by Ellen Parker
“Come on back.” Wayne White smiled at them from the hall entrance.
“Ladies first.” Linc fell into step at the rear of the small parade. Questions about all the soft words they’d missed in the courtroom grew in importance with each step toward the rear office.
“Now, then.” Clarence White settled into his leather chair after brief greetings. “We’ve got twenty minutes before my daughter-in-law expects to see us walk in her door. What’s the first question?”
“What are the exact charges against Mr. Berg and Mr. Maxwell?” Linc’s words darted into the air.
“Expected that question.” Wayne handed a printed list across the desk. “This is not to leave the office.”
Linc scanned down the collection of legal phrases. “Conspiracy? Accessory? Trespassing? Homicide? So they were in it together?”
“That’s difficult to prove. Primary theory of the moment claims Mr. Maxwell sought out Daniel Larson and beat him with his fists and weapons of opportunity.”
“And Basil … Mr. Berg?” Mona accepted the list.
“Discovered the victim either dead or dying. Instead of reporting the crime he decided to frame Linc, based on notes available in the barn. He also removed the laboratory notebook, with formulas, procedures, and financial records.” Wayne paused. “And all the drugs he found lying around.”
“What turned the sheriff in the right direction?” Linc glanced down at his feet and wondered for an instant when or if they would release his work boots from evidence.
“Your friend, Mr. Frieberg.” Clarence tapped one finger on the desk. “He visited Patti Maxwell and convinced her to talk to the police. She gave them enough information to support her husband’s motive and opportunity.”
“And they discovered their physical evidence wasn’t as strong as it appeared.” Wayne leaned back. “The wear patterns on the boot prints were only close, not exact. And the only tool with Ms. Smith’s prints didn’t match any wounds.”
“Then the rumors of Patti’s affair with Daniel were true?”
Both lawyers nodded before Wayne resumed the narrative. “Mr. Berg employed Daniel Larson as his chemist. It wasn’t the most congenial of relationships. Anecdotal evidence suggests Mr. Larson displayed a knack for antagonizing people.”
“He did. Last time we spoke he mixed general insults with threats to buy the farm and destroy the orchard.” Linc glanced down and confirmed the tremble in his hands caused by the mere words and image of Daniel standing defiant at Farm Service.
“Well, case closed. That piece of business, at any rate.” Wayne picked up a multiple copy-form and slid it toward Linc. “This is the intent to claim the property. Think of it as the earnest money papers if you were doing a purchase. Sign it today and I’ll get the title search started. They’ll be a formal session similar to signing closing papers. Would mid-July work for you?”
Linc nodded. He picked up the offered pen and scrawled his name firm enough to make four copies. “Mona. There’s a space for you to sign.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
“What are you looking for?” Mona gave a final swipe of her cloth across the counter separating kitchen from dining area. Morning and early afternoon events continued to chase each other around in her mind. If pressed, she’d say they’d picked up the pace since their late supper. This morning contained a job interview. The afternoon overflowed with both tension and relief at the hearing and lawyer’s office.
She started another review of the mental list, things to do in the near future. A visit to Matt occupied the top spot. And maybe that day trip could expand to retrieve additional clothing and her bicycle from the apartment. Tomorrow she interviewed with Lorraine’s friend for a housecleaning job. She needed to look into the Wisconsin technical schools with culinary programs. And—and accept her decision to live with Linc as public wife and private housekeeper.
“Found it.” Linc held up the log starter. “Want to join me on the deck? I’m going to light all the citronella candles. My plan is to last more than a minute without making a blood donation.”
She rinsed and twisted the cleaning rag. Several bites from two nights ago itched at the casual reference to mosquitoes, the most plentiful wildlife in America’s lake-filled upper Midwest. “It’s going to be dark soon.”
“So? We’re adults, able to set our own schedules. I’ll still go to work in the morning. And you … don’t you have an interview?”
“Ten thirty with Lorraine’s friend.”
