Secrets at Sweetwater Cove

by Sally Roseveare

  “You have time to get a short nap before I get home and Mr. Smith arrives, Kurt. I think you should go back to bed. Or you could stretch out on the sofa. Oh, and keep the bucket with you in case you start feeling nauseous again.” She picked up her purse and her keys.

  “I can take care of myself.” He didn’t like being treated like a little kid. What was it with grown-ups, anyhow? “Mom, I’m 13.” Kurt plumped a throw pillow, tossed it onto the couch.

  “I know, sweetie, but to me you’ll always be my little boy.” His mother leaned over him, kissed his cheek. “I won’t be long. I have my cell phone in case you think of something else we need. ‘Bye, sweetie.”

  Exhausted, Kurt flopped on the sofa and put his head on the pillow. Not comfortable. He stood up and trudged up the stairs to his bedroom, crawled in bed and closed his eyes. He heard the garage door open and his mom’s SUV back out. Thirty seconds later he fell asleep.

  Jasper’s penetrating eyes scanned the yards and houses on the street. Most of the people in the neighborhood worked during the day. Miss Nosey Neighbor had just left, and the house on the other side of Hessie’s was vacant and up for sale. He figured that the women who stayed home would be glued to their television sets watching their favorite soap operas this time of day. Just like his ex-wife. She always complained about the house being a mess, said that Jasper never helped her clean. If she’d ever gotten that fat can of hers off the couch for even one hour a day, the bed could have been made and the dishes wouldn’t have been stacked in the sink waiting for Jasper when he got home from work. And maybe she’d have had a chance to dab on some lipstick and comb her hair. He smiled, remembering how everyone had told him what a shame her brakes went out that morning, that she’d died such a horrible death. Accidental, of course.

  Glancing around, Jasper wondered if passersby would notice his car in Kurt’s driveway, then decided it wouldn’t matter. He’d be in and out in minutes. He looked up and down the street and backed his car up the drive to the garage. That way he could get away fast if necessary, and if he had to, he could stuff Kurt in the trunk without being observed.

  How nice of the missus to leave the garage door up, he thought, wondering if she’d locked the connecting door to the house. He tried the door. No luck. He slipped a credit card behind the lock, smiled when he heard the click. Jasper stepped into the mud room and softly shut the door. He pulled a silencer from his jacket and attached it to his pistol.

  His cell phone rang. He jumped, bumped a shelf. Two empty wine bottles crashed to the floor. Glass flew in all directions.

  Kurt struggled out of a deep sleep, reached for the phone. He heard a cell phone ringing, not his mom’s or his. He sat up straight and listened. He heard glass break. Someone was in the house. He’d never admit it, but right now he wished his mom were home.

  Jasper punched off his cell, stood stone-statue still and listened. Maybe the kid hadn’t heard the ring or the bottles falling on the floor. Maybe he was sound asleep. After all, he stayed home today because he was sick. A minute passed. Jasper breathed easier.

  He stepped through the shattered glass, walked quietly across the kitchen and entered the living room. No sign of the kid. Where was he? Had he ridden to the store with his mom? Jasper wondered. No, he was probably in a bedroom, either asleep or playing some game on his own computer. He sneered. Most kids these days were spoiled rotten, had their own bedrooms, TVs, computers, cell phones, iPods. Not like it used to be. Money wasn’t everything. Jasper’s family hadn’t been rich, and he turned out just fine. Just fine? Some folks would argue with that. He covered his mouth with his hand to stifle a laugh.

  Back to the present, Jasper thought. The question was which bedroom and what floor? He guessed the master bedroom was on the first floor, and in order to get to Kurt’s sanctuary he’d need to climb the uncarpeted stairs.

  Seven steps up he reached a landing that turned left. Only six more steps to go. Squeak. He stopped, his right foot poised above the next step. Damn. He aimed his pistol at the first door and waited—no sound, and no person. He hated to chance stepping on another squeaky step, but he had no choice. On up he went.

