by Marta Perry
“I mean well, too, even if you think I’m going about it the wrong way.”
“I know that.” Grams’s voice gentled a little. Maybe the storm was over, even if the problem wasn’t resolved. “Rachel and I appreciate the fact that you’re willing to stay here and help us.”
“I want to get you on a good business basis, so that you have a chance to succeed. As far as the rental is concerned…” She couldn’t let it go without trying once more to show Grams that Cal was taking advantage of her. “The barn is yours to do as you like with, but I have to tell you that the rent you’re charging is extremely low by current standards.”
Grams was already shaking her head. “You don’t understand.”
“How can I, when you won’t tell me about it?”
For a moment the situation hung in the balance. If her grandmother continued to treat her like a child who had to be protected from the facts, this would never work.
Finally Grams nodded. “I suppose you ought to know.” She glanced toward the portrait over the fireplace. “When Cal approached me about renting the barn, I couldn’t imagine how he’d live there. But he was willing to do all the work on the apartment himself. If you’ve seen it, you’ll have to admit he’s done a fine job, and he insisted on paying for everything that went into the renovation.”
She’d misjudged him in that respect, at least. To her surprise, Andrea was relieved.
“He’s certainly increased the value of the building,” she admitted. “But even so, to lock yourself into a contract with that low a rent could be a problem.” Cal’s turning the lease against her still rankled.
“We agreed that as his business picked up, the rent would increase.” Grams flushed, as if she found the discussion of money distasteful. “He insists on paying me more every month, more than he should. I don’t want to feel as if I’m accepting charity.”
No, Grams wouldn’t like that feeling. She had always been the giver, not the recipient.
Andrea took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Grams. I shouldn’t have gone to Cal without talking to you about it first.”
“No. You shouldn’t have.” Grams gave her the look that suggested Andrea’s manners weren’t up to what was expected of an Unger. “Now I think we’ll both see Cal and apologize.”
“Both…”
Words failed her. Grams proposed to lead her by the hand and make sure she apologized properly, the way she had when Andrea had left the farm gate open and the Zook cows had gotten out.
“Grams, I can handle this myself. It’s my mistake.”
Her grandmother stood, every inch the lady. “It was my error, as well, in not telling you. We’ll both go.”
Apologizing to Cal alone would have been embarrassing. Doing it with Grams looking on was humiliating. It didn’t help to know that she deserved it.
If she kept herself busy enough, maybe she could forget that awkward scene with Cal. At least that’s what Andrea had been telling herself since Grams left to spend the evening with Rachel at the hospital. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to be working.
She shoved away from the desk in the library, blinking as she tried to focus her eyes on something other than the computer screen. It was getting dark, and she hadn’t bothered to turn on any lights.
She stretched, rubbing at the tension in the back of her neck. She’d started entering data for the inn into the desktop hours ago. As far as she could tell, neither Grams nor Rachel had touched the computer since they’d bought it, supposedly for the business, and that increased her worries over their chances for success. Running a B and B wasn’t just about being a good cook or a good host. It was a business. She hadn’t been kidding when she’d told Cal about Rachel’s idea of a filing system.
And that brought her right back to Cal again. He’d been gracious when she’d apologized. Pleasant, even.
She frowned at Barney, who’d taken up residence on the hearth rug, seeming to transfer his allegiance to her when Grams wasn’t around. “I’d be just as happy if he hadn’t been so nice about it. You understand, don’t you?”
Barney thumped his tail against the rug. The only thing he understood was that someone was talking to him. He rose, stretching very much as she had, and padded over to her. She patted the silky head that pressed against her leg.
“I’m being ridiculous, I suppose.”
He didn’t comment.
It had been a difficult situation, made worse by Grams accepting part of the responsibility for the misunderstanding. She’d actually admitted that she should have told Andrea the whole story.
That had hit her right in the heart. She didn’t want her grandmother to feel any less in charge than she’d always been.
I don’t know how to balance all this. The discovery that she was actually taking her problems to God startled her, but it felt right. Maybe Grams’s quiet faith was having an impact on her. Usually I think I canhandle anything, but I can’t. I need guidance. I have to know what I should do—about Grams, about the inn, even about Cal. Please guide me. Amen.
Maybe it wasn’t the most perfect of prayers, but the admission that she couldn’t see her way somehow made her feel a bit better.
And as for Cal having such an inside glimpse of their family dynamics—well, maybe she’d be lucky enough not to be alone with him for the next few days. Or ever.
Barney whined, his head coming up, and he let out a soft woof.
“What is it, boy? Do you hear Grams coming?” She peered out the side window, but there was no sign of a car turning into the drive.
The sheltie whined again, then paced to the door and nosed at it.
“You want to go out? I guess it has been a while.” She opened the library door and then followed the dog through to the back hallway.
“Okay, out you go.” The lights Cal had installed showed her the garden, the outbuildings, the barn, and beyond them, the dark, silent woods and pasture. All was quiet.
Barney bounded out, the screen door banging behind him. He’d be a few minutes at least, needing to investigate every shadow before coming back inside.
