Eyes at the Window

by Deb Donahue

  “So Harlan and Bob were going through my grandmother’s things after she died.” The idea felt intrusive, as if it had been her own possessions strangers had been pawing through rather than her grandmother’s.

  “Oh, I hope you don’t take offense, dearie.” Sissy laid a soft plump hand on Miranda’s arm and looked at her with troubled eyes. “They were only trying to help. When a family lives in a place as many generations as yours has, the most useless junk tends to pile up. I wouldn’t call your grandmother a hoarder, but if you had seen this place before, you’d have run through the door screaming and headed straight back to the big city by now.”

  Sissy patted Miranda’s arm with a small laugh and picked up the last box to look through. “Looks to me like they did a better job of sorting than I expected. I’d say all these things should be given to Goodwill.” She held up a flowered shirt dress that had been folded so long the creases looked permanent. “Something like this must have belonged to your Grammy’s Grammy, it’s so old.” She chuckled. “Well, maybe not that old. But I swear this looks like something from fifty years ago, don’t you?”

  In fact, the faded blue dress peppered with tiny pink flowers had been one Miranda could remember her grandmother wearing many times. She could picture her in it as she’d seen her so many times, bib apron tied in a bow at the back, bent over the open oven as she took a fragrant batch of cookies from the oven.

  “No, here,” Miranda said quickly, taking the dress before Sissy could pack it back up. “I think I’ll keep that.” Then, feeling silly for being overly sentimental, she added, “I can use it to make dust rags.” She flushed, not sure if her red cheeks meant she felt embarrassed or guilty.

  Sissy folded the dress and set it aside. “How about Harlan and me take some of these with us when we go?” Sissy asked. “Drop them off at the drop box in Riverside? Then you won’t have so many to deal with yourself.”

  Miranda agreed. She would have enough to sort through and dispose of throughout the rest of the house. She helped Sissy load as many boxes as they could into the back seat of Harlan’s car. The rest they pushed into the corner of the kitchen by the back door for Miranda to take away later. Now that there was a clear space on the kitchen floor, the room began to look more like the cheerful place Miranda remembered from her childhood.

  Harlan came back upstairs just as they finished. “Furnace seems fine to me,” he said. “Pilot light’s lit and everything.” Walking to the ancient stove, he found a box of matches on a shelf and turned on one of the controls. Holding the match flame close to the cast iron burner, he waited until the gas caught fire then shook the match out and turned the stove off again.

  “Propane is working, too, looks like.” He gave Miranda a look that said more than just words. “I suspect the only reason the thermostat didn’t do anything is because the blower requires electricity to run.”

  Of course! Miranda grew warm as her cheeks flushed red again. She hadn’t thought about that, and hadn’t realized the stove was old enough to need manual lighting. She thanked them profusely for both the help and the food, following them back to their car as they prepared to depart.

  “Don’t you worry any,” Sissy said, leaning to give Miranda a hug before getting in the car. “You call us if you need any little old thing, you hear? If Harlan or I can’t come over right away, one of us will send Bob.”

  That reminded Miranda about the lack of cell phone reception, but she didn’t want to mention it. Harlan already thought she was completely helpless, probably. She’d figure it out herself later.

  “I will. Thank you for coming. And thank you again for the casserole. I’m sure it will be delicious.”

  “You’re welcome, though it wasn’t all my doing. Harlan already had the sauce going when I got home, using my recipe. That man was so tickled to have a new neighbor he just about cooked the whole thing himself. Didn’t you, Harlan?”

  Harlan patted Sissy’s arm agreeably and closed the passenger door. Then he and Miranda walked around to the driver’s side. Before getting in, however, he turned to her with a serious expression. “You know,” he said, “I understand you’re wanting to come out and see the old place. I’m sure it holds many fond memories for you. But it’s obvious you don’t feel entirely safe here.” He motioned to the .38 in its holster. She’d had it on all morning and halfway forgotten it was there.

