“For its time, it was state of the art.”
To her left was a large dining room. The long table, high-backed chairs, and sideboard were covered with white dustcloths. A marble fireplace looked as if it hadn’t held a fire in decades, and the pale-yellow walls looked faded and drab.
To her right was a wide staircase with a square mahogany newel and long handrails with diamond-carved balusters that stretched to the second floor and turned out of sight. Beyond the stairs was a long hallway leading past dark wainscoting to a sitting room filled with more draped furniture and another cold, large marble hearth. Like the other rooms, the paintings had been stripped from the walls.
“The bedrooms are upstairs,” Hank said. “I ordered a service to clean out the bathroom attached to the pink room and to put clean sheets on the bed. It’s the largest room and belonged to the Buchanan wives.”
“You had confidence I’d stay?”
“No. But I’m always prepared.”
“That’s honestly refreshing.”
“The bathroom fixtures are old, but they’re in good working order. The kitchen is this way.”
She followed him down another hallway to a kitchen that looked as if it had been pulled from the 1910s. The countertops were marble and led to a porcelain farmhouse sink. From here, the view took in the expansive back property with reeds farther off skimming the edge of the bay. The white enamel stove had four burners and two separate oven compartments.
“Does the stove work?” she asked.
“It does. I recently had the gas lines checked.”
The only nod to more recent times was an olive-green refrigerator dating back to the eighties. In the center of the room was a large butcher-block island, and above it hung an iron rack sporting a collection of copper pots and pans.
“Mrs. Buchanan wasn’t a fan of renovations, was she?” she asked.
“According to my father, Mrs. Buchanan felt the kitchen was modern enough for her. She liked remembering the way things were.”
“Sad to think her best times were so far behind her.”
Lucy twisted the hot water faucet in the kitchen. The pipes rattled and shook but shot out clean, cold water, which finally turned hot.
“The heating system is fairly modern. It was installed in the mid-1990s and should keep you warm. If you have any problems, let me know.”
She ran her fingers over the fine grain of the wooden countertop, scratched with countless knife marks that could’ve dated back to the time the house was built. “Why did you call Beth with an offer for the house?”
“It’s not the house I want but the land. The water access is valuable, and this is a prime area for a new development that would complement the vineyard. We’d also like to expand Beacon Vineyard to the eastern side of the property where the soil is richer and more fertile. This house would be renovated eventually, but it’s not the priority.”
“I thought winemaking was a hobby for rich people.”
“I’m more interested in the jobs I’ll create for the town and my men.”
“Your men?”
“Men I served with in the marines. This land needs tending, the town needs to either grow or die, and my men are going to need projects when they separate from the service.”
“And all that would be easier if I’d not shown up to claim the land and simply accepted your offer.”
“Yes.”
“The town looked deserted when I pulled in, but I thought it was the off-season.”
“Even during the season, we’re barely getting by.”
“If you have so much to gain by me leaving, why are you being so helpful? You could make my stay here far more of a challenge.”
“I refuse to be deceptive. Honor still matters. And I’m betting you and your dog will cut and run in a week or two.”
A bright smile camouflaged her irritation over his quick judgment of her. “You underestimate how stubborn I can be.”
“I can outmatch you on that front anywhere and anytime.”
She could bluff with the best of them. “We shall see, won’t we? You said there are cars in the garage. My Jeep is going to be out of commission until I can pay for repairs. I’ll need one of them to go into town to talk to the garage people and buy groceries.”
“Right.” He crossed the kitchen to a pegboard sporting several sets of keys. “The two sets on the end are for the cars. One is to Mrs. Buchanan’s 1972 Dodge Charger, and the other is to an ’81 Chevy. Both are in good working order and are parked in the garage on the other side of the washed-out driveway.”
“What are the other three sets of keys for?”
“Good question. I found them in the boathouse when I went to collect the cars. I still haven’t figured that out.”
“Does your father know about the keys?”
“He and my mother are on vacation and won’t be back until tomorrow. I didn’t see the rush, so I didn’t disturb them.”
“Makes sense. Thank you for all your help, Hank. If you don’t mind, I’d like to explore the house. If the ghosts, rusty pipes, and isolation don’t send me running back to Nashville, I’m sure I’ll see you in town.”
“I’ll drop by the house in the morning with the road crews. It’s going to be early. We’ve got to get the driveway repaired before the weather gets worse.”
“Are we talking ‘crack of dawn’ early?”
“Eight a.m.”
In her bartending days, 11:00 a.m. had been the crack of dawn, but since Beth’s illness, she’d learned to be an early riser. “I’ll be ready. I’d like to see what you’re doing.”
“You don’t need to be on-site.”
“Sure I do. This is my place, at least for now.”
He frowned. “Sure.”
As she walked him to the door, she asked, “Do I have any neighbors?”
“Brian Willard and his daughter, Natasha, live about two miles north of here. Don’t expect him to be neighborly. He’s back in jail after a drunk and disorderly.”
She’d dealt with her share of drunks. “Good to know.”
He gave her his card. “Call me if you need anything. My cell is on the back.”
