Tillie couldn’t wait to bake a batch and would debut them with her new guests. She’d tried for years to replicate the woman’s oatmeal-raisin cookie recipe without success. Poring over the list of ingredients, Tillie spotted the elusive one immediately—Chinese five-spice powder. Who’d have thought a woman from rural Kentucky would have had access to such an exotic spice? Of course, Mrs. Foster had traveled in “the Orient,” as she called it. She’d also served in Hawaii as an Army nurse during World War II. Perhaps she’d encountered five-spice powder there.
Regardless, Tillie doubted her local store would have any on hand, so she went to her laptop and placed an order to be overnighted. She hoped the cookies would taste as good as she remembered.
For now, the promised chocolate chip cookies would have to suffice. After placing another sheet in the oven, she returned to the counter at the same moment she heard the door to the herb-garden porch shut. Going into the dining room, she watched Derek beeline to the curved, bright yellow slide. He must have an incredible amount of pent-up energy after such a long drive.
Moving more slowly, surveying the yard as if searching for something, Greg arrived on the playground in the nick of time to catch his son at the bottom of the slide. A genuine smile broke out on the man’s face—the first she’d seen since his arrival an hour ago.
The man seemed to keep himself on a tight rein—around her, at least. As Derek scrambled up the ladder again, Greg couldn’t take his eyes off the house. His gaze lit first on the upper floor—the room where he was staying—before homing in on her. Trying not to appear guilty of spying on them, she made a production of arranging the perfectly placed candle on the windowsill. Tillie waved at him, as though she hadn’t been totally caught in the act, before escaping back into the kitchen to keep an eye on the cookies and start supper prep.
For some reason, an inexplicable sense of loneliness overtook her. She’d long ago grown accustomed to her chosen life of solitude, but she wished so badly she could join them.
Don’t be ridiculous.
Oh no! The window!
Tillie dropped the knife she was using to peel potatoes. Given the way he was scrutinizing everything, he’d probably already seen it, but she hoped to head him off if possible.
Wiping her hands on her apron, she whipped it off and rushed toward the door they’d exited a few minutes earlier. The two of them had moved to the swing where Greg was pushing his son. The man stared in her direction. At least he didn’t appear to have seen the window yet.
“Beautiful day, isn’t it?” she asked as a means of greeting. How was she to explain why she was out here? They’d already discussed tonight’s menu.
“Miss Tillie! I’m flying!”
“Hold on, sport.” He’d opted for the swing that didn’t have a toddler seat, and she appreciated they were being cautious. Greg Buchanan struck her as the type to sue if an accident occurred. To her, he added, “Yes, it is. Much warmer than Minnesota.”
Uncertain what to say, she pointed to the piles of leaves. “Feel free to play in the leaves here or in the front yard. I can wait and bag them after your stay is over.”
Greg nodded toward the house. “I noticed you have a broken window.”
Well, of course, you did.
“You shouldn’t leave it open like that or you’ll have all kinds of critters moving in, not to mention doing damage to the walls and floor of the cellar.”
Tillie didn’t appreciate being told how to run her inn, but plastered a smile on her face. He was a guest, after all.
“Yes, I only noticed it had been broken the moment you drove up. I’ll take care of it after supper.”
“I’d be happy to board it up for you.”
“Oh, let me take care of that. You only need to worry about enjoying your stay.”
“No trouble at all. I’m sure maintenance on a house this size can be a challenge for one person.”
Tillie was about to tell him she had no trouble at all when she heard an alarm go off in the kitchen. A smoke alarm. The cookies!
“Excuse me!”
She rushed toward the house only to find the kitchen filling with smoke. Turning off the oven, she grabbed the oven mitt and removed the tray of charred treats. She hadn’t burned anything in as long as she could remember. Why today of all days? Her guest probably thought her totally inept.
“Can I help with anything?”
No, but you can leave my kitchen. Her conscience warred with her desire to behave like a brat since his arrival. Behave, Matilda.
“No, thanks. I guess I tried to do too much at once.”
Derek coughed, holding his throat. “Is your house on fire?”
“No, sweetie,” Tillie assured him. “Don’t you worry. I baked a whole tray already for tonight. These were extras.” When the boy stared dubiously at the cloud of smoke, she added, “The excitement’s over now. Why don’t you go back out and play?” And take your daddy with you.
“Derek, go in the parlor and play with the Civil War chess set. Daddy wants to check on something in the cellar.”
Apparently, he’d already checked out the parlor, but she still didn’t want him to be bothered with the window.
“Where’s the parlor, Daddy?”
Or perhaps not, unless the boy simply didn’t remember, given the unusual name for what he might know as a living room. “I’ll show you.” To her, he said, “Give me a minute. Then we can check out that window together.”
“Really, Greg, I can take care of it. You’re on vacation.”
He waved away her concerns before staring a moment at the bodice of her dress. “You might want to change into old clothes before we head down there.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I call it a cellar, but it’s not quite that primitive. It used to have a dirt floor, but I decided to make it a more functional space.”
“I see.”
