Читать книгу One Small Secret - Meagan McKinney, Meagan McKinney - Страница 8

One

“We were told this place was private.” The man smirked slightly to the man standing next to him, then straightened his acid-green tie. “We don’t want to see nobody. That’s why we wanted to stay here.”

Honor Shaw looked at the man in the dark suit, not sure how she should react. She’d run a profitable bed and breakfast for eight years by always putting the guests first. But this guy, with his thick Brooklyn accent and malevolent stare, just didn’t seem the type to desire a long, hot weekend in the South’s premier antebellum tourist mecca. And he was demanding a lot.

She cleared her throat, then smiled. “I have five rooms here, sir, and certainly, I’m always glad to accommodate a private party, but I was told you and Mr.—” she took a quick glance at her reservation book but no names were listed yet “—ah, that you and your companion would only require two rooms.”

The man straightened his tie again but stayed silent.

“The spring is a very busy time here in Natchez,” she said apologetically. “The azaleas are blooming, and everyone in the world wants to come here and see our fine mansions.” She picked up the phone at the desk. “I’m really so sorry you’ve been disappointed, but perhaps I can call the Pilgrimage and see if someone at one of the private homes might let out a guest house.”

“No.”

Honor lowered her gaze to the hand that covered hers. A strange chill ran down her spine. Slowly she put down the receiver.

“We’ll stay here. We don’t want no private home-owner snooping around our stuff.”

She took a deep, calming breath. This was how it was when one dealt with the public. People could be polite and friendly or they could be difficult, neurotic and rude. Either way, she told herself, she was a pro. Though she’d only been on this earth twenty-seven years, she’d handled a lot in that short time, including the death of her mother and becoming a single parent. Honor Shaw, of the Shaws of Natchez, could certainly handle an unruly guest without chasing away business.

“I can assure you, we’ll do everything to make your stay as comfortable as possible. I have adjoining rooms in the attic, and that way you’ll hardly bump into any of our other guests. Have you much luggage?” She smiled and handed the man a pen and the register.

“No,” he answered.

“Well, Mr...Metz,” she read, then looked up, “I serve a big Southern breakfast on the veranda between eight and ten. Just let me get an impression of your credit card and I’ll show you gentlemen to your rooms.”

Metz whipped out a platinum card. Honor imprinted it and handed it back. Keys in hand, she nodded pleasantly. “This way.”

The two men followed her, their only luggage an awkward, oversize, black nylon duffle bag.

Once back at the desk, Honor looked at the register again. Larry Metz and Jack Kehher. Home address: Miami. She would never have guessed it. The two looked like they’d just stepped out of a New York Checker cab.

“Boo!”

Honor jumped, then turned around and hugged the eight-year-old girl who’d come up behind her. She’d been so engrossed in her thoughts, she hadn’t even noticed Lockey sneak up on her.

“What’re you doing, Mom?” Lockey asked as she plunked down her backpack onto the antique mahogany sideboard that served as the B&B’s reservation desk.

“Not much. How was school?” Honor swept her hand across Lockey’s brow. The girl smiled and hugged her again.

Everyone said mother and daughter were like clones, both blond, blue-eyed, petite. But Honor saw another in her daughter, especially when the child smiled. Lockey’s grin would start at the right corner and grow from there. After more than eight years away from that grin, Honor still remembered, and the memory of it could pierce her heart.

“Barton Phelps is still teasing me, even after Ms. Gibbons told him not to,” Lockey said with all the fabulous drama of a second-grader. “I hate him, Mommy. I really do. I’m sorry.”

Honor melted, as she always did with her daughter. “Look, it just sounds like Barton Phelps is a little boy with a crush on you, love. I’d just forget him. He’ll go away if you ignore him.”

Lockey looked at her mom in horror. “You mean he likes me? Yeeek!” She ran around the foyer, shaking her hands in disgust.

Honor laughed. But the fun was cut short the second Lockey ran into the black-suited form of Larry Metz and his companion, who appeared at the rear entrance.

Lockey took a step back as if by instinct. On the same impulse, Honor pulled her daughter to the reservation desk and stepped in front of her.

“Is everything to your liking, gentlemen?” she asked, again with her hosteler’s smile.

“We’re going out,” was all Metz offered, as he and Keliher made their way to the front door.

“Well, let me know if there’s anything you need. I’ll be happy to recommend homes to tour—” Honor’s words were cut short by the slam of the door.

Lockey went to her and put her arms around her waist. “Who were those men, Mommy?”

Honor shook her head. “Rude Yankees,” she answered with a laugh. “Never mind them. Let’s see what we have for a snack, and then I’ll need some help picking flowers for breakfast tomorrow. Are you ready?”

Lockey nodded.

Honor took her by the hand and headed for the kitchen. On the outside she was all mom, chocolate chip cookies and fussing over homework. On the inside she was worried.

She didn’t like Larry Metz and Jack Keliher. But her opinion was formed by more than just a vague feeling. She didn’t understand why two men in suits would check into a family bed and breakfast with an oddly large black duffle bag, then leave right afterward with their awkward luggage in tow, as if they were afraid to leave it in the room. Beside the contrast with innocent little Lockey when the child bumped into them, Metz and Keliher looked ridiculous lugging that duffle all the way through the lobby. The thing was big enough to be a body bag.