She flicked the edge of the white linen card with the tip of her finger. “I will.”
She watched as he strode toward his truck. He moved with the straight-backed posture of a man who knew what he wanted. Lucky him. She didn’t have a damn clue. Her breath released on a heavy sigh, and she closed the door.
As she walked to the windows, Dolly followed beside her. She rubbed the dog’s head and stared at the churning waters of the bay. “There’s got to be something to really love about this place.”
The dog barked.
“Yeah, I know. You get to run around and play in the reeds and chase ducks. I get to live in a big creepy box that is possibly haunted.” She ran her hands through her hair. “But on the bright side, it’s my big creepy box, and there’s something to be said for that.”
The wind rustled outside, and somewhere deep in the house, she imagined the creak of footsteps. But this house promised her an address that no one could take away, and the town was the key to answering all the questions she’d had about her family. She’d never known any kind of permanence, and it both excited and terrified her.
The house groaned softly. Dolly’s ears perked. “Please, house, no ghosts today. Or serial killers.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Lucy
January 15, 2018
Lucy, with her mother’s urn in hand, climbed the stairs as Dolly bounded ahead, her tail wagging and ears perked as she sniffed a corner. At the top of the stairs Lucy flipped the small black switch, and an overhead bulb splashed out a ring of faint light big enough to reveal six doors that fed into the second-floor hallway. There were three doors on the left and three on the right. The first room was a bedroom furnished with two twin beds and a dresser. All the furniture was covered in sheets, and the walls were painted a robin’s-egg blue.
�
�Door number one is not the one we want.”
The next room came with a double bed, though by today’s standards it looked small and cramped. The walls were painted yellow. Hank had said the pink room.
Lucy moved down the hallway to the next set of rooms. Both were painted in blues, and the furniture was missing. The radiators were cold and the floors dusty. The last room on the right was painted pink. The clean scent of fresh linens wafted through the room, and the dresser and floors were freshly polished.
“Home sweet home, Dolly.” The dog all but galloped, her toenails clicking on the wooden floors as she sniffed around a queen-size bed.
Since Lucy had moved in with her mother, she and the dog had grown accustomed to sleeping together on the pull-out sofa. Quality of sleep had been spotty at best, and she was looking forward to sleeping on a real bed without paws digging into her spine.
Lucy set the urn on the dresser, took off her backpack, and sat on the edge of the bed. The springs creaked a little, but the mattress felt soft, and the sheets smelled fresh. “Dolly, the plan today is to stock up on groceries and check out the town.”
Dolly jumped up on the bed and immediately began kneading at the pink coverlet. She kept going until the covers were just right and then, satisfied with her work, sat down.
Lucy moved to the closet and opened the door. She found the extra sheets, towels, and blankets Hank had mentioned.
She stepped into the adjoining bathroom, which was covered in pink square tiles on the walls and white geometric ones on the floor. In the center of it all was a large white porcelain claw-foot tub with crystal hot and cold water knobs. To her right was a pedestal sink, and across from it, a toilet with a suspended tank mounted to the wall above the white bowl.
On the sink rested a zip-top bag filled with soaps and shampoos. She opened one of the shampoo bottles and smelled it. Jasmine. “Hank’s always prepared.”
She turned on the water. The pipes rattled to an awkward beat that reminded her of a one-room apartment she and Beth had shared in East Nashville for six months. There was no flushing the toilet in that place when anyone was showering, or you risked being scalded. The water trickled and then flowed out cold. It took another minute before the water warmed. As a test, she flushed the toilet. The water didn’t scald. Progress.
She glanced into the mirror above the sink. The silvering was fading around the edges, but there was enough left to reflect limp blonde hair streaked blue, hollow cheeks, and mascara under her eyes like a raccoon. “Hank must think I’m a real piece of work.”
Dolly barked, and Lucy turned to see the dog rubbing her back against the bed with paws in the air and tongue hanging out. At least one of them felt at home.
When she’d left Nashville two days ago, this journey had been no more than a promise to Beth and an itch to know more about her family. Once both were addressed, she knew herself well enough to realize that she’d grow restless. Permanent home be damned, she should simply take Hank’s money and move on.
Hank
Hank pushed through the front door of Arlene’s and sat at the counter on the second seat from the right, the one he always chose. He didn’t have to wait long before Arlene appeared and set an unsweetened iced tea before him.
“I saw you coming and put your burger on the griddle,” she said. “Medium well, no onions, and extra mustard. Just like always.”
“Thanks, Arlene.”
It was noon, and the place was half-full, better than most days in the off-season. He drank the tea and opened his file. He wanted to dig into the loan documents.
Instead of leaving him to his tea and thoughts, Arlene wiped the already spotless counter in front of him. When he didn’t speak, she shifted to polishing the napkin holder, salt and pepper shakers, and the artificial sweetener and sugar container. At the rate she was going, the stainless veneer would wear out, and her gaze would burn a hole in his head.
“Out with it, Arlene.” Hank met her gaze and waited.
Arlene had the stones to look a bit surprised, as if she didn’t know what he was referring to.
