Hidden Hills

by Jannette Spann

  “Hey, watch it!” She sprang into action to hold the door open wide. “You’re holding a split-leaf philodendron. I raised it from a sprout.”

  Jeremy steadied the pot, his young muscles bulging beneath the mud-stained shirt. “How many of these stupid things are we supposed to carry?”

  Before she could answer, Jake returned from putting the Areca palm in the van. Pushing the sprawling leaves out of his face, he seemed about as put-out as his son.

  “More to the point, have you thought about where you’re putting them when we get there?”

  The room held a collection of greenery from all over the house. There were several more she’d planned to keep, but clearly he was right. The other house was too small.

  “Would you guys like to have a plant?”

  Bruce finished his job of watering the flowers by emptying the can on a single Boston fern. “Can I have anything I want?”

  “Sure you can,” she said, well aware her flowers would probably drown rather than die of neglect.

  Jeremy shoved her plant into the van. “Flowers are for sissies. Next you’ll be wearing high heels and squat’n.”

  “Enough!” Jake placed the leaves so they wouldn’t break. “Your granddad grows a garden. Is he a sissy?”

  “But he grows them outside.”

  “Makes no difference,” he replied. “They’re all plants.”

  Bruce fingered the different types of leaves as if he were shopping. He’d no sooner lifted a large, red impatiens than it dropped, shattering both pot and plant on the tile floor.

  “It hissed!”

  She froze, leaving Jake to grab a trowel from a nearby table. As a weapon against a snake it wasn’t much, but they’d left the hoe outside. Her breath caught when he slid the fern out of his way, the trowel in his hand held like a dagger.

  He lay the weapon aside when a tabby cat, its teeth bared, hissed again. The angry feline swiped again as if he was the enemy. Charlotte laughed. She’d forgotten the cat.

  “Cucumber!”

  Maggie darted around him and picked up the hissing beast. The racket became a contented purr as the cat responded to her gentle touch. “Mama, Cucumber’s got bumps on his belly.”

  Jake lifted the cat by his nape. It was quite obvious to both adults, Cucumber was a she and she’d had a family. “Yeah, Mama,” he teased. “He’s got bumps all right.”

  Ignoring his comment, she shifted the remaining plants out of the way, being careful not to disturb the mound of fur balls sleeping under the foliage. The kids swarmed over the kittens, each picking one or two for their own.

  “Where did Cucumber find them?” Maggie wanted to know.

  He sat the cat on the floor. “I wouldn’t answer if I were you.”

  “Can we take Cucumber home?”

  “No way!” The boys protested. “Dad, if they get their cat, then we can bring Ribcage home!”

  The noisy argument soared with each kid trying to outdo the others. He tried to restore the peace by raising his voice but got nowhere, so she let loose with an earsplitting whistle. “Okay!” She had their attention. “Now, who’s Ribcage?”

  Bruce won out as spokesman. “He’s our dog and we had to take him to Granddad’s, ‘cause he barked too much. But if they can have their cat, then we can have our dog!”

  “Cats are nice.” Maggie’s prima donna attitude sprang to life. “They don’t make no noise, so there!”

  “Not so,” Jeremy shot back. “You’re just stupid!”

  “Am not!”

  “Are too!”

  “You don’t know…”

  Charlotte glared at Jake. “You can jump in anytime now.”

  He’d perched on the edge of the table, unconcerned their kids were about to slug it out. “You’re doing just fine.”

  Her growl was reminiscent of the cat. Why did she have to be the referee? It was his boys raising a ruckus.

  The old cat was just a stray, but her girls had been heartbroken when it had disappeared less than a month ago. She hated to hurt them again, but they were going to have to leave her behind.

  “Everyone, put the kittens back. I’m sorry, girls, but Cucumber is a barnyard cat. She’d be lost in town, and she might get run over.”

  Tears sprang to Becky’s eyes. “But who’ll feed her?”

