One Millhaven Lane

by Bliss Addison

  "Where are you going?" He caught up to her.

  "To my bedroom."

  "Huh?"

  "Put it back in your trousers, buster," she said, winking. "I need to pack a few things."

  He followed behind her and waited in the bedroom doorway while she threw clothes and toiletries in a dark red carry-all.

  "That's it," she said.

  He took the luggage from her hand.

  She put her finger on the light switch and turned to him.

  Something wasn't right. Nate saw it in her face. "What is it?"

  "The bed."

  He looked at the queen size bed, the brass headboard and the quilt and didn't see anything amiss. "What about it?"

  "I always put the pillows against the headboard and the shams in front of them."

  "Do you remember doing that?"

  She shook her head. "I could have, though. I was upset when I left, and my mind was somewhere else." She laughed. "You must think I'm silly."

  He hugged her. "I would never think that."

  "We should start back," she said.

  He eyed the bed, thought about it for a moment, but fought his desire.

  Asia looked worn out and the safest place for her was back in the Grove where his friends and fellow police officers would stand together to protect her.

  ***

  Three days later, eleven days after the assault on Asia, Nate stood in the center of the squad room, issuing instructions on the day's agenda.

  "Sean-Michael, I want you to check out Benson's old barn."

  "Bobby wouldn't be hiding there. The place will fall down around his ears. He's too smart for that."

  "Smart enough all right to hide where we'll think he wouldn't. We need to focus on those places and revisit the ones we've already explored." Nate looked at Dave Nichols who sat on the corner of his desk. "Hot Shot, go around to the farms on St. Anne and ask them if you could check their fruit cellars and other out-buildings. If they're not cooperative, don't force the issue. We don't have search warrants and for the time being, we're not interested in stills, illegal hooch or weed gardens."

  Sean-Michael interrupted. "I'm guessing you're not referring to dandelions."

  "You guessed right."

  "If we see something, can we go back later with a warrant?"

  "Of course." There wouldn't be any warrants served. Nate had called ahead to ensure the cooperation of a few of the farmers. Jack Riggs grew medicinal marijuana to ease back pain after a farming accident. From time to time, a few joints changed hands, but never money. He accepted donations of food, though. Harley Dodge allegedly operated a still. No one's ever discovered its location, but ol' Harley ribbed the police about it being somewhere on his ten acres of farmland, they could come by anytime to check, if they liked. On the unlikely chance one of them slipped up and left something for the police to see, it wouldn't remain there for long.

  "Any questions?" Nate asked.

  Sean-Michael and Dave shook their heads.

  "Proceed with caution. Bobby's lethal. Do not attempt to apprehend. If you see anything unusual, something that shouldn't be where it is, do not investigate. Call me or the Chief. Got that?"

  The door opened and in walked seventy-seven-year-old former police chief Chet Harris.

  "Chief," Nate said with a nod. Chet was big on formality and low on cordiality. These days a cell phone took the place of his six-shooter, riding low on his hip.

  "Deputy." Chet tipped his Stetson in Nate's direction.

  Chet was also lax on personal hygiene. Nate caught a whiff of him as Chet approached the counter.

  "What can we do for you today?" Nate asked, like he didn't know.

  "You got that reversed, sonny. It's what I can do for you."

  Nate had wondered when the old geezer would show. Chet never missed a chance to tout his law enforcement prowess or an opportunity to upstage Carter. There was no love lost between those two.

  Sean-Michael and Dave shot by Nate like a bullet train, probably afraid he would hook Chet on either of their detail.

  Nate decided to follow their lead. "You'd be wanting to speak to the Chief then."

  Chet let himself inside the squad room. "I know the way."

  Nate watched the ex-chief mosey through the hallway, favoring his arthritic hip.

  The telephone rang.

  Nate signaled to Stacey that he'd pick up the call. "Good morning, Grove Police Department," he said into the telephone receiver.

  "You son-of-a-gun," Carter said. "I'll get you for that."

  Nate laughed. "Beer's on me tonight at the Drunken Dragon."

