Blue Ridge Hideaway

by Cynthia Thomason

  “You know,” he said, rubbing his chin, “I shouldn’t have let Luke have a friend over this morning. He should be in here helping you.”

  She took pillows from a box and squeezed one. “Absolutely not! I want Luke to have fun and so do you. I like Bobby. He’s a nice kid.”

  “Yeah, he is.”

  “What did you think of his mother? I thought she was nice.” She pressed the pillow to her chest. Why in the world had she said that? What did it matter that she liked Mrs. Callahan? It’s not as if she was going to have any say in discussing the families of Luke’s potential friends.

  “She’s a mom. Looked like she needed a good night’s sleep.” Bret reached for the pillow. “Let me hold this thing. I want to see what my money paid for.”

  “Soft, isn’t it?”

  “Well, it’s a pillow. Oh, and by the way, Dorie, I think Bobby was allowed to come over here because Luke told Mrs. Callahan that we have a ‘sort-of mom’ here at The Crooked Spruce.”

  Dorie thought about that comment for a moment. A couple of hours ago, when she’d talked to Jack, she’d thought of herself as a failure as a sort-of mom. Now, knowing Luke thought of her that way, she rather liked the term. But she didn’t let on. Instead, she smiled and said, “Really? Is that how Luke thinks of Clancy?”

  Bret grinned. “Yeah. We all do.”

  “Tell you what,” she said. “I’ll make those grilled cheese sandwiches. You let the boys play and send that old codger ‘mom’ in to help me with this stuff. We’ll have it all sorted and inventoried by this evening.”

  “Deal. And Dorie?”

  “Yes?”

  “Thanks for everything you’ve done.”

  Bret left and Dorie got to work. She’d once told Bret that she liked to keep busy. It was true. Using her hands to accomplish something made her feel vital, even if the effort was for someone else. She’d get through this next week and go home knowing she’d done everything she could to keep Jack’s defense on track. And in the meantime, she’d help turn The Crooked Spruce into the best executive outpost it could be.

  * * *

  THE SUN SET that night on a picture-perfect spring evening in the mountains. After Bret took Bobby home, the four residents of The Crooked Spruce sat in front of the big-screen TV and ate pizza Bret had picked up. They watched a PG movie about two zany stepbrothers with Will Ferrell as the star. About halfway through the movie, the lodge phone rang.

  “Must be Julie,” Bret said. “I don’t think anyone else has called us on that number.”

  Luke paused the movie and Clancy got up first to answer. “You all stay seated. I’ll take it.” He glanced at the caller ID screen and cringed. “I’m not answering this.”

  “Why not?” Bret asked.

  “It’s Maisie.”

  “Grandma!” Luke shouted.

  “She must have gotten the number from Julie,” Bret said. “You have to answer it, Pop.”

  “Nah. We’re in the middle of a movie. Let it go to voice mail.”

  Bret started to rise. “But it might be an emergency.”

  Clancy waved him back down. “Okay. Okay. I’ll take it, but I’m turning on speaker so you all can hear. Any time I talk to this woman I need witnesses.”

  Bret settled back on the sofa. He wondered if Julie had told Dorie anything about his parents’ strange relationship. She was smiling, so he figured she had. And he wondered how long it had been since Clancy had spoken to Maisie.

  Clancy cleared his throat before pressing the speaker button. “Harpy.”

  The responding voice was clear and almost melodic, as if the person on the other end were in the next room. “Buzzard.”

  Bret frowned, folded his arms over his chest. “How charming. Button your seat belts. Here we go.”

  Luke giggled. “I think they really like each other,” he told Dorie.

  “Sounds like it,” she said.

  “You want to talk to Bret?” Clancy asked her.

  “In a minute, maybe,” she said. “Actually I called to talk to you.”

  “I’m warning you, Maisie. You’re on speaker. Don’t say anything you don’t want repeated in a court of law when I’m forced to sue you for slander.”