She leaned against the doorjamb, tiredness sinking in. Tomorrow was Sunday, and that meant church with Grams in the morning and an afternoon visit to Rachel. Probably she ought to try and find the rest of the receipts Rachel thought she had saved, just in case any of them required an explanation.
In typical Rachel fashion, the receipts had, her sister thought, been tucked away in one of Grandfather’s ledgers, which she vaguely remembered putting on the top shelf of the closet which stored kitchen and dining room linens.
Of course. What a logical place to keep receipts they would need to produce come tax time, to say nothing of Grandfather’s ledgers. Rachel hadn’t inherited any of his organizational genes, that was clear. Obviously Andrea would either have to do the business taxes for them or hire someone locally who’d keep after them all year long.
She opened the closet, frowning at the creaking that came from the hinges. Sometimes it seemed everything in the house had its own sound, all of them together creating a symphony of creaks, cracks, whines and pops. Hopefully none of their guests would be the nervous sort.
The deep closet had shelves against its back wall, accessible only after she’d moved several metal pails, a corn broom and two mops. What the closet didn’t have was a light, but the fixture in the hallway sent enough illumination to show her that there appeared to be a book of some sort on the top shelf, stuck between two roasting pans big enough to cook the largest turkey she could imagine. She’d need something to stand on in order to reach the shelf.
She propped the closet door open with one of the mops and retrieved a chair from the kitchen, glancing out the screen as she passed. No sign of Barney yet. She could only hope he hadn’t found a rabbit to chase or worse, a skunk. She doubted they had enough tomato juice in the house to cope with that.
The very fact that she knew the remedy for a dog’s encounter with a skunk gave her pause. That certainly
wasn’t part of her normal urban life. Since she’d been back in this house, all sorts of things were resurfacing from her early years.
Grasping the chair with both hands, she carried it into the closet and climbed onto it. She reached up to find that her fingertips fell inches short of the top shelf. That was what came of having twelve-foot ceilings. How on earth had her sister gotten the book up there to begin with? And why did she think that a logical place to put it?
She could go in search of a stepladder, but maybe if she put her foot on one of the lower shelves, she could boost herself up enough to reach the book.
She wedged her toe between two stacks of table linens that someone, probably Emma, had stored carefully in plastic bags. Bracing her left hand against the wall, she stretched upward, groping with her right. Her fingertips brushed the soft leather cover of the ledger. Memory took her back to Grandfather’s desk, sitting on a high stool next to him, watching as he entered figures in a neat row.
This is the proper way to do it, Drea. If I keep the records myself, then I know they’re accurate.
She blinked, willing away the childhood memory, and stretched until her hand closed on the edge of the book. Victory in her grasp, she started to pull it down. The palm that was braced against the wall slipped, the chair wobbled, then tipped. In an instant she was falling, tangled helplessly in chair legs and sliding linens, landing with a thud that would probably leave a bruise on her hip.
A board creaked out in the hallway, separate from the clatter of her fall. Before she could look the door slammed shut, leaving her in total darkness.
Her breath caught, and she pressed her lips together. Don’t panic. It’s all right. All you have to do is get up and open the door. If you could cope with being trapped in the car and shoved into the toolshed, you can cope with this.
She untangled herself, willing her heart to stop pounding, and fumbled with sweat-slicked hands for a knob. And realized there was none on the inside of the door.
Be calm. You’re all right. Grams will be home soon.
But another voice was drowning out the calm, reasonable adult. It came welling up from someplace deep inside her, erupting with all the violence of a child’s terror.
“Let me out!” She pounded on the door, unable to hold back the fear she didn’t understand. “Let me out! Someone help me! Help!”
The child inside was crying, hot, helpless tears. Someone help me. Father, please, help me.
Cal rounded the corner of the toolshed, his sneakers making little sound on the damp grass. He could see the garage now, illuminated by one of the lights he’d installed, with the door still standing open. Katherine and Andrea must have gone to the hospital to see Rachel.
He frowned absently, coming to a halt and gazing around, probing the shadows, searching for anything that was not as it should be. It would be best if he got back to his own place before they returned. He and Andrea had already butted heads too many times today.
He wasn’t sure whether it had been worse to bear her accusations or to listen to her apology. At least when she’d been throwing her fury toward him, he’d had the shield of his righteous anger.
It was only afterward that he began to wonder just how righteous that feeling had been. The hard lessons of the past had driven him to God, but he suspected he still had a lot to learn about living the way God expected.
Andrea had at least been furious with him on behalf of someone else. His feelings had been motivated entirely by something much more personal. He’d thought they’d been on the road to becoming friends. Now it was clear they’d never be that, and disappointment had fueled his anger. Maybe he hadn’t expressed it, but he’d felt it, and that was just as bad.
He’d turned to head back to the barn when he saw Barney dash across the garden toward the inn door. Odd. Katherine wouldn’t leave the dog outside when the place was empty. How had he gotten out of a locked house?
“Barney!” He took a few steps along the path toward the patio. “What are you doing out here?”
He expected the dog to turn and run to him with his usual exuberant greeting. Instead Barney pawed at the door, ignoring his voice.