She shrugged and leaned in a fraction, though Hank didn’t know why because everyone in town knew his business. “So what did she say? Half the town came in for breakfast this morning and asked about her. I should thank her for drumming up the off-season business.”
“I’m not following.”
She tossed her rag on the counter. “Don’t play stupid with me, Hank Garrison. Is Lucy Kincaid staying at Winter Cottage?”
He traced his finger through the condensation on the side of the glass. “She is for now.”
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know.”
Arlene cocked a finely plucked brow. “If you had to bet?”
“I don’t bet.”
She grunted. “You’re about to take the biggest bet of your life. How much do you have riding on that project of yours? And like it or not, your fortunes are tied up with that girl.”
“Judging by the blue hair and cowboy boots, I’d say she’s gone inside a week.”
Arlene shook her head as she laid out a napkin for him with a fork and spoon on it. “What did she think of the house?”
“Overwhelmed. Just like everyone else who sees it for the first time.”
“Did you offer her the go-away money?”
He closed the file and folded his hands over it. “Arlene, what are you talking about?”
“I overheard you and Rick talking. That’s what he called it when you two were talking last week. ‘Go-away money.’”
Rick Markham and Hank had served together in the marines, and Rick had taken the job as town sheriff six months ago. He’d said he was here to back up Hank, but Hank didn’t believe that bullshit. Rick had his own agenda that just so happened to work well with Hank’s.
“The property should be yours. Why she left all that land to Beth Jessup’s kid is beyond me.”
“Arlene, weren’t you and Beth good friends?”
“We were. Good Lord, did we get into trouble. We cheered together until she turned those chickens loose at the homecoming football field.” A smile tugged at the edges of her lips even as her eyes watered. “And if I’d known she was sick, I’d have driven to Nashville.”
Dishes crashed in the kitchen, sending ripples of tension through Hank as he looked ready to come off the seat and fight.
“Damn. I can’t afford too many more dishes,” Arlene said as she wiped away a tear. “Natasha! What’s going on back there?”
Seconds later a girl peeked out from the saloon doors leading to the kitchen. Natasha Willard was twelve years old. Her curly dark hair was pulled into a tight ponytail that didn’t quite contain the soft wisps that framed wary brown eyes, a button nose, and mocha skin.
The girl tipped her chin up. She was grinning, but that was what the kid did when she was scared. Lately, she’d been smiling too damn much. “Some dishes fell.”
“Yeah, baby, I got that,” Arlene said. “How many?”
The girl looked back between the swinging doors. “Six, or maybe ten.”
“All right.” Arlene’s calm voice sounded strained at the edges. “Don’t clean it up. I don’t need you cutting your hands. I’ll get to it in a second.”
“What should I do?”
“Just wash those potatoes for me.”
“You want me to cut them up after they’re clean?”
“No, baby, don’t mess with the knife. I’ll be right there.”
The girl waved to Hank. “How’s it going, Hank?”
“Good. Why aren’t you in school?”
“It’s a holiday. Teacher workshop or something.”
“So you don’t mind if I call to check?”
“Nope.” The girl vanished back into the kitchen.
Hank sipped his coffee. “Isn’t it against child labor laws to employ twelve-year-olds?”
“She came by after the early dismissal, asking if I had work. I fed her a big lunch, wh
ich she gobbled up like she was half-starved. She insisted on working to help me out, so I put her to washing dishes. I think maybe we’ll stick to the potatoes.”
“She’s supposed to go to Brenda’s when Brian’s in jail.”
“She swears she is staying at her neighbor Brenda’s house like you told her to, but you know how busy Brenda is with her own six kids.”
“This can’t keep up.”
“Brian swore to the judge he’d take better care of her, but already he’s screwing things up.”
“You see any bruises on the girl?” Hank asked quietly.
“No. And I was looking.”
When Brian had regained custody of Natasha, Hank had been clear that if he saw one mark on the kid, one mark, he’d deal directly with Brian. So far, the not-so-veiled threat had kept the girl safe, but he wasn’t naive enough to believe it was the permanent fix the girl desperately needed. Brian had already done two stints in jail for fighting and assault. This was number three.
“When Grace was alive, she always had an excuse for the bruises on her arms and legs,” Arlene said.
A bell dinged behind Arlene, and she retrieved his burger and fries and set the plate in front of him. He reached for a fry. “I’ll take care of it.”
“And did I mention that Lucy looks just like her mama? I tried to play it cool when she came through the front door, but my word, you could have knocked me over with a feather. I thought it was Beth. I don’t want to like her, but I do.”
Lucy projected an air of calm, like a duck gliding on water, but he suspected that under the surface she was paddling as fast as she could.
Hank still didn’t know what to make of Lucy. Maybe if Lucy had been dramatic or difficult, he’d have found a reason not to like her and summoned the resolve to see her gone. What Hank hadn’t expected was the one-two punch to the gut when he’d seen her standing by the tall windows of the cottage as she’d looked out over the bay. Her directness and matter-of-fact mannerisms had fired up a sense of guilt he’d not expected. Cape Hudson was her only source of any potential family, but his success depended on her turning her back on it all.
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