  “I’m not worried, old man. Anything negative I’d say about you is only half as bad as the truth, anyway. How’s my grandson?”

  “I’m fine, Grandma,” Luke hollered.

  “That’s good, sweetie. Grandma misses you.” She paused. “Now, Clancy, I want to know what you’re doing at Bret’s place. What’s going on? Julie told me what she could, but I suspect she doesn’t have all the details.”

  Clancy glanced over his shoulder at the others. “Hold on a minute, Maisie.” He picked up the receiver and pressed the speaker button again. “Nobody but me can hear you now.” He tried to muffle his voice, but Bret could still hear. “You got a problem with me visiting our son?”

  That question must have opened a can of worms because Clancy didn’t say anything else for several minutes. He just shook his head once in a while and grunted. Finally he said, “No, don’t do that. I hate when you make threats.”

  Another pause. “Bret and I are getting on fine, so don’t go manufacturing trouble between us. He doesn’t have any problems, and I only have one, and I’m talking to it.”

  Bret held his breath until Clancy spoke again.

  “I’ve got to go, Maisie. We’re doing stuff here. Important stuff.” Another minute passed. “Don’t do it, woman. No need. You’ll only be wasting money, and we all know how you like to hang on to every dime.” He made chomping motions with his fingers and thumb to sign to the others that Maisie was talking his ear off.

  “I’m hanging up now,” he said. “Sure, I’ll let you know where I go next. Nice talking to you.”

  He put the phone back on its cradle and ambled toward the couch.

  “What was that all about?” Bret asked.

  “The usual.” His voice rose to mimic his ex-wife’s. “Tell Bret and Luke I love them.”

  “That can’t possibly be all she said,” Bret responded.

  “She thinks I’m taking advantage of you. She always thinks that.”

  “Gee, where would she get an idea like that?”

  “Apparently Julie has a bigger mouth than I thought. She couldn’t wait to tattle on me. But here’s the worst part. Maisie’s actually threatening to fly out here.”

  Luke jumped up and raised his arms. “Yay! Grandma’s coming! She never goes anywhere.”

  Bret dropped his head to the back of the couch and covered his eyes with his arm. Great. The Crooked Spruce was opening in just weeks and someone else was coming to upset the flow of his preparations.

  “Just our luck she picks North Carolina to visit out of all the fifty states,” Clancy said.

  Bret kept his eyes closed. “What a coincidence.” As if Clancy hadn’t done enough already, now he was responsible for bringing Maisie.

  He sensed Dorie sliding closer to him on the sofa. She whispered in his ear and he caught a whiff of that shampoo she used. “First me and now your mother,” she said. “Clancy is the gift that just keeps on giving.”

  He smiled. He was beginning to realize that one of Clancy’s gifts, the one sitting next to him now, was becoming pretty important to him.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  THE AIR WAS still and cloudless, allowing the stars to shine down through budding leaves. The temperature was just right, in the low sixties. Cool enough to light a fire in the chiminea on the porch and bring a throw to Julie’s swing for added comfort.

  Dorie didn’t read her book. Instead, surrounded by the flicker of a few hardy early spring fireflies, she let the swing lull her and King into a sense of peace. Despite her phone conversations this morning, she, alo
ng with the inhabitants of The Crooked Spruce, had enjoyed a nice day. Luke’s friend had stayed for hours and seemed to not want to leave. Bret and Clancy now had two cabins ready for occupancy. And Dorie had inventoried the supplies and stacked them in the storage room, even leaving space for her bed.

  She’d nearly dozed off when Bret came onto the porch. Hearing his footsteps, she became instantly alert. She sat straight, tucked the throw around her legs. “Is it quiet inside?” she asked.

  “Sure is.”

  “It must ease your mind that we haven’t heard anything about Dabney Shelton lately.”

  “Yeah, it does, but I’m not letting my guard down.”

  “Where are Luke and Clancy?”

  “Both asleep and I can’t tell who is snoring the loudest.” As was his custom each night, he walked to the screen and looked out. “You like it out here, don’t you?” he said to her.

