Take Me Back (Paradise, Idaho Book 4)

by Rosalind James

  “Yes,” Hallie said drily. “I’d guess she does, since Rochelle knew the terms of the will. All the terms. And I don’t think that came from you or me or your mom. I’m thinking from under a head of foils at the hairdresser’s.”

  Jim’s gaze sharpened, and it was focused on her face this time. “You mean, the part about you and me.”

  “Yep. But Rochelle didn’t know about before. She guessed, because who wouldn’t, and she said it’s being talked over. So I was right about that. We probably shouldn’t even be here.”

  “Except,” Jim said as the waitress came over and set their plates in front of them, “that we’re on opposite sides of the table in broad daylight, we’re fifteen miles from Paradise, and we’re not engaging in carnal conversation. The will didn’t say we couldn’t talk to each other.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Yeah. I do. But I still think we’re good here.” They ate for a couple minutes, and Jim thought, and Hallie let him do it. “Bottom line,” he finally said, “the fact that I’d be picking up those guns could’ve been spread around pretty well in two days. If Dale was upset about the guns, he could’ve shot his mouth off at the office and around the job sites. Plenty of guys there whose ears would perk up, hearing a couple of those brand names. Word would get around quick enough. Get some roofers or drywall guys knowing it . . . notoriously loose in the moral-fiber department, drywall guys.”

  “You were a drywall guy.”

  “How do you think I know?”

  Hallie smiled a bit. “I’m not sure how upset Dale was. It was more Faye. She went on about it.”

  She described the scene, and Jim listened, frowned, and said, “Mm. I saw that in Bob’s office, too. But just because a guy doesn’t make a big noise about it, that doesn’t mean he’s not feeling plenty.”

  Her eyes shot straight to him. “Speaking from experience, I take it.”

  “Speaking as a cop. And from experience. I don’t know Dale that well. Her, I’d say I had a better feel for.”

  “Yeah,” Hallie said. “She puts it out there. So what will you do now?”

  He raised his eyebrows inquiringly at her, then got a little distracted again at the sight of her eating a prawn, sucking the flesh into her mouth and pulling out the tail.

  She didn’t seem to notice, fortunately. She wiped her hands on her napkin and said, “About the theft.”

  “Follow it up,” he said. “Not my case, so it’s a little tricky. Pass along who knew to the Paradise PD, find out if they got any fingerprints off the bolt cutters the guys left behind, let them do some questioning. But nothing happened, so it’s not like it’s high priority. Still—” He hesitated.

  “What?” she asked after dispatching another prawn.

  “I think you should know. I told myself that even if there was something there, it wouldn’t spill over to you, but now I’m not so sure.” He told her how he’d found her father’s body, his suspicions. He hated seeing the light die out of her eyes, the way her body seemed to shrink. “It’s probably nothing,” he finished. “Probably a coincidence, like we said. A target of opportunity with the guns. But I don’t know. Keep that alarm on, OK?”

  She nodded jerkily. “Guess I’ll stop by North Idaho Sports on the way home and pick up a shotgun of my very own, too.”

  “Want me to give you a hand with that? You need a refresher, or to go out to the range?”

  “No.” She was keeping it together a lot better than that scared girl he remembered. If he’d changed, so had she. “There’s not a lot to using a shotgun other than safety, and I’m a safety kind of girl. Just point it in the general direction and pull the trigger. I’ll get a pump action, keep the ammo in the bedside table, and give myself some practice loading and unloading. After that, I won’t be loading it or pointing it if I’m not intending to pull the trigger.”

  He tried to think of something else to suggest. “You could get a roommate.”

  “Or a tough boyfriend,” she said.

  “What?” she asked at his frown, like she didn’t know.

  Not your business, he told himself, while everything in him shouted, Like hell.

  “Did you have a present for me?” she asked sweetly. She was doing better than he was here. How had that happened?

  “What?” He blanked for a second.

  “A check,” she prompted.

  “Oh. Huh.” He shook his head a couple times like he was getting water out of his ears, reached for his wallet, unfolded the money order, and passed it over. “You’ll want to get it into the bank as fast as you can. Considering everything.”

  He had the satisfaction of watching her lose her cool.

