The Secrets of Rosa Lee

by Jodi Thomas

“Much better. How’d you find this place?”

  “When you knock around all the oil fields in Texas you learn the towns. Or at least the hotels, cafés and bars.”

  “Bars?”

  He nodded. “If you want to know about a town, you’ll hear it all in the bars. The closer it gets to closing time, the more you learn.”

  “Where do you call home?” she asked.

  He didn’t miss the look in her eye. She was thinking the question might have been too personal. Had she gone too far? Had she been too bold?

  “Nowhere,” he answered. “I’ve got a place on Lake Travis where I go to fish, and an apartment in Houston that looks like a hotel room.”

  “No one waiting anywhere?”

  There was the look again. She worried about her boldness. He almost told her how damn sexy he thought it was. Not the question, but the shyness behind it. She was a woman who spent her whole life thinking about everything she said. She’d never learned to play games.

  “No one. Not for a long time,” he answered. He could have told her of all the women he knew. Women who were dinner companions, company, even lovers. But none were home.

  When she was silent for a while, he asked, “Any more questions?”

  “I didn’t mean to pry.”

  “You didn’t. You’ve got a right to know.”

  She shook her head. “It’s really none of my business.”

  Dear God, how he wanted to hold her. She sat so proper beside him, so remote. She would never assume…never push. Something had frightened her back at the retirement home, but she didn’t seem to want to talk about it. He didn’t know her well enough to ask. He really hadn’t known her well enough to kiss her yesterday, either. Her politeness in asking him not to repeat the kiss stopped him cold. Too bad she hadn’t asked him to stop thinking about it.

  Not that the kiss had been all that great. Maybe she wasn’t ready, or maybe no one had ever taken the time to teach her to kiss. He’d met a few women like that. Some who’d even been around, but they’d never taken the time between hello and bed to learn how to kiss. He had a feeling with the professor it would more likely be lack of practice or opportunity. A few personal questions he’d like to ask her came to mind.

  He put the car in gear and drove toward the interstate. After a while, the silence got to him. “I liked Miss Carter,” he said as if they had just been talking.

  “I did, too.” She didn’t turn to look at him.

  “I can see why Rosa Lee Altman must have trusted her.” When she didn’t comment, he added, “I’ll bet they were great friends. Maybe your grandmother was that kind of friend to Rosa Lee. After all, your grandmother, Minnie, and Miss Carter were both nurses.”

  He didn’t know how long he could go on talking to himself. He tried again. “We never did get around to asking her about cause of death. Though I guess when someone is ninety-two there’s not much guessing to it.”

  Nothing from the other side of the car.

  “I bet that was real hard on Miss Carter, finding her friend like that. But, maybe she found comfort in knowing Rosa Lee died in her sleep. She seemed to think telling you would help you for some reason.”

  A truck passed, splashing a wave of water at his pickup. Sloan slowed. “If this rain doesn’t let up we might want to pull over.”

  He frowned. He felt as if he were traveling alone.

  “Don’t you think it’s strange that she remembered that saying after all these years? I can understand the part about the social-security number. I’ve often been afraid I’d get Alzheimer’s. A few of my relatives have it. I don’t want to be walking around not remembering my own name. I’ve thought it might make sense to rig up a bomb. If you didn’t punch in your phone number, driver’s license number and social every week, it would blow you off the face of the earth. Then you wouldn’t have to worry about ending up in a nursing home.”

  He laughed. “Except the other day at the bank I wrote down my cell-phone number as my account. It may already be too late for me.”

  Sidney didn’t answer.

  Sloan started to truly worry. He spotted a roadside picnic area and pulled off the road. He twisted in the seat and waited for her to look at him.

  When she turned, he swore he felt his heart miss a beat. Professor Sidney Dickerson was crying.

  Without a word, he opened his arms and she moved toward him. He held her for a long while, feeling her sobs as she silently cried on the front of his shirt. He wished he could think of something to say, but he wasn’t sure what was wrong and like most men over eighteen, he’d learned to keep his mouth closed and wait.