  She glanced at Jake for help, but he was deliberately looking at the ceiling, mischief dancing in his blue eyes and a smug expression on his face. “Cucumber’s been taking care of herself for quite awhile now. Mama cats eat rats and mice.”

  Maggie gagged, turning a pale shade of green when she stared at the cat. “Oh, gross… it’s nasty.”

  “But, Mama,” Becky said, swallowing her tears. “Her kittens are too little. What will they eat if we don’t feed them?”

  Charlotte wasn’t sure if the snicker came from Jeremy or Jake, but she chose to take the high road and ignore it. She picked up the cat and held her so the younger kids could get a better look.

  “Remember the bumps you felt on the cat’s belly?” she asked, a thread of sympathy going out to Cucumber as little fingers rubbed across her stomach. “Each kitten has a favorite place to suck. Watch what happens when I put her on the table.”

  The cat shivered, quickly inspecting her babies before lying on her side. The kittens immediately started tumbling over each other as they snuggled in for their feeding. Charlotte felt rather proud of herself. She walked away, leaving the cat with her audience.

  “Your cat’s got to feel violated,” Jake said for her ears alone.

  She grinned. “So next time you give the anatomy lesson.”

  ****

  Andy and the girls had fallen asleep before they’d reached the gate, but Jeremy and Bruce captured Charlotte’s attention with questions ranging from camping and fishing, to tree houses and how many horses the barn would hold. By the time they’d reached Robins Lane, their imaginations had escalated to the point of being world-class fishermen, and Hidden Hills had a bunkhouse with herds of cattle grazing the pastures.

  It was hard to remember the last time his boys had gotten along so well, and he owed it all to Charlotte. She’d treated them with the same respect she gave everyone else, and they’d responded in a positive way.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “So what time do I need to be at your house?”

  “Right after school, if you can,” Charlotte replied, thankful Kimmie was free in the afternoons to sit with Becky and Maggie.

  “No problem,” said the sixteen-year-old. “But Mom says I have to be home no later than nine on a school night.”

  Reader Elementary was only three blocks away, so her girls could walk home with Bruce and Jeremy in the afternoons, giving Kimmie time to drive across town from the high school.

  She tidied her workstation and swept the hair clippings from her last customer into a plastic dustpan before stopping for lunch. It was one of Norma Martin’s rules when she’d hired on — never leave a mess. Lately her life was full of messes, but she was determined to clean them up, one at a time.

  The cell phone in Charlotte’s pocket vibrated while she poured their drinks, sweet tea for herself and a diet soda for her boss. She took out the phone, glancing at the name — Tom McGregor. This was his third time to call in a week. Laying the phone on the table, it vibrated sporadically, while she ate a banana sandwich.

  Norma finished her burger and tossed the wrapper into the trash. "You gonna answer it?”

  “Nope.”

  “Think he’ll give up?”

  She popped the final tidbit of sandwich into her mouth. “It’s what I’m hoping.”

  “Fat chance,” Norma said. “It’s a pity his ethics don’t match his looks, ‘cause he’s a fine looking man for his age… reminds me of a gray fox every time I see him.”

  Charlotte sipped her tea. “He’s a fox all right… gave me a month to come up with the money I owe him or he’ll put a lien on the property.”

  Norma picked up the phone when it
vibrated again, a sure sign it was getting on her nerves. “Joe’s Bait Shop.” Click. “That should get rid of him. Do you have the money?”

  “No, and I won’t have it six months from now either, unless the house sells.”

  Norma pushed her chair from the table, signaling the end of her break. “You finish your lunch, honey. It’s time for me to get started again.”

  After squeezing the last of the curling solution onto the colorful rods wrapping Wylene Franklin’s thinning gray hair, she held the older lady’s arm, easing her underneath the dryer. Satisfied the woman would be okay, she set the timer. “How did it go last night? Did you have help with the plants?”

  “Uh-huh.” Charlotte finished her drink while listing the number of procedures she’d done in the log book. “Jake complained of a hernia, but I think he was joking.”