“Got your bus figured out?”
“Absolutely. She lives three doors away from the Polk Street house.”
“Come outside and talk with me.” He rested the back of one hand on the counter and curved his fingers in invitation.
“Sounds ominous.”
“Don’t mean to.”
She roamed her gaze over him. He wore ragged denim shorts and a faded blue T-shirt tight enough to hint at his fine-muscled chest. Her heart skipped one beat at the memory of Linc shirtless in her doorway. How long ago was that? Five? Six days. And nights. She closed a mental door on the image that returned every night before exhausted sleep claimed her. “Give me another minute or two in here.”
She paused in her task of putting a few dishes away and admired him a moment later. He leaned over and lit a row of scented candles in metal containers. She blinked in surprise as he turned to the small table and touched the flame to the wick of a new candle in bright red glass.
A few moments later Mona closed the screen slider behind her and savored the view. Linc stood with his back to the house, both arms braced on the wooden rail and face tipped to the sky. “The stars will be out soon.”
“That’s what I’m watching for. My lucky star.” He glanced at her, eased off the rail, and wrapped one arm around her waist. “Did you wish on stars when you were a kid?”
“Too much city light.” Eau Claire produced distraction with street lighting at something less than half Minneapolis. Stargazing translated to admiring the celebrities on magazine covers in her crowd of friends. “On the farm … did you learn your stars there?”
“Some. More during the astronomy unit in physics.”
“Planetarium visit?” Outdoor scents of cut grass, juniper shrubs, and the candles underlined this view as real life, not a school field trip. She pretended the shiver on her skin came from a puff of breeze and not the touch of Linc’s arm against her. Wishes, either on stars or birthday candles, didn’t come true for her. If they had … She banished the fanciful line of thought.
“There it is.” He pointed to about one o’clock in the sky. “Want to wish with me?”
She directed her gaze to the spot of light. What could she lose? Her new friends would help her keep a roof over her head at the very least. She closed her eyes tight. I wish one night of real marriage.
“Do we have to share?” She broke the silence after she thought her heart would have the neighbors reporting a wandering drummer.
“Forbidden to share. Required to act.” He leaned down and brushed his lips across her cheek.
She tipped her head down and held back her next breath. The heat of a blush burned her face.
“Beautiful.” He whispered in a kiss behind her ear. “Tempting. You seduce me.”
She moved under delicate pressure from one strong finger guiding her chin. He gives me too much credit. More power than I deserve. Up. A little to one side. When she lifted her gaze his lips filled the view for an instant before descending to meld with hers.
Mona allowed her mouth to open, sigh against his lips, and beg for more. She wanted this to last forever. She rose to her toes and circled her arms around his neck. One magic moment. One night of dreams come true. Please.
He pulled away, leaving her mouth cold and orphaned.
“Mona.” He touched his forehead to hers. “I … we … I want you. If you’re willing.”
“Let me kiss you.” She needed to test if the magic went both ways. One gentle ounce of pressure brough
t his head down half an inch and she pressed her lips against his mouth. She swept her tongue across his lower lip, exploring and tempting. It felt perfect, heating her desire and cooling impulse at the same instant.
He groaned against her lips. She responded by sliding her tongue deeper into warm secrets. She savored the taste of him, including the trace of mint toothpaste.
“We …” He changed the kiss to chaste. “Sit with me. On the lounge. On my lap.”
“To talk?”
“A little.” He backed up two steps, settled on the cushion, and tugged her wrists in invitation.
She leaned against him, listening to his heart and resting one arm across the back of his neck. Safe.
“I want you.” He sighed into her hair. “Since … oh … I can’t put a time to it.”
“Our first kiss.” She lifted his hand from her lap and circled her thumb across smooth skin. “Do you remember in the kitchen at the Polk Street house? It felt special from my side of things. Different. Tucked full of promise.”
