Your House or Mine?

by Cynthia Thomason

  “How long will she sleep?” Meg asked.

  “Not long. She catnaps all day.”

  The nurse was right. After a few minutes, Amelia wakened. She looked around the room and reached for the television remote on a cord dangling from the bed. Before she turned the set on, she regarded Meg with the same distant look she’d had earlier. “Hello. Did you bring my supper?”

  Meg smiled. “No, but I’ll see that you get it soon.”

  “Thank you.” Amelia turned on the set and tuned Meg out. Meg smoothed her palm along the wisps of snow-white hair on her aunt’s forehead, whispered good-night and left the room. Tomorrow she would try again.

  NORMALLY MEG DIDN’T talk on her cell phone while she was operating a car, but when she left Shady Grove, her desire to connect with her son was greater than her code of responsible driving. Besides, she’d only passed two cars in the mile she’d traveled back toward town. She pressed the speed dial to her home phone number.

  “Hey, sis,” Jerry said. “How’s it going up there?”

  Meg covered her disappointment that Spencer hadn’t answered with a cheerful greeting to her brother. “Hi, Jerry. Truthfully, it’s been quite a day.”

  “I’ll bet. How’s Aunt Amelia doing?”

  “She’s quite frail. And not thinking all that clearly.” That was an understatement. “How’s Spence? Did you remember to pick him up at the neighbor’s?”

  “Nope. Completely forgot. Good thing the kid stole a car and drove himself home.”

  Meg sighed, hating herself just a little. Of course Jerry wouldn’t forget to pick up Spence. She was going to have to quit treating her brother as if he were the ten-year-old and show more confidence in him. “I’m sorry, Jerry. I never should have suggested that you might forget.”

  “No, probably not, but I know you, so the assumption was expected…and forgiven.”

  She heard her son’s voice in the background. “Hey, Uncle Jerry, can I have another hot dog?”

  “Hot dogs?” Meg said. “You’re having hot dogs for dinner? I left a turkey meat loaf in the refrigerator.”

  “No offense, Meggie, but isn’t that an oxymoron using turkey and meat together in the same sentence?”

  Meg could picture her brother’s teasing grin.

  “Besides, Spence and I are bonding,” he continued. “You need guy food to do that—good old-fashioned frankfurters.” Before Meg could respond, Jerry said, “Hey, kid, back off on the Easy Cheese.”

  She rolled her eyes and decided it was best to adopt the philosophy that a short-term lack of nutrition probably never killed anyone.

  “So you had a bad day?” Jerry said.

  “Not the best. A few surprises, not the least of which was the presence of a man at the house when I got there.”

  Jerry hooted. “Aunt Amelia has a boyfriend?”

  “No, you idiot. This was a much younger man, the deputy sheriff of Mount Esther by the way. He’s probably not much older than I am.”

  Jerry laughed again. “So you found a boyfriend? Fast work, and it’s about time. Two years is long enough to go dateless.”

  “Why do I bother talking to you?”

  “Because I’m the only one you know who talks about nothing of any importance, and it’s a nice change of pace.”

  “Maybe you’re right. Anyway, the deputy claims Amelia sold Ashford House to him a few weeks ago.”

  “Whoa! No way. The house is yours, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, at least I think so.” She hated the edge of doubt in her answer and quickly amended her statement. “Of course it is. This is obviously just a big mistake. All I have to do is find the deed, and…”

  “Right,” Jerry said. “You’ll straighten it out, I know you will.” Typical of Jerry, he changed the subject before he might actually be called upon to give advice or listen to someone else’s problems. “Speaking of boyfriends…”

  “Which we weren’t, really.”

  “Well, no, but a girl came in today. Real cute. I’d call her definite girlfriend potential for your baby brother.”

  “What did she want?”

  “She has a business proposition. I’ll tell you about it tomorrow. The brainiac is reaching for the phone.”

  The words business proposition immediately translated into harebrained scheme in Meg’s mind. “Jerry, don’t you let a pretty face—”

  “Hi, Mom!”