  “Sometimes I think I could sit here on the swing forever and just watch the seasons change. Like now. The trees are just getting leaf buds. That’s a change since I got here. It’s almost as if the trees have personalities....”

  She cut herself off. Though she would love to stay, her time here was drawing to a close, and they both knew it. “Anyway,” she added, “I don’t see the seasons change much in Winston Beach. This is nice to experience.”

  “I know what you mean. Miami is just hot, except for the summers when it’s hotter.”

  She smiled. “So you’re glad you moved here? No regrets?”

  His profile reflected worry lines at his temple. His eyes narrowed. “I can’t imagine anyone but a fool claiming to have no regrets,” he said. “I worry about Luke fitting in. I miss some friends in the force. But I’m closer to my sister now, and that’s a plus.”

  “And the mountains? You prefer height over sea level?”

  “No question. Give me boulders instead of beach and waterfalls instead of waves any time.”

  She nodded. “Until I came here, I can’t recall a day in my life that I didn’t come home and dump sand out of my shoes.” She set the swing in motion again. “Now I get acorn pieces caught in my socks.”

  He turned then and gave her a long appraising stare. “Earlier, when you came down the mountain path, you seemed upset. I could see you on your cell phone. Did you get bad news?”

  She wondered how much to tell him, but decided to take a chance. “Yes. Jack’s new lawyer called. He didn’t sound very encouraging about Jack’s chances in court. I think he’s going to suggest a plea deal.”

  “Really?” Bret walked over to her and motioned to the swing. “May I?”

  She slid over, giving him room to sit next to her. King shuffled his position along with her. “Of course.”

  “We haven’t talked much about Jack,” he said, leaning back and crossing his arms on his chest. “What kind of a case do they have against him? Any solid evidence?”

  She told him about the fingerprints on the gun. “He did handle the weapon,” she said, “but only after one of the other boys had shot the clerk. It was then that Jack took possession of the gun so no one else would get hurt.”

  “I’m sure he explained that to the police who investigated,” Bret said.

  “Yes, but they didn’t believe him. Both Vince and Tony claimed Jack shot the clerk. And the other boys made Jack drive away from the scene.”

  “In Jack’s car?”

  “That’s right. But Vince was threatening Jack the whole time.”

  Bret’s eyes reflected his interest, but otherwise, his face revealed nothing. Dorie decided he must have been a top-notch interrogator himself.

  “How about the other boys’ records? I know Jack has a rap sheet....”

  “Only minor offenses,” Dorie said. “Vince and Tony’s crimes are pretty similar. Some vandalism, petty stuff.”

  Still that composed face. Dorie wanted more. Bret had been a cop. He must be thinking something. After a moment she spoke the words she hoped she wouldn’t regret. “So what is your professional opinion? Does Jack have a chance?”

  He dropped his hands to his knees and stared at her. “Honestly? It doesn’t seem particularly promising to me. The facts are certainly stacked against him.”

  “But he’s innocent,” Dorie said. “He can’t spend the rest of his life in jail for something he didn’t do. What kind of a justice system would allow that?”

  His answer was swift and cutting. “One that usually works, Dorie.”

  “But if a jury finds Jack guilty, this would be a monumental failure in the system. Surely you can see that.”

  He clasped his hands between his knees and looked down at the floor. He didn’t speak.

  “Well, out with it,” Dorie said. “Obviously you want to say something.”

  His hands clenched tighter. He raised his eyes to the ceiling. “I’m not sure I do. Anyway, what I think isn’t really important.”

  “What? Of course it’s important!”

  “I don’t want to get into this, Dorie....”

  “You asked me what was wrong. I told you. And I asked for your opinion. Now you don’t want to give it?”

  He sighed, stared hard at her. “Okay.” He looked as if he might change his mind, but then continued. “I’m just wondering if you might be a bit naive about the whole thing.”

