Читать книгу The Memory House - Linda Goodnight - Страница 15
ОглавлениеJulia dialed the police department by memory. After six years of regular calls, she was put straight through to the detective.
“Hello, Julia.” Detective Burrows’s voice was tired but kind.
He was a busy man. She’d get right to the point.
“Today is Mikey’s birthday. I just wondered if…” Her voice trailed away.
“Nothing new, Julia.”
“Nothing at all?”
“Not since the false sighting two years ago in Huntsville, but Michael’s file remains active. I talked with the FBI last week.”
She swallowed, disappointed but not surprised. The police did their best. She understood that. For a full year after Mikey disappeared, either Detective Burrows or the FBI unit had called her every day with an update. Slowly, as the case grew colder and more frustrating, the calls dwindled.
“You’ll call me immediately if there’s anything at all.” The desperation and pain she heard in her own voice never lessened. It wouldn’t until her son was found.
“Of course. I wish I had better news.”
“So do I.”
Julia hung up and, heavyhearted, had started up the stairs toward the Blueberry Room when someone knocked at the front door. Deciding to leave the cleaning to Valery, she hurried down to answer, hoping for a drive-up guest. The inn had been slow this month and occasionally someone in town sent a customer her way.
She opened the door to find two older ladies standing on her wraparound veranda. Her mood lifted. No one could be around the twin Sweat sisters without smiling at the two old characters. Dressed in identical pink flowered shirtwaists, shiny pink pumps and jaunty white sunhats with matching gloves, Vida Jean and Willa Dean Sweat were throwbacks to the fifties when Southern ladies dressed and behaved with a certain uniform gentility. The octogenarian Sweat twins, however, were anything but conventional. With their painted-on eyebrows, startling red lipstick and hair dyed a specific shade of lemon yellow, they were entertaining icons of Honey Ridge.
“Ladies, good morning. Come in.”
“We can’t stay long, Julia darling.” This from Vida Jean. Julia knew because she was the twin with the mole on her cheek.
“Of course we can, Vida Jean. Julia, do you have any of your wonderful peach tea made?”
“Just finished. If you’d like to sit in the parlor, I’ll bring in a tray.”
“You are such a darling girl. I was telling Willa Dean this morning. Wasn’t I, sister?”
“Indeed, you were.” Hoisting an oversize straw bag, Willa Dean said, “I wouldn’t mind some coffee cake if you have it.”
“Peach muffins?” Julia offered. “Made fresh this morning.”
“Lovely. Thank you, dear.”
“Coming right up.”
With a smile, Julia left the twins in the pretty old parlor, a polished-wood space with a fireplace, the original chandelier and a toast-colored, camel-backed sofa. Across a persistent dark spot near the fireplace, she’d placed a colorful area rug. She’d heard rumors about the spots but didn’t want to think about bloodstains.
She returned with the tray and after serving the twins, joined them. Valery owed her a little break. There was always work to do—wood to polish, fans to dust or flowers to weed, even when business was slow. This was in addition to the restoration and eventual expansion that would probably never end.
The Sweat sisters, pinkies lifted from the condensing tea glass, regaled her with news of the townsfolk, including a new baby for the Perkinses and the news that poor Brother Ramsey had fallen while repairing the church roof and had broken his leg. Julia made a mental note to send the pastor a card, though she hadn’t darkened the church door in quite a while.
A clatter sounded overhead. All three women looked up.
“Guests,” Julia said. “Or Valery cleaning.”
The twins exchanged a glance. “Willa Dean and I have been wondering. Haven’t we, sister?”
“Indeed. Wondering. You know what they say about this house, don’t you, Julia dear?”
She’d been raised in Honey Ridge. Of course, she knew, but she’d always had an affinity for the old place even as a kid when the house peeled and sagged in exhausted disrepair and weeds choked the front veranda. She’d been a child when the last owners moved to Georgia and left the house to further deteriorate, a sad state of affairs that had fired ghost stories and led to keep-out signs and a locked gate across the entrance.
“They say that about all old houses that have sat empty for a while.”
“Have you experienced anything unusual since you moved in?”
“Unusual?” Like finding antique marbles in odd places or hearing children giggle?
“Granddaddy told stories. Wasn’t he a fine storyteller, Vida Jean?”
“His daddy fought in the war, you know. Chester Lorenzo Sweat, a corporal with the 1st Confederate Cavalry. Sister and I remember the stories, don’t we, Willa Dean?”
