by Unknown
As Sarah’s sole beneficiary, she’d inherited it all.
She didn’t want any of it.
Steadying herself with another deep breath, she forced her focus back to matters at hand. Using the 20
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name and address on the sign, she’d located the real estate agent responsible for the property.
From the comfort of his office, the agent gave her the specifics about the Victorian on Shady Lane.
He even offered to take her on a walk through. She declined the tour, assuring the man she’d take it as it stood. The agent stared at her as if she’d lost her mind, but he accepted her check all the same. Even she had to acknowledge the precariousness of her sanity was a distinct possibility, but she bought the place nonetheless, sight unseen, and so far she had no regrets.
So far so good.
She didn’t waste any time returning to the house. Now, standing here, in the bright light of day, she could already imagine herself, a strong cup of steaming herbal tea in hand, reclining in an old wicker rocker just like Joe’s, enjoying the sunset from her own front porch. Maybe she’d get a cat, or a dog. Or both. She’d always loved animals but never had a pet of her own—never had the time for one.
She’d never made the time. Well, that would all change. This was a new start for her, a second chance to do things right. Something she both wanted and needed with a desperation bordering on obsessive.
JJ glanced over the front porch one more time with a delighted sigh. This was all hers, every warped board and paint chip, every weathered turret and aging gable. Well, hers as soon as the final paperwork went through. Until then, for all intents and purposes, she was renting the space. The legalities didn’t matter to her. She was here, and she was determined to make a go of it this time. Nothing would stand in her way. Not the nightmares. Not the anxiety attacks.
Not her.
A solid, warm sense of belonging filled her as 21
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she ground the old key inside the rusted lock. The mechanism grated, scraped, resisted for a moment, and yielded with a reluctant clack. Every crumbling scratch thrilled her to the very marrow of her bones.
Welcome home, JJ.
Home. Something she’d not allowed herself to have in the many long months following her sister’s death. Shaking her head, she thrust those unsettling thoughts aside, determined to leave them in the past. Where they belonged. Setting her shoulder against the door, she shifted her weight. The screeching hinges gave at last. Drawing a deep lungful of musty air, she stepped over the threshold into a long hallway running the length of the house.
A staircase with an intricate, carved banister climbed up one wall. Doublewide pocket doors opened to her immediate left and a wide-open archway yawned to her right, giving her a glimpse of the rooms beyond. Aged, faded wallpaper curled at the edges in every room. The floor stretching throughout the house looked to be hardwood, mahogany perhaps, though it was difficult to tell beneath the thick layer of dust and grime.
Odd shapes huddled beneath dust cloth in the parlor on her right, ghosts biding their time, waiting to rise up and frighten the unsuspecting intruder.
Overhead, a small, tarnished chandelier offered the promise of illumination beneath its thick coating of dusty cobwebs.
In the room to her left, centered along the middle of the north wall, slumbered an over-large, decorative fireplace. The mantle and grate were bare but for a coat of grime, waiting for knick-knacks and dust catchers and a pile of wood to warm the room.
The very idea of wanting dust catchers, while so much dust already surrounded her, brought a surge of laughter to her lips. But want them she did.
Shaking her head, she wandered toward the back of 22
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the house, past a large, empty dining room. Stopping in the next doorway, she stared in awe.
The kitchen was enormous, easily occupying a majority of the rear of the house. It was her idea of heaven, with endless miles of countertop and acres of space. The appliances were hopelessly outdated.
The linoleum was worn and dull. The paint on the walls and cabinets had faded with time, chips and gouges speckled the washed out colors from years of wear.
The room, as a whole, looked as if it, too, had fallen into a nineteen-fifty’s time warp. Charmed silly, she stepped inside the room and tumbled deeper in love with the place. It reminded her of her grandmother’s farmhouse, and she could almost smell the pot roast and fresh bread baking. A quick survey of the cupboards revealed a lifetime clutter of mismatched pots and pans, dishes and glasses. To her complete delight, a dented enamel teakettle rested on the rear burner of an ancient gas stove, just waiting for the chance to whistle one more time.