“I’ll never forget it.” He guided her face up and stared into her eyes. I remember the first time I saw you. You intrigued me. I think I got lost in your eyes before we left the airport.”
She blinked in slow motion. Did he realize what a compliment he’d given? He was the first, the only man of any personal acquaintance, who didn’t lapse into offensive remarks tying her eyes to her Chinese ancestry. She started to form a simple “thank you” but before it could cross her lips he claimed her mouth again. Even simple manners vanished.
Mona didn’t attempt to keep track of the kisses, caresses, and sweet nothings they exchanged after that. Want, need, love, and lust all tumbled together in the evening air surrounding them. She dimly remembered extinguishing the candles.
Only one moment outside of the house seared into her mind later. After he opened the slider, she paused in the open door and found Linc’s lucky star, their star, shining bright in the cloudless sky.
About the Author
Ellen Parker, a daughter of Wisconsin, currently lives in St. Louis. She enjoys writing the type of story you can share with either your mother or daughter. When not guiding characters to their “happily ever after” you can find her reading, tending her postage-stamp size garden, or walking in the neighborhood. You can contact her at www.ellenparkerwrites.wordpress.com or on Facebook at: www.facebook.com/ellenparkerwrites.
More from This Author
(From Starr Tree Farm by Ellen Parker)
“Three … two … one. Happy New Year!”
Laura Tanner raised her plastic goblet toward the center of the circle and forced a smile. The church bell — only fifty feet above the basement room — sounded distant chiming in the new day, the new year, and her new life in Crystal Springs, Wisconsin. Her plans to move here sparkled at the sight of people who would soon be friends and neighbors.
Across the circle a strong male voice began to sing. Within a phrase the entire group of forty joined in “Auld Lang Syne.” Her lips moved but no sound came out. She flicked her gaze to the right, skipped over the woman she’d been visiting with a minute before midnight, and continued on to her aunt and two uncles. They appeared interested in the singing and each other. Good for them. She eased out of the circle and didn’t stop until she bumped against one of the long tables at the edge of the church basement.
One year. One complete cycle with three hundred sixty five nightmares that defied tea, warm milk, white noise, and physical exercise to the point of exhaustion.
Twelve months without Scott’s companionship, laughter, and yes, lovemaking. Tears threatened and she blinked them back.
We met on New Year’s Eve. Married the next time the date rolled around. She tipped her face toward the square ceiling tiles and tried to hang on to the six wonderful nights when the world threw a party and they could pretend it was all for them.
Her hand flattened across her chest, found the familiar jewelry lump under her sweater, and stilled. I’ll find justice for you, Scott. I’ll fulfill the plans we started. She traced the shape of the rings against her skin, and for the first time in a year, failed to recall his casual smile. Her shoulders wanted to sag under the cloak of depression and grief the date wrapped around her.
She stared at the tip of her practical pumps and listened to the voices now raised in a familiar ballad.
“To a better year?” Contact with another glass sent ripples across the two drinks.
Black loafers and a rich male voice registered first. She steadied her glass with both hands and raised her gaze up to hazel eyes above a scarred cheek. A better year. “I can drink to that.”
“Can you smile, Laura Starr Tanner?”
She swallowed the question of how he knew her name down with a sip of sparkling grape juice. People didn’t have secrets in Crystal Springs. Every person she’d spoken with this evening identified her as the widowed niece, come to stay on the tree farm for a couple of weeks. “You have me at a disadvantage.”
He set his glass on the table and presented his hand in one continuous move. “Brad. Bradley Asher.”
She touched his hand and felt controlled power complete the handshake. For a blink she lost concentration on tonight’s introductions. Only after he separated their fingers did she sort out names from past and present. “Are you related to the Ashers on Robert’s Ridge?”
“My parents live half a mile from the tree farm.”
She studied his face a moment longer. Unwelcome heat climbed out of her sweater’s oversized collar and up the back of her neck. Big Ears Brad all grown up? Memories of an awkward boy willing to do anything for attention rushed in. He still lives here? The idea collided with the usual pattern of young people leaving the farms and tiny village to find better opportunity. “Oh.”
