Rich winced. “Almost. Just a few more miles. Our car broke down while you were sleeping, and Ms. Larson was kind enough to give us a ride to town.”
Estella nodded and rubbed her eyes, then ran a hand over the seat and peered at it. “You have a dog, don’t you?” she asked. “It has light brown hair. What’s his name?”
Eyes trained on the road, Torrie nodded. The child was observant. “Yes. Henry of Henry’s Garage has a golden retriever named Ratchet. Actually, three of us take care of him. During the day, he stays at the garage, but goes home with Henry at night. My brother and I take turns making sure he’s fed, has water, and sees the vet.”
“I always wanted a dog,” the little girl admitted, “but Daddy said dogs are hard to take care of in the city. They need room to run and play.”
When Torrie glanced at Rich, he gave her a withered look that begged, Please don’t go there. This topic has been sorely overworked.
“Do you work at the garage?” Estella asked, oblivious to the silent discourse between the grown-ups.
“I sometimes help out, but not with fixing the cars or trucks. I help with the paperwork. But today, I took a day off from my full-time job because I promised the owner I’d cover for him while he and his employees went fishing. It’s an annual tournament with prizes.”
“But you’re in work clothes.”
“My coveralls? Yes, I decided it would be a good time to work on my van while I was answering the garage phone. The back cargo space needs new carpeting.” She glanced down at Estella’s book. “I see you like Ramona Quimby books. They were a favorite of mine.”
“I have a lot of Ramona books. Some of them are in Spanish.”
“And you can read them?”
The little girl nodded. “My mommy spoke Spanish.”
“Ah-ha,” Torrie said, nodding again. She remembered Rich’s grandmother telling her Rich’s late wife was from Barcelona. She had also heard she’d been a model and costume designer who used to jet-set around the world working on movie shoots.
Rich cleared his throat and interrupted. “She also takes Spanish in school.”
Torrie looked over at him in time to see a flash of anguish in his eyes. She patted the little girl gently on her knee. “So tell me, Estella, how did you like the trip from Texas?”
Estella giggled. “It was fun. Especially when we camped out and it rained. Daddy said it rained cats and dogs, but not really. There was a lot of water, and a river ran through our tent. Daddy said some words he wasn’t supposed to.”
“Estella,” Rich said in a low voice. “Ahora no. Not now.”
But the little girl ignored him, grinned, and forged onward. “Anyway, we moved the tent onto a hill and put the rest of our stuff in it, and we slept in the back of the car. That was fun.”
“I’ll bet,” Torrie agreed, smiling. “So how long are you Texans planning to stay in Pennsylvania?”
It was no secret around Hickory Valley that Richard Redman owned his grandmother’s house since her death two years ago. Had Rich’s father not passed away from a heart attack five years ago, he would have been the logical heir as Gertrude’s only son. Rich’s mother, Joyce, would have never had a chance to inherit any part of the Redman estate since Gertrude always considered her a gold digger and haughty fashion diva whose integrity and parenting skills were less than stellar. Gertrude had once revealed to Torrie that she had danced a little jig around the kitchen when Richard Senior announced he finally parted company with Joyce, just after Rich headed off to college.
It was also no secret that Marlene had tried to rent Gertrude Redman’s house out to anyone at a rock bottom price just to keep it occupied and to keep the heat paid through the winters, but she hadn’t been very successful. A family would no sooner move into the house than they’d move out again in less than a month, often leaving behind their deposit. No one would even bite on a rent-to-buy option either. At first, everyone surmised the three-story house was too large for most people, and the utilities were too costly. It was also located at the edge of town, away from the business district. But as time wore on, people gave up on any reasonable explanations. The house was a huge white elephant.
Torrie recalled the rumor circulating around the local area. Marlene Hess had recently found a letter addressed to him and dated just days before Gertrude died. It had been sealed, stamped, but never sent. Although Torrie detested the rumor mill about town, she suspected Marlene was the main reason Rich was here in Hickory Valley. She had been on the payroll of the Redman family since she was a teenager, helping the family in various capacities over the last thirty-some years. She now ran her own lucrative real estate agency inherited from her father, but she managed to forge a long-time, genuine friendship with Gertrude Redman. Marlene had indicated to Torrie it was time for Rich to make some decisions about the homestead. She was tired of trying to keep the gigantic structure occupied.
