Tomorrow's Promises (Bellingwood Book 7)

by Diane Greenwood Muir

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication / use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

  Cover Design Photography: Maxim M. Muir

  Copyright © 2014 Diane Greenwood Muir

  All rights reserved.

  Don’t miss the first books in

  Diane Greenwood Muir’s

  Bellingwood Series

  All Roads Lead Home – Bellingwood #1

  A Big Life in a Small Town – Bellingwood #2

  Treasure Uncovered – Bellingwood #3

  Secrets and Revelations – Bellingwood #4

  Life Between the Lines – Bellingwood #5

  Room at the Inn – Bellingwood #5.5

  A Season of Change – Bellingwood #6

  CONTENTS

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  THOUGHTS AND THANKS

  THANK YOU FOR READING!

  CHAPTER ONE

  Polly stood in the middle of the living room doing her best to hold back tears. Goodness, she cried at everything, all the time. How had things gotten so out of control? More importantly - how was she going to pull it back together in time? The worst thing ... it was her own stinking fault.

  Her best friends from Boston - Sal, Drea, and Bunny - would arrive in less than three hours and Polly had to clean, get beds ready, and then pack for her own trip. There wasn't enough time between now and eternity to pull that off. They had each laughed when she told them they didn't need to come to Iowa for this party. Polly was the last one anyone expected to be married and they were going to celebrate.

  Bunny Farnam had pouted, too. The poor girl desperately wanted a family, but couldn't find the perfect husband. That was Bunny-speak for a man who would pay for all of her dreams and never complain. Sal Kahane was trying the long-distance thing with Polly's veterinarian, Mark Ogden, and Drea Renaldi had been dating the same man for as long as Polly had known her. They were perfectly happy, living two separate lives.

  Sal and Bunny had been a little miffed with Polly when they discovered she'd gotten married on the sly. Both had hoped to be bridesmaids if it ever happened, but as soon as the party was announced, they'd set aside their disappointment and promised to come to Iowa and have fun.

  Polly flopped down on one of the sofas in the middle of the room. Spreading out across the top floor of Sycamore House had seemed like a great idea at the time. She grinned to herself. In truth, it just created more space for her to make a mess. She tried to keep things neat, but it wasn't in her nature. She always seemed to be picking up at the last minute. Henry was usually pretty great about helping, but he'd been so busy lately, she was just glad when he showed up for dinner.

  The last couple of months had flown by. The first wing of the hotel out on the highway was finished and was ready for occupancy. The caretaker's house was close to being complete and before they got too much further, she and Henry needed to find someone to manage the place.

  Every person Polly had hired at Sycamore House had dropped into her lap. She kept hoping someone wonderful would show up again. After this stupid trip was over, she and Jeff Lyndsay might have to actually work at finding the right manager.

  Stupid trip. No, that wasn't fair. It was her honeymoon and she was excited. Yeah. That was it. Excited. When Henry had first talked about going away, she was. They'd spent hours deciding which route to take and where to go and stay. The hotels for the beginning of the trip were all booked and they knew what sites they wanted to see along the way. Now that it was nearly here, Polly was having a hard time getting past her anxiety. She knew that once they got out of town … oh, about fifteen miles … she'd relax and start having fun. If she could just make it to that point.

  Polly bent over to pick up an empty cardboard box and dropped it beside the pile in front of the sofa. She was never going to be ready. And it was her own fault.

  She and Henry tried to tell people they preferred not to receive gifts, but they showed up anyway. He explained to her very gently that people were generous and she needed to accept it. They'd set up a fund at the bank for Sarah Heater's hospital bills, asking friends to contribute in lieu of gifts. The fund was filling up nicely, but gifts still arrived every day.

  Lydia also insisted on a gift table at the party. She and Henry needed nothing, but Lydia, Beryl, and Andy had taken her to Des Moines to register for the special things that newly married couples should have. If they hadn't been with her, she might never have chosen a china pattern, much less crystal and silver. Polly refused to register at Victoria's Secret, even though Beryl made lewd remarks every time they passed the store. The wicked glint that never left that woman's eyes was a little unnerving.

  Yep, she was pretty sure this was going to kill her. Polly reached over, and taking the box cutter in hand, ripped through the boxes in front of the couch and stacked them into the largest box. First thing finished. Now, no more whining and complaining. It was time to get over herself and get busy.

  A beautiful crystal vase and a wooden clock sat on the table in front of her. The bookcases lining the front wall had just been installed two days ago. They were still empty, so now was as good a time as any to start.

  Polly looked at the floor behind one of the chairs and wrinkled her forehead. Why was a pair of Henry's jeans out here in the living room? She didn't remember him taking them off and dropping them. The poor man had been falling asleep after supper. He'd been pushing pretty hard to get things wrapped up before he left town.