  From the hall, he opened doors to two sissy bedrooms, each with a small, private bath. Guest bedrooms, he figured. He opened the closets, looked under the queen-sized beds. Nothing. The next door off the hallway was closed. He turned the knob and slowly pushed the door open. The unmade bed showed no sign of Kurt, but with the walls plastered with sports pictures, Jasper knew this was Kurt’s room. A bucket rested beside the bed, moccasin slippers poked out from beneath, and a partially filled glass rested on the nightstand. Kurt must still be in the house.

  Jasper looked at his watch. Too much time had elapsed. Kurt’s mother could be home in 25 minutes, maybe sooner if she didn’t run into a slowpoke, probably somebody driving a Jaguar capable of easily doing 130 mph. It always irritated him to get behind one of those. He reminded himself to get back to the present. All senses alert and adrenalin flowing, he made as thorough a search of the house as he could in the time he had left. The kid had vanished, had outsmarted him. He checked his watch. If he didn’t leave now, the mother could arrive home before he escaped.

  Neither the kid nor his mother knew his real name, had no clue what he looked like. Miss Nosey Neighbor had seen him, but not at the Karver house. He hurried through the family room, thought about smashing the large flat-screen TV for the fun of it, decided against it. No one had proof he’d been here; the mom would probably convince the kid that the bottles had fallen by themselves. Those things did happen occasionally. Yeah, he was safe.

  At 11:45, a perplexed Miss Nosey Neighbor drove into her garage and punched the remote. The door rumbled to a close. She quickly exited the car, hurried into the house and peered through the blinds covering the laundry room window. She watched Jasper Smoot leave the Karver’s garage across the street, climb into his car and drive away. Strange, mighty strange. What had he been doing in the Karver’s garage when neither of their cars was home?

  Blessed—some would say cursed—with an overactive imagination equaled only by her curiosity, she wondered if Mr. Smoot and Mrs. Karver were having an affair. Not likely. A classy woman like Ruth Karver wouldn’t be the least bit interested in scrawny Mr. Smoot. There must be some other reason. She thought about all the recent break-ins and vandalisms in Sweetwater Cove. Maybe she should phone the police.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE

  Thursday, 11:50 a.m.

  Kurt silently cracked open the door to his hiding place and listened. Was the intruder still inside the house? He poked his head out and looked around. Nothing. He’d shut himself up in the wall for almost an hour. Surely it was safe to come out now. Slowly he pulled his body through the small door and tip-toed to his now-open bedroom door. He was positive he’d closed it before crawling into the storage area that ran past the three dormer windows and across the width of the Cape Cod house.

  Behind the wall was the perfect secret place. If anyone opened the small access door and peered inside, he would still be hidden from view in the tight space below the dormer window. He remembered his mom saying that if anyone ever broke in when Kurt was home, he could always hide there. At the time, Kurt thought she was joking. Not any more.

  He heard the doorbell chime. Before he could decide whether or not he should go open it, a male voice hollered from the front steps and someone banged on the door. Kurt peeped out the window, saw a county police car parked in his driveway. He hurried downstairs, opened the door.

  “Your neighbor called in a possible robbery,” said one of the officers. From across the street, Nosey Neighbor waved. “Is everything okay here?”

  “Yes, sir, but somebody came in the house while my mom was gone.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “I was asleep in my bed upstairs and a ringing phone—not one of ours—woke me. After that I heard glass break and then a squeak on the stairs.”

  “That all? And why are you hom
e today? Are you home-schooled?”

  “No, I go to public school. Mom made me stay home because I was puking all night.” The deputy backed up. Kurt smiled, thought about blowing germs on him.

  “As for somebody being in the house, when I came out of my hiding place my bedroom door was open. I’m sure I closed it.”

  “Kurt, are you okay?” His mom rushed up to him, threw her arms around him. “Look at you. You’re shaking. You shouldn’t be out here in this cold air in your pajamas, especially when you’re already sick. And where are your slippers? Get yourself back in the house right this minute, young man.”

  Kurt looked at her, shifted from one foot to the other.

  “Who are you?” asked a deputy.

  “I’m Kurt’s mother, Mrs. Karver. I live here. What happened?”

  “Your neighbor across the street,” he pointed across the street to Nosey Neighbor who waved again and grinned, “made a suspicious-person call to us. Because of all the recent vandalism and thefts in Sweetwater Cove, we thought we should check it out. I’m glad we did; your son says someone was in the house.”