The back of his neck prickled. Something wasn’t right here. Apprehension pushed him into a trot that covered the rest of the way to the house in seconds.
Even so, by the time he reached Barney, the dog was howling, pawing at the door frantically. Cal grabbed for the collar even as he realized that the noise he heard was more than just the dog.
Somewhere in the house, someone cried for help.
He yanked open the unlocked door, scrambling into the back hall and stumbling over the eager dog. “Barney—”
He shoved the animal out of his way. Barney skidded, claws scrabbling on the bare floor, and then launched his body at the narrow, paneled door of the hall closet.
Dog and door collided with a thud that echoed the pounding from inside. Cal’s pulse thudded so loudly in his ears that it took a second to isolate the voice.
Andrea—but an Andrea who was a far cry from the brisk, efficient woman he knew. She sounded terrified. If someone had hurt her…
“It’s okay,” he shouted. Anything to dispel that panicky note in her voice. “Andrea, it’s okay. I’m here. I’ll get you out.”
“Hurry.” Her voice sounded muffled, as if she’d clamped her hand over her mouth.
He grabbed the small knob that released the catch, turned it, and Andrea tumbled into his arms. She grasped him, her fingers digging into his shoulders, her breath coming in harsh gasps.
He’d sensed her claustrophobia when she’d been closed in the toolshed for seconds. Now—now she was in the grip of a full-blown attack, as terrified as if she’d been faced with death instead of closed-in darkness.
“It’s okay.” He put his arm around her, feeling the tremors that coursed through her body. “Come with me.” He piloted her toward the library, switching on lights as they went, sensing that nothing could be too bright for her at the moment. “You’re safe now. Tell me what happened. Did someone hurt you?”
Her hand went up to her mouth as if to hold back sobs. She took one ragged breath and then another, seeming to gain a bit more control with each step they took away from the closet. Barney danced around them, trying to push his way between their legs, making little throaty sounds that sounded sympathetic.
“I’m all right.” Andrea probably had to force the words out, and he felt the tension that still gripped her body.
“You’re fine,” he soothed. He switched on the lamp next to the sofa and eased her to a sitting position. She still gripped his hand tightly, so he sat down next to her.
Barney, balked of his clear intent to take that space, had to be content with putting his head in Andrea’s lap.
Cal smoothed his fingers over hers. “Did someone push you? Attack you?” He thought of the dark figure she’d seen out in the rain, and his alarm ratcheted upward. He should search the house, but he couldn’t leave her in this state.
“No, nothing like that.” She wiped away tears with her fingers. “At least—” She hesitated. “I don’t think anyone was there. Probably the door just slammed shut when I lost my balance.”
The slight shading of doubt in her voice had all his senses on alert. “Did you see someone? Hear someone?”
“I didn’t see anyone.”
Andrea straightened, putting up one hand to rub the back of her neck, as if tension had taken up residence there. Her usually precise blond hair tumbled about a face that was paler than usual, and her jeans and white shirt were smudged with dust. None of that was typical of Andrea, but it was somehow endearing.
Focus, he reminded himself. “You didn’t see anyone. Did you hear something then?”
She shrugged, attempting a smile that was a mere twitch of her facial muscles. “You know how old houses are. This place makes all sorts of sounds even when it’s empty.”
“And it makes noises when someone is there. Someone who shouldn’t be.
” His tone was grim. The back door had been standing open. Who knew how many other entrances had been just as accessible?
“I heard a creak that I thought came from the hallway, just before the door swung shut, but that doesn’t mean anything. All the floors slant, and the door might swing shut on its own.” She sounded as if she were trying to convince herself. “Besides, what could anyone gain by shutting me in a closet?”
Just saying the words put a tremor in her voice. The wave of protectiveness that swept over him startled him with its strength. He had no business feeling that way about Andrea.
He cleared his throat. “Maybe he wanted to keep you from seeing him. Or maybe—” Another, more disquieting thought hit him. “You’re claustrophobic, aren’t you? How many people know about that?”
“What do you mean?” Her fingers tightened, digging into his hand, and her voice rose. “Are you saying someone would do that deliberately to upset me?”
“Or to scare you off.” He put his other hand over hers in a gesture of comfort and then frowned, groping for a rational thought that seemed to be lost in a sense of awareness of her.
“That’s—that’s ridiculous.” But she didn’t sound convinced.
“Look, Andrea, I’m beginning to think there’s more going on here than we realize. First Rachel’s accident, and then this business with the prowler—either the Hampton women are prey to a lot of bad luck all at once, or someone is willing to go to extremes to keep the inn from opening.”
“Rachel.” Her eyes darkened with fear as she zeroed in on the possibility of a threat to her sister. “But that was an accident. The police haven’t found any evidence of anything else.”
“I’m not trying to scare you.” He raised a hand to brush a strand of silky hair back from her face. His fingers lingered against the smooth skin of her cheek without his mind forming the intent.
“I’m not afraid.” She attempted a smile that trembled on her lips. “In spite of the evidence to the contrary. But Grams, and Rachel—”