  Rats. This just wasn't the right time to be taking this trip. Polly tried to talk him out of it as recently as last night, but Henry insisted that they needed to get away from everything. She didn't have the heart to argue with him, he really did need a vacation.

  A knock at her front door broke Polly's reverie and she set the vase and clock on a shelf before opening the front door.

  "What are you doing here?" she asked Lydia, Beryl, and Andy.

  "We figured you might need help," Lydia said. "You can tell us to go away, but we're here to do whatever you need."

  Polly felt herself relax. "How did you know?"

  "You've been busy these last few weeks and Henry looks absolutely exhausted," Lydia said. "

  "And it's not that 'happy to be exhausted becaus
e my wife is wearing me out' kind of exhaustion, either," Beryl grinned. "Now are you going to let us in or do we have to get on our knees and beg to clean your house?"

  Polly backed away from the door. "I have no idea how you do this," she said. "I've never known anyone who takes as much time to make sure that I'm okay as you do."

  "If your mother or your Mary were alive, they'd be here, wouldn't they?" Lydia asked.

  "Yes, but you have your own kids to take care of. And grandkids," Polly protested.

  "And you're our friend," Andy said. "You have a big weekend coming up and you shouldn't be stressed. We couldn't help with the wedding. The least you can do is let us help you with this."

  "Okay." Polly let out a breath. "Thank you. I'm not going to stop you. I'm in trouble here."

  "I'll start in the kitchen and dining room," Lydia said. "Is that okay?"

  Polly swept her arm toward the door leading to her old apartment. "Have at it. I think I cleaned most everything last night, but one more run-through wouldn't hurt."

  "Let me deal with these boxes," Andy said. "What if we take your china and silver into the office? You two won't be using that for a while, will you?"

  They had turned Polly's old bedroom into an office for Henry. Polly's closet had been emptied into their bedroom, so there was a little space available there.

  "Thank you," Polly said. "That will help. I just need to clear the clutter out of the main room."

  "Have you made the beds in the guest rooms?" Beryl asked. "I can do that." She scowled down at the two cats who had flopped beside her feet. "You two can't help, though." She nudged Luke's bottom with her toe. He didn't react. "Every time I make my bed, Miss Kitty thinks it's the greatest game in the world. I usually end up sprawled across the bed in a wrestling match with her."

  "Me too," Polly said. "I try to shut them out of the bedroom, but they sit outside the door and whine. Sheets are already sitting on the beds."

  Each woman left for a different part of her home. They never ceased to amaze her. Even after a year and a half, she still couldn't figure out how she'd gotten so lucky.

  She bent over to pick up Henry's jeans and there was another knock on her door.

  Rachel was standing there. "I'm sorry to bother you, Polly. I know you're busy this morning, but there's a man downstairs who says he needs to talk to you. Jeff isn't here and I didn't want to send a stranger up to your apartment."

  Jeff Lyndsay was probably at the hotel. If she looked at her calendar, Polly was certain he had it on the schedule.

  "Is this person in the office with Sarah?"

  "Yeah. I put him in the conference room. Was that okay?"

  "That's perfect. Thank you." Polly looked at the jeans in her hand. "Does he look like a salesman?" There wasn't much she hated more than being interrupted by someone trying to sell her something. Jeff was much more tolerant, but he knew how to get rid of them more efficiently than she did.

  "I don't know," Rachel said. "He didn't give me a business card or anything."

  "Yeah. He probably wouldn't."

  "Maybe he's not a salesman. I don't know. He's not dressed up and he asked for you specifically, not the manager or owner."

  "Okay, thanks. I'll be down in a few minutes."

  Rachel left and Polly went into the kitchen. "Lydia?"

  The woman was bent over, trying to rearrange pots and pans in a lower cabinet and jumped when Polly said her name.

  "Whoops … I must have really been into my work," she said. "What's up?"

  "There's someone downstairs who needs to talk to me, but I feel guilty about leaving you three here to clean my house."

  "Don't worry it, dear. You take care of whatever you need to and we'll keep working. It's really not that bad. You could have done it yourself in a couple of hours."

  "You and I both know better than that," Polly said, laughing. "I'll be back."

  She trotted across the living room to her bedroom and tossed Henry's jeans into the laundry basket. If this was a smarmy salesman taking her away from her day, she was going to be furious.

  Polly went into the bathroom and checked herself in the mirror to make sure she looked relatively professional. Nope, not at all. Jeans and a t-shirt, her hair was pulled back into a pony tail and she hadn't bothered with makeup this morning. Oh well. If you walk in without an appointment, you can't expect perfection.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Rachel was right. The man wasn't dressed in a flashy suit at all, but was wearing a plaid shirt tucked into his jeans. He turned the chair and stood to greet her.