Julia didn’t have to ask which war. In Honey Ridge, the Civil War was remembered, revered and reenacted. Stories abounded, embellished by time and Southern pride.
“We haven’t encountered any ghostly apparitions if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Oh.”
“Well.” Vida Jean’s mole quivered.
Straight and prim, the twins crossed their hands atop their straw handbags at exactly the same time in exactly the same manner, both of them clearly disappointed by her statement.
“Would you care for more tea?” Julia asked.
“None for me, dear. The bladder, you know.” Willa Dean reached for another muffin. “These are delicious.”
“Thank you.”
“From your orchard?”
“The peaches are from the freezer, but yes, they were grown here.”
“Lovely.”
While Willa Dean fawned over the muffins, Vida Jean added another tidbit of local gossip. Or news, as the Sweat twins would call it. “Did you hear about the new family that bought the Akins farm? They have six boys. Six. Can you imagine six little boys running through the house?”
A cloud passed over Julia’s heart. She managed a feeble smile. “How nice for them.”
“Oh, dear, I’ve brought up a difficult subject. Forgive me. But that’s why we came, isn’t it, sister?”
Willa Dean drew an envelope from her purse. “Indeed. That’s why we’re here. You didn’t think we’d forget Michael’s birthday, did you?”
Julia was touched. Her own family wouldn’t say a word, but the twins remembered. She took the card. “Thank you. This means a lot.”
“Well.” Vida Jean wiped her hands on a napkin, fussing a bit as if she didn’t know what else to say, a rarity for either of the twins. “I suppose we should run. We have other calls to make, don’t we, sister?”
“Yes, calls to make.” Willa Dean leaned forward to pat Julia on the hand. “We don’t like to push, but you call us if you want to reminisce. We have photos of Mikey we cherish.”
A lump formed in Julia’s throat. “You ladies are wonderful.”
“Oh, go on now.” Willa Dean took the remaining two muffins, wrapped them in a napkin and slid them into her purse. “For Binky.”
Binky was their parrot.
Then with a flutter, a pair of hugs and two air kisses, the twins were off, leaving Julia standing on the whitewashed veranda wondering who was crazier, she or the twins, as she pressed Mikey’s birthday card against her heart.
* * *
“What were the Sweat twins doing here this morning?” Valery asked. She had finally dragged herself up to the Blueberry Room, looking better than Julia had expected, though her eyes were bloodshot and glassy.
“They brought a card for Mikey’s birthday.”
Valery paused in sanitizing the telephone. Her already pale face blanched whiter and took on a pinched look. “Oh.”
Julia replaced the last blueberry-patterned pillowcase and artfully arranged the pillows on the bed. A guest favorite, the Blueberry Room was painted in the original blue with white accents and a four-poster bed covered with a blue print counterpane. The fireplace, flanked by darker blue armchairs, was original to the house, and a lace-curtained window looked out on the circle driveway with a view of the peach orchard. There was something special about the Blueberry Room that people enjoyed. Except for now when Valery’s reaction to Mikey’s name irked her.
“Did you even remember?”
“Of course I did,” Valery snapped. She tossed her cleaning cloth aside, grabbed the vacuum cleaner and flipped the switch, filling the room with noise.
That’s the way it always was with her family. Silence. Don’t talk about the fact that Michael was alive, that he still had birthdays, that the anniversary of his abduction came around with painful regularity. If they didn’t discuss him, fragile Julia wouldn’t fly to pieces. She wouldn’t fall into another depression and forget to eat or dress or pay her bills.
Julia grabbed the Windex and headed into the bathroom, where she scrubbed the already clean mirror with a vengeance.
Valery stopped the noisy vacuum and came into the bathroom. “I saw Gary Plummer at Pico de Gallo last night.”
A change of topic. Naturally. “Okay.”
“He asked about you. I think he’s interested.”
“What? In me? No. Gary and I are friends from grade school. Don’t be dumb.”
“Dumb? Just because I want my sister to open up to the world and be happy again.”
What she really meant was that she wanted Julia to forget she’d had a son and stop waiting for him to come home. “Don’t, Valery.”
“Why not? Tell me that much. You’ve shut yourself off from everyone.”
“I’m with people every day.”
Valery scoffed. “That’s business. Guests who come and go. I’m talking about a personal life.”
“Like yours?” Julia wanted to suck the words back inside. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled-for.”