  “Don’t you know that carrying a gun around like that is more likely to get you killed than keep you safe?” he asked. She half expected him to shake a scolding finger at her, but all he did was narrow his eyes in disapproval. “Besides, a little girl like you doesn’t want to be shackled with a white elephant like this. I didn’t want to say anything on the phone, but now that we’re face to face, I would like to offer to take the place off your hands.”

  “Take it off my hands?” Miranda asked.

  “Buy the place. You know. I can offer a very generous settlement, I can assure you. Very generous.” He leaned toward her and grinned patronizingly. “I guarantee you could buy a great condo back in Chicago with the proceeds, and even have enough left over to get you a cute little car to replace that old junker you got there.” He pointed to her rusted Chevy.

  Harlan had a way of pushing her buttons she didn’t quite understand. One minute she felt grateful for his help and the next she felt like he was insulting her. Remembering how wrong she’d been about the propane and furnace, Miranda took a deep breath and counted to five before forcing herself to smile and saying, “I’m not interested in selling, Harlan. Not now. Not for a long time, if ever. But thank you for your help today and while the attorney sorted things out with the probate.”

  She thought he was going to argue with her. His frown certainly made it clear he was displeased, and she saw his hand tighten on the car door he had just opened. But all he did was mumble, “We’ll see, missy, we’ll see,” then got in the car and backed up to drive away.

  Miranda watched until the lane of pines swallowed their car from sight. What a strange pair. Sissy was so bright and cheerful but Harlan— Miranda couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Harlan had an edge to him that tended to put her on her guard. Whether there was a reason for her to feel that way or not, only time would tell.

  Still, she felt uneasy as she turned back to the house. And that feeling didn’t get any better when she looked toward the barn and saw that the huge door there stood slightly open. She could have sworn the doors had been completely closed that morning. Hadn’t they?

  She looked at Rufus, who had found a stick and was busy chewing the bark off of it. He didn’t seem concerned at all with what might be happening in the barn. Maybe Miranda was remembering wrong.

  But that didn’t stop a chill from running down her spine as she hurried into the house.

  Chapter 3

  Luke Gregorio watched through the loft window as Harlan and Sissy drove off. He’d hoped the woman would leave with them. When her car had pulled up to the house the night before, Butch’s barking had alerted him to the intruder. Remembering, Luke reached down to scratch the German Shepherd behind the ears. “Good boy.”

  He’d first thought it had to be Harlan Hunter or Bob Meeks in the car, just waiting for the rain to let up. In fact, he’d been sure of it. It was always a Sunday when they came to the farm. But when nothing happened, he’d approached the car to look in, only to see the woman and her small dog. Even then, he’d hoped she was just lost, maybe pulling off the road to wait out the storm.

  Because of her arrival, he had changed his mind about hiking over toward Harlan’s again this morning to watch the man’s activities from the hunting blind he’d found in the woods. Whatever was going on there, something big was about to happen. He knew it. A BMW had pulled up in front of the place four days ago, on Thursday. The man inside had spoken to Harlan’s hired hand, Bob Meeks, through the open car window. Though too far away to hear anything, Luke had seen enough to know they were not discussing the price of pork bellies. Through his bin
oculars he noted the man’s expensive suit, slicked-back hair and sunglasses. He’d even caught the glint of a gold tooth as he spoke.

  Luke moved away from the window and turned to look at the little nest he’d carved out for himself in the hayloft. Bales of hay hid his lair from a casual eye looking up from the ground floor. Bunk beds had been built into the walls and he’d laid his sleeping bag out on one, using straw as a mattress. An electric lantern sat on an overturned wooden crate. Butch’s dog dish and bowl of water had been placed off to the side to keep crumb-sniffing rats away from the sleeping area.

  The abandoned property had seemed the perfect place to use as a base camp. After watching the woman all morning, apparently readying the house for habitation, it no longer looked like that was true.