  “Wow,” she said. “Wow. Forty-six thousand dollars. That is a lot of zeroes.”

  “Yep. Course, I had to walk all the way out and get into my truck one time, but . . .”

  “I am buying the most badass pool table,” she said. “And then doing something good with the rest,” she added hastily.

  “It’s OK to enjoy it, you know. You’ve been a teacher, what, ten years? Anthea said in a pretty tough school. I’d say you’ve earned it.”

  “Nine years.” Her fingers traced the numbers on the paper. “It doesn’t feel real, that’s all. It isn’t real. Not my real life. Not the life I want. But it’s still nice, somehow.”

  “Pool-table nice,” he suggested. “Not new-car nice.”

  “No. My car’s OK,” she said absently. She put the check into her purse as if she wanted to get it out of the way, like she wasn’t allowed to even look at tempting things. “I’d say thanks, but I’m not sure ‘thanks’ is enough. Is there anything you want?”

  Yeah, he thought. There is. She must have picked up on it, because she flushed, shoved her curls back with a hand, and said, “Do you want a pool table?”

  “Nah. Maybe I could play with you on yours sometime.”

  That one took her a second to respond to. “After six months. But I won’t be here. I could give it to you when I go.”

  It was a good dose of cold water. “Did you already decide that?”

  “I never thought anything else. I can’t live here.”

  “Right.”

  He’d finished his lunch a while ago, and now she shoved her own plate away and said, “So. Thanks again for the guns, but I know ‘thanks’ doesn’t cover everything you did. I’m glad they’re gone, anyway. Maybe that’s the end of it after all. There’s nothing at the house worth stealing anymore.”

  She was restless. Nervous, and she wanted to leave. Something he confirmed in the next minute, because she started nibbling at that full pink lip and pulling on her short denim jacket.

  And that was the end of lunch. Not the most satisfying meal he’d ever eaten.

  If you don’t mean it, don’t do it, Anthea had said. She’s fragile. Jim wasn’t so sure that Hallie was the one whose heart was most in danger here, though. Because she wanted to leave, and all he wanted to do was stay.

  THE GHOST CHASER

  It took Hallie a while to talk herself down on Saturday afternoon. Yes, she’d dressed up a little for lunch, but that was because she’d already tried being sloppy around Jim as a way to show herself she didn’t care, and it hadn’t worked. This time, she’d gone for the thing any woman with sense would have done from the start. Looking her best so she’d have some power in the encounter. And then she’d had the news from Rochelle that had had her coming in hot, and that had felt good, too, in a strange way.

  And there Jim had been in another of those annoying T-shirts that showed his biceps, glaring at her like he wanted to spank her. Or eat her up. Or both. Neither of which did anything at all for her peace of mind. Before, that is, he’d switched gears on her and talked about his daughter, and discussed the issue of the guns like he’d wanted her opinion. Not to mention when he’d dropped his suspicions about her dad on her. That had been a bombshell.

  She’d left the restaurant shaken up more than a little. But she had bought a
shotgun, and then she’d bought paint and supplies, and she’d gone home and taken out her frustrations and fears on the den and had felt better.

  She went to dinner at Anthea’s on Saturday night and didn’t talk about Jim, except to tell Anthea and Ben about the guns after the kids were in bed. Not all about the guns. Just about the money. That was all Anthea needed to know. Hallie wasn’t going to talk about Jim unless Anthea did.

  You compartmentalized, that was what you did. You left the work at work, and you left your personal life at home. And you left completely exasperating, desperately sexy, Levi’s-and-boots-wearing deputy sheriffs with hot eyes that looked right through your clothes and big, strong hands that wanted to be all over you—those, you left in your past.

  She was stroking paint onto a windowsill on Thursday morning, thinking that she should be on the computer getting ready to start her new job on Monday but wanting to get this done first, when she heard the doorbell ring. She climbed down her stepladder, set her paintbrush in the tray, and made her barefoot way upstairs.

  “Uh—hi.” The young woman at the door was painfully thin, her hair scraped back into a tight ponytail. “I’m Eileen? The cleaner?”

