Beauty in Hiding
Beauty in Flight Book 2
Robin Patchen
JDO Publishing
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To Ray Patchen
Korean War veteran
Father-in-law extraordinaire
And inspiration for Harold “Red” Burns
Also by Robin Patchen
Beauty in Flight Series
Beauty in Flight
Beauty in Hiding
Beauty in Battle
Hidden Truth Series
Convenient Lies
Twisted Lies
Generous Lies
Innocent Lies
Other Books
Chasing Amanda
Finding Amanda
A Package Deal
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Acknowledgments
Dear Reader
Also by Robin Patchen
Chapter One
Of course it was raining.
And not merely raining. Harper had been white-knuckling the steering wheel of her used VW Jetta through an absolute deluge since Rhode Island. Visibility had been practically nonexistent on the interstate. After she’d exited onto the state highway that brought her to Nutfield, thanks to the lack of street lights, visibility had been no farther than a few feet in front of her car.
The constant swish-swish of the wipers was the only sound as she stopped at a T in the road. The area was deserted. Maybe that was normal in a little town for a Monday night at eight-thirty. She had no idea. She’d never lived anywhere this far off the beaten path.
She consulted her phone to check the map, but her navigation software was trying—and failing—to figure out where she was. Shocking that a fifty-dollar pay-as-you-go phone from the convenience store didn’t work properly.
Fortunately, she’d studied the map enough at the last stop that she sort of knew where she was going. Sort of.
She glanced at Red, the elderly man in her care. His eyes were wide with worry, and she didn’t blame him. He’d had a very difficult few days. Both of them had, but they’d survived this long. She’d keep Red safe even if it killed her.
Which it very well might.
She turned left and picked up speed. The car hit a puddle that had looked manageable, but water splashed against the windshield, momentarily blinding her. The wheels slid, and she hit the brake.
“Be careful!” Red shouted.
By the time she got the car under control, her heart had wedged in her throat.
She pulled into the breakdown lane, stopped, and rested her head against her hands on the steering wheel. They were okay. She hadn’t careened off the side of this dark road and landed in a ditch. They were almost there.
If she remembered correctly, the street they were looking for wasn’t far. She glanced in the rearview, which revealed no headlights, and maneuvered back into the lane, driving slowly to peer at the street signs.
And there it was. Thank God. She turned onto a street barely wide enough for two cars. The house they wanted was supposed to be the first on the left, but there were no houses anywhere. She’d driven about two hundred yards and was about to give up when she saw a driveway.
Harper checked the address on her phone, peered through the downpour at the mailbox, and focused on the house beyond. She could barely make out the shape of it in the rain. It was completely dark.
“Where in the blazes are we now, girl?”
Harper stretched her face into what she hoped would look like a smile and turned to the old man in the passenger seat. “We’re home.”
Red peered through the pouring rain. “This isn’t home. This isn’t anywhere near home.”
She patted his leg. “It will be, soon enough.”
He harrumphed, a reaction that had become familiar to her in recent days. Thanks to the traffic, the rain that had battered them all day, and Red’s frequent need for stops, what should’ve been a five-hour drive from the hotel in Newark had become eight. Every bone in her body ached with exhaustion. She couldn’t imagine how he felt.
She maneuvered the car beside the mailbox, pulled it open, and snatched the keys, but not fast enough to keep the rain from soaking the arm of her sweatshirt. It’d been a long time since she’d lived anywhere safe enough to leave keys in a mailbox. Maybe it was a good sign the landlord left them there. Maybe those keys meant that coming here wasn’t the stupidest, rashest thing she’d ever done.
Not that she’d had a lot of choices.
She backed into the driveway so Red would be closer to the front door.
Gramps. Gramps. She had to get used to calling him Gramps.
“Let me unlock the house, then I’ll come back for you.”
“Don’t you leave me out here.” His words were gruff, but they didn’t conceal the fear beneath them. As if she’d ever do anything to harm him. As if she hadn’t risked everything to protect him.
But he didn’t know that. He didn’t know what she’d discovered about his grandson, Derrick, and he didn’t remember the bodies he’d discovered in the living room of his home.
“I’ll be right back. I promise.” After she snatched her raincoat from the backseat and slipped it on, she pulled the hood over her head, and pushed open the door. Cold rain splattered against her jeans as she hurried around the car and up the steps. The wind whipped, blowing the hood of her jacket against her face and making it hard to see while she tried to shove the key in the lock. Finally, she opened the door.