  Tension ebbed from Meg’s shoulders at the sound of her son’s voice, and she relegated the solving of another problem to tomorrow’s already crowded list. “Hi, honey, how are you?” she asked. “Tell me all about school today.”

  MEG BLEW A KISS into the phone and disconnected the call as she drove up the path to Ashford House. The sun was setting, sculpting the old home in rose-gold shadows that transformed the faded paint with a renewed glow. In contrast, the skeletal shadows cast by the tallest tree branches swayed across the roof peaks and porch eaves. Meg had never spent even one night alone in the house, and suddenly that didn’t seem like the most appealing idea. And then she saw two cars parked in the driveway. One of them belonged to Wade Murdock, and Meg’s apprehension eased.

  She pulled to the back and parked. The deputy acknowledged her arrival with a brief wave and returned to tightening the girth on the saddle of a chestnut horse. A young girl walked under the animal’s neck and stared at Meg’s car.

  Meg stepped out of the car and watched the exchange between Wade and the girl. He pointed in Meg’s direction and appeared to be explaining her presence. The girl chewed on her bottom lip and nodded a couple of times. Meg wondered if the deputy was describing her to his child as the wicked witch who’d come to ruin their dreams of home ownership.

  Sensing movement to her right, Meg’s attention was captured by an elderly man who stood up from the washtub where she had sat earlier. He approached the two by the horse. If this was a delegation of Murdocks intent on challenging her right to be at Ashford House, then Meg was sorely outnumbered.

  She walked to the threesome prepared to defend her position. “You still here?” she said unnecessarily to Wade.

  “Actually I’m back,” he answered. “I left for a while to check the traffic out on the highway and just returned so my daughter could ride while we still have some daylight.” Noticing that the girl had her foot in the stirrup and was staring at him expectantly, he hoisted her into the saddle. “Jenny, this is Miss Hamilton,” he said once she’d wiggled into position on the horse.

  The girl swept her long black hair over one shoulder and peered down at Meg with eyes that Meg now noticed were as dark and haunting as her father’s. “Hi.”

  Still uncertain how she’d been portrayed to the Murdock family, Meg said simply, “Nice to meet you.”

  “And this is my father, Roone Murdock,” Wade said, indicating the man who stood with his back slightly bent and one elbow on the horse’s rump. The elderly man extended his free hand and she shook it.

  “We’ll be out of your hair in a half hour or so,” Wade said. “Just as soon as Jenny has a quick ride and we get Lady Jay put back in her stall for the night.”

  Jenny stared hard at Meg and then shot a glance at the house. “How long you planning to stay?” she asked.

  Sensing that Jenny was fishing for a response of only a few days, Meg shook her head. “I don’t know. I’m here to take care of my aunt, Mrs. Ashford. She’s…”

  “Yeah, I know all about her,” the girl said. “I know that you—”

  Wade distracted his daughter by handing her the reins. “Go on now, Jen. Just down to the river and back and into the side yard.” Roone moved aside and Wade patted the horse’s backside sending the animal off at a slow walk. “Nothing too fast or too fancy, you hear me?” When horse and rider had moved away, he said to Meg, “She doesn’t know the whole story, just an abbreviated one.”

  Meg frowned. “I guess that makes two of us.”

  He smiled, showing a line of mostly even white teeth with a slightly crooked on
e in front which gave him an air of comfortable imperfection. “Yeah, I suppose there are a few details missing at this point.”

  Roone Murdock headed toward the corner of the barn. “I’ll keep my eye on her,” he said to his son.

  “Thanks, Pop.” He bent to retrieve a curry brush from the ground and addressed Meg when he stood again. “So, how’s Mrs. Ashford today?”

  “Confused about things, but okay, I guess.”

  “Did she know you?”

  “After a while but only for a minute or two. I wasn’t able to ask her about the house….”

  “I wouldn’t expect you to if Mrs. Ashford isn’t in a state to handle a lot of questions. From what I can tell, she has her lucid moments, and you can talk to her then.”

  Meg tried to analyze the deputy’s tone. He didn’t seem worried about what she would discover when she was finally able to ask Amelia about the supposed sale of the house. In fact, he was almost confident.