  Until Harlan Hunter’s car had driven up, Luke had been thinking of approaching her to introduce himself. Curiosity now made him uncertain. What was the woman’s connection to Hunter? He’d been tempted to creep closer to the house when they went inside, trying to listen to their conversation, but he’d already risked detection when he opened the barn door to let Butch out earlier. The terrier had almost given their position away, but if the woman had seen anything, she seemed to have written it off and gone about her business.

  Luke sat down on a straw bale and pulled his backpack closer. Reaching into the outside pocket, he pulled out the creased and worn photograph he’d been carrying for months. Two identical faces looked back at him, except Luke doubted that he had ever smiled as huge, or had that same mischievous glint in his eye which his twin always seemed to have.

  Where was that bright smile now? Was he off on another adventure like Hunter claimed? Luke didn’t believe it was true. As twins, they’d always sensed when the other was in trouble. And what Luke’s gut was telling him now was something he was afraid to listen to too closely.

  No, he decided. He wouldn’t pack up and leave. Until he found out what had happened to his brother, he would stick to the plan. And if that woman—Luke glanced toward the window again. If that woman, as young and innocent as she looked, had anything to do with his brother’s fate—

  He scratched Butch’s head again and put the picture away.

  “God help her,” he whispered.

  Chapter 4

  Miranda knew she needed get more work done if she was to make even one room habitable by nightfall. But unease nagged at her mind and hunger gnawed at her stomach until she finally decided to take a break. Finding a spoon in a kitchen drawer, she washed it and opened a jar of Sissy’s peaches.

  Sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the fireplace, she ate right out of the jar and nearly emptied the whole quart before sighing with satisfaction. If Sissy’s blueberry jam was half as good as the peaches, it was no wonder she’d won awards for it. Rufus sat by her side the whole time, eyes following the path of the spoon from jar to mouth. Miranda was not in the habit of feeding him people food, but his ever hopeful heart wanted to be sure he was close at hand, just in case.

  The log Harlan had thrown on the hot coals had finally burned down enough that Miranda thought it would be safe to bank down the fire and make a trip to town. “You think you can watch the place for me while I’m gone?” She ruffled the bristled hair around the dog’s neck. “Maybe I’ll even bring you back a treat for being so good.”

  Rufus turned in an excited circle, watching her as she poked at the burnt ashes and found her purse and keys. He did not look nearly as happy when she pulled out his lead chain from the car trunk and attached it to the eye bolt on the roof of the dog house. She had to call him twice before he came to her and his expression accused her when she clipped the other end of the chain to his collar.

  “It’s just for a while,” she told him. “And only because it’s a new place. I don’t want to lose you, pup. What would I do without you?” When she took his head in her hands and rubbed his ears, he seemed to forgive her, his tongue lolling sideways in a doggie grin.

  Silly though it might be, Rufus always had a way of brightening her day. Between him and the beautiful sunshine, Miranda’s spirits had improved significantly by the time she made it to Riverside. When she reached the Power Company parking lot and discovered she had a cell signal, she was sure her luck had taken an upswing.

  Unfortunately, that illusion didn’t last long.

  “What do you mean someone cancelled the request?” she asked the clerk behind the desk when they told her what had happened. “Who would have done that?”

  The young girl, who looked like someone who should still be in school, grew red-cheeked as she clicked at the computer keyboard and scrolled with the mouse.

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Preston, it doesn’t say. Just shows the day you called to ask for service and here, see for yourself—“ She turned the monitor so Miranda could read the screen. “Two days later a request came in to cancel it.”

  “Well that’s ridiculous. Why would anyone ask for electricity one day and change their mind two days later? Never mind. Someone here made a mistake. That’s the only explanation. Someone typed in the wrong number and closed the wrong account. What we need to do now is get it fixed. Get it turned back on.”