Puzzled why he’d care one way or another, she crossed the room to open the door to the parking area. “Let me air out the kitchen.” When would anything go right today? She then opened the window near the bathroom. “The house was designed to have a cross breezes almost throughout. Quite useful during the hot, sticky summers.”
“No central heat or air, I take it.”
“No, but I love using fireplaces on cold days. And the house stays surprisingly cool in the summer.”
“They knew how to build them in the days before air conditioning, for certain.”
When he started toward the front of the house, she followed. While she wasn’t thrilled that he’d be going downstairs with her, she didn’t want him to go without her, either. The window was her responsibility.
“Wow, look, Daddy! Soldiers!” Derek acted as though he was seeing the chess set for the first time. How had Greg known it was there? She watched from the foyer, not wanting to intrude while the man showed his son the Civil War set.
“Derek, be very gentle with the pieces. They’re antiques, just like my set. And stay in here. We’re going downstairs, but we’ll keep the door open if you need us. We won’t be long.”
“Okay.” Derek focused on the set as he maneuvered two of the pieces across the chessboard squares.
Greg joined her a moment later. “After you.” He indicated the cellar door across the hall.
“How did you know that’s the way to the cellar?”
He averted his gaze a moment before answering. “I’m an architect.”
“Oh.” That would explain his knowing the layout of her house, she supposed. Her mind must still be trying to figure out where she’d seen him before. For some odd reason, she wanted to say it had been in this house, which was impossible. She never forgot a guest.
Tillie retrieved a flashlight from the center drawer in the mirrored table nearby, unbolted the cellar door, and flipped on the light switch before beginning to descend the stairs. “Even with the overhead light, it’s dark down here.”
“I’ll bet.”
“Hold on to the railing. The steps
are steep.”
“Do you have any cardboard we can use for a temporary fix?”
“Yes, I keep some down here.”
At the bottom of the stairs, she prepared to open the door to the northern end when his hand covered hers. A tingling warmth spread up her arm, surprising her, and she released the knob. “Let me check things out first.” He pulled out his phone and turned on the flashlight app.
Relinquishing control to him bothered her, but she’d learned long ago to choose her battles. “I’ll grab the cardboard, box cutter, and duct tape. The light switch is to the right of the door.”
She crossed the central space and opened the canning room door at the opposite end of the cellar to grab what she needed, catching up with him quickly. Upon joining him in the room, her gaze flew to the two windows at the opposite end.
Greg hunkered below the broken one before facing her. “Did you find broken glass outside the window?”
“No. It fell inside.” She crossed the room to lay the supplies nearby.
He shook his head and pointed to the floor. “There’s no glass here.”
“How can that be? It had to go somewhere.”
“Are you sure this is a new break?”
She set down the cardboard and squared her shoulders. “Yes. Quite certain.” Why would he think otherwise?
“Is it possible someone came in through the window?”
“An intruder who cleaned up after himself?” A rock settled in the pit of her stomach. “Not that I’m aware of.”
“Anything missing lately?”
As a matter fact, yes. My sense of security just vanished.
“N-No. Not that I’m aware of.” Calm down. You don’t know that anyone actually came in here. She took a shaky breath and waved her hand around the room. “I mostly use this part of the cellar for storage.” From experience, she believed the northern end to have at least one spirit, although she’d never experienced anything malevolent. Just—paternal perhaps, if spirits possessed such human characteristics.
“I’ll agree it doesn’t have the pleasant vibe the rest of the house does.” So he felt it, too? “Nothing out of the ordinary upstairs?”
She shook her head, facing the growing certainty that someone had broken into her house. “I keep the cellar door locked from the foyer side at all times.”
“Good. That means they didn’t get beyond the cellar. Look around. Tell me if you see anything amiss.”
She held up her flashlight and homed in on the corners. After inspecting every inch of the floor, she shook her head. “Everything appears to be fine.”
“All right. Let’s check the rest of the cellar.”
They reentered the central area, closing the door behind them. The mood lightened immediately. She truly never liked the vibe in there.
But now she also feared entering the canning room, even though she’d been in there a few minutes ago—alone, no less. Thankfully, Greg took the lead.
When might someone have broken in—no, more importantly, why? Perhaps they’d been scared off when she returned from the store. God, if she’d been any later…
What if she’d caught someone in the act? While she kept a loaded revolver in the gun safe upstairs, she didn’t carry it around with her. She still wasn’t convinced anyone had broken in, but what would explain the windowpane’s complete disappearance? It hadn’t walked away.
A pulse throbbed in her temples. “Should I call the sheriff’s office?”
“First, let’s see if anything’s missing or disturbed. If not, I doubt they can do more than dust for prints, but we’ve already disturbed the scene by walking around. A detective friend of mine once said fingerprints are extremely difficult to lift from wood anyway, and I would guess the windowsill and frame would have had the most evidence.”
Without any proof of an intruder, she’d only appear silly to the deputy.
They crossed the cellar to the canning room, and Greg searched the outer walls, shining the beam from his phone’s LED app into the darkened corners. How would he know if anything was missing? He’d never been down here before.