  "I got this feeling I'm going to be mighty thirsty tonight."

  "Duly noted." Nate hung up and grabbed his hat from the coat rack.

  "I'll be back in an hour," he said to Stacey and walked out of the station and to his truck.

  At the limit of his endurance, Nate needed some down time. What sleep he managed since Asia's assault came riddled with nightmares of her death. He only had to close his eyes for visions of Bobby plunging a switchblade into her heart to surface in his mind. He'd jerk awake, then realize her death wasn't real. Relief would wash over him, but the distressing memory would taunt his thoughts hours after.

  Asia's patience was being tested as well, and being forced into protection was difficult on her. She didn't feel at home in the Grove, not anymore. The house where she'd been raised brought up happy memories, but also saddened her. She worried about her shop and though her friends kept in close contact by phone, she missed them. She missed everything about her way of life — the café around the corner from Aphrodite where she picked up her morning coffee and croissant; the lunch crowd at the book store; shopping; and the tellers at her bank — which caused him to wonder whether Asia would be able to keep her promise to him about their living arrangements. He couldn't blame her. She'd want to and if he forced the issue, she'd end up resenting him. And that wouldn't take their relationship anywhere good.

  He was back to his normal schedule, but there wasn't anything normal about the routine.

  He'd vowed to protect and serve, but never expected that he'd be protecting Asia from her brother.

  Nate would give his life for her. He hoped it wouldn't come to that. He'd already missed out on too much time with her as it was. Fate wouldn't be so cruel as to rob him of a future with the woman he loved heart and soul.

  Waiting for Bobby to make a move wore on them all. If Bobby weren't a drug addict, Nate would think it was strategy to wear them down, wait them out, let them lapse into a false sense of security, then when they least expected, he'd attack. That would be the reasoning of a stable person. Bobby was anything but.

  Asia had made it clear to him years ago she wanted nothing to do with him.

  Now, he was back, taking what wasn't his to take. Some things never changed.

  Asia tried to hide her anxiety, but Nate saw through the pretense. If Bobby didn't make a move soon, Nate would approach the Chief about setting up a sting to coax the bastard out from hiding.

  Chapter Nine

  Asia and Nate had tired of frozen dinners and take-out. She woke that morning with visions of a home-cooked meal and hoped to surprise Nate with a pot roast dinner and an apple pie.

  She didn't do much cooking in Boston, but here in the Grove, she craved home cooking. It seemed proper she did. Her mother had been a terrific cook and taught Asia well. Hopefully, she hadn't lost her touch.

  She was thankful to be behind the wheel of her car and driving again. Nate's four-by-four was comfortable enough for a truck, but she was more relaxed in her Mustang. After Nate installed the snow tires and put weight in the trunk, he declared her car fit for winter roads. She supposed that when he made her car winter road worthy he hadn't foreseen she'd set off on her own. He should have known better.

  This was her first venture into town alone. Nate would be vexed she did, but he needed to understand he couldn't expect her to sit doing nothing day after day or nee
d an escort everywhere she went.

  Front Street, the Grove's main road, was tree-lined and narrower than usual after the recent snowfall. The closest parking place was two buildings down from Jewel's Bakery, Asia's first stop. She pulled as close as possible against the snow bank without scraping her car.

  Asia had swapped her ultra-suede jacket, designer jeans and calfskin boots for a parka, cords and mukluks, sure she'd fit back in.

  Anyone who'd left the Grove and returned for visits were never able to overcome the stigma of 'too-good-for-us-now-country-folk' wit.

  She walked into the bakery, not with the poise and confidence of a successful businesswoman but with the pride of a Grover, as they referred to themselves. Years had passed since she'd been inside the bakery, yet nothing had changed. Red-checkered curtains hung from the two plate glass windows on either side of the door. White and black tiles covered the floor. At the counter where cakes, cookies and pies were showcased, the smell of baking bread watered her mouth. No baker came close to Jewel. Asia would know, having sampled every bakery in the greater Boston area.

  Thinking she'd pick up a loaf of bread and pan rolls as well, she rang the bell for service.

