Elderberry Croft: The Complete Collection

by Becky Doughty

  “When he passed under the light on your bridge, I could see he had longish hair. Dark. Not like Jesus long. More like it’s been a while since he’s seen a barber. Like mine.” He shrugged. “But he didn’t turn around. I didn’t see his face.”

  Willow stood in her doorway, under the shadowy front porch, but he could see her nod, almost as though she’d expected to hear those words from him.

  “Do you have an idea who it might be?” he prompted. “Is it someone you know?”

  She just shook her head, and Eddie didn’t know what else to say, so he turned and walked away.

  This was one part of his job he didn’t like, all this emotional hoopla. Most of the time, folks at The Coach House Trailer Park just kept to themselves. Except for when they paid their space rentals, he only really mingled with the ladies if they needed something fixed or had issues with the property, like falling branches, or stray animals. Some of the tenants got together on Myra’s front porch in the evenings, playing poker for cigarettes and lottery tickets, and he’d stop in if there wasn’t a game on, but he just didn’t have what it took to feel comfortable around people on a regular basis.

  Oh, he didn’t mind sitting in his mom’s trailer over a meal of pot roast and potatoes, but then, she did all the talking, not expecting him to do more than grunt a few times in agreement with whatever she was yabbering on about. She really didn’t want his opinions, anyway. That’s what she had Donny for.

  Donny was the thinker. Donny was the philosopher. Donny was the lady’s man. Donny was the mama’s boy. Donny, Donny, Donny.

  Yeah, well, Donny couldn’t keep a job any longer than he could keep a girlfriend. Except for Sheena. For some reason, Sheena kept taking him back. Oh, she’d warn him. She’d threaten him within an inch of his life, but he always screwed up. And Sheena always kicked him out. Then he’d apologize, flash those girly eyes at her—no man should have eyes like Donny’s—and she’d take him back.

  There was a time when Eddie could have cared less, mainly because he knew Donny for what he was; a lazy, good-for-nothing, scoundrel. Because Eddie saw through his charm and good looks, he’d had no trouble resisting his kid brother when he asked for money, a job, beer, gas for his car, a place to stay. He hadn’t known Sheena from the Easter bunny, so if the girl wanted to play games with Donny, who was Eddie to step in and spoil their fun?

  Until the time Sheena came running to Eddie for advice and comfort, and Eddie discovered something about Donny he couldn’t say no to.

  Donny’s girl.

  Donny had never forgiven him, and Eddie couldn’t forgive Donny for being the one Sheena wanted. It made no difference to his heart that Sheena had always belonged to his brother, that Eddie was just the rebound guy. It didn’t matter that Sheena felt “alive and on fire” when she was with Donny. All that mattered to Eddie’s heart was the way she’d nestled against his side, and whispered that she’d never felt so safe and protected than she did when she was tucked under his wing.

  A few weeks ago, Donny moved back in with Mom. Again. Eddie tried not to think about what his brother must have done to Sheena to make her kick him out this time. Part of him wanted to call her, to make sure she was okay, to be there for her; but he knew better.

  “Mind your own Jim Beam, Eddie,” he muttered in a voice that sounded a lot like his father’s. “Stay out of the sty and you won’t smell like manure.” Except Eddie’s words weren’t slurred. And Jim Beam was just a figure of speech to him.

  Eddie had dated a few times. Once seriously, in fact. But then his stomach started acting up and he’d been diagnosed with the big C in his colon. The cancer had been obliterated with drugs, radiation, and a surgery that left him with a bag grafted to his abdomen, just below his belt line. He decided it was more than any woman should have to handle—the smell, the sight, the hassle, his potentially early death—and he broke it off with Leanne. Sadly, she’d seemed relieved when he did, confirming his decision. He’d lost a few pounds, then gained them all back again and more, but he’d kept his resolve to not saddle anyone else with his problems.

  He certainly hadn’t told Donny. And unless Leanne had spilled her guts, not even Mom knew how sick he’d been. But then, Mom didn’t really want to know about stuff like that. She didn’t want to consider the fact that Eddie might die before she did. She didn’t want to admit that her precious baby boy, Donny, was a loser. Nor did she want to believe that when Dad left a few years ago, it wasn’t a round trip.