  “And who’s Jake?”

  “My next-door neighbor.”

  “Sounds like a nice guy if he was willing to move those pots.”

  “Seems to be.” Charlotte realized too late she shouldn’t have mentioned Jake. Her boss was a notorious snoop.

  “Aha!”

  “Aha, what?”

  “You’re sweet on the guy.”

  She finished eating and pulled off her smock, tossing it into the dirty clothes hamper with the wet towels. “That’s absurd. He’s just being neighborly.”

  “It’s one way of looking at it, I guess,” Norma said, not willing to let it rest. “Tell me, is there a Mrs. Jake next-door, or do you have a clean playing field? A lot of wives wouldn’t be much competition, what with your looks and all.”

  “Norma!” She was shocked her boss would say such a thing. “You know I don’t fool around with married men.”

  “There’s your problem, honey. You don’t fool around at all.”

  Why argue the point when Norma was right? “He’s a widower.”

  Her boss paused in the middle of cleaning a hairbrush. “How old is this guy?”

  She had a sudden urge to run, but it wouldn’t do any good. Reader was a small town. All Norma had to do was ask Mrs. Franklin to name the widowers on Robins Lane, and she’d have Jake’s family history in no time.

  She dumped her purse on the counter in a frantic attempt to find her keys. “I’m not sure, but his oldest son is thirteen. I guess he’s somewhere in his mid-thirties.”

  “Mmm.” Her boss licked her lips. “He’s at a ripe age. Money in the bank and fire in the…”

  “Norma!”

  “Don’t act so shocked. You can’t tell me you haven’t wondered about him.”

  “I’m not telling you anything.” She found her keys. “I’ve got to go.”

  “Wimp out if you must,” came the smart-aleck reply. “But this conversation isn’t over by a long shot.”

  She shoved everything back into her purse as fast as she could. There was nothing her boss liked better than trying to get a rise out of her. “I’m out of here, and believe me, this conversation is definitely over!”

  Norma’s laugh followed her out the door. Friends like her boss and Annabelle Smith, her co-worker at the market, were hard to come by. But unlike Annabelle, Norma wasn’t the sort of person she could confide in. As a beautician, talking was part of the job, and Norma’s gift of gab was even better than her styling skills. Her boss wasn’t known for keeping secrets.

  Charlotte almost made it to her car before noticing Tom McGregor’s silver convertible pulling up beside her.

  “I’m tired of having to hunt you down.”

  “So why bother?” she snapped, irritated with herself for not getting to her car a couple of minutes earlier. She could have driven off, pretending not to have seen him.

  The judge stepped out of his car, carrying a manila envelope. “You’ve had thirty days. Have you got my money?”

  “No, I don’t.” Mitch had said the money was a gift, and she had believed him. The last time she’d checked, gifts weren’t meant to be repaid, but in this case, she’d be willing to return the money, just to prove the judge wrong about her.

  He held out the envelope. “This is a promissory note. Since you’re determined to sell the house, I’ll hold off on the lawsuit until then, but you’re going to have to sign this.”

  Charlotte unlocked the car and tossed her purse across to the passenger seat. Her anger simmered just below the surface, but she kept her cool. “I’m not signing a promissory or anything else.”

  “Suit yourself,” he said. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you. If you lose the house to the bank, I’ll still get my money, even if it means taking you to court.”

  “Like that’s supposed to surprise me? Look, Judge, I’ve changed realtors, so maybe they’ll show the house more than the last one.”

  “Changing companies was completely unnecessary. Cummins Realty is a reputable firm.”

  She stood her ground. “Reputable, maybe, but they weren’t getting the job done.”

  Judge McGregor crossed his arms, tapping the envelope on his hip. His opinion of her ability to choose a firm, on her own, was evident in his sneer. “Which one have you gone with this time?”

  “Wilson Realty.”

  He shook his head, a sure indication of his disapproval. “You make nothing but bad decisions.”