  Finally, she pulled away and dug in the bottom of her briefcase for a tissue. “I’m sorry.”

  “Want to talk about it?”

  “There’s nothing to say. I know there’s something in what Miss Carter said that may be a clue to understanding Rosa Lee, and why she was the way she was, but I’ve only got four days to figure it out. Even if I do learn something, it may not save a house.”

  “Is that what you want, to save the house?”

  Sidney shook her head. “I don’t know. I’m drawn to the place, but I need to think about what’s best for the town.” She blew her nose. “The money would make a difference. No one in the town seems to care about the house but me, and I’m an outsider.”

  She looked up at him and he saw the hesitation in her eyes. She wanted to tell him more, but she wasn’t sure she could trust him.

  Hell, he thought, he wasn’t sure he could trust himself. If it got right down to finding something that would make that old dump worth saving, or making half his year’s income on the sale, was he willing to help her? He’d been researching this deal for over a month. He had all the facts he needed and he hadn’t felt this sure about the drilling site being good in a long time. The company he worked for stood to make a great deal of money, but the whole process couldn’t start until he got at least a lease. The mayor had made it plain they were far more interested in selling than leasing the land so it looked as if the house would end up belonging to the oil company.

  Sloan shifted, fighting the urge to touch her. Before they went any further, he had to decide if he would walk away with nothing just to keep her pale blue eyes from crying.

  He told himself, at forty, he was too old to be that kind of fool, but in forty years he’d never met a woman like this one.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  “It’s about time you got here.” Billy pulled a tool belt from his car parked directly behind the Altman house. “I thought we agreed last night to start our search at two. It’s after three. Saturday’s almost over, and we’re keeping the ghosts waiting, Whitman.”

  Lora yawned and stretched like a bored runner preparing for a marathon. She’d left him sleeping just before dawn and walked the rest of the way home staying well in the shadows. The last thing her shredded reputation needed was to be seen dragging in at dawn.

  She’d slipped into her parents’ house knowing, come morning, she’d claim she hadn’t bothered to glance at a clock when she arrived home. Her mother would never know the time she returned. Not that she cared, she told herself.

  “I needed my beauty sleep,” Lora answered without adding more.

  Her cotton-lined jogging suit felt much more comfortable than the little black dress she’d worn last night. Though the day was gray, she felt grand, as if she’d somehow broken a few of the shackles her mother kept trying to bind around her. She’d even managed to avoid questions about Talon Graham at lunch, but couldn’t help but wonder how long he’d wait before calling.

  She grinned at Billy as he strapped on the belt. “You would think you’d be a little nicer to me, Billy Hatcher, after I slept with you last night.”

  He looked up and frowned. “Don’t go spreading that around. You’ll ruin my reputation.”

  She decided right there and then that she’d be Billy Hatcher’s friend for the rest of her life. “Wouldn’t want to do that, but is the offer to
return still open? I can’t remember when I’ve slept so soundly.”

  He smiled. “Whitman, you can curl into my sleeping bag anytime.” Something in his eyes told her he wasn’t quite as young as she thought he was, not in experience anyway.

  He closed his trunk. “Grab that flashlight on the front seat, will you? I’m ready to go exploring. I’ve been in this house three times now and never climbed the stairs. It’s time we see what the old place looks like.”

  Lora leaned into the car and followed orders. “Did you call the other committee members?”

  “The professor isn’t home, but I left a message.” He jumped over the porch railing. “Micah has a picnic with his son, but he said he’d try to catch up with us later and see if we found anything interesting. The sisters said they were going on some kind of mission, but they’d report in when possible. I swear they’re starting to sound like militia.”

  As he unlocked the back door to the Altman place, he added, “Since we’re a third of the committee, I think its okay to go in. The others will come when they can. If the deputy drops by, I’ll turn you loose on him again. I swear you make him nervous.”