  Chapter 2

  Kathy was completely unconcerned about the stranger, but not in a way that made him feel any better. She’d seen the man, but hadn’t given him much thought; at least not enough to bother mentioning him to Eddie. She’d been working in her yard one night when he came by, and they’d greeted each other pleasantly.

  “He didn’t act like he had anything to hide,” she said.

  “In the middle of the night? You didn’t think that was a little strange? Didn’t bother asking what he was doing here, walking around in the dark?” Eddie couldn’t understand this woman any better than he could Willow Goodhope, but for very different reasons.

  “I don’t keep track of the time, Eddie. You know that. It could have been ten o’clock in the morning, for all I know. I was up, why shouldn’t he be?” She hadn’t paid any more attention to him after he’d wished her a good evening. “I just assumed he was visiting someone back here and was taking a stroll around the neighborhood, or heading home. I saw nothing suspicious about him.”

  “Well, do me a favor. The next time you see him, please call me. He doesn’t belong back here, and we don’t need any trouble.”

  “Oh, I don’t—”

  “Just do it, Kathy. Please. He has no business being back here. None. Got it?”

  “Sure, sure. I just hope I don’t see him.” Kathy scooped up the cat that was tangling itself between her legs and turned without another word, her dogs following on her heels.

  “Women,” Eddie grumbled, as he hitched up his jeans and headed back across the bridge to his own place. Today, having dealt with a few too many of them and all their frustrating emotions, he was reminded again of why being single worked just fine for him.

  Sure, a warm body in his bed, a tender word to start the day, a feminine touch here and there in his trailer; none of that would be a problem. In fact, he’d be the first to admit he’d like those things, especially if it all came with someone who liked to make a good steak and egg burrito, and didn’t mind washing a few clothes. But the ups and downs of a woman’s mood, the unpredictability of their very nature; he just didn’t think he had it in him to take one on full time.

  Mounting the three steps of his little stoop, he paused when he heard his name. Turning, he saw Myra scurrying across the driveway toward him. Now what?

  “Have you heard anything about Shadowman?”

  He reached for the dulled knob on his door and gave it a good tug. “Who?” It stuck at the top corner—he’d been meaning to shave it down for months—and it came open suddenly in his hand, nearly knocking him off the top step. “What in tarnation are you talking about, Myra?”

  “Shadowman. The man in the shadows. That’s what we’re calling him.”

  “Good King Midas, Myra. Are you serious? You named him? He’s just a guy, not some evil super villain.”

  “Well, he’s obviously up to no good, sneaking around our homes in the dead of night. Have you called the police? I mean, this kind of thing could really affect my health, Eddie. My heart can’t take the stress, you know. My doctor says I could go at any time.”

  Eddie took a deep breath, then let it out very slowly, squinting his eyes as he looked past Myra to the front door of her trailer. How he wished he could just put his hands on her scrawny shoulders, turn her around, and send her marching right back across the drive. At least when she was standing on her own porch hollering at him in her scratchy voice, he could pretend not to understand what she was saying.

  “Look, Myra. Doc i
s keeping an eye out at that end of the park, and I’m—”

  “Doc? You expect Doc to catch him? Once Doc takes his sleeping pill, you couldn’t wake him up with a baseball bat! Ai-yi-yi, Eddie. We’re all going to be killed in our sleep!”

  “Myra. Myra!” He said her name twice before she clamped her mouth shut and stopped waving her hands in the air. They stared at each other a few moments, a standoff of sorts, then Myra harrumphed, spun on her heels, and went home. Eddie leaned forward and banged his forehead on the edge of his door a few times.

  Closing it behind him in relief, he thought about the varied reactions he’d been getting over this stranger in the park. In a way, he understood Myra and her amped-up fear. He didn’t like the uncertainty the guy stirred up around here, either. In a way, he understood Shelly’s calm concern, the woman who’d first reported seeing the man. He even understood Kathy’s reservations to get anyone in trouble. Eddie didn’t need the hassle that came with involving the police in the affairs of the park. This was his little kingdom, and he preferred to keep things to a dull roar around here.

