Читать книгу Where Secrets Sleep - Marta Perry - Страница 11
ОглавлениеSHE REALLY OUGHT to go through the building and introduce herself to the other renters, but Allison decided she needed a break from other people’s expectations. Lunch and a little time to decompress—that was the solution.
Telling Sarah goodbye and trying to ignore the trace of disappointment in her blue eyes, Allison headed across the street toward the café she’d noticed the previous night.
The Buttercup Café lived up to its name, painted inside with a yellow so sunny it made Allison blink. In that instant, she realized something else. The room had fallen completely silent at her entrance, and every single person in the café, with the exception of a toddler banging on a high chair tray, stared at her.
Feeling her cheeks warm, Allison moved forward. The middle-aged woman behind the counter, seeming to rouse herself, hurried to greet her. Amish, Allison noted. Like Sarah. There must be a lot of them in the area.
“Table for one, Ms. Standish? Right over here.” Somehow Allison wasn’t surprised that the woman knew her. Apparently, from what she’d heard so far, anonymity wasn’t an option in Laurel Ridge.
At Allison’s nod, the woman gestured to an open table and then pulled the chair out, her ample cheeks bunching with her smile. Her eyes seemed to take in every detail of Allison’s appearance from behind the wire-rimmed glasses she wore. With her white hair, rosy cheeks and round figure, she reminded Allison of a china figure of Mrs. Santa she’d once had. But the woman’s gaze was both curious and cautious, unlike the loving expression of her Mrs. Santa.
“I’m Anna Schmidt, owner, chief cook and just about everything else at the Buttercup. I’d recommend the chicken potpie. It’s the special today, and I made it fresh this morning.”
Allison had intended to order a salad, but she sensed it might be more diplomatic to agree. “That sounds lovely.” She handed the menu back. “Just water to drink.” She’d resolved to cut down on caffeine, although possibly this stressful time wasn’t the best for healthy changes.
Allison glanced up, caught an elderly man staring at her and fished in her bag for her cell phone. Maybe she’d have to resign herself to being a subject of curiosity for a time—not that she’d intended to stay long enough to become familiar to the denizens of Laurel Ridge.
Propping her arm on the bright yellow-and-white tablecloth, she checked her messages. Nothing from either Di or Greg. Maybe that was just as well. She opened a text from Leslie, her closest friend. An attorney, Leslie’s reaction to news of an unexpected legacy had been to advise caution.
Don’t sign anything without reading it thoroughly. That was the gist of it.
The text was brief. Call and tell me all about it.
Smiling, she responded. Nothing ever as it seems. Talk later, okay?
She couldn’t expect Leslie to rush to Laurel Ridge to represent her, but Leslie would be generous with legal advice. If there was a way out of this tangle, Leslie would find it.
Anna Schmidt returned a few minutes later, bearing a steaming bowl of what appeared to be a chicken stew rich with square noodles whose uneven sides declared that they were homemade. The woman lingered until Allison took a cautious first bite. At Allison’s involuntary exclamation of pleasure, she beamed.
“Never had real homemade chicken potpie, ain’t so?”
“No, I haven’t. It’s delicious.”
“Your daadi love my chicken potpie. I was certain sure you would, too.” Still smiling, Anna turned away to attend to another customer, leaving Allison bemused.
Odd, that she hadn’t even thought of her father since arriving in Laurel Ridge. The more she considered it, the stranger it seemed. Hugh Standish had walked out of her life when she was six. She’d trained herself not to dwell on him, because doing so inevitably led to pain. That was yet another good reason for not taking up a new life in this place.
Allison had just about succeeded in dismissing her father from her thoughts by the time she returned to Blackburn House later that afternoon. She’d brought Hector along in the carrier, deciding she’d relieve the innkeeper of his presence.
Before she talked with Leslie this evening, she really needed to have a better grasp on the economics of the situation. She couldn’t expect advice if she didn’t have the facts, and Leslie was a glutton for details. She’d want to know the assessed value of the property, the taxes, the expenses and the amount of rent that came in each month before venturing an opinion as to the best course of action for Allison. The logical place to look for those answers was in the office her grandmother had maintained upstairs.
