.
“Good.” Gram smiled. “Now, how do I look?” She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin.
Lacey smoothed the blouse’s collar. “You look gorgeous. Come on, let’s go wow ’em.”