Honor shuddered. Her imagination was getting the best of her. It was their business what they did with their luggage.

They were probably just disappointed with their rooms and had decided to ditch the place without telling her. That was why they were leaving so soon, and with their bag.

With any other two guests, Honor might have been miffed that they hadn’t given her the chance to correct what was bothering them, but with these two, she found she couldn’t shake the feeling of relief. She didn’t want any shady characters at her B&B. She was a single mother, running a business from her home. Vulnerability was always an issue.

Honor’s relief at the thought that the men might have gone elsewhere only increased as she watched Lockey pull out her math workbook from her backpack.

But then her stomach plummeted when she looked out the kitchen window and saw the sheriff’s car pull into the back drive.

“Doug! Great to see you. What brings you to my quiet little place?” Honor extended her hand. Through the screen door she could see Lockey at the kitchen table starting her homework.

“I’ve come to see if you’ve done married yet, girl.” Doug ignored the outstretched hand and gave her a bear hug.

He was no longer a young man and he suffered from a too-large gut and not enough exercise, but Sheriff Doug Landry was one of the best. During the sixties, when racial fire was raging through Mississippi, he’d taken the townspeople by the throat and told them to get along—that no one under his jurisdiction, black or white, was going to suffer from a random act of hatred. And just as the town had done when the Northern Army had arrived, everyone decided their place was worth saving, so there were virtually no incidents in Natchez. Even now, it was a quiet little town, although tourism, drugs and gambling had arrived, as they seemed to have everywhere.

“Come and sit. Let me make you some coffee. Then you can quiz me on my love life, and I can quiz you on the reasons for this visit.” Honor raised an eyebrow.

Doug laughed.

She showed him to a floral-cushioned seat on the back veranda. He took off his hat and laid it on the white wicker table.

“Okay, shoot,” Honor said archly when the coffee was ready.

“Girl, why hasn’t some man snapped you up? With your looks and sense of humor, how could a man resist?”

Honor chuckled. “They’ve resisted all right. Besides, you know I’m looking for a man just like you, Doug, but unfortunately, Doris isn’t making any loaners.”

He coughed through his laughter. “And that wife of mine asks about you all the time. She’s going to be madder’n a snake if I tell her I left Shaw’s Retreat without a certified acceptance of a dinner invitation. How about Wednesday?”

“I’d love to come. Have Doris call and tell me what time, and I’m there.” She sat down in the wicker seat next to him. “Now, why the visit, Doug? Is something up?”

Doug wiped his brow with the white handkerchief he kept in his breast pocket. “I’m just paying a call to let you know not to be worried about all the cars and stuff that’ll be traveling down this road after tomorrow.”

“Down this road? But this is a dead-end street. What’s going on?”

“Seems your neighbor’s come back, girl.”

Honor shook her head, bewildered. Shaw’s Retreat was a fine Gothic house built in 1850 for Natchez’s first physician, her great-great-great-grandfather. Next door to the property was the old carriage house, which had been sold during the Depression. The carriage house was now home to a nice elderly widow.

“Mrs. Bennett’s been gone? I thought I just saw her,” she said.

“‘Fraid to tell you, girl, but it’s your other neighbor who’s come back.” He pointed to the property on the other side of the house. “Blackbird Hall’s comin’ back to life as of tomorrow.”

Suddenly she wanted to wring her hands and run away like a child. With heroic effort, she glanced casually at the huge acreage that sat on the other side of Shaw’s Retreat. The road ended at the gates of Blackbird Hall, but for years Honor had taken it for granted that the road ended at Shaw’s Retreat, because Blackbird Hall had been boarded up and closed down for as many years as...well, as Lockey had been..

“You’re a thousand miles away, girl.”

Honor shot her gaze back to the sheriff. “I just can’t believe, after all this time, we’re finally going to have a neighbor over there.”

“And what a neighbor. His damned sec‘etary called me and told me that they were sending in a fair army tomorrow morning, so the owner could have dinner there by tomorrow night. That’s when I told Doris I’d better get on out here and warn you ’bout the traffic.”

She did her best to smile. “I’m glad you did. I’d really be wondering what was going on.” Her gaze slid back to the grove of moss-covered live oak trees and the old iron gate that said, in hand-forged letters, Blackbird Hall. Numbly, she walked Doug back to his squad car. After more promises of dinner, he drove off, and she was left to stare again at the grove, the fence and the weed-choked drive that led to a house she knew only too well—because it haunted her dreams almost every night.

Suddenly she felt faint, but denial ran in her blood like an antidote.

Maybe the property had been sold without her knowing about it. It could be another person entirely who was going to show up tomorrow night.

That’s right, she told herself as she went back into the kitchen and grabbed her pruning shears. It might not be him at all.

“I’m done, Mommy. Can I help you with the garden now?”

As if in a daze, Honor looked over at her daughter. Lockey gave her that grin, that beautiful heartbreaking smile, and suddenly Honor knew she was deluding herself. It had only been a matter of time, and now time was up.

Of all the wicked ironies.

He was finally coming back.