Early spring daffodils curtsied in the cool breeze that swept across the lawn in front of Blackburn House. Care of the grounds was undoubtedly her responsibility. She could only hope her grandmother had a service in place to deal with such things.
The stained-glass detail in the transom pane above the front door glowed as a slant of sunlight hit it, and the brass door handle echoed with a gleam of its own. The meticulous care that had been taken of the building seemed to indicate that Evelyn Standish had been fond of the place. Odd, surely, that it didn’t bear her family’s name.
Allison went inside, the cat carrier dangling from one hand, and nearly ran into Nick, who was just turning away from the door to his showroom, keys in his hand.
He smiled, eyes crinkling, and nodded toward the cat carrier. “You’re not going to attack me with that again, are you?”
She couldn’t seem to stop herself from responding to that smile. “I was just defending myself, remember?”
“True enough.” He reached out to test the cat carrier door, earning a hiss from Hector. “Is it holding together all right?”
“Fine, thanks.” She glanced at the door to his showroom. It bore a hand-lettered placard. Out now. Leave a note or try the workshop in back. That reminded her of her disapproval.
“Closing early today?”
Nick blinked, as if not understanding her for a moment. Then he shrugged. “I can’t waste time sitting there hoping someone will come in. If anybody does, they know to look for us back in the shop.”
She couldn’t help frowning a little as she glanced at the shop door. “Wouldn’t you get more business if you kept the showroom open?”
His brow lifted in that infuriating manner. “Know a lot about cabinetmaking, do you?”
“No, but—”
“Then maybe you ought to let me run my own business while you tend to yours.” He strode off toward the back of the building, obviously having had enough of her.
She clutched the cat carrier and stalked to the stairs. All right, fine. She’d take care of her own business. That’s what she planned to do right now. Avoiding the gaze of the bookstore proprietor, who had come hopefully to the entrance to his shop, Allison hurried upstairs toward her grandmother’s office, heels clicking on the marble stairs.
* * *
NICK, PROPELLED BY what he considered righteous indignation, stormed to the back door, but before he could reach it Ralph Mitchell darted out of the bookstore and intercepted him. Ralph’s thin pale face was anxious, his nose twitching so that he looked like an elderly rabbit.
“You were talking to her. What’s she like? What’s she going to do? Did she tell you?”
Nick curbed his annoyance with Allison and tried to look reassuring. “I don’t know. I don’t think she’s decided yet what her plans are for the building.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to tell Ralph about the restrictions to Allison’s ownership, but he held back. Ralph’s reputation as a gossip was well deserved. He talked to everyone who visited Blackburn House, to say nothing of all the people he encountered on his daily trips to the post office and the bank. He collected tidbits of information everywhere he went, sometimes sewing them into a fantastic array of speculation, but more often than not into something very close to the truth.
Ralph would undoubtedly find out about Allison’s provisional ownership from someone, but it didn’t have to be him.
“But how can you be sure? If she sells, what’s going to happen to us?” Ralph was close to wringing his hands. “You know Evelyn hasn’t raised our rents in years. How could we find comparable places for our businesses at those prices?”
“We probably couldn’t.” That was the truth, and Ralph knew it as well as he did, but it was hardly reassuring. “Look, we don’t know anything yet. For all I’ve heard, Ms. Standish may intend to just turn the business over to a property manager to handle and head back to her job in the city. That would be the easiest thing she could do.”
“True.” Ralph pushed his glasses back up on his nose with a characteristic gesture. Usually they clung to the end of his nose and he peered over them nearsightedly. “Still, I don’t understand why she hasn’t come to talk to me yet. It makes me nervous.”
That was a good question. As far as Nick could tell, Allison seemed inclined to avoid her responsibilities here.
“I’m sure she’ll be around to see you soon.” He patted Ralph’s slumped shoulder. “No need to start worrying before you have to, right?”
“I suppose you’re right.” Ralph sounded reluctant. “But do you think—”
“Gotta go. Dad’s expecting me, and I’m late.” He moved as he spoke, knowing if he didn’t, Ralph was capable of keeping him there talking and speculating all afternoon.