Valery’s lower lip trembled. “I had a couple of drinks last night. Stop making a federal case out of it.”
Julia pulled her into a hug. “Hey. Want me to do your toenails later?”
“Would you?” Valery returned the hug with enthusiasm and then huffed a short laugh and pulled away. “I’m such a pushover.”
Which was exactly the problem. Valery was too nice. Too Southern-girl-accommodating so that men who couldn’t even spell gentlemen took advantage of her. Julia had never understood why her sister thought so little of herself or why she chose the kind of men who misused her. They’d been raised by the same parents and as the younger sibling, Valery was the favorite. She should have been confident and strong. Instead, she was a rug for men to walk on, and Jed the jerk was only the latest in a long line of creeps Valery had allowed to make her miserable.
“I found another marble this morning,” she said as a peace offering. No point in pushing the topic closest to her heart. No one wanted to listen.
“Really?”
Julia took the stone from her pocket. “Looks similar to the others.”
“Where did you find this one?”
“On the rug under Bingo.”
They both glanced at the Aussie sprawled like an ink spill on the gleaming heart-pine hallway. His tail thumped. Bingo wasn’t allowed in the guest rooms, but that didn’t keep him from following his owner from room to room.
“Do you still think he’s bringing them inside?”
“He must be digging them up somewhere on the property. What other explanation could there be?”
Valery wiggled her fingers beside her head and grinned. “Ghosts?”
“Now you sound like the Sweat twins. If this old place had ghosts, wouldn’t someone have seen one by now or had some sort of supernatural experience?” Someone besides me, the nut job who hears children laughing.
“Maybe they have and were afraid to tell us.”
She was right about that. “Have you ever seen or heard anything?”
“I’ve had the creepies a few times as if someone was watching me, especially in the carriage house.”
The old carriage house was creepy but not because of ghosts. “Because we haven’t done a thing to it. The cellar’s the same way. Once we clean out the spiderwebs and all that ancient junk and start the remodel into more guest rooms, the creepies will disappear.”
“Oh, you’re no fun at all. I would love to have a ghost or two to make things interesting around here. Haunted inns attract crowds.”
Which is one of the reasons I don’t tell you everything. “I like things the way they are. Peaceful and quiet.”
“No excitement in your blood. I swear you are not related to me. Give me bright lights and party time. Give me Vegas and fast cars and hot men.” Valery spun toward the window and stopped. “Like that one. Holy guacamole! Come here, Julia. Check this out.”
“I don’t have any more guests on the log for today.” But she crossed to the window anyway. “Oh.”
“What do you mean, oh? Do you know him? He is gor-ge-ous. And a little wild looking. Yummy.”
“He had car trouble this morning up on the road. Mr. Oliver gave him a jump.”
“I’ll give him a jump.” Valery pumped her eyebrows.
Julia snorted and swatted her sister’s arm. “I thought you and Jed were back together.”
“We are. I’m kidding, but I ain’t dead like some women I know.”
Julia ignored the pointed comment. “I’m going down to see what he wants.”
“You’re not leaving me behind. I might be taken, but I like to look. And you could use a man in your life.” She poked a finger at Julia’s chest. “Maybe he fell madly in love the moment he laid eyes on you. Maybe that’s why he’s back.”
Julia hit her sister with the pile of dirty linen. “Hush.”
Valery laughed, stopped at the mirror for a quick fluff and then followed Julia down the stairs.
Eli Donovan stood at the back entrance, holding a mug imprinted with the logo of Peach Orchard Inn.
“Ma’am,” he said when Julia opened the screen.
Valery swept to her side. “She’s Julia Presley. I’m Valery Griffin, her sister. And you are?”
Eli looked as if he wasn’t quite sure what to make of the vibrant, gregarious brunette who talked a little too fast. “Eli. I brought back your mug.”
Julia took the cup from him. “Thank you.”
“The coffee was good.”
“Would you like more?” Valery pounced on him like a cat on a grasshopper. She pushed the door wider. “Come on in. Coffee is always fresh and available for our guests’ pleasure.”
Oh, great. Julia fought not to roll her eyes and groan.
Eli glanced her way, and she could have sworn she saw amusement in his leaf-green gaze. Seeing the humor, too, she smiled. “Might as well come in, Eli. My sister is a steamroller. She seldom takes no for an answer.”