Pleased with what she’d found so far, she finished her tour through the rest of the house, including the second floor where she discovered three spacious bedrooms and another door leading up to a finished attic. A quick swipe of the windows with the tail of her shirt convinced her this room would be the perfect spot for her studio. She’d put her easel here, near the wide, east-facing windows.
The morning light would be exceptional. She pivoted toward the far wall.
That space, just there, would serve as storage for her canvases, and the long folding table across the way would work well enough for framing. She could set up another work surface close to the easel for her paints. Though the thought of hauling all the necessary supplies and equipment up two flights of stairs was daunting, everything about the attic 23
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called to her, promising endless days of losing herself in the pleasures and depths of colors.
Rubbing her palms on the hips of her faded jeans, she thumped her way down one flight of stairs, then the other. JJ made short work of hauling her bags in from the trunk and switched the rusty lock back into place behind her before heading back to Main Street.
In short order, she’d made arrangements for the delivery of a long list of groceries and cleaning supplies for her new home. The store’s owner, a robust older woman who reminded JJ portentously of Harriet Olson from Little House on the Prairie, took down the order herself and promised personal delivery by five o’clock. She’d visited the Post Office and opened a box, though she didn’t expect to receive much more than junk mail and bills. Even that was a welcome foray into normalcy, a symbolic statement of permanency giving her tremors of both fear and excitement.
The postmaster, the very same man she’d seen coming out of Maggie’s that morning, was exceptionally helpful, if a trite obvious. He’d introduced himself as James Henner. With dark good looks, a charismatic smile, and an athletic build, he looked as if he’d be more at home on a football field than manning a postal counter. As he spoke to her, he twisted just right—a practiced motion if ever she’d seen one—flexing an arm while he reached for something behind the counter. The bulge of muscle commanded the eye. The sly grin he shot her brought a flush of heat to her cheeks.
Were stares like that legal? Probably not without a special permit in most states.
She amended her mental picture, dropping him square into a triple-x rated movie. Mortified at her shocking line of thought, she offered him a wan smile and edged a little closer to the exit. Her skin 24
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tingled again…but this was no pleasant sensation like those startling green eyes at the diner had provoked. This man’s leer was a little too knowing for her piece of mind.
Seemingly oblivious of her uncomfortable retreat, he kept right on talking, pointing her in the right direction should she need any assistance with competent lawn maintenance, electrical work, or plumbing. Jim—he’d insisted she call him—was all too happy to recommend a general all around handyman by the name of Cam something-or-other.
By that point, all the names he’d thrown at her had begun to blend into an unwieldy mess, and so she just smiled and nodded, relegating the name to the back of her mind along with all the others.
Then, Jim lea
ned an elbow on the counter, offered her a loaded wink, and let her know he was on the town council, and, should she have any concerns, she was more than welcome to bring them straight to him. Day or night, he insisted with emphatic resolve, anytime.
Of course, the way he emphasized the last word made her wonder what other services he was offering besides his stint as the local yellow pages director and gossip coordinator. By then the walls had begun to close in on her. Jim was just a little too obvious in his interest, his smile grew more unsettling by the second. She’d back-pedaled out the door with all due haste, vigilant to hide her alarm behind an impersonal smile.
Shaking her head over the encounter, half cringing at what this next visit might reveal about the town she’d just become a citizen of, JJ
shouldered the door of Connor’s Hardware open and stepped inside to the light accompaniment of bells.
The interior was cheerful and well organized, each aisle clearly marked with bold lettering for ease of use.
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“I’ll be with ya in just a minute,” called a muffled voice from somewhere in the back.
“No hurry,” JJ replied, letting out a tiny sigh of relief. At least, by the female tones of the voice greeting her, she wouldn’t have to fend off another Jim in here. She wandered forward and began scanning shelves.