In a couple of minutes he was clear of the building, and he blew out a breath of exasperation. He felt sorry for Ralph, but the man’s timidity and gossipy nature about drove him crazy.
Dad, on the other hand, was so calm that Nick sometimes wondered if he caught all that was going on around him. When he reached the workshop he found his father already well into the next job they had on hand, humming tunelessly while he worked. He was what Nick would be in another thirty years, he supposed—lean, leathery, with tanned skin, wrinkles around his eyes, going a little gray at the temples.
Nick tossed his jacket in the general direction of the hook on the wall and joined him. The new cabinets were cherry, and the wood a challenge but a joy to work with. He smoothed his hand down the fine grain.
“Sorry I’m late.”
Dad shrugged. “No problem. Somebody come in the showroom?”
“Nothing like that. I had another little run-in with Allison Standish.”
“Was that a good idea?” His father’s voice was mild.
“I didn’t start it.” Nick wished the words back the minute they were out of his mouth. It sounded like what he and Mac used to say when they’d been squabbling. “Anyway, the woman is being unreasonable. She hasn’t even talked to the rest of the tenants in the building yet. Ralph is in a state about it.”
“Ralph’s always in a state.”
True enough. “I couldn’t blame him this time. Seems to me she’s trying to impose her big-city standards on Laurel Ridge, and that’s not how things are done here. The least she could do is to talk to everyone and let them know what’s happening instead of standing back looking down her nose at us.” He frowned down at the screwdriver in his hand and wondered what he’d picked it up for.
“Hmm.” Dad took a careful measurement, wrote it down and then measured again. Only then did he glance at Nick. “So, besides being obnoxious and superior, what’s Allison Standish like?”
He shrugged, for all the world as if he hadn’t paid attention. “Red hair. Well, more coppery-colored, I guess you’d say. Green eyes. Sort of a heart-shaped face and fair skin. She’s got a way of looking up at you that...” Never mind about his reactions. He certainly didn’t want to discuss them with his father. “Not much like her grandmother, that’s for sure.”
“You hardly noticed her, right?” Dad’s eyes were twinkling.
“It’s not like that,” he said with as much dignity as he could manage. “I’m just concerned about all of us. She could do a lot of damage through not understanding how small towns work.”
Dad didn’t respond. He just kept on working, but Nick felt sure there was something more. As the silence stretched, he had to speak.
“Well?”
Dad gave him a considering look before turning back to the piece of cherry work he was shaping. “Seems to me you might be jumping to some conclusions based on appearances.” He paused, probably to let that sink in. “The way I see it, the woman’s been thrown into a stressful situation she probably never expected. Maybe we have to give her a chance to find her balance.”
He didn’t say anything more. He didn’t have to. Nick knew exactly what Dad was hinting at. He thought Nick had an unfavorable opinion of Allison because she reminded him of Sheila.
His first impulse was to deny it. Loudly. But he had too much respect for his father’s judgment to reject it out of hand. Maybe there was a fragment of truth to the idea. He couldn’t deny that Allison seemed to be everything that Sheila had wanted to be.
He and Dad worked side by side in silence for a few more minutes. The feel of the cherry wood beneath his hands soothed him.
When he finally spoke, much of his irritation had disappeared. “Why do you suppose Evelyn left Blackburn House to a stranger?”
Dad shrugged. “That stranger is her granddaughter, you know.”
“The way I heard it, Evelyn never showed the least interest in Allison, so it doesn’t sound as if she cared whether she had a granddaughter or not.”
“Evelyn Standish was never one to show her feelings,” Dad commented, holding the piece he’d been working on up to the light. “I doubt anyone knew what she thought of her son’s child.”
“Not even Brenda?”
“Especially not Brenda.” Dad’s tone was dry.
“From what I’ve heard, Brenda expected her aunt to leave everything to her. I imagine she’s none too happy about this turn of events.”
Dad shrugged. “Allison’s her own blood. Her son’s child.”
“Hugh Standish, you mean.” Nick frowned, trying to remember what he’d heard about the man. “He had left town before I was old enough to know much of anything about him. From what I’ve heard, he wasn’t much missed.”