Inside, she lowered her hood and took in the space. There were hardwood floors that needed to be refinished and off-white walls that looked freshly painted. A sofa and a recliner were separated by a side table, and a narrow coffee table stretched in front of the sofa. The furniture seemed, if not new, then only gently used. A fireplace was tucked into the wall on her right. What she wouldn’t give for a blaze in there right now. An old TV stand stood empty against the wall beside her.
She crossed the living area into the kitchen. Small and functional. The cabinets were worn but clean—on the outside anyway. She opened the refrigerator door. Clean, and cold inside, so the landlord had made good on his promise to turn it on. A small round kitchen table had four chairs surrounding it.
Harper headed down the hallway toward the bedrooms. Just like the landlord had said, each had a bed and dresser. No bedding, but she’d taken care of that. The only bathroom was just before the smaller bedroom.
This would work.
She stared at the bed in the smaller room, her room, and fantasized about falling into it for a nap. She and Gramps had been in New Jersey by the time the sun rose Friday morning. They’d spent the weekend in a hotel near Newark. On Friday, she’d
treated Red for antifreeze poisoning after doing extensive research on what could have been slipped into his Gatorade based on his symptoms. Everything matched, and lucky for her, antifreeze could be flushed from the body with alcohol. Lucky for her, but not for Red. She’d given him multiple doses of his medicine—straight vodka—for twenty-four hours. Once the hangover faded, he seemed weaker than when she’d begun. His dementia had been worse than ever, though that might have been in part due to the unfamiliar surroundings. But the effects of the poison had worn off.
Maybe she’d saved him. The cure was awful, but alcohol wouldn’t kill him. Antifreeze would.
Using Gramps’s debit card, she’d taken the daily limit out of his checking account every day, done some shopping, and searched for a place to live. She figured Derrick would assume she’d headed southwest, since that’s the direction she’d come from, so she’d searched northeast and found this place in rural New Hampshire. The price was right, the location so random, nobody would think to look for them here. Now that they were settled, she couldn’t use the debit card again. Too easy to track.
Now, she was in a rental home in New Hampshire. Nobody would find her here. But could she discover what had happened back in Maryland? Until she did, she and Red would have to stay hidden. Gramps. She and Gramps would have to stay hidden.
She pulled her hood up again and rushed through the rain to the car, where she took Gramps’s walker out of the trunk and unfolded it. Then she opened his door.
“Took you long enough.” He was staring at the house, his voice raised to be heard over the rain. “What are we doing here?”
“This is our new home.”
He crossed his arms. “I want to go back to my house. I don’t like this one.”
“I know,” she said. “Let’s just go inside and check it out. You’ve got to be tired of this car.”
He stared at the house, then at her, then at the house again. Finally, he blew out an angry breath. “I’m not gonna like it.”
“That’s the spirit.” She stood back, left the walker close by, and helped him turn so his feet were on the driveway. The events of the previous few days—the poison, the treatment, and seeing those dead men, not to mention running for their lives and staying in a shady hotel—had left him weaker than she’d ever seen him. “Come on out, Gramps.”
“Why you keep calling me that?”
She’d explained it to him, but he’d forgotten her desire for people to believe they were related. Now wasn’t the time to go over it again, so she ignored the question while he tried to stand. Couldn’t seem to make it. She moved the walker out of his way. “Let me help.”
“Don’t need your help.” But he gripped her forearms like he might a lifesaver in the ocean. She hid the pain his grip caused. The bruise on that arm wasn’t his fault. He didn’t even know it was there.
She eased him out, then steadied him on his feet and adjusted his fedora. At least his head would stay dry. He leaned on the door while she got his walker into position.
“Can you just—?”
“I got it,” he snapped.
Shuffling, they made their way through the rain to the front porch steps. Just three. Should be no trouble, considering at home he navigated an entire flight of stairs every day.
She lifted the walker to the landing, positioned herself on one side while he gripped the wrought-iron handrail on the other. He got his grips right, but when he tried to step up, he couldn’t quite make it and rocked back down.
“Let’s try that—”
“I don’t need your help.”
But he didn’t move.
He’d been sitting too long. After the poisoning and the antidote, his legs were too weak to make this work. And he was embarrassed.
She forced a deep breath, wiped rainwater out of her eyes, and said as brightly as she could, “Let’s give it another shot.”
He put his stronger leg on the step, rocked forward. She helped as much as she could and cursed the sprain in her wrist. If not for that, this would be easy. As it was, pain shot up her arm as she took his weight.
He made it to the first step.