* * *
Eli followed the two sisters through the immaculate copper-and-cream kitchen into a breakfast room with cranberry-red walls, white trim and a wall of sparkling windows. Six square tables were set with white linen and napkins in the same deep red as the walls. He noticed the scent again, as he had this morning. Subtle. A waft of fresh bread and clean air. A far cry from the rancid human odors of his past seven years.
He felt out of place, miserably so, but he was here and he was going to do this no matter the result. A man looking to start over had to start somewhere.
“Pretty,” he said, surprising himself.
The woman named Valery beamed. She was a looker, long, wavy dark hair and lots of curves, with a vivacious personality that promised a good time. But it was the quieter Julia who drew his interest. Dressed in casual beige slacks and white buttoned blouse, she had a calming way about her. Like this house. Serene. That was the word. He hadn’t used serene in a long time.
“I thought I’d lost this cup forever,” she said.
“I almost forgot about it.”
“Have you had breakfast? I know it’s closer to noon, but brunch perhaps? There’s still some casserole left.”
“I’m okay.” He wondered if she always tried to feed people or if he simply looked pathetic.
“You’ll have something, Eli,” Valery said. “Julia is a fabulous cook. Maybe her muffins or some peach tea?”
“I heard about that tea.”
“Really? Where?”
“A police officer in town.”
Julia’s blue eyes rounded. “Don’t tell me you got a ticket?”
“No, nothing like that.” Man, she was pretty, her voice as smooth and Southern as a praline sundae. Classy and cool. Like his mother’s. A dull ache tugged behind his breastbone. He averted his gaze, found the view outside the windows.
“Was it Trey Riley?” Valery asked, coming in from the kitchen with a plate of food that made his mouth water. “He’s the cutest thing.”
“That was his name. Nice guy.”
“Sweet as pie. Here you go. Julia’s ham-and-egg strata. Julia, get him some peach tea.” She winked. “If you hate it, I’ll make fresh coffee.”
“Nobody hates my peach tea,” Julia called from inside the giant stainless-steel refrigerator.
Feeling like the beggar he was but hungry enough not to care, Eli dredged up the dry bones of his mother’s manners. “Would you care to join me?”
“Sure.” Valery plopped down across from him and propped her chin on her hand. “Julia, bring me some tea, too, and maybe a muffin.”
“Are your legs broken?”
Eli smiled at his fork. Valery laughed but flounced up to serve herself. “Sassy wench.”
In seconds, both women were back. Valery had joined him at the table while Julia stood a little apart next to the gleaming windows sipping a glass of peach tea. He wished she’d sit down, too, but instantly retracted the wish. She had no business sitting anywhere near him.
Eli sipped at his drink. Cold, sweet and fruity. Three peach slices floated with the ice cubes. “Terrific. Thank you. The casserole is good, too.”
He’d said thank-you more times today than he had in years. He was pretty sure he’d wake up in a minute back in his cell.
“I assume you got your car running again.”
“Thanks to Mr. Oliver.” He reached into his shirt pocket. “Is he around? He left this wrench.”
“He and his wife went into town for a while, but I can give him the tool when he returns.”
Eli handed it over. He wasn’t a thief and didn’t want anyone thinking he was. Didn’t need the grief and he sure wasn’t going back to prison. Especially now when his boy needed a dad. “Tell him I won’t forget his kindness.”
“I’ll do that.”
“Yours, either.”
She only smiled, but the soft look was encouragement enough to give him an opening. He’d rehearsed his speech, his arguments and ideas all the way from the park. He’d even stopped at the In and Out Quick Stop to splash water on his face and comb his hair, a shaggy bunch of waves that needed a barber’s hand. He knew how he looked, like a homeless street bum, a description, no matter how shaming, that wasn’t far from the truth. His idea of home was his Dodge and, when money allowed, a room in a rent-by-the-week roach motel. Haircuts and soft beds would have to wait.
What was he doing here? What made him think he could do this? He was broke and homeless. Just because a little boy had his DNA didn’t make him a father.
The familiar, dreaded knot formed in the pit of his stomach.
Loser. Convict. Get up and get out of here. You’ll never make this work.
His hand trembled on the fork. He put it down and reached for the red napkin. The delicious ham and egg felt leaden in his belly. He took another sip of peach tea, swallowed to chase away the negative voices.
This wasn’t about him. He knew what he was, but his son didn’t.
A boy needed a father. Eli should know. Losing his parents’ love and support had been a chain saw through his soul that had left him with a gaping emptiness he couldn’t fill.