  “In our house? Oh my goodness. Kurt, I’m so sorry. I blame myself. I never should have left you alone.”

  “Aw, Mom. I’m okay.”

  “Maybe Mr. Smith arrived early. Kurt, do you think he’s the person who came inside the house?”

  “I don’t know; I was hiding. I didn’t see anybody, just heard noises.”

  “Who is Mr. Smith?” asked a deputy.

  “A man who was delivering a camera to Kurt. I can’t believe he would have come early; we agreed on 12:15. I had to run to the grocery store for chicken broth and a few other things. Mr. Smith said he’d come after I got home.”

  “What does Mr. Smith look like?”

  “Don’t know. We’ve never met him. He said Kurt had won the use of an expensive camera for six months.” She smiled at Kurt. “My son’s a camera nut.

  “Kurt, I told you to get inside,” she said.

  The deputy scribbled notes on his pad.

  From across the street, a single shot found its target. Nosey Neighbor toppled to the ground. A deputy dashed to her.

  “Call 911!” he yelled. “She’s been shot!”

  Standing out of sight in Tom Southerland’s side yard, Jasper Smoot slipped his rifle back in its case. Smiling, he hurried across the back yard, ducked behind a thick row of pines, and continued down the street to where he left his car. Now he had an appointment to keep in Charlottesville. Nosey Neighbor wouldn’t tell anybody anything ever.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY

  11:55 p.m.

  At the hospital, Blanche looked at her three friends.

  “Do you want us to stay with you until Tom comes out of surgery?” asked Estelle. “I’m sure we’d all be willing. Right, girls?”

  Lillian and Mary Ann agreed.

  “You’ve all done so much already. Go home, get back to your families and your normal schedules. Tom will come through this just fine. And so will I. His parents should be here tomorrow if they can get a flight into Roanoke or Richmond. I’m not overly fond of them, but they need to be with their son. And having them here will give me a break.”

  “We can wait until he’s out of surgery and in recovery if you want us to,” offered Lillian, even though she was eager to go home.

  “No, I’d like you to go,” said Blanche. Just go, she thought. Vamoose, scat, give me breathing room before I go out of my ever-loving mind!

  The three women gathered up their purses and tote bags, hugged Blanche goodbye with if-you-need-us instructions, and left.

  At that moment, Detective Holmes entered the waiting room, dropped down in a chair. “Please sit, Mrs. Southerland,” he said.

  Blanche stared at him, perched on the edge of the other chair.

  “I understand that you and Mr. Southerland had different, ah, interests.” He raised his left eyebrow, looked at Blanche. “Is that true?”

  “Well, yes. Tom’s job with Sweetwater Cove is his priority, his life. Well, that and making money. Mine is bridge; playing golf comes second. Why do you ask?”

  “You’re away from home a lot, are you?”

  “I am. Like I told you, I enjoy playing golf and bridge, and I do both of those at the club. I’m also involved in a number of charitable organizations that require a lot of my attention. Surely you’ve seen my name and picture in all the papers.”

  “Sorry, I haven’t been that, ah, lucky.” Detective Holmes put his fingers to his temples, thought a second and looked at her. “You and Mr. Southerland don’t do much together, do you?”

  “No. I told you, we have different interests. And what business is it of yours? Surely you don’t think I had anything to do with the attack on Tom. You can tell there is no way I could stuff him in a freezer and shove it down the mountain and into the lake.”

  “You could have hired someone to do your dirty work. Can you look me in the eye and tell me you’ve never wished your husband dead?”

  Blanche stood. “I don’t like your insinuations. I will not discuss this with you further until my lawyer is present. Please leave.”

  Holmes smiled and walked into the hall.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE

  Thursday, Noon

  The Humvee carrying the Dobermans, two guards, the driver, and Win slammed to a halt at the iron gate. Jumping from the vehicle, the dogs immediately picked up Carole’s scent, barked, scratched at the gate.

  “Quiet!” a guard shouted. “Sit!” Whining, the dogs obeyed, waited for the next command.