  “Hi,” Hallie said, with what she hoped was a reassuring smile, because Eileen looked so nervous. “I’m Hallie.” She stuck out her hand, then realized it was covered with white spots. “Whoops. I’m painting.” She drew her hand back. Eileen’s gaze seemed to be fixed somewhere above Hallie’s own, and Hallie snatched the paint-dappled bandanna off her head and said, “As you see. Come on in. I hope it’s OK that I’m here while you clean.”

  “Sure,” Eileen said. “Whatever you want. It’s your house. Um . . .” She reached into her battered black purse and pulled out a key. “I wasn’t sure if you’d changed the locks. I don’t think Henry—Mr. Cavanaugh—your dad gave out his key to anybody, but maybe—” She flushed and stopped. “Sorry. I mean, do you want the key?”

  “Oh. I never thought about that. I did get the locks changed.” As soon as possible once Jim had told her of his suspicions about her father’s death. She’d tried not to freak out, but it had seemed . . . prudent. “I’ll give you a new key,” Hallie said. She went to the kitchen with Eileen following behind and handed her one of the keys on the counter. “Oh, and I reset the alarm code.” She gave it to the other woman, who took a notebook from her purse and wrote it down. “Maybe I should show you around. I changed a few things.”

  “Sure,” Eileen said. “And whatever you want me to do. Any instructions.”

  “I’ve never had a cleaner,” Hallie confessed. “Other than when I lived here as a kid. So maybe you could ask me questions. You’ll know more than I will. But come on.” She took Eileen to the big room in the back over the garage that faced the hills and was totally empty now, only the indentations in the beige carpet marking where furniture had stood. “If you’ll vacuum in here and clean the bathroom this time,” she said, “that’s all I need, and then we’ll just shut this door. Really, all I’m using is the other bedroom up here and the guest bath and the kitchen, so . . .” She trailed off, because Eileen, who’d been red before, had gone white. “Are you OK?”

  “Sure. I’m fine. So just . . . this one time, and after that, your room. And, uh, kitchen and living room. And I can do your sheets and towels, if you want.” Eileen pulled out her notebook and pen again, but her hands were trembling.

  “Eileen,” Hallie said, and the other woman looked up, her eyes wide and startled. “Are you OK? Can I get you a drink of water?”

  “I . . . No. I’m fine.”

  She didn’t look fine, but Hallie led the way out of the master bedroom. “Right, then. Here’s the bedroom and bath I’m using, and besides that . . .” She took Eileen downstairs, where the smell of paint was strong. “Like I said on the phone, I’m redoing all this.” The den was empty now all the way down to the concrete floor, except for the drop cloths around the edges. Hallie had been repainting the trim an antique white to set off the soft blue-gray walls she’d already finished. “The carpet guys are coming tomorrow, so just ignore in here until next week. After this first week, I’m guessing the rooms I use will be about what my dad did. Kitchen, bedroom, bath, and this room. Whatever we call it when I’m done. I’m thinking ‘family room,’ even though I’m not exactly a family.” She was babbling, alarmed by the expression on Eileen’s face. “But I’ll pay you whatever my father was,” she hastened to add. “I’m sure you’ll be doing about the same things.”

  Eileen’s mouth worked, but nothing came out.

  “Hey,” Hallie said. “Are you all right?”

  Eileen swung around to look at her, but her eyes were unfocused. Blind, like she couldn’t bear to look at this room.

  Hallie couldn’t stand it. She stepped forward and took the other woman in her arms. “Hey, now,” she said, feeling Eileen stiffen in shock. “It’s OK.”

  Eileen gasped, reared back, and sobbed once, dry and hard. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

  She pulled away, and Hallie said again, “It’s OK. Really. Let’s go upstairs and sit down for a minute, all right?”

  Eileen nodded dumbly and followed her, and Hallie sat her at the kitchen counter and busied herself boiling water and pulling out tea bags.

  “I’m sorry,” Eileen said after a minute. “It was just seeing it. It hit me. But I’ll be fine.”

  “I’ll bet it did. Jim told me it was hard on you, finding him. If you don’t want to do the house, I’ll understand.”

  “No!” Eileen said. “I want to do the house! Please. But you don’t have to pay me what he was. It’ll be more for today, but after that . . . you don’t . . . did Deputy Lawson say . . .”

  “Eileen.” Hallie set the tea in front of her, then came around to sit beside her. “Did my father rape you?”