  “I was in the kitchen a few minutes ago,” he continued. “There aren’t many supplies in the cupboards. Mrs. Ashford’s maid came in yesterday and took most of the food so it wouldn’t spoil. If I’d known you were coming…”

  Was he actually concerned about what she would eat? Funny, she hadn’t thought of food until now, and suddenly she realized that she was starved. “I’ll be fine,” she said without conviction.

  He gave her a little smile that said she wasn’t fooling him. “We live in a rental place about a half mile from here. I think we’ve got a pot of spaghetti on the stove. I have to go out on patrol later and I could drop off a plate.”

  “No, that won’t be necessary,” Meg said. “You have to feed your family and I’m sure your wife wouldn’t appreciate—”

  “I don’t have a wife,” he said, taking a couple of steps toward the barn. As he went through the opening, he called over his shoulder. “It’s just a plate of spaghetti and I’ll be out anyway. I’ll bring it by.”

  He disappeared into the barn and Meg stared at the shadows that had swallowed him up. “Well, thanks, then,” she hollered back and headed toward the house and all its uninhabited twelve rooms. Not only did she not have any answers, now she had even more questions.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  WADE TOOK HIS beige uniform shirt out of the dryer, examined it for wrinkles, and slipped his arms into the sleeves. He was buttoning the front as he came from the garage into the kitchen.

  Roone looked up from the sink where he was standing a clean plate in the dish drainer. “How late you gonna be tonight?” he asked.

  “Midnight or so I imagine, assuming there are no emergencies. I’ll sweep the businesses along Center Street a couple of times and probably nab a few speeders on the county road.” He caught his daughter’s eye as she dried a plate and stacked it in the cupboard. “If it’s like every other Friday night, the high school boys will try to turn Route 21 into a drag strip.”

  Jenny spun around and glared at him. “Oh, great. I can just see my popularity soaring in this podunk town.” Under her breath she added, “Everybody already hates me as it is.”

  Wade tucked the shirt into his trousers and buckled his belt. “I don’t think anybody hates you, and besides you’re only thirteen. You’re not even in high school yet.” Quietly, he said, “Thank God.”

  She took the next plate from the drainer. “So what am I supposed to do tonight?”

  “How about homework?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Dad, it’s Friday.”

  Having expected that reaction, he chuckled. “Maybe Gramps will take you to the Video Market to rent a movie.” He gave his father a pleading look.

  “Sure, why not?” Roone said. “I think there’s a Rambo flick I haven’t seen yet.”

  Jenny groaned and Wade winked at his father. “Too bad, Pop. I think you’re stuck with Brad Pitt or Tom Cruise.”

  “Puh-leeze,” Jenny moaned. “They’re so old!”

  “Sorry, pumpkin. I guess I missed a couple of issues of Teen Idol,” Wade said and then checked the snap on his holster. While he’d never have considered patrolling the streets of Manhattan without a weapon, he hated carrying one in Mount Esther. He thought the image of deadly force was inappropriate in the quiet community, but the sheriff had told him that first day on the job that small towns weren’t exempt from crime. He emphasized his motto that a smart cop was a prepared cop. So Wade sported a Smith and Wesson 40 caliber automatic, though in six months, he’d never had the safety off unless it was to test the weapon at a firing range.

  Ready to go, Wade picked up a plate of spaghetti from the table. “Okay you guys, behave yourselves. And Jen, tomorrow we’ll take Lady Jay to the equestrian park. Sound good?”

  “Yeah, I guess so…” She never finished her sentence because she burst into a fit of laughter which was obviously aimed at her father. “Are you sure you want to go out like that, Dad?”

  “Like what?”

  She circled around him and pulled something off the back of his shirt trailing a crackle of static electricity. When he turned around, he saw a tank top in her hands that didn’t look like it would fit a Barbie doll. It was a postage-stamp-sized piece of white jersey with shoulder straps the size of pencils. Across the front was the image of Lady Liberty with sparkling paint on her torch. “Tell me that’s a costume for one of your dolls,” he said.