“What can I help you with?” A tall, slim brunette swaggered down the main aisle a moment later, a tool belt strapped around her narrow hips, wiping her hands on a small blue shop towel. Her smile was warm, her gentle brown eyes curious.
“Ah, hmm… I don’t really know just yet.” JJ
stepped up to the cleaning section and hefted a mop, considered a pail. “I guess I should have made a list or something before heading this way.”
“Well, whatever you need, either we got it, or we can get it.” The brunette stepped closer, offering JJ a clean hand. “Name’s Virginia Connor, by the way, folks mostly just call me Ginny. I own the place.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ginny.” JJ returned the smile, shaking the offered hand. “I’m JJ. I’m buying the old Victorian out on Shady Lane.”
“The old Caruthers’s Place,” Ginny remarked, nodding. She lifted a fine brow and adjusted the hammer hanging from her belt as she eased a hip against the counter, crossing her arms over her plaid-covered chest. “Must have been real fast, or that purchase would have been the first thing to hit Maggie’s this morn—hold on a minute…” Ginny tilted her head and narrowed a discerning stare at JJ’s face and ponytail. Her eyes dipped to JJ’s worn hiking boots. “You were in Maggie’s this mornin’, weren’t ya?”
JJ blinked and frowned, wracking her brain.
She hadn’t seen Ginny there, had she? No, surely not. Even if names didn’t stick too well, she was very good with faces, and a blind man could have picked 26
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this beauty out of a crowd.
“Word gets round fast in a small town, especially when someone new pops up at Maggie’s at the crack of dawn. Best get used to it if you’re plannin’ on stickin’ round, ‘cuz that ain’t ever gonna change.” Ginny’s laughing brown eyes fluttered over her once again, and she clucked her tongue. “You must have a helluva good metabolism. You look like a good stiff wind could blow you away, but I heard it on good authority you polished off one of Maggie’s blue-plate specials without batting an eyelash.” A dimple flirted in Ginny’s cheek. “You earned a healthy amount of admiration with that feat, by the way.
Folks yammered about you well on to three hours after you left.”
“Oh, well…I, ah…” Heat swam up her neck to flood her cheeks. Holy crap, she hadn’t blushed this much in one day in her entire life.
“Oh, now, I’ve gone and embarrassed you. Don’t pay me any mind. I have a tendency to open my mouth a little too wide sometimes.” Ginny didn’t look the least little bit ashamed, and JJ couldn’t help but like her. In a way, her candid ramblings reminded JJ a lot of Sarah.
JJ’s lips twitched at the bittersweet reminder as she set the mop and a pail on the counter and reached back for the broom. “That’s all right. Like you said…I better get used to it.” She added some basic gardening supplies to the pile and then counted out her cash as Ginny rang up her bill. “Is there someplace nearby that sells art supplies?”
“Hmm,” Ginny murmured, tapping a neatly trimmed, unpolished nail against her lips. Her brow creased as she gave the matter some thought. “You might find what you’re looking for over at Paper Cutouts. It’s a hodge-podge craft store a block down.
If June doesn’t have what you’re wantin’, she could order it, I’m sure.” Ginny handed JJ her change and 27
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added, “I heard the Caruthers’s Place came fully furnished, but the old lady’s been gone longer than I can remember. If you decide you’re in need of new furniture or appliances, Shoemakers over on Park Street has a decent selection. Just go in with the attitude you’re only looking, keep your nose up in the air a bit, and George will climb all over himself to cut you a good deal. If he doesn’t have it in the store—”
“He can get it,” JJ cut in. Grinning now, she nodded and thanked a smiling Ginny. In short order, she stowed her purchases in the back of her Jeep and set out for Shady Lane with a blossoming sense of purpose.