“Funny thing, that was.” Dad paused, staring absently at the window that looked toward Blackburn House. “Old Mr. Standish was the soul of honor. Evelyn, too. And Hugh was as twisty as they come, even as a child. Long on charm and short on character.”
“So he left.”
Dad nodded. “He left. Married, had a child, then left them, too. Seems he spent his life leaving people. I’d guess that’s why Evelyn bequeathed Blackburn House to Allison. Kind of making up for Hugh.”
The resentment Nick had been feeling toward Allison seeped slowly away. He still didn’t like her behavior. But maybe her family story was enough of a reason for him to give her a break.
* * *
ALLISON ENDED UP spending the afternoon in her grandmother’s office, becoming more and more engrossed in what she found there. The office itself was something of a surprise—stripped down, businesslike, with none of the frills one might expect from a wealthy woman.
Hector had his own opinion of the office. When she’d put him down, he’d prowled the room eagerly at first, intent on his search for any sign of his hereditary enemy, the mouse. Finally, disappointed, he’d leaped on top of the file cabinet. He established himself there, sphinx-style, his paws tucked in front of his white bib. The only sign of life was the occasional blink of his eyes.
Allison’s first task had been to get a grasp on the financial situation. Evelyn’s records were clear and organized, and it didn’t take long for Allison to discover that her supposition had been correct. Blackburn House was worth considerably more than her cousin was offering, even though the rents Evelyn had charged seemed ridiculously low.
Still, Allison had to admit that she had no idea what typical rents might be in a town like Laurel Ridge. Something else she ought to find out.
Once she had jotted down every detail she thought Leslie might need to give her an informed opinion on how to proceed, Allison leaned back in the leather swivel chair, considering.
Searching through the office had given her a guilty sensation. She didn’t belong here, but by her actions, Evelyn had grafted her on to the family tree.
Maybe that was an apt expression. She’d felt grafted on to another family tree when her mother had married Dennis Goldman. Dennis was a dear, of course, and he’d always done his best to treat her exactly as he did the two half brothers he and Mom had produced. She loved them all. She knew they loved her. Still, she’d always felt like the odd man out. The cuckoo in the nest, in a way.
Unfair, to feel that way, but she’d figured out a long time ago that a person couldn’t argue with her feelings. One just had to accept them and move on.
And speaking of feelings, what was she to think of the grandmother who’d appeared so suddenly, reaching out from the grave, it seemed? She’d formed an opinion of Evelyn Standish long ago—imperious, proud and strong-willed. Nothing she’d learned since she’d arrived in Laurel Ridge had changed that opinion.
But being privy to the woman’s business life had certainly added to the picture she’d formed. Evelyn had been a good businesswoman, meticulous if a bit old-fashioned in her methods.
She had been capable of surprising generosity. There was the partnership with Sarah for one thing. And apparently Evelyn had also carried the bookstore through a couple of dry periods, carefully noting the dates on which she’d been paid back. Without interest, it seemed. Generous, yes. So how did a woman who was so giving to others justify ignoring her only grandchild?
Sighing, Allison brushed her hair behind her ears and massaged the back of her neck. That was a riddle to which she’d probably never know the answer.
A glance at the window showed her that it was getting dark already. Allison checked the time and began gathering papers together. Get a bite to eat first, and then go back to the inn. By the time she’d done that, Leslie should be home from the office and ready to talk.
The building had grown dark and quiet around her while she worked. She’d been vaguely aware of the occupants of the other offices leaving, hearing the sound of voices and the clatter of heels as they went down the stairs. She ought to be alone in the building, but she could hear the distinct sound of movement.
Puzzled but not alarmed, she went to the door and opened it. For a moment all was silent. Then there was the sharp sound of a footstep, and then another.
Allison couldn’t seem to prevent the frisson of alarm that rippled along her nerves. If every office and shop in the building was closed, who was here?
The custodian, of course. She nearly laughed out loud. She’d just been looking at the building records. There was a custodian, even though she hadn’t met him yet.