  She gave him one of those looks teenagers use when they are talking to clueless antiquarians. “Geez, Dad. We donated my dolls to that kids’ charity in Brooklyn, remember? I don’t play with dolls anymore.”

  “More’s the pity,” he said and then hesitated as he tried to erase an image from his mind that would make any father’s blood flow cold. “Then…you actually wear that thing yourself?”

  She stretched the top against her chest where her small breasts barely made an impression in the jersey. Still, the fabric was flimsy enough to interest an adolescent boy’s imagination. “Of course I wear it,” she said. “Just not around you or Gramps.” She sighed dramatically. “I guess I goofed when I put it in the washer with your uniform.”

  “Oh, yeah. You’re busted.”

  “Dad…”

  “Tomorrow, Jen. Make some time for me to take a tour of your closet.”

  She put a fist on her hip and gave him a pinched-lip, how-dare-you look of a woman filled with righteous indignation. “You can be so ridiculous.”

  “So I’ve been told. But heck, you’re stuck with me.” He went to the door. When another disturbing thought occurred to him, he stopped, looked at the spaghetti, and then narrowed his eyes at his father. “You didn’t put any Tabasco in Meg’s sauce, did you?”

  Roone hung the dish rag over the sink divider and stared at his son. “No, but I thought about it. I still don’t know why you’re being so neighborly to a woman who’s determined to pull our house out from under us.”

  Wade thought they’d put this discussion to bed earlier, but he should have known better. Feisty old Irishmen live to hold a grudge. “For one thing, I’m not jumping to any conclusions about Meg Hamilton’s motives or her plans.” He stared down at the plate in his hand. “For another, I ate your spaghetti myself tonight, and I think serving her up a plateful ought to send enough of a message that she’s in for the fight of her life.”

  “You’re a funny man, Murdock,” his father called as Wade made his escape out the door. “But you ask her to show you that deed. Until we see that document in black and white, everything she says is just her blowing smoke.”

  Wade waved toward the back door where his dad was silhouetted against the kitchen lights. “Will do, Pop.” He set the plate on the floor of his patrol car, backed out of the drive and headed toward Ashford House. His dad was ornery, but he was also right.

  MEG LOOKED DOWN at the mess she’d created in the middle of the parlor and released a long groan of frustration. She’d opened every drawer in every end table, desk, and cabinet and pulled out a mountain of paperwork chronicling her aunt’s life. She’d scr
utinized each scrap and found receipts dating back to the 1940s, warranties from companies that had long since gone out of business, and phone numbers that consisted of only four numbers on note paper that had yellowed with age. But she hadn’t found the deed prepared just four years ago.

  She stepped carefully among the debris of her aunt’s past, hoping that maybe this time she’d see the legal document she’d missed on first inspection. “There has to be a copy here somewhere.”

  Disappointed, she sat heavily in a frayed old wing chair and grimaced at the chaos of paper that marked a fitting end to a demoralizing day. Besides the fruitless result of her investigation, she’d discovered after a brief tour through the rooms, that Ashford House was in need of numerous repairs. The wainscoting was rotted and mildewed. The wallpaper was dry and peeling. And the windows—Meg decided that nothing short of a miracle kept the cracked and scratched panes in the frames.

  At least the frantic search for the deed during the last two hours had kept her from reflecting on the fragile state of the home’s security and the fact that she was completely alone in the rambling old house. She tried to push the creaks and moans of the ancient framework to a far corner of her mind, but realized that the eerie sounds would probably translate to a sleepless night.

  “Damn. Where is that deed?” she said, “and why didn’t I request a final copy for my own records when it was prepared?” She had a copy of the original document somewhere in her house in Orlando, but it was an unsigned facsimile Amelia had sent to her so she could check the wording for accuracy. Without Amelia’s signature, it was worthless.

  In spite of the run-down state of Ashford House, Meg wanted it now more than ever. This place was like a member of her family, one she could count on when others had disappointed her. She couldn’t give up on it or toss it aside just because its hair had turned gray or its old bones were brittle.