“I don’t know exactly how long we’re staying,” Rich admitted. “I planned for a month to be safe. I need to check things out and see what my options might be. Now with school finished, we have the whole summer to decide. Luckily, I can work from my grandmother’s house with a phone and computer.”
Torrie smiled, eyes trained on the road. “Well, you picked a good month. June is perfect with its warm, sunny weather.” Torrie loved June of all the months in the year. June was the month of roses, her favorite flower. And summer in Pennsylvania was spectacular, with its luscious shades of green and skies with varying blue hues that could outshine the colors of the sea.
Minutes later, she pulled into the large circular drive and stopped in front of the house, an arresting white structure with dormered second-floor windows looking over the front yard like two giant eyes. A wide porch with a gingerbread railing encircled both the front and two sides of the house.
Hopping out, Torrie walked to the back of the truck and dropped the tailgate. Together with Rich, she paused to watch Estella race up the front walk and onto the wraparound porch where she headed to a wooden swing in the right corner. Turning to Rich, Torrie suggested, “Why don’t you unlock the house and show Estella around while I bring the luggage in and set it inside the door in the foyer?”
“Oh, no. I can’t let you do it by yourself.”
Torrie waved him away. “I can handle this. It’s late and you need to feed Estella before you both settle in for the night.”
“How much do I owe you?” Rich handed her the key to the SUV and withdrew his wallet.
She waved him away again. On her right hand, a delicate gold ring covered with clusters of expensive stones twinkled in the fading light. There was no wedding ring on her left hand.
“Just consider it a favor.” She smiled. “Gertie and I were friends and belonged to the local garden club and the Garden Club Federation of Pennsylvania. There are some flowerbeds in the backyard where we raised wildflowers, some gladiolas, and roses. I would like to talk to you about maintaining the flowerbeds and rose gardens when you have a few minutes. Once you’re settled, I’ll stop by. A cup of coffee should make us even.”
Nodding, Rich put a hand gently on her shoulder. “Thanks, Torrie. Really. Thanks so much for your help. I can’t wait to see your brothers, especially Lars.”
He looked toward the porch in the dying light and sighed. “I don’t know what to do with this monstrosity. No one seems interested in buying it. No one wants to live in it. It’s like a giant worthless gift. Maintenance costs exceed its usefulness. The heating bill is enormous. I have to pay to get the grass mowed in the summer and the snow shoveled in the winter.” He shrugged his shoulders in resignation and stared down the street where the street lights had come on. Their globes looked like Japanese lanterns floating in the air. His gaze found hers again. His expression was miserable and grim.
Torrie tipped her ball cap up and gave a cursory glance at the house. She pursed her lips and fell silent. Should she tell him the truth? Or should she wait until he and Estella were settled in?
The knowledge twisted and turned inside her. As much as she hated rumors, she hated lies even more. There were enough of both of them flying around town…and some were about her. What to do? Finally, she flung her hands up in despair.
“Of course no one wants to buy it, Richard Lee,” she uttered with unmistakable candor. “I have it through reliable sources your grandmother’s house is haunted.”
Chapter Two
With Estella clinging to his hand, Rich stood in the foyer of his grandmother’s house and was assaulted with so many childhood memories it was almost unbearable. This was the refuge where he came every summer to escape the sweltering city and the troubled marriage of his parents, and to get tender loving care from his paternal grandparents, who doted on their only grandchild.
Grandmother Gertie’s house was a solid old structure, dating from the time when his great grandmother, Hilda, came from Austria before the First World War and fell in love with a humble but highly-skilled carpenter who built her a stately, impressive mansion with two fireplaces and five bedrooms on the southern end of the town’s main thoroughfare.