  "Miss Giller?" he asked.

  "Yes, how can I help you?"

  He gestured to the seat he'd been in and moved to another chair, waiting for her to sit down. "Miss Giller, I am certain that my name will mean nothing to you, but I was a friend of your dad's in college. He and I lost touch over the years, but I find myself in the precarious position of needing your assistance. Being as how you are Ev's little girl, I'm hoping you carry his heart and soul in yours."

  Before she could respond, he reached into the back pocket of his jeans and drew out several pieces of paper that had been folded together. He flattened the sheets on the table before pushing them in front of her.

  They were pages from her father's college yearbook. She remembered looking through it when she was much younger. It had always been strange to think of her dad as a college student and it fascinated her to see him from a different perspective. The first was a picture of her dad's fraternity. She shuffled to the next sheet and smiled at the photograph of her dad in a laboratory, wearing goggles and bent over a Bunsen burner. Another picture from the yearbook showed him stretched out on the lawn, leaning back on his elbows, grinning up at the photographer.

  Polly put the pages back on the table and looked at the man who was facing her. He could well be her father's age. He was slim and wiry, his tanned face lined by years of working outside. His fingers were long with very pronounced veins running across his hands and there was pain and weariness in his eyes.

  "Who are you?" she asked.

  The man reached across the table and pushed the pages apart, then pointed to a boy standing across the lab table from her father. "That's me, Curtis Locke." He pointed at the picture of the fraternity, touching the face of the same young boy who had slung his arm around her father's shoulder. "We were friends. He was my best friend back then."

  "I see," she said. "Why are you here today?"

  He took the pages back from her and ran his hand across the photograph in the laboratory, then folded them back up and clutched them. "I need your help. Not for me, but for my baby girl. Ev told me that if I ever needed anything, he'd be there. It looks like I'm too late to find him, but I hope you might be able to help me. I don't know where else to turn."

  Polly held his gaze until his eyes shifted back to the pages he held. "Tell me what it is that you need, Mr. Locke."

  "Call me Curt, please," he said. "No one calls me Mr. Locke unless they're giving me a paycheck. Do you believe that I knew your Dad?"

  "I don't understand why it took you so long to look for him." she asked.

  He sat back in the chair. "Your dad left college and started farming. My number got called up. Viet Nam. I didn't come back with all my marbles. I called your Dad one night, just to reconnect. He didn't mean anything by it, but when he told me what a great life he was living with his pretty wife and cute little baby girl, I didn't feel like I had the right to mess it up. And I would have messed it up. I ruined everything else in my life back then. I couldn't tell him how screwed up I was - he would have tried to rescue me. He didn't need my problems. So, I never called again."

  He was afraid she wouldn't believe him and it showed. Polly knew there were many heartbreaking stories about vets and the difficulty they had reintegrating into society, but had never come face to face with it. Eliseo tried to tell her that he might experience problems because of PTSD, but he'd conquered so much before she met him that he seemed m
ore like a superhero than a wounded vet.

  "What have you been doing for the last forty years?" she asked.

  "I've been in and out of jail and then I finally found a good reason to straighten up. I met a woman and you could say she helped me find my way. There was no use telling her no when it came to cleaning up my act. She wouldn't put up with it. I never figured out why she stuck, but we had four children. I haven't made an easy life for her or the kids. She's back in Colorado with our youngest. Our only girl, the second from the youngest, has disappeared. We finally found out she was in Iowa and the only person I knew here was your father. When I got to Story City, though, I found out that he had died."

  He sat forward and put his hand on the table, reaching out. Polly put her hand on top of his and he said, "I'm sorry for your loss, Miss Giller. Your father was a good, good man."

  "He really was," she said. "I wish you'd had an opportunity to know him again. But why do you think I can help you find your daughter?"

  Curt sat back again and seemed to fold in on himself. "I have no one else. She's nineteen and left on her own." When he looked up again, tears filled his eyes. "I'll take the blame. I wasn't home enough to tell her she was a good kid. The only thing we ever did was yell at her for screwing up. She was a normal teenager and we just couldn't let her be. I know that drove her away, Miss Giller, and now I have to make sure she's safe."

  "Do you know where she is or who she's with? Iowa is a pretty big state."

  He took another piece of paper from his wallet and handed it to Polly. "Her mother talked to one of Jessie's friends and got a name." He shook his head. "But how many Dennis Smiths are there? We don't know what he looks like or how old he is or what town he lives in. We don't even know if they're still here."

  "When did she leave home?" Polly asked.

  "She's been gone two months. We kept thinking she'd come home or call, but she left her cell phone at the house." He stopped. "I'm sorry. This is a lot to ask of you."