Well, no time like the present. Leaving the office open and the lights on, she moved quickly down the hall toward the stairs. “Hello?” Her voice echoed as if she’d called into a canyon.
Nothing. No one answered.
“Mr. Glick? Is that you? It’s Allison Standish.”
Still nothing, but the footsteps were clearer and more hurried now, coming from the hall below. Allison hustled to the top of the stairs and looked down.
From this vantage point she could see the entire front half of the hallway that bisected the building, with the quilt shop on her left and the cabinet showroom on the right. Nothing moved there.
Annoyed now, she hurried down the steps. How rude, not to answer when she called out. Surely anyone who belonged in the building would know who she was, even if they hadn’t met yet.
Anyone who belonged. She stopped three-quarters of the way down, clinging to the bannister. Someone, maybe Nick, had said something about a prowler.
Allison reached for the pocket of her jacket and found it empty. Her cell phone was lying on the desk upstairs.
She should go back to the office and call the police. But then she’d look remarkably silly if her prowler turned out to be someone who had every right to be here.
Allison took another tentative step down, undecided, and heard a rush of footsteps followed by the bang of the back door. The noise galvanized her into action. She ran down the stairs, swung around the newel post at the bottom and raced for the back exit. She couldn’t possibly catch the person, but maybe she could get a glimpse of him.
The back door was closed but not locked. She yanked it open, charged forward and nearly ran into Nick Whiting, who grasped her by the elbows.
The tinge of fear transformed into anger. “What do you mean by sneaking around the building that way? Were you trying to alarm me?”
Nick’s open face tightened. “Is fighting mad always your first response? I wasn’t in the building. I was just coming out of the workshop when I thought I heard someone call out. I came to see what was wrong.”
That sounded logical. Besides, the person she’d heard was going out. He or she wouldn’t turn around and come back in, would they?
Only if they wanted to make you think they were just arriving on the scene, a little voice commented at the back of her mind.
Allison pulled away from Nick’s warm grasp, aware of his strength. “What are you doing here this late, anyway?”
“Working,” he said briefly. “I went home to put my son to bed, and then I came back to work for an hour or so.”
“Son?” She wasn’t sure why she was so startled. Of course someone like Nick would be married. He ought to wear a wedding ring. “I didn’t know you were married.”
His strong features tightened again. “I’m not. My son, Jamie, is six. We live with my folks.”
Allison’s mind seethed with questions, none of which she dared ask. Better stick to the point. “I heard someone in the building. Whoever it was, he didn’t answer when I called. You had mentioned something about a prowler.”
“So you decided to go after him alone?” His eyebrow rose in that gesture she was beginning to dislike.
“Certainly not. I heard him go out of the building. I was just hoping to get a look at him.” A shiver went through her. “Did you see anyone?”
“Not a glimpse, but anyone could have gone around the corner before I got to where I’d see him.” He gave her a measuring look, as if assessing how much she was to be trusted.
She did her best to ignore it. “Do you suppose he broke into any of the offices?”
“I’ll have a look,” Nick said. “You stay here.”
That sounded tempting, but her pride intervened. “I’ll go with you.”
Exasperation was written clearly on his face, but he didn’t argue. Together they moved through the ground floor, checking doors. She hated admitting that she wanted to stick close to him. Somehow that rough-hewn appearance of his was very appealing right now. He looked as if he could handle anything.
The shops were all locked, dark and, she supposed, normal.
“My keys are upstairs in Evelyn’s office. We could look inside,” she offered.
“I don’t think there’s much point. If someone had broken in, it would be obvious.” Nick flicked a light switch, bathing the back part of the hallway in its glow. The storerooms were locked and dark, as well.
Allison eyed Nick’s face as they went up the stairs side by side. His jaw was set, and his gaze was intent. He looked tough and determined, and she would definitely stack him up against any prowler.
There was that word again. “Why did you think there might be a prowler?”
He looked startled for an instant. “You mean when I saw you last night?” He shrugged. “There have been rumors making the rounds about a prowler in town, but no one seems to have seen anything definite.”
“If that’s the case, this should be reported to the authorities. I’ll call 911—”
“No need,” Nick said. “Consider it reported. As it happens, my brother, Mac, is the police chief. And oddly enough, I’m the mayor.”