“The local boy returned home after wandering in the desert.” The entire lower portion of his face broke into a grin.
“You’ve changed.” She pressed her lips tight and closed her eyes. I deserve to turn red for that statement. Of course he’d changed. They’d been fifteen the final summer she’d spent on the tree farm. The girl she’d been during those long ago vacations now resided deep under other experiences of the last sixteen years.
“Belated condolences on … ”
“Thank you.” Her words escaped with more sharp edges than she intended. This private anniversary of horror had her nerves balanced on a precipice. Familiar hurts already filled new surroundings. She reached for a little control and spoke again. “I’m sorry. That was rude. Would you believe I’m tired?”
His smile lingered in a smaller size. “I’m looking forward to our appointment tomorrow.”
“On the holiday?”
“It’s past midnight.”
“One point for you.” She dragged her gaze off his face and down to her trembling hand. “Are you B.W. Asher of Rolling Hills Realty?”
“At your service, ma’am.”
She didn’t try to stop her lips from curving into their own smile. The emails they’d exchanged during recent weeks had been concise and professional. Standing within an arm’s length of him, she couldn’t ignore a trace of the mischievous boy in his alert eyes. Did he plan a surprise with his identity from the beginning? “I’ll bring lots of questions to the café.”
“See you at zero nine-thirty.”
By the time she looked toward the church kitchen and back, he was walking away. She watched his perfect posture and realized he’d given military time. Well, she’d promised him questions.
“Laura,” Aunt Sharon called for her attention.
“Are we going?” Laura noticed the partygoers now clustered near the coat rack and entrance. “I don’t want to rush you.”
“We’re going to let someone else turn out the lights. You had a long drive and we’ve a busy day planned.”
Leave it to Aunt Sharon to understate leaving on the first real vacation in several years as a “busy day.” Tomorrow — no, make that later this morning — Uncle
Roger would finish orienting her to the farm chores. And then her aunt and uncle would begin a drive to Arizona for a warmth-and-sunshine break. “I’ll get my coat.”
A minute later she slipped into her white, quilted parka and glanced to the center of the room.
Brad stood talking to two other men, released a laugh, and moved his left arm.
A hook glinted where his hand should be.
• • •
One hour after sunrise on New Year’s morning, Brad Asher drove Robert’s Ridge Road to Crystal Springs. This route led him past Starr Tree Farm. If he were lucky, he’d catch a glimpse of Laura at her temporary home.
He tapped the horn, a common local greeting, as he approached the buildings. Both garage doors gaped open and Roger’s silver sedan sat outside with the trunk open. A flash of red from within the shadowed garage interior hinted at Laura’s auto. The only living creatures within sight were the two farm dogs loitering near the car in a good imitation of guard duty.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, summer girl.” He pressed the accelerator and hurried away as his words faded in the cab.
Half a mile down the road he eased off the gas. Thick, black smoke rose from a burning barrel. Oil in that fire. His right hand tightened on the steering wheel. His left shoulder scars rippled along the edges at the hint of open flame. It wasn’t until he glimpsed Myles Wilcox, the renter and local insurance agent, tending the fire from the upwind side that he exhaled relief and stretched his thumb across the wheel to beep a greeting.
Ten minutes later, Brad turned left off the federal highway onto quiet village streets. Look at the familiar with fresh eyes each time. Daryl Frieberg’s mantra for an effective investigator returned to nudge him into new awareness as he followed Back Street to the far end of Crystal Springs. A right turn at the Care Center and another onto Front a block later put him on the only other long street in town. By the time he parked next to the office entrance, he’d almost completed a tour of the tiny village. The building in front of his truck proclaimed “Springs Press” but the newspaper and custom print shop closed two decades ago. All that remained of that business was worn black letters on the windows and the scent of ink deep within wooden floors and furnishings.