  Eileen’s eyes were dark pools in the chalk-white of her face. “I know that’s a terrible thing to ask,” Hallie told her, her heart aching with pity and rage. “But I know it happened to somebody else, so it wouldn’t surprise me a bit to know it happened to you. It would make me furious,” she continued at the look of shock in the other woman’s eyes. “It would make me glad he’s dead. But it wouldn’t surprise me. And, no, nobody told me,” she added, because it would be one more violation for Eileen to think that Jim had talked. “I guessed.”

  “Yes.” It wasn’t a word, just a movement of Eileen’s mouth. “The people at the—at a center I went to—they said it was. But he didn’t—force me. He said I had to. But I could have said no and just not had the job.”

  “But you needed the job.”

  “Yes.”

  Hallie hadn’t known it was possible to feel so much anger. Surely it would make you burn up. Surely it would make your head blow off the top of your body. She shoved it down and forced herself to speak calmly. “Then it’s rape.”

  “That’s what the deputy said. But I—”

  “Jim,” Hallie said, and Eileen nodded miserably. “He said that because he knows. “Look.” She sat down beside Eileen and took both of the other woman’s freezing hands in hers. “My father was a miserable person, and I know it.”

  “I’m sorry,” Eileen said. She grabbed a Kleenex from her purse and took an angry swipe at her eyes. “I’m so mad at myself. I had a whole plan for how I was going to be today. All cool and professional, and I’ve totally screwed up.”

  Hallie laughed. She couldn’t help it, but Eileen looked up, startled. “Do you know,” Hallie said, “that’s exactly what I told myself when I came back here. Exactly. I was going to be all cool and collected. And then I walked in this house and fell apart. I ended up running down the driveway like his ghost was after me.”

  Eileen gave a short, sharp laugh. “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope. I wasn’t actually screaming, but other than that, it was horror movie time all the way. Henry tended to have that effect on people. But I got over it. His ghost is gone. I wiped it out.” She squeezed Ei
leen’s hands again. “And if you vacuum up the last traces of him from his bedroom? Wipe him out of the sink? You’ll wipe him out, too.”

  Eileen smiled back at her, even though it was shaky. “Is that why everything’s gone? The bear and . . . everything?”

  “Ah,” Hallie said. “I knew I liked you. Did you hate the bear?”

  “Yes. My ex liked those, too, but I hate those trophy heads. Isn’t it enough that you killed the deer and ate it? Do you have to display its head to the whole world to prove you won?”

  “I know!” Hallie said with delight. “It’s not like you brought it down, mano a mano. Or hooves a mano. Whatever. You shot it with a gun. Big friggin’ deal. Not exactly a fair fight.” She became aware, then, of something she realized she’d been hearing for some time. The insistent sound of a dog barking. “I’m sorry, but—do you have a dog?”

  “What?” Eileen said. “No. I mean, it’s nothing.”

  The barking was still going on. “There’s a dog out there,” Hallie said. “And I don’t have neighbors. I know this is more important, but—” She went to the door with Eileen following behind, and walked around the side of the house. And then she laughed.

  An ancient, battered sedan sat in the driveway. And behind the wheel, its paws on the dashboard, looking for all the world like it was about to take the car down the road, was a big, shaggy golden retriever with a smile on its face.

  “I think your dog’s planning a road trip,” Hallie said.

  “Oh, man,” Eileen said. “I knew he’d blow it.”

  “No,” Hallie said. “Bring him in.”

  “He’s not supposed to—I don’t usually bring him,” Eileen said.

  “No. Bring him in,” Hallie insisted. “I want to say hi.”

  Eileen went around to the car, opened the door, and about eighty pounds of dog leaped joyfully out, pranced around, and then headed straight for the planter at one corner of the garage and lifted his leg.

  “Cletus!” Eileen shouted.

  “No,” Hallie said. “It’s fine. Cletus. That’s one heck of a country name.”

  “I picked it. It fit. Cletus and my kids are about the only good things I got from my ex. He didn’t want any of them, and they’re all great. But then, he was an idiot.” Cletus had come over to join them now, and Eileen bent down, rubbed his ears, and said, “You’re bad. I told you to be quiet.”