  But why did the news make Willow Goodhope cry? It seemed such a strange reaction to him. Was it someone she knew, after all? And if so, why would she deny it?

  Inside his circa 1970s trailer, he dropped into the faux leather office chair at his Formica-topped desk. He’d had the chair for so long, it had conformed to the shape of his backside, but it was comfortable, and no one else sat in it, so there was no one to complain about it. Besides, it had a high backrest, fully padded, and for someone as tall as he was, being able to rest your head on the back of a chair was a luxury. Sliding out the single file drawer where he kept all the folders on tenants, he pulled Willow’s out and opened it on his desk. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, and he felt a little shady digging around in her business, but the more he thought about her reaction today, the more he thought he might be missing something.

  Her next-of-kin contact was her father who lived in a retirement facility the next town over. She had references from past jobs; a receptionist in a doctor’s office, a coffee barista, even a volunteer at a wildlife preserve where she’d been a field guide for student fieldtrips. Everything panned out. Nothing suspicious.

  So what was she crying about? Was it just one of those irrational fears women have, like being afraid of lizards or crickets? Eddie closed the file and leaned back in his chair, bringing his arms up and linking his fingers together behind his head. His eyes lingered on the tab of the file that read Space #12 on it, scribbled in blue ink, his penmanship barely legible. Why did women have to be so hard to figure out; and this one in particular?

  A tentative knock on his door startled him, and he sat forward quickly, his right knee banging into the open file drawer. “Dang it!”

  Hobbling to the door, he thrust a shoulder into it, expecting it to stick as usual.

  It didn’t.

  Eddie stumbled forward, the door swinging wide, bumping hard against the person on the other side. He watched in horror as Willow Goodhope’s arms flailed in circles, grasping for anything to keep from going backward down the three steps. Lunging for her, he grabbed the flap of her jacket just in time, and yanked her upright, bringing her hard up against him.

  She, in turn, latched on to his shoulders like he’d just hauled her out of a nest of baby rattlers.

  Eddie released his grip on her clothing and stood, stiff as a barn door, both hands spread out at his sides, desperate to shut out the immediate awareness of the woman leaning on him, and the fresh-cut wood smell of her hair rising up to taunt his senses.

  Chapter 3

  Women like Willow Goodhope didn’t lean on men like Eddie Banks. They hung on the arms of pretty boys like Brad Pitt. Women like Willow didn’t even go for guys like Donny; they knew better.

  She stepped away suddenly, as if realizing his thoughts, clenching and unclenching her fists in front of her.

  Eddie glared over her head at Myra’s front window where the curtain moved unnaturally, and muttered, “My fault. The door didn’t stick.”

  When she didn’t respond, he looked down at her, and saw the confusion on her face. What an idiot he must seem to her. “My door always sticks. I always have to shove on it. This time it didn’t stick.” Stop talking, man. “I didn’t mean to launch you off the porch.”

  She began to smile, then she covered her mouth with her hand. A moment later, a laugh burst out between her fingers, and Eddie took a step back, eyes widening. It wasn’t exactly a cackle, but the woman’s laugh sounded more like something that would come out of a truck driver, than a red-haired tree hugger.

  “Oh Eddie,” she gasped, when she’d caught her breath enough to speak. Her hair had come loose from the clip holding it all at the back of her head, and she reached up to sweep back a few wild curls from her face. She straightened her jacket. “I’m just glad you caught me. I don’t fall well, believe me. I rarely get seriously hurt, but I bruise like there’s no tomorrow, and with skin this pale, every color of the rainbow makes an appearance.”

  Eddie eyed her. He felt compelled to say something, anything, but for the life of his mother, he couldn’t think of a blasted thing.

  “Anyway, thank you,” she smiled, filling in for his lack of words. “Um, do you have a minute? Can I talk to you?”

  “Sure.” A direct question. That, he could handle. “Come on in.” He tipped his head toward the sofa that dwarfed his narrow living room.

  “Oh. Okay.”