  "Be right with ya," a woman said from behind the swinging door.

  Asia didn't recognize the voice. One thing for certain was that it didn't belong to Jewel, whose booming voice could silence obnoxious crows.

  The door swung open and out bounced a gum-chewing adolescent.

  "What can I help you with today?" she asked, adjusting the net covering her raven hair.

  Asia couldn't place the teen, but that shouldn't come as a surprise. Her visits to the Grove were spent entirely with her mother. Fearful she'd meet Nate, they never ventured from the house. She realized now how ridiculous that had been. How often had her mother suggested she confront her demons. It worked out, though. She and Nate ended up together.

  On the one hand, she begrudged the time they'd missed, but on the other, the last eighteen years hadn't been a loss, either. She'd met a lot of people, many of whom became her friends. She'd also accomplished a lot. Life had been good to her. She couldn't disagree and now, with Nate back at her side, she had everything a woman could want.

  "I'd like an apple pie and if there's any of that bread ready to be bagged, I'll have a loaf and a dozen pan rolls, also."

  "I'll check with Gram, but I'm pretty sure there's some cool enough now."

  Asia couldn't believe her ears. "You're Jewel's granddaughter?"

  "Yes." The teen pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and studied Asia through narrowed eyes, obviously attempting to place her.

  Asia saw the resemblance now. "My God, you were just a baby when I left the Grove." She watched the teen's eyes grow large, like she finally put the puzzle piece in place, but before she could say anything, Asia introduced herself.

  "And you are?"

  "Miranda," she said, her high-wattage smile brightening the bakery.

  Asia recalled the story behind Jewel's granddaughter. Her only son had impregnated homecoming queen Leslie-Lou Glennie. Jewel had taken in the child when neither Leslie-Lou or her parents wanted anything to do with her.

  "Shouldn't you be in school?" Asia asked, immediately regretting her curiosity. She apologized. "I'm sorry. It's none of my business."

  "It's okay. Around here everyone knows each other's business. To answer your question, I'm a freshman at Tufts. I'm home for Christmas break."

  Asia managed to hide her surprise and before she could ask any questions, Jewel burst through the swinging door. Asia knew the moment Jewel recognized her. Her face broke into a hearty smile.

  "Well, hello there. Been wondering when you were going to pay a visit," Jewel said.

  "Mea culpa," Asia said, smiling.

  "Been rather busy trying not to get killed, I'd wager. Bobby. Who knew?" Subtlety had never been Jewel's forté.

  "Yeah, who knew," Asia said, taking no insult. She'd always known Bobby didn't fire on all cylinders. So did everyone in the Grove. Murder, though? She doubted anyone had seen that coming.

  "We've got your back, dear," Jewel said. "Don't you worry none." She reached across the counter and patted Asia's hand.

  "Thanks. That's good to know." Asia felt better already.

  "Now, did I hear something about a loaf of bread and pan rolls?"

  Five minutes later, Asia headed from the bakery, her arms laden with breads and pastries. She made it to the car without dropping any of her packages. At the driver's door, a stylishly dressed forty-ish woman caught Asia's attention. She seemed familiar. A second passed before she put a name to the face. She ducked in her car and hurriedly placed her bundles on the passenger seat, then bobbed back out.

  "Hello, Brittany," she said sternly. Asia had always been afraid of what she might do if she came face to face with her, the woman responsible for tearing Nate and her apart. Now that Asia was, she didn’t feel anything for the troublemaker.

  Brittany stopped abruptly and turned to look at her. "Asia."

  Asia had expected her to feign recognizing her. If Asia were feeling obliging, she'd give the woman kudos. Instead, she wondered how Brittany caught the eye of any man. Her haughty attitude, up-turned nose, thin lips and humorless eyes should turn anyone away.

  "How're you doing?" Asia asked all sweetness.

  "Not as good as you, apparently. He finally won you over, huh?"

  "This time it's forever."

  "If you say so." Brittany chuckled, an eerie sound that chilled Asia's heart. "Tell me, Asia, whose shoulder do you think he cried on when you skipped off to Boston? Who kept him warm on those cold winter nights after you turned your back on him?"