For the sake of a child he didn’t even know, he had to ask. If Julia rejected his idea, which he fully expected, he’d try the pizza place. And if there was an application, he’d lie. They didn’t run background checks, did they?
Nobody in Honey Ridge knew him. He could start fresh, his secret tucked away inside, and build a life his son could respect. He should have used a false name, but it was too late for that now. He’d have to hope no one noticed him enough to check into his past.
He folded the napkin and laid the starched cloth next to his empty plate. The Donovan table always had ironed napkins. “Your peach orchard needs maintenance.”
The sentence had come out wrong, blurted and abrupt. He clenched his back teeth. Polite conversation was barely a memory.
Julia tilted her head as if she wasn’t quite sure what he was getting at. Caught in the sunlight, a stray blond tendril spun gold along the curve of her jaw.
“We’ll get to it eventually.”
“I can do it.” He rushed on before she could reject the idea, stunned by the vehemence with which he desired her approval. “Officer Riley thought you might be ready to start work on that old carriage house.”
She glanced toward the tired old building set half a hundred yards beyond the house. “I’d love to, but money is an issue.”
“I understand.” He focused on his plate, afraid he’d see rejection in her eyes, afraid he’d give away his desperation. A remodel like this could take months, maybe longer, and time was money in his pocket. “What if I made you a good deal?”
“What kind of deal?”
He flicked a glance at her. She gazed at him with more interest than he had right to hope for.
“I need work. I could help with the orchard and other odd jobs around the place. I have experience in construction.” Thanks to the prison system, which he was very careful not to mention. “In exchange for room, board and a small salary, I could do those things and repair the carriage house, as well. Whatever you need done.”
Julia brought her tea to the table and sat down. His heart beat a little faster, but he kept his expression bland.
“I don’t know. Material costs alone—”
Valery pointed a muffin at her sister. “We won’t get another offer like that, Julia. A construction company costs out the wazoo. Even Sam Baker charges more than we can afford right now, and he’s the cheapest around.”
“We can work something out. I’m flexible.” Eli tried to keep his voice calm as if he wasn’t desperate, but his chest was tight with hope. He’d not hoped for anything in so long he hurt with the wanting. “Hire me on a temporary basis. For the summer. If things work out, we can continue. If not…” He shrugged. He’d make this work. He had to.
Julia stared in the direction of the weary old building. He could see the wheels turning and hoped they were turning in his favor. “I’d sure love to get the carriage house remodeled. It’s a distraction from the rest of the grounds.”
“The added revenue from renting out the carriage house will offset the cost of remodeling and pay my salary.”
Her focus returned to him. “In the long run.”
“That’s the way business works. Spend some to make more.” He knew about business. Once he’d even had dreams, fueled by his father, and he’d shattered them as he’d shattered everything in his path.
“A healthier orchard will produce more fruit,” Valery said. “And more fruit means more sales at harvest.”
Julia pressed her lips together and looked off into the distance, thinking. Absently, she stroked slender fingers up and down the moist tea glass. The action sent shivers through Eli. He imagined those fingers touching him.
He jerked his gaze away and stood. “Maybe this isn’t such a great idea.”
“No, wait.” Julia turned her attention back to him. “I’ll have to look at the books and play with the numbers, but I think you may be on to something.”
“I am,” he said with more confidence than he felt.
“Are you honest?”
“Yes.”
Valery laughed. “What did you think he’d say, Julia? Admit he’s a burglar on a cross-country crime spree?”
Eli remained rigid as rock, unblinking. Julia held him by the eyes, studying him as if she could see inside. He wanted to squirm and look away but understood this was his chance. Maybe the only one he’d have.
“You can trust me.”
“Drugs? Alcohol?”
The dark days circled in like buzzards. “Neither.”
“I won’t allow wild parties or drunks or drugs or anything that could harm this inn’s reputation. Screw up and you’re history.”
“You have my word.” It’s all he had.
“Do you have anything planned this afternoon?”
Oh, sure. An appointment for tea with the queen. “No, ma’am.”
“Good. Stick around and we’ll talk this out, walk through the carriage house, discuss the particulars and see if you still think this is something you want to tackle.”
He didn’t tell her he was down to few choices. He’d take what he could get at this point. Even though the thought scared him more than a shank in the shower, he was staying in Honey Ridge near his son. “And if it is?”
“Then you’re hired.”