To help, she did the same with her own flashlight. The windows on this side were intact, and everything appeared to be the way she’d left it when the canning season ended last month. Turning around, she found Greg focused on one of the stones in the wall that had loose mortar around it. “See anything?”
“What?” He lowered his phone. “Sorry, no. I’m fascinated with the construction of the house.”
“Oh, I still owe you the nickel tour.” Of course, an architect would want to see how the foundation of the old house was built. “I had this room converted to a summer kitchen of sorts. Mostly I used it for canning and sorting and ironing laundry, but on truly hot days and nights, I often escape down here. I’ve even set up a twin bed over there to sleep on hot nights when I don’t have guests.”
She shined her light into the nook. “I’m not quite sure what they used that area for.”
He focused on the beam on the walls and ceiling, coming to a block of stone that appeared to have new mortar placed around it. “When was this done?”
“No clue. There’s a similar one in the room on the other end of the cellar. I assumed the mortar had weakened over time. It’s not as though anyone could move a stone that huge.”
“Perhaps.” He spent the next couple minutes studying the area more closely then moved on. At least he wasn’t focusing on the boxes of jars, lids, and canning supplies she stored down here. When she gave a tour of the house, it never included the cellar—until today.
“The stone masonry held up well over the decades,” he noted, pointing to the walls.
“It reminds me of the original stone walls at the Old Talbott Tavern, but that building is at least fifty years older than this one.”
“You don’t mess with what works. Perhaps a local father and son stonemason specialized in that style, and the younger built this house. Or an apprentice of the older mason.” He shrugged. “Who knows?”
Greg continued to take an inordinate interest in that one odd stone. Most likely, he already figured out more about the structure for himself than she could divulge.
“Why don’t we return to the center room?” she asked, hoping to go upstairs again. Expecting him to follow, she started toward the door, but when she glanced over her shoulder, his gaze had remained riveted to that stone. What fascinated him so much? Perhaps he’d enlighten her, given his expertise, and she’d learn more about the house.
As if he finally heard her words from a few moments ago, he looked in her direction and shrugged sheepishly. “Sorry. I’m like a kid in a candy store down here.”
He joined her, and she continued with her impromptu tour. “This is where I store my canned goods, keep an extra freezer, and do the laundry.”
“Busy area.” He focused on the three shelves filled with slightly dusty jars.
“That’s where…” Wait! One of the shelves that held dozens of filled quart, pint, and half-pint jars had been moved away from the wall on one end. A jar of her blackberry preserves lay broken on the floor. She’d picked those berries herself and probably still had the scratch marks and healed mosquito bites to prove it. “What on earth?” Approaching the area, she tried to ascertain how anyone could have moved it. “How’d this shelf get moved?”
“You didn’t do it?”
Why would he think she’d leave a sticky mess on her cellar floor? “Of course not.” She hoped her annoyance came through loud and clear.
“Don’t touch anything. This brings us back to a possible intruder.”
Her heart pounded painfully as she surveyed the area to see if anything else was out of place. “Why would someone want to break into my cellar?”
Greg moved closer, his arm brushing hers, sending an alert of a different kind coursing through her. His aftershave wafted to her, spicy but light, which calmed her jangled nerves for some reason.
She stepped away to allow him space
to shine his phone’s light behind the shelf.
After a moment, he turned it off and faced her. “If it was an intruder, what might they be looking for down here?”
She shrugged. “I haven’t the foggiest.”
“There’s lots of lore about Jesse James attached to this house. Could fortune hunters be searching for souvenirs? You wouldn’t believe the number of stories circulating about hidden treasure here.” As he spoke, a spark of excitement flashed in his eyes.
Oh no. Not another one.
She’d better lay those notions to rest once and for all. “This area has undergone extensive renovations. If anything had been stashed here, don’t you think it would have been discovered by now?” She stared at the mess again. “Should we call the sheriff now?”
“Whoever was here, they’re gone now. But you might want to have the authorities check things out.”
Her chest tightened at the thought of a prowler breaking into her house. “You’re scaring me.”
He stroked her upper arm. If he’d intended for the motion to calm her, well, no such luck. She took a step away to put more distance between them, immediately missing the warmth of his hand.
“Do you have an alarm system?”
She shook her head. “I never had one installed. My guests and I are in and out so much that it would be a nuisance to mess with.”
“Well, I’d like you to mess with it, especially with you being out here alone for the most part.” That he cared about her safety ought to reassure her, but how much would this equipment and service cost? She had more important things on her priority list, like the new roof she’d put off until after next spring’s violent weather season was over, just in case. “I’ll check into it. Maybe after the holiday rush is over.”
“If you’d like, I can check the national and local registries and suggest a good contractor. You could probably have one installed within the week.”
She needed to remind him who ran things around here. “Money doesn’t grow on trees, unfortunately. I had to repair major hail damage in the spring, and my car took a hit at the mechanic’s in September, which pretty much ate into this year’s maintenance budget. But I’ll be happy to provide a list of names for future reference. Thanks.”
Jesse's Hideout (Bluegrass Spirits 1) Page 4