  Lora nodded. If she could handle a drunk Talon Graham, she could manage Deputy Adams. She followed close behind as they wound their way toward the stairs. She could almost hear the ghosts in the house whispering, planning how they would kill anyone who thought to explore. The damp air held the breath of danger as if they were tromping over memories and secrets, and not just dusty boards. The ghost of Rosa Lee would be pouring their blood over her roses by nightfall.

  She bumped into Billy’s back.

  “Be careful,” he whispered as if he sensed something, too.

  “Sorry.” She couldn’t help but wonder why he whispered. If anyone had a right to be in the house it was them. “I’m staying close. They always get the one at the end of the line, you know.”

  He laughed. “There’s only two of us. I think I’ll notice if you disappear. Want to lead?”

  “No, that’s who always gets killed by a swinging ax or falling boulder.”

  “I’ll be careful.” He took her hand. The tape from his bandages felt rough, reminding her of the harm that had found them the last time they were here.

  “Wiggle your fingers now and then so I’ll know I’m not just holding a hand after some monster gobbles up the rest of you.” He laughed. “I hate it when that happens to my dates.”

  “Very funny, and I’m not your date.” They started up the stairs. “Dan always hated it when I let my imagination run wild, but it’s hard not to in a place like this.”

  Billy stopped midway up the stairs and turned to face her. “Let’s get something straight, Whitman.” At almost the same height, his face was only an inch from hers. “No man is ever going to be Dan, again. You’re rid of him. I’m not like him and neither is anyone else you meet. Don’t go around figuring every male thinks like he does. The guy must have been a total jerk to leave you. Drop his memory in the dust and move on.”

  “Divorce counseling?”

  Billy smiled. “No, just advice from a friend.” His gray eyes studied her. “By the way, I like that imagination of yours. It’s sexy as hell.”

  She doubled back her free fist to pound him in the ribs, but couldn’t quite bring herself to hit a man for complimenting her. He was right about Dan. She’d given him too much time already to fret about him now. She should look at the bright side. She had no job to speak of, no home to call her own, and no friends but Billy Hatcher, but at least she didn’t have to put up with Dan anymore. Things could only get better.

  A creaking sound came from above them. Billy looked up as he squeezed her fingers. “Let’s go meet our host.”

  Or maybe the worst was yet to come, she thought, wishing the creak didn’t sound like a footstep. There was no telling what traps Rosa Lee might have left.

  They took the stairs slowly, feeling for the give in the wood. Most steps were solid, but a few were bowed. When they reached the thirteenth, Billy dropped to his knee. “Once in a while, I’ve heard, builders put a hollow step for the thirteenth.” He tugged at the board, but it didn’t give. “It’s kind of an extra safe. Someplace no one would think to look.”

  “Where did you learn that?”

  “Hanging around old carpenters. A fellow told me rebels moving into Texas after the Civil War put them in along with several other hiding places because they’d lived through the Yankees looting their homes. The carpenter said lots of the old houses have hidden spaces.”

  It made sense, Lora thought. She’d heard the professor say that she wasn’t sure where old Henry Altman came from. Chances were fifty-fifty he’d come from a Southern state. Even though he’d been born years after the war, he might have known about putting hiding places in the stairs.

  “Anything?” Lora asked when Billy stood.

  “Nothing. Guess no one let old Henry Altman in on the practice.”

  They moved on up the stairs. The railing seemed solid, but the second story’s floor had water damage in several places. The boards were uneven and creaked with each step.

  “I’m going to bring my boss from the lumberyard in Monday to make a list of have-to repairs, but I kind of wanted to see the place first.”

  “Me, too.” Lora wasn’t sure what she’d expected, a scene out of Dickens’s Great Expectations maybe, with mice eating a rotting wedding cake on the table. But what she got was nothing. No furniture, no rugs, no pictures on the walls. Only a dark hallway with the window at the end boarded over.

  Billy shoved open the first door. It creaked as warped wood scarred the floor. They carefully stepped inside. Only the barest of furniture greeted them. A bed frame, a dresser with one drawer missing, a few wicker chairs with the bottoms decayed.