  "Nate saw you for what you are, Brittany. He didn't want anything to do with you."

  Brittany lifted her eyebrows. "Are you sure about that?"

  ***

  Asia threw vegetables over the roast in the crock-pot and set the timer all the while Brittany's question rang in her head — Are you sure about that?

  Of course, she was sure. Nate would never have bedded Brittany. She wasn't his type.

  Over the past several days, they'd spent a lot of time talking, touching on every subject. They'd become so well acquainted it was as though they'd never been apart. If Nate had slept with Brittany, he'd have told her.

  Asia pruned her face and mocked Brittany's snooty manner. Cocky witch. She should have lobbed a snowball at her. Too late now. She missed her chance, but they’d probably run into each other again.

  Brittany had made the Grove her home. After graduating high school, she furthered her education and attended Boston University. From there, she returned to the Grove without a husband or any prospect of one and a marketing degree. She secured a position at Southern Co-operative. After completing the six-month initiation in four, she vaulted up the ranks of banking and secured the bank manager's position after Hank Jessop retired, a position she still held today. Asia didn't do business with the Co-operative. If she had, she would have taken her business elsewhere, not that she banked in the Grove.

  Now that she would frequent her hometown on a weekly basis, Asia thought about doing something about Brittany. It wasn't that she threatened her physical or mental well-being or was an obstacle to her in any way. Brittany was more like an ant at a picnic, pesky but tolerable.

  Still, after all these years, the woman could get a rise out of her for something that happened years and years ago. She thought she'd gotten past it, but maybe she hadn't. Some hurt and anger took up permanent residence in our hearts, sometimes without us even knowing.

  The grandfather clock in the hallway chimed one o'clock.

  Satisfied the slow cooker would cook their meal, Asia grabbed her coat off the peg in the front hallway and peeked through the window in the door.

  She couldn't see anyone and rushed from the house.

  That morning Asia had learned from Oswald of Ozzie's Meats that spinster Henrietta Hornecastle experienced trouble recovering
from knee replacement surgery. The woman had no one and needed help with daily exercises and meals, but her pride refused to accept assistance from anyone willing to lend a hand.

  Asia had some experience dealing with little old cantankerous ladies and decided to pay a visit on the woman.

  Henrietta lived five houses down Millhaven Lane. Asia didn't bother with her car. She walked at a brisk pace and with a firm purpose, her breath forming a white cloud before her face. As Nate had instructed, she kept a fervent watch of her surroundings, particularly at her back. On her belt, she carried a cell phone, a walkie-talkie and a can of wasp spray, which Nate assured her was more effective than pepper spray. It sprayed farther, for one thing. She was certain Bobby wouldn't make a move on her again in daylight, especially now that his presence had been compromised and his identity revealed.

  She arrived at Henrietta's and rang the bell, turning to look behind her. The street and the houses on the opposite side were quiet. She turned back when Henrietta yelled from inside the house.

  "Go away. I have two of whatever you're selling."

  "Henrietta, it's Asia McDevitt. I'm here to help you with your exercises." Last night, she'd researched post surgery regimens for knee replacement recipients. She missed nursing and looked forward to applying her skills.

  "I told you to leave. Don't you understand English?"

  "Say what you want, Henrietta, but I'm not leaving until I've done what I came to do."

  "I'm calling the police."

  "Go ahead, but I'm still not leaving. Just so you know, I have an in with the police department. May I come inside?"

  "Go away."

  Henrietta was still as sour as a lemon.

  Asia turned the knob, not surprised to find the door unlocked. She peeked in and yelled, "Here I come. Get decent."

  Henrietta didn't holler or shout obscenities, like Asia expected.

  Asia didn't need a blueprint to learn her way around Henrietta's. With a few exceptions, the houses on Millhaven Lane were all two-story three-bedroom homes and basically laid out the same. At one time or another, she'd been in all the houses on the street, with the exception of this one. With good reason. Henrietta Hornecastle was not a pleasant woman. Strange, considering she chose teaching as a profession.