  He sensed her hesitation, but not understanding it, he held his door open and waited for her to precede him inside. She entered, but stood just to one side of the entry, making him step around her. Her eyes darted around the room, and it finally occurred to him that she wasn’t comfortable being inside and alone with him.

  Of course not. He’d been inside her cottage a month after she moved in, fixing the leaky faucet in her kitchen, and nothing in his place could hold a candle to her antique furniture and fancy trinkets scattered strategically around the room. Somehow, she made the little shack at Space #12 look like the hideaway of some gypsy princess, the way she draped colorful fabric around the room and hung strings of lights everywhere. His brown room, with its brown furniture, and brown carpet, was foreign territory to someone like Willow Goodhope.

  With the toe of his boot, he flipped up the corner of the rubber welcome mat, lodging it against the open door. “What can I do for you?”

  She smiled gratefully, silently acknowledging his actions, and he watched as she took in the humble station in which he lived. “I need to talk to you about that man.”

  “All right.” He could tell she was struggling over what she wanted to say, but he made the decision not to care. If she was going to judge him based on his circumstances, then she was just more validation for his choices in the relationship department. Fickle woman.

  “I… I think I might know who he is.” She paused, and he said nothing, not quite willing to help her. She chewed on her bottom lip and gazed out the open door before continuing.

  “I think it might be my husband. My ex-husband. Or something like that.”

  If she’d said she thought the man was Santa Claus, he might have been less surprised. “Something like a husband? What does that mean? Are you married or not?”

  And blast it all, there she was, tearing up again. Eddie scrubbed his jaw with the palm of his hand. “Okay, look. It doesn’t matter to me, not really. All that matters is this: Do you want him here?”

  “N-n-no,” she stammered, her voice wavering.

  “Then that makes him a trespasser. If I run into him again, I’ll let him know he’s not welcome on the property. If he comes back after that, I’ll call the cops. They can be here right quick; the station is just up the road, maybe a mile.”

  “Oh, I don’t think you’ll have to go that far, Eddie. If it’s my—him, he won’t want the police involved.” She crossed her arms like a shield in front of her, stilling the tremble in her hands
by squeezing her upper arms. “I—I just thought you should know.”

  An unexpected urge flooded over him, something uncomfortably familiar to what he felt when he thought of Sheena. Eddie turned away, scoffing at his momentary sentiment; as though Willow would ever look to a guy like him for anything but fixing her toilet. He straightened the folders on his desk, tucking hers beneath the others, hoping she hadn’t already seen it. Where were these ridiculous protective notions coming from?

  “So, does that mean he’s not dangerous? Or that he’s so dangerous, he can’t afford to get the police involved?” His abrasive tone reflected his thoughts, and from the corner of his eyes, he saw her flinch at his questions.

  “He’s not dangerous,” she murmured, her eyes downcast, one booted foot twisting nervously. “If it’s him, he wouldn’t want the police involved for my sake.”

  Eddie cleared his throat. “You’re not making this any easier on me, Willow.” He leaned back against the edge of the desk, and pinned her with a dubious look. “What does that mean? Are you hiding from the police?”

  “No!” Willow’s eyes shot up to meet his, and she waved her hands frantically between them. “Oh no, it’s not like that at all. He just knows I don’t like drama in my life, and he would feel terrible if the police showed up on my doorstep because of him.”

  Eddie reached up to grab the bill of his cap before remembering he’d tossed it on the sofa when he came inside. He rubbed the back of his neck instead, his frown deepening. “Woman, you make no sense to me whatsoever. You stir up drama everywhere you go. The Davis’ haven’t stopped talking about that anniversary party you threw them. Kathy thinks you’re some kind of forest elf-girl. Joe introduced his wife to me last month, because you told him to man up. And now Shelly? She hasn’t set foot outside her house in years, at least not during the daylight hours, but yesterday,” he waved a hand toward his kitchen counter across the room. “She showed up with that basket of muffins, to thank me for looking out for all you ladies out back. She said you gave her the recipe.” He shook a thick finger at her. “You’re more excitement than this park has seen in all the years I’ve been working here, so don’t try to tell me you don’t like drama.”