  “It’s like looking at the skeleton of a room,” Lora whispered as she followed him around. “All the beauty, all the trappings are gone.”

  “Accurate description.” He kicked at what looked like a rat’s nest of rags cluttered up in one corner while Lora turned slowly around. The rods were still above the windows, but the curtains were gone. Heavy storm shutters like horizontal bars blocked out all but thin slices of light in this prison of a room. Dust and the smell of mold thickened the stale air.

  Billy moved his fingers along the chair railing running on one wall. “This must have been grand once,” he whispered. “Fine hardwood. Crown molding. Inlay in the floor.” His fingers stopped and he leaned closer to the wall.

  “What?” She knew he’d found something.

  “Nothing,” he answered. “Just more of those nail holes in the wood. Something was once nailed to this wall and removed without care or skill.”

  Lora let her fingers follow his along the wall, but had no answer. The markings were too low to be pictures or mirrors, too high to have been used to secure rugs.

  They moved to the second room. More of the same broken, abandoned furniture. Billy explored each wall as though looking at a map he couldn’t read.

  The third room, at the end of the hall, had unbroken furniture, but little more. All the bedding and curtains had been removed. At first glance, the space reminded Lora of a cheap hotel room. She opened the closet door and found nothing but a few abandoned coat hangers. “This has to be her room,” Lora reasoned. “Someone must have moved Rosa Lee’s things out after she died.”

  “Looks that way. If the will left all her books to the library, maybe she gave some charity her clothes.” Billy opened a French door leading to a balcony, but vines had completely covered any view of the back. “I agree, she would have wanted the room with a view of her gardens.”

  Lora hugged herself. “It’s as if she planned her death. Planned that nothing of her would be left.” She noticed squares where the wall must have faded around picture frames. But the pictures, even the frames, were gone, leaving only a slight imprint that they’d once been there.

  “Dying in her nineties doesn’t sound as if she was in any hurry
to commit suicide.” He opened one of the dresser drawers and found a dead cockroach. “Maybe she was just a person who wanted everything to be in order when she died. Without any family, she probably didn’t want strangers digging through her stuff.”

  “Makes sense. My guess is all the furniture we’re finding was either too heavy to haul off, or too worthless to bother with.”

  They walked through the other rooms. Smaller rooms that must have been built for children, but never furnished.

  “That’s it,” Lora turned around ready to get out of the dark hallways and into fresh air.

  “Except for one,” Billy mumbled as he felt along the wall. “There’s another door here at the end. Probably only a linen closet or one of those luggage rooms folks used to put on second floors to store out-of-season clothes and luggage.” He shoved the door, unsure if it was locked or warped with time.

  The door didn’t move.

  “Are you sure that’s a door? Maybe it’s only part of the paneling.” She flashed the light into the dark end of the hallway.

  Billy shoved again with more force. Something snapped, wood cracked and gave with his weight. Light rushed into the hall as they stepped into the last room. The space was small with windows running high along the ceiling. A storage room, she thought, where indirect light would be best.

  “Look!” Lora laughed with delight.

  In the center of the empty room, resting on a trunk, stood a child’s dusty white rocking horse that looked as if it might belong on a miniature merry-go-round. The toy, with roses circling the horse’s neck, must have been hand-painted.

  Lora ran her hand over the finely carved wood and removed a layer of dust. “Can you believe this? It’s just sitting here, waiting for us to find it.”

  “Probably no one noticed this door.” He seemed more interested in the lock that had snapped than the wooden rocking horse. “I would have missed it if I hadn’t noticed the hinges. It looks as if the door had been locked, but the nails holding the lock in place have rusted from a leak in the ceiling.”

  Lora looked up and laughed, “So, you’re saying the house let us in this room? I think Rosa Lee left this for us. Look, she put it in the center, on a trunk so water wouldn’t damage it.” Lora leaned down to examine the toy’s details. “Doesn’t it strike you as odd that an old maid would buy a rocking horse? It must have cost her dearly, even years ago.”