“You? The mayor?”
Nick grinned at the doubt she made obvious. “Yes, me. Don’t be impressed, though. In a town of eight thousand people, being the mayor is as much a popularity contest as anything else.”
“I see.” She studied his face, wondering just how serious he was. “What, exactly, does the mayor of Laurel Ridge do?”
Nick shrugged. “Goes to a town council meeting once a month. Declares it Safety Week or Blueberry Day. Serves as a judge for the annual Pet and Toy Parade.”
Was he serious? Apparently so. “I’m sure you’re well suited to judging the Pet and Toy Parade, whatever that is.”
“Hey, that’s a serious event here.” He assumed an injured look as he checked office doors and rattled handles on the second floor. “And judging isn’t a piece of cake, especially when the contestants might cry if they don’t win. Or bite the judge.”
Her lips quirked as she thought of Hector’s reaction to him. “As I said, well suited.”
“The owners of last year’s contestants in the most colorful pet competition nearly came to blows.” He shook his head. “It wasn’t a pretty sight, believe me.”
His gaze met hers, his golden-brown eyes bright with amusement, and Allison felt an unexpected lurch in the area of her heart.
No, she told herself firmly.
“Since everything seems secure, I’d better pack up and get over to the—” She opened the office door, and Hector streaked out, moving so fast he was nothing more than an orange blur.
Nick jumped back, then gave an unsteady laugh. “I think that cat’s out to get me. What’s he so upset about now?”
Allison’s hand froze on the knob. “Look.” In the far corner of the room was a door that she’d assumed led to a closet. It had been closed and she’d thought locked when she left.
Now it stood wide-open, revealing a flight of wooden stairs that led up into darkness.
Nick’s hand closed on hers, and he drew her back from the door. “I take it you didn’t have the attic door open?”
“I didn’t even know that’s what it was.” She shivered. “We’d better call the police.”
Nick took a cell phone from his pocket and pressed it into her hand. “I’m going to have a look. If you hear anything odd, press 9-1-1.”
She clutched his arm. “What do you mean, odd? Like you being knocked over the head? Let the police do it. You don’t need to be macho about it.”
“I’m not.” He took both her hands in his. “Look, if I call in, that means whoever’s on duty will rush over here in the patrol car, siren wailing. It would probably be Johnny Foster—eighteen, eager and inclined to trip over his own feet. Let me see if there’s any sign up there first, and then I’ll talk to Mac quietly. No point in setting the whole town gossiping about you your second night here.”
Much as she hated to admit it, his words made a certain amount of sense. “All right. But be careful.” She frowned. “I thought the sound I heard came from the other end of the building.”
“Could have,” he said. “The attic stretches clear across, and there’s a stairway in each corner. Whoever was up there, he might have heard you go out of the room and slid down this way, then on downstairs by the back stairway.”
She blinked. “I didn’t even know there was a back stairway.”
He grinned. “You’d best explore your new property. But not now.” He squeezed her hands, crossed the room quickly and disappeared up the dark stairway.
Allison stood where she was, clutching the cell phone. If he didn’t come back in a few minutes, she was calling, no matter how much fuss it made.
But Nick reappeared, dusting himself off, before panic had her pushing the buttons. “He left the door open onto the stairway at the other end of the building. That must be how he got in. But there’s nothing upstairs but a lot of junk people have left there over the years. What was the point?”
She shivered, rubbing her arms. “If it was to scare me, he succeeded.” She scooped together the notes she’d made and stuffed them into her bag. “Right now all I want is to find Hector and get out of here. Do I need to stay around and talk to your brother?”
“Not tonight.” His attention seemed to be elsewhere, and she suspected his mind was busy with something he didn’t intend to share. “I’ll get Mac, and we’ll have a quiet look around. He can stop by casually tomorrow to have a word with you.”
Hands full of papers, she looked at him. “You’re going to a lot of trouble for me.”
He smiled, eyes focusing on her for a moment. “Just doing my duty to the voters, that’s all. Come on. I’ll help you find that dratted cat.”