  “Just which ones are you talking about?”

  “Selling the estate, for starters,” he said. “It’s been in Ellen’s family over a hundred years, and now you’re willing to let any Tom-Dick-or-Harry with a checkbook move in.”

  “We’ve been over this before,” Charlotte said, tired of the same old argument. “I’m not discussing it anymore.”

  “What about my granddaughters? You’ve taken them out of their private school and enrolled them in the public system. Just what kind of education do you think they’ll get? And what can you possibly gain by moving to your rundown house in a slum neighborhood?”

  “It’s a good neighborhood.”

  “I’ve told you before, girl. You’ve got to look successful to be successful.”

  “You let me worry about my decisions.” She slid behind the steering wheel and tried to slam the door, but the judge grabbed the handle. His face reflected the fury of the moment.

  “You’ll never amount to a thing, girl. Someday those girls will see what you’ve deprived them of, and believe me, they won’t thank you for it.”

  Using all the strength she had, Charlotte jerked the door out of his hands and put the car in gear. She glanced up at the rearview mirror and saw Tom McGregor slam his fist against the door of his new convertible when she drove off. Jake had promised things would work out, but with the judge around, she didn’t see it happening.

  ****

  Business at Milner’s was slow and didn’t improve as the afternoon wore on. With no stock to put up, Ray, the assistant manager, sent everyone home except Charlotte and a bag boy. She glanced at the clock above the office door for what seemed like a hundred times an hour. Only when the last two customers of the night began making their way to her register, did the clock start ticking again.

  At half-past eight, the bag boy clocked out. She quickly balanced her register, giving the money to Ray to lock in the safe. The second part of the workday had only been a seven hour shift, but her weekend of lifting and tugging made it seem more like twelve.

  She stopped by the time-clock to check the schedule before leaving. Her next day off wasn’t until Sunday, which meant she’d be closing again Saturday night, and it created a problem with the sitter. She couldn’t ask Kimmie to give up her date, and the girls were already spending Friday night with Mitch’s parents.

  The overhead lights went off, leaving the bulbs at the back of the store to provide enough illumination for security. She froze when a man’s long shadow fell across the work schedule.

  “What’s wrong, Charlotte?” Ray leaned his arm against the wall above the time clock and laughed as if they were sharing a private joke. “You got a problem with the schedule, or were you wai
ting so we could go to your mansion together?”

  She’d never particularly liked the assistant manager, but this was the first time he’d actually made her skin crawl. He brushed against her when he swiped his card, and she moved out of his way. “You’re married, Ray.”

  “My wife won’t care.” He caught her hair at the back of her head, narrowing the distance between them. “Besides, she’s out of town.”

  She snatched the hair free, trying to step back again, but his other hand caught her neck, jerking her up tight against his body. His hot breath fanned against her face. She could scream, but they were alone — nobody would hear. Fighting the rising panic, she found her inner strength and shoved hard… causing him to stagger. “If she doesn’t care, then something’s wrong with your marriage. You might want to work on it.”

  “Why, you conceited little…”

  Not waiting for his angry retort, Charlotte ran outside before he could grab her again. The safety of her car had never felt so good, and she was almost home before realizing she’d left the parking lot. Her hands still trembled when she crossed the tracks on Dove Street. She couldn’t let the girls see her upset again; they’d witnessed enough meltdowns at Hidden Hills. It took a moment to steady herself enough to roll the window down, but the cool night air helped to calm her nerves.

  It wasn’t the first time she and the assistant manager had closed the store alone, but she knew it would be the last. She needed her job, especially the insurance, but she wasn’t stupid.

  As a precaution, she circled the block a couple of times and pulled the car around to the back of the house, where it couldn’t be seen from the street. She killed the switch and sat with the window down to listen for the sound of another car, but the night seemed quiet except for the tree frogs and a stray cat singing in the alley. On a night like this, it was a relief not having to return to Hidden Hills.