The house now needed a bit of work, Rich realized, but most of it was reasonable and cosmetic. New paint and wallpaper would brighten and chase away the gloom. The cherry floors under his feet needed a good buffing and polishing—or maybe sanding and sealing—to look almost new again. And the scratches on the ornate cherry woodwork only needed to be touched up by someone with a skillful eye and a careful hand.
Estella tugged on his fingers. “You promised we’d see everything and then eat. I want to find my bedroom. You said I could choose. You promised, Daddy.”
“Okay. Let’s finish the downstairs first.” They peered into the massive front living room where little change had occurred over the years. A brown leather couch and gold velvet wingback chairs faced the marble fireplace and beside them sat matching, spindled end tables. A glass-encased bookcase along one far wall held treasures from a hundred years ago when his great grandmother arrived—1916 German coins, a wind-up tin car, and other odds and ends. In the dining room on the opposite side of the house, an antique, inlaid dining table surrounded by eight chairs looked as if it were purchased only yesterday. Just like Great Grandmother Hilda, Grandmother Gertie preferred to eat in the kitchen except for special occasions. A matching corner china cabinet held delicate bone china tea sets, a porcelain tea strainer, hand-painted vases, Bavarian fruit plates, and many more delicate knick-knacks from long ago.
“Everything here is sooo old,” Estella remarked, her voice a soft whine. She trudged behind him as he bypassed the study with its heavy, paneled door that had been locked when the house was rented, but was now open. Inside he could see his grandfather’s handmade, floor-to-ceiling glass cabinets flaunting even more paraphernalia and a huge collection of teddy bears.
“I know, Estella.” He nodded. He would have to find someone to help unload, inventory, and box up all the contents in every cabinet in the house. It was obvious why no one wanted to rent the place. The rooms looked depressing and outdated, stuffed with vintage items meaning nothing to families in a modern world. The place was tired and worn. But haunted? Ghosts? He shook his head. No, not possible. It was just a silly rumor, probably started by kids.
He headed straight to the recently redone kitchen, bypassing the downstairs bedroom. It was light and airy with new white cabinets, light gray granite countertops, and all new appliances. Two sets of French doors, the farthest one opening to a functional family room and the other leading to a back porch, stone walk, patio and backyard, now allowed the afternoon sun to flood the once dimly lit back of the house.
Rich peered out onto the porch where two white wooden rocking chairs invited guests to linger outside and enjoy the panoramic beauty of the stone-walled fields and forestland extending to the horizon. The same towering oak tree that once held an old-fashioned rope swing when he was young still shaded a corner of the backyard. Beyond it, the huge, colorful flowerbeds Torrie had mentioned stretched out, and beside them was a timeworn gazebo his grandfather had built. Up a path to the right, a carriage house stood among a stand of pine like a lone sentry on duty.
Estella ran to the front foyer and picked up her backpack, then raced back and shouted, “Come on. Let’s go, Daddy. I want to find a room where I’m going to sleep tonight. And I’m hungry.”
Together, they climbed the stairs to a landing where four spacious bedrooms filled the upstairs along with a walk-in closet, central bathroom, and steps leading to the third floor attic. Rich stopped at the first corner room, which used to be his bedroom when he lived with his grandparents. Colors of oyster and blue now accented the walls. On the shelves beside the long mirrored dresser, his grandmother had positioned his graduation photo along with pictures of his various high school sports. A stab of longing and nostalgia washed over him as he stared at them. His own parents had never made any effort to display any of his accomplishments when he was growing up. His grandmother, however, collected and proudly pinned every newspaper clipping mentioning his name on the front of her refrigerator.
From across the hall, Estella’s high-pitched squeal interrupted his reminiscing. “Hey, Daddy, look at this! It’s a room for a fairy princess! I’m choosing this one. Pleeease?”
Rich crossed the hallway. The room glowed a soft rosy color in the fading sunlight. Delicate striped wallpaper in shades of rose, pink, and white covered two walls while the opposite ones were adorned with a small cabbage rose design. A white eyelet comforter covered a full-sized canopy bed. A porcelain doll with dark hair, dressed in white silk and lace and wearing an intricately fashioned bonnet, sat on the window seat across from the bed. A battered toy chest had been placed against the wall below the dormered window, and Estella knelt and opened it, pulling out games and toys from Rich’s childhood in Hickory Valley.