  “You know we’ll git in big trouble if anyone outside of La Grande Maison catches us. We could go to prison. You sure you wanna do this?”

  “We’ll go to prison if she escapes. She knows too much. She’s figured out that I’m stealing boats and that La Grande Maison is fencing them. So yeah, I’m sure,” said Win, “as long as the dogs won’t kill her.”

  “They won’t kill her, but I ain’t sure they won’t rip her up some if she tries to fight ‘em.”

  “Oh, you can bet she’ll fight.” Win grinned, rubbed his hands together. “I wouldn’t have it any other way. But I want to watch, so keep ‘em on their leads until we’re real close. Then you can turn ‘em loose.” Win smiled. He had his trusty camera and video camera, looked forward to adding more pictures to his collection.

  Carole stopped and opened her almost empty water bottle, swallowed half of the remaining precious liquid. As she screwed the top back on, she heard a sound, like dogs barking in the distance. Cocking her head, she stood still and tried to gauge where the sound was coming from.

  Her gut told her the dogs from La Grande Maison were hunting something. And I’m guessing I’m it, she thought. Somehow she summoned strength she didn’t know was left. Without looking behind her, she took off at a jog. Trying to pick her way through the woods would slow her, but not the dogs. She decided to take her chances that someone on the road would see her, hopefully even help her. She veered toward the hard surfaced road where she could move at a faster pace.

  A quarter mile down the road Carole stopped to catch her breath and listen again for the dogs. She heard nothing. Why? Somehow that worried her even more. Where were they? She patted her jacket pockets to make sure she hadn’t lost her cell phone or her pistol. Satisfied, she downed the last of her water, tossed the bottle aside and began running. Her leg muscles ached, her legs buckled. She fell, pushed herself up, forced her tired legs to keep going.

  The guards snapped the leashes on the dogs and opened the gate. At the command to track, the dogs strained at their leads, put noses to the ground, yelped and trotted into the woods. The men jogged behind them.

  Seven minutes passed before Win called a halt. With hands on his knees, he bent over, tried to catch his breath. Even though the mid-October temperature was 50 degrees, beads of sweat covered his face.

  “Whatsamatter, Mr. Ford? You havin’ a heart attack or something?” a guard asked.

  “N
o, I’m just not used to this. It’s rough going in the woods, and Carole’s got a head start.” Win wiped his brow with a handkerchief. “Any suggestions?”

  “We could just turn the dogs loose, but then you wouldn’t get to watch them tear into her like you said you wanted.”

  “Okay, then let’s keep going the way we were for a little longer.”

  Aurora and King made a right turn onto a road off Route 40. At the intersection, she saw a service station. She looked at her gas gauge; she’d used almost a whole tank. She’d fill up here and use the restroom. She pulled up to the pump, stuck her credit card in the payment slot, and started pumping.

  Gassing up beside her, a young woman smiled at Aurora. “Don’t I know you?” she asked. “You like look so familiar.”

  “So do you,” said Aurora, “but I don’t think we’ve ever met. Do you live around here?”

  “Yeah, about five miles on down Route 40 toward Rocky Mount, but I like work at the end of this here road. Hey, your dog’s real purty. What’s his name?”

  “King.”

  “I used to have a chocolate Lab mix, but she got hit by a car. My Daddy was drunk and Princess wouldn’t move out of the driveway fast enough to suit him. He like just ran over her. On purpose.”

  “That’s tough. I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah, thanks. That’s when I ran away from home. After I buried my dog. Dug the hole all by myself, cried the whole time. My mom watched from the kitchen window. She wanted to help me, but she was scared of Daddy. She was always scared of Daddy. Anyhow, I was 17, almost 18. I been supportin’ myself ever since. My boyfriend Otis helps some. He’s the one who got me this job. I just started yesterday. I’m on my way there now. I’m trying to save up enough money to go to college.” She laughed. “I’m 19, probably be like really old before I have enough.” She beamed at Aurora.

  “What kind of degree do you want?”

  “I always wanted to like be a nurse.”

  “That’s a good profession.” Aurora checked the gas, figured she needed about 10 more gallons. She’d never seen such a slow pump. “What do you do now?” she asked the woman.