Then stopped.
“Two more.”
“I can count.”
She waited for him to catch his breath. When the rain had thoroughly soaked through her sneakers, she said, “You ready?”
He lifted his foot, rocked forward, and tried. She could feel his effort. Tears filled her eyes from the ache in her arm. Normally, getting up three steps would be no problem. He strained, she strained, and they made it to the second step.
A car splashed by on the street behind them. She didn’t turn to see. It wasn’t as if it would be a friend. She didn’t have any of those, not in this town. Not anywhere.
After a moment’s rest, Gramps lifted his foot to the landing, took a deep breath, and rocked forward.
His hand slipped on the rail, and he fell forward. Instinct had her grabbing him. Pain shot up her arm, and gravity pulled him down. He banged his shoulder against the railing and barely got his hand down in time to keep himself from landing face-first on the concrete. He turned, sat on the step, and stared at the wooded front yard.
She sat beside him and buried her face in her hands. Hot tears joined the cold rain. Neither spoke.
What was she doing? How could she protect this man when she couldn’t even get him into the house?
Father, help.
She’d begged God for help all weekend. Begged him to make Red better. And He had. Red had woken up today looking better than he had in a week. His bright eyes and the color in his face, the concern in his expression and the joy in his smile had been a blessing. This morning, feeling both grateful and helpless, Harper had decided to embrace the God Gramps and her friend Estelle trusted so completely. She’d been trying, trusting, failing, and trying again for months. That morning, her decision made, she’d felt able to conquer the world. There was a God, and He loved her.
She’d been sure of it.
Now, the world was dark and gray and closing in on her.
A real Christian would know how to pray. Harper didn’t know anything about God except what Red and Estelle had told her and what little she’d understood from reading her Bible. If she was wrong about God, then she was lost.
Maybe she was lost anyway.
“Can I help?”
She looked up and wiped her eyes as a man jogged down the driveway. He wore a jacket, jeans, work boots, and a baseball cap. A pickup was parked on the road in front of the house. A total stranger. A man.
“Who are you?”
He stopped at the bottom of the steps and smiled up at them as if conversing in a storm were the most normal thing in the world. “Jack Rossi.”
Jack Rossi. This was their new landlord? They’d only corresponded through email, but for some reason, she’d pictured a middle-aged, gray-haired man. She’d been very wrong.
“I presume you’re Harper Cloud.”
She wiped moisture from her eyes and attempted a smile. “We were just admiring the view.”
The man’s grin only got wider as he focused on Red… Gramps… who was watching him through narrowed eyes. “Let’s do formal introductions inside, shall we?”
Gramps nodded once, turned, and reached for the railing to pull himself up. She started to position herself on his other side, but Jack stopped her with a touch on her shoulder. He said nothing, just lifted his eyebrows and nodded toward the old man. May I?
She wanted to cry all over again, though she wasn’t sure why. Because she didn’t want to need help? Because she did need it? Because somehow, God had actually answered her prayer?
She opened the door while Jack put Gramps’s arm over his shoulder and helped him up. They maneuvered into the house in no time.
Thank God for Jack Rossi.
Chapter Two
The old man’s teeth were chattering, and he seemed too worn out to speak. Jack helped him shuffle through the living room and ease into the
recliner.
The woman stood in the doorway dripping rainwater from her coat and a hood that obscured her face. Jack asked, “The rest of your stuff is in the car?”
“I can get it.”
“There’s a quilt in the closet in the master. Why don’t you grab that?” He cut his gaze toward the old man.
She paused a moment, nodded to the keys she’d tossed on the coffee table, and headed down the hall.
Jack snagged the car keys, ducked through the rain, and popped her trunk. He lifted a large fancy suitcase, a smaller beat-up suitcase, and a giant department store sack. He returned to drop the things inside before running back out. Seemed the woman had loaded up on groceries. He hooked the bags over his arm and grabbed a case of Gatorade and took them to the kitchen. Back outside, he checked the trunk one more time before opening the rear door. A box containing a brand new flat-screen TV was positioned on the backseat. A purse and a small duffel bag were on the floor behind the passenger seat. He hooked the purse and duffel around his arm and then pulled out the TV. It was a decent size with a handle on the top of the box to make it easy to carry. He slammed the car door with his hip and hurried inside to keep the box from getting too wet.
In the living room, he set the TV box in front of the stand and the purse and duffel on the sofa.
Harper’s back was to him as she helped the man out of his wet jacket. She was still wearing hers. Probably too chilled to take it off.
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