Before long, every window in the house stood wide open. Dust shrouds cowered on the laundry room floor. Armed with a case of Pledge, a gallon of Windex, and a stack of old rags she found on a shelf in the back of the walk-in pantry, JJ set to whipping her house into shape, one room at a time. On the kitchen table rested an ever-growing list of things to do and repairs needing attention, as well as a second list of items for her next trip to the hardware store.
Sometime around half past four, the doorbell rang.
The slurred, discordant notes caught her by surprise, and the ladder rocked beneath her.
Lemon-scented dust rag in hand, JJ grasped the rickety wood, and glanced down at her dingy T-shirt, damp with patches of sweat, and her grungy jeans.
Wisps of hair had escaped her ponytail to straggle around her neck in sticky strands. Decades of grime clung to her skin, making her itch and long for a shower…which reminded her, the bathroom was next on her cleaning list. Climbing down, she swiped her forearm across her brow and moved from the parlor into the hallway to answer the door.
It was “Harriet” from the mercantile.
“Hello,” JJ greeted her, stepping back into the 28
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hallway. The door groaned as it swung wider, and JJ
mentally added a can of WD-40 to her list for Ginny.
“Thank you for delivering my order. I’m sorry. I don’t think I caught your name earlier.”
“Johnson, my dear…Betty Johnson,” the woman crooned as she motioned to a wiry teenager standing near the car. Stepping into the entry, she offered JJ
a smile, even as her neck craned to the side and her attention skimmed past JJ’s shoulder toward the parlor. “The delivery is our pleasure, Miss Frost. It’s a service we offer all our patrons. I can’t tell you how pleased we are to have someone moving in here. This was such a grand old home, and it’s fallen into such a sad state of disrepair.”
“Yes, well—” JJ stopped as a mountain of grocery bags attached to a pair of long, skinny legs staggered through the doorway. She motioned down the hall, directing, “The kitchen’s back there.” The grocery bag mountain offered a muffled thanks before tottering away.
Turning to her companion, she stifled a smile as the older woman snapped a guilty gaze back to JJ. “I really do appreciate the delivery service. As you can see, there’s a lot to be done.” Oh, yes, the woman’s eyes were all but bugging out of her head as she craned her neck once more to drink in every nuance of the den. JJ stepped back to allow the boy another run to the car. With a shy, red-faced smile, he bobbed his baseball-cap-covered curly hair in her direction and scurried on.
“I’d invite you farther in, but, as you can see, the place isn’t up to visitors just yet.” She herded the storekeeper back out onto the porch, careful to avoid the loose boards while the delivery boy made a third and final trip.
On his way back, he paused, ducking his head.
His voice cracked and shifted with the changes of puberty, and his freckles disappeared in a rush of 29
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self-conscious color. “If you need help with the lawn, ma’am, I’d be happy to oblige. It’s my second job.
Name’s Mike Becker, by the way. You can find me down at the grocery store most days.” Smiling, JJ nodded, promising, “I’ll remember that. Thanks, Mike.”
Beaming, cheeks flaming, Mike shuffled to the car. The nosy Mrs. Johnson looked ever so disappointed as she turned her car around in the lane. JJ just smiled and waved.
With a determined set to her jaw and contentment curving her lips, JJ marched back inside to take on the pile of bags cluttering her kitchen floor. Her muscles ached with every step she took, and her hands burned from the industrial strength cleaner and disinfectant cocktail she’d used to scour the kitchen with earlier. She was filthier than she’d ever been in her entire life, and she hadn’t been this happy in over a year.
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Chapter 3
Cam took the scene in with one wide, sweeping glance. He swore beneath his breath. Stepping up to the long ribbon of yellow tape fluttering in the gentle breeze, he cleared his throat and forced unruffled professionalism into to his voice. “What do we got here, Red?”
Green around the gills, the deputy glanced up from where he knelt on one khaki-covered knee on the damp forest floor. A camera dangled from shock-numbed fingers, all but forgotten. He visibly forced a swallow, his youthful face lined with grim dismay.
“Sorry to call you in on your day off, Sheriff, but…”