  “Yes, Ma’am. I’ll get the work order started right away.” More keyboard clicking and mouse scrolling. “It should just be two, three days at the most and it will all be straightened out.”

  Two days? Two nights of sleeping in that huge house with only a flashlight and some candles?

  “No way,” Miranda insisted. “I want things turned on today. Right away. At least by nightfall.”

  “But Ms. Preston, with the storm last night—”

  “No excuses. This was your error and correcting it should be top priority. Where’s your supervisor? I’ll tell him so myself.”

  The clerk got even more flustered than Miranda felt. The girl’s whole face was flaming as she stuttered out an apology. Guilt washed away the feeling of panic that had caused Miranda to overreact. As the girl turned away to get her manager, Miranda stopped her by laying fingers lightly on her wrist.

  “I’m sorry,” Miranda said. “Please, I’m just tired and grumpy. But I really, really need to have the lights on by tonight. Isn’t there something you can do to help?”

  “I don’t know. I—well, I can try. Let me go talk to the dispatcher and see where the guys are with their repairs. If they’re already in your area fixing downed lines, maybe it would be easy for them to just drop by and get things set for you. Just wait here.”

  To Miranda’s relief, when the girl returned, it was with the assurance that someone should be able to turn the service on later than afternoon. Miranda felt like kissing her, but settled for a huge grin and hearty handshake.

  When she got back in the car, however, she started to worry. Should be able to turn on the power, the girl had said. What if they couldn’t? What would be worse, sleeping in that huge farmhouse with its dark gaping rooms and murky cellar, or huddled in the back seat again where any anonymous face could peer in at her? Even if the electricity did get turned on, what would happen the next time it stormed? If it took three days to restore power every time a strong wind blew through, she would be miserable.

  Her trip to the phone company did nothing to boost her confidence in the services available in this rural district. It would take at least a week to install a land line telephone in the house due to the storm and the amount of work the small office had to keep up with. When Miranda inquired about the existence of local cell phone service, she was told there was a local company that sold phones and plans, but that even then service would be spotty in the area the farm was located.

  By the time Miranda headed to the supermarket, she was frustrated enough to be tempted to take the highway entrance ramp instead and just head back to the city. If she’d had Rufus with her, she might even have done it, though she knew she would probably change her mind a few miles down the road.

  Just to be on the safe side, in addition to buying some staples for the pa
ntry, Miranda bought bags of ice for the cooler she had in the car trunk, and loaded up her shopping cart with candles, batteries and two 18-watt electric lanterns. She’d rather risk burning the whole place down than be caught in the dark again.

  On the way back to the farm, she drove through Greenville to check in at the post office. She’d made arrangements online to have her mail routed to her new address, but with everything else going wrong, it wouldn’t hurt to make sure that request hadn’t also gone astray somehow.

  Greenville only had one main street with three churches and a post office on one side, and two taverns and a small grocery story on the other. It also boasted several residential streets and had two small parks, one at either end of town. Several children were climbing a jungle gym and climbing slides in the playground of one of them.

  The park across the street from the post office had a big sign that Miranda parked in front of. “Harvest Fair,” it announced. “Fall Fun For the Family.” The fair was scheduled to start the next Saturday and last through the weekend. Today that park was deserted except for a little girl skipping rope on the concrete of the picnic shelter at the park’s center.

  The post office was in a building that looked like it used to be a gas station, except the pumps outside had been removed and the tall pole at the corner of the lot had the signage removed. Bells shook as Miranda opened the door, sounding like a Christmas sleigh.

  “Well, good afternoon,” said the cheerful woman who walked to the counter from a back room. “How can I help you?” Her name tag marked her as Patty Carmichael, Postmistress. She wore the simple white blouse and blue skirt that seemed to be a post office standard, but a red knit sweater had been thrown over her shoulders. A chain clipped to each end of the collar kept the sweater in place, and charms had been hung from it like a bracelet.