Marlene, he said to himself. This must have been Marlene’s doing. He never recalled a time when the room was pink, even when he came for the funeral two years ago.
As if he had conjured up the woman, the doorbell rang. Before he could reach the bottom steps, Marlene opened the door and met him at the bottom of the steps, her siren-red, four-inch heels clicking on the wooden floor. Her short hair, almost as red as the shoes, was fashioned into a spiked, trendy hairstyle. A pair of stone-washed jeans hugged her tall thin frame like a second skin.
“How’d you get in?” he asked.
“I’m your real estate agent, remember?” She dangled a key in front of him. “Maybe you ought to keep this spare in case you get locked out. I brought the coffee and some good Jameson Irish whiskey, eighteen-year variety, not twelve. For later.” She wiggled her eyebrows at Estella and dropped the key in his hands, then held up a plastic grocery bag and headed to the kitchen in the back. “Please tell me you have the oven turned on, Richard Lee Junior, and the pan of lasagna pulled out of the refrigerator.”
He trailed behind her. “Not yet.”
She shook her head, snapped the oven on, opened the refrigerator, and took out the pan. From the bread box, she retrieved a loaf of bread. “The child should have eaten by now.”
“Estella and I were exploring.” Rich leaned against the doorjamb and watched her work. Marlene had been a dedicated friend and employee of Gertrude’s family for as many years as he could remember. Growing up in Hickory Valley, Marlene had worked with her father in real estate since she was sixteen. Twenty-three years later, when Howard Hess announced he was retiring and headed to Florida and life in a condo at the beach, it had seemed natural for Marlene to take over the business. Unmarried and a few years shy of fifty, she could give the thirty-year-olds a run for their money with her high-energy personality. The business hadn’t floundered in the least. Marlene had to hire more agents to keep up with the new clients and demands on her time. When Gertrude was alive, Marlene often popped in to see the old woman and have a cup of blueberry tea.
But what he recalled most about the woman was her efficient, assertive temperamen
t and good business sense. Through the years, she was more like a big sister to him. When he was in grade school, she used to babysit on those summer nights when his grandmother went to play bridge or needed an evening out. She never let him beat her at any board game they played. Marlene was a tough cookie. Strict, but fair. In some ways, she taught him to be competitive and tough, too.
Through the screen from the opened French doors, a gentle breeze picked up the smell of new mown grass, phlox, and pine. It had been a long time since he had experienced such clean, inviting outdoor smells. “I’ve been meaning to ask you whether you might have a lead on someone who would be able to do some light housekeeping, cooking, and babysitting while Estella and I are here,” he said.
Marlene turned. “I was waiting for you to ask that question.” She sliced some bread and put it in a basket. She pointed to the cupboard. “Get three glasses out. Yes, I have someone in mind. Her name is Lucille Smith. Everyone calls her Lulu. She lost her husband last year and needs something to do to refocus her life. She knew your grandmother well. They played in the same card club and were best friends.”
“And just how old is this woman?”
“Seventy-five.”
“You’re kidding, Marlene. I need someone to keep up with Estella.” He set the glasses on the table.
“This ol’ gal can run circles around you, Estella, and me. She’s from a farm on the other side of town, and there’s nothing she can’t do. She raised five kids and has won numerous blue ribbons for her canned and baked goods at the county fair. I’ll have her stop over tomorrow morning, and you can decide.” Marlene set the kitchen table with three place settings. “Now go call Estella for dinner. The poor child must be starved.”
Later, while Marlene cleaned the kitchen, Rich tucked Estella into bed and showered before he rejoined her in the living room. In her lap, Marlene had the mysterious envelope, the unsent letter she had mentioned to him over the phone. It was the main reason he was returning to Hickory Valley. He was annoyed she refused to deal with it, but she said she felt uncomfortable opening it or sending it in the mail. “If it truly is important, and if it contains your grandmother’s last words to you…or requests of you,” she had told him, “you need to read it at the homestead.”
Four White Roses Page 2