  Naive? Of all the things he could have said, this was perhaps the most inaccurate. Lately she hadn’t had room in her psyche for naïveté.

  She swallowed her first reaction and said calmly, “What do you mean?” There was a chance she’d misunderstood his intention.

  “You obviously love your brother. But your ability to see things clearly might be influenced by your emotions. Can you really be certain that Jack didn’t shoot that clerk? All the evidence points—”

  She didn’t let him finish. “Of course I’m certain. He’s my brother, my family. I know he isn’t capable of such an act.”

  “Clancy is my family, too,” Bret said. “I would never knowingly cheat you out of a dime, but the same isn’t true of my father. Just because someone is family doesn’t mean they share the same principles as you. They may be capable of doing things you wouldn’t imagine.”

  Her eyes filled with tears, and she struggled to hold them back. Bret reached for her hand. She snatched it away and fisted it over her chest.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I don’t even know Jack. I’m just looking at this from the perspective of a cop, one who listened to dozens of suspects proclaim their innocence over the years.”

  She wiped the moisture from under her eyes and took a deep breath. “But he can’t be guilty,” she said.

  Bret spoke so softly she could barely hear him. “Dorie, he can be. I hope, for your sake, he isn’t, but...”

  “No, that’s not it,” she said. “He can’t be guilty because he’s all I have. I can’t lose him, not after all I’ve...” She was about to say all I’ve done to raise him, all I’ve given up. But she knew that was selfish, almost as selfish as admitting that without Jack she didn’t know how she would go on. She’d focused so much energy, attention and emotion into doing what was right for Jack, she’d let her own life slide by. And now it could be too late to get it back.

  “I can make some calls, Dorie, talk to someone in the Winston Beach department. Maybe they’ll let me in on the progress of the investigation.”

  And reinforce your opinion with even more certainty? Dorie’s inner strength, her instinctive protectiveness, returned in a rush of adrenaline. Once again she was the fighter she’d always been for her brother. “No, I don’t want you to do that.” She thought about leaving the porch, putting distance between them. For some reason she stayed.

  “I don’t want your charity,” she said after a minute. “You’ve made it cle
ar what you believe, and frankly, I don’t think you’d be any help.”

  “I don’t know what I believe.” His voice was low and hoarse as if he was uncomfortable with this level of emotional turmoil. “I’m just sensing that you don’t want to believe that the police could be right.”

  “Of course I don’t! And you don’t want to admit they could be wrong!”

  “They usually aren’t.”

  She placed her hands on her knees, looked out at the trees, the insects swirling in the dark night. Needing, right or wrong to lash out at him, she said, “That sounds pretty cut-and-dried coming from the most conflicted man I’ve ever met.”

  He pulled away from her and cleared his throat. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Look, Bret, you moved up here to get away from the memories of your wife, and yet, your guilt over her death is with you every day, every minute. You say you don’t want to have anything to do with your father, and still you help him every time he messes up. You don’t want me to stay one minute. The next you do....”

  He leaned toward her, and King jumped to the floor. Bret cupped his hands over her upper arms. “You’re wrong. I’ve always wanted you to stay.”

  “You say that now...”

  “Yes, I said it out loud just now, but inside, it’s always been true.” His eyes glittered intensely into hers. “When you drove down the mountain and I chased you, I was nearly frantic. I didn’t know how I would convince you to stay, but I knew that I had to try.”

  Her resolve melted with an involuntary sniffle. “Okay, maybe that’s true. Maybe I can believe that.”

  “You should believe it. But you’re right. I am a conflicted man. I’m very conflicted right now, but it has nothing to do with my former wife or my father.”

  “Then what are you conflicted about?”

  “About knowing that we’ve just had a major disagreement and yet I still want to kiss you more than I’ve ever wanted to kiss any woman. And I know my timing probably stinks.”

  She didn’t trust herself to speak. She had been thinking of the same thing for days. She looked into his clear eyes, let her gaze fall to his full lips and hoped he could read her mind. One kiss, how could it hurt?