by Beverly Long
When he reached the cement paddock, it took him a minute to find the ladder that was now leaning up against the wall, half the height it had been earlier. He grabbed it and shifted it horizontal. Now he was thankful for the thick cover of darkness. He didn’t need anybody looking outside and seeing what he was up to. He carried the ladder around the side of the house and through the arbor. When he judged that he was close to the right spot, he set the legs of the ladder on the most even ground he could find.
It was a damn big house and the lines of the roof, where the second and third floor jutted out from the main part of the house, had a steep slope. He knew from studying the house in the daytime that the roof of the first floor had to be at least thirty feet in the air. It took him a minute to figure out how to extend the ladder, but once he did, he took a deep breath and started climbing. It was so dark that each step felt like he was edging into a big black hole.
By the time he reached a spot where he could step off onto the roof, he was hot and generally irritated that he had to go to such extreme measures. The ladder went on another five or so feet but it wasn’t enough to get him to the roof of the second floor.
It took him less than five minutes to figure out that his best chance was crawling up the outside of the chimney. There were just deep enough crevices between the bricks to provide for hand and footholds.
He held his breath the whole way, hoping like hell he didn’t dislodge some brick and send it cascading across the shingles, only to have it bounce onto the driveway. But everything held solid and soon he was standing on the roof of the second floor. It had an even steeper pitch, and he dropped to his knees to keep his balance.
He crawled over to where the third story jutted up into the black night. It was flatter here so he stood and felt his way around the structure until he found the window he was looking for.
His heart was beating fast in his chest. This was a crazy thing to be doing but he’d come too far to stop now. He had to know. Had to start putting some explanations to the things that he didn’t understand.
He put the heel of one hand against the wooden frame and pushed. It made a soft noise as it slid up and he waited to hear something from inside the room, something that would tell him that he’d been discovered.
But it was quiet. He pushed it up farther and stuck his head inside. It was pitch black inside. “Genevieve,” he whispered.
No response. “Genevieve,” he said again.
He waited through another minute of silence before climbing in the window. Once inside, he pulled the candle and matches out of his pocket and on the second try, got the candle lit. He held it up.
It was a big messy room. He guessed it to be twenty-by-twenty, and there wasn’t a square foot of clear space. There were stacks and stacks of papers, piles of clothes, and dirty dishes everywhere.
There was a hell of a lot in the room but not what he was looking for. There was no Genevieve. The bed was empty. He walked past it and looked in the bath. He felt the towels that were hanging from the hook. They were dry.
He wanted to be surprised but in his heart, from the minute Tilly had told him and Melody that Genevieve had disappeared into her room again, he’d known that something was wrong. And he hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that it had something to do with him.
Where the hell was she? An old woman couldn’t just disappear.
His knees felt weak and he sat down on the edge of the bed. Wax dripped down the side of the candle, burning his hand, but he ignored it and tried to figure out what to do next. Should he wait? How could he? Melody had said before that sometimes her aunt disappeared for days. He couldn’t hide out in this room for that length of time.
No. He had to go about his business and simply wait for her to come back. He stood up and walked over to the chest of drawers on the side of the room. There was a jumble of feathers, all sorts of colors. He picked out the most distinctive one, a bright green one with a band of orange near the base, and he carefully stuck it in his shirt pocket.
He blew out the candle and left the room the same way he’d entered it. Within minutes he was back on the ground, the ladder under his arm. He put it back where it belonged and then returned to the house. Too keyed up to sleep, he sat down on the swing that he and Melody had shared earlier. He lifted his legs and braced his feet against the strong wooden railing.
Midnight visitors. Locked drawers. A missing old woman. Was it happenstance? Or was there some twisted connection?
He didn’t know but he damn well planned to find out. Because whatever it was, he wouldn’t let it touch Melody or her child. He’d failed once to protect the woman he loved. He wouldn’t fail a second time.
His feet slipped and his boots hit the wood floor. The sound seemed to vibrate in the quiet night air. It sort of matched the sound his heart was making.
The woman he loved. Christ. He didn’t want to love another woman. And Melody sure as hell deserved to be with somebody from her own time, somebody who belonged, somebody who didn’t need to go home and take care of unfinished business.
He owed Hannah. Not that it was a debt she’d asked for or maybe even one she appreciated. He remembered that after Dority’s death, he’d been wallowing in self-pity that he hadn’t been able to question the man, that he hadn’t gotten information that would lead him to the third and final killer. He’d sworn that in the wind, he’d heard his sweet Hannah tell him that vengeance would not heal the pain. Had been so sure of what he heard that he’d told John Beckett about it.
She’d been right. Vengeance didn’t heal the pain. But she’d been wrong, too. Because she hadn’t understood that it was the need for vengeance that had gotten him up every morning, gotten him through the day, and most important, had gotten him through the long, lonely nights.
In George’s time, a killer and a violator of woman walked free. He couldn’t turn his back on that. He owed Hannah, whether she wanted the debt repaid or not.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
George stayed in the swing all night. He dozed off once or twice but mostly, he’d just stared out into the dark night. When dawn was still just a hint, he eased his body out of the swing and walked inside the house.
Wanting to avoid Melody, he washed up in the downstairs bath and then made his way to the kitchen. It was too early for Bessie to have the coffee going so he made do with cold cereal. He ate it standing up in front of the sink.
He finished and then washed out his bowl. Then he quietly left the house and headed straight to the barn. As he made his way down the length of the building, he spent a moment with each of the horses, giving them a word and a friendly rub on the head. When he got to Brontë’s stall, he wasted no time in saddling up the horse. Then he led her outside and swung a leg over the saddle.
And everything felt a little more right with the world. He walked her, then they trotted, and finally, when he nudged her in the ribs, she took off into a full gallop.
They ran hard until he pulled back on the reins and slowed her down. The sun was cresting the horizon and it was a beautiful sight. In the distance, grapevines sparkled and hungry birds chirped. He could smell the sweet scent of the grass. It was perfect. So perfect that when he heard the sound of a car approaching, his first thought was annoyance. Then he realized that it was a car coming up Pearl’s long lane, and given that it was awfully early for someone to be calling, he quickly pulled Brontë back into the shadow of the olive trees.
He had a good view of the road and it wasn’t hard to see that it was Bernard driving the car. He was alone. Something or someone had obviously kept the winemaker away for the night.
If George had been a betting man, he’d have put two bits on Rebecca Fields. Was it possible that the two of them were really in love? Or was the woman stringing Bernard along for some reason?
George waited until Bernard had parked his car and gone into the wine shed. Then he nudged Brontë in the ribs and guided the horse as quietly as possible back to the barn.
Ten minutes later, he opened the door of the wine shed. He walked down the cement corridor but didn’t see Bernard anywhere. He kept walking and heard Bernard’s voice coming from the office area. He got close enough to see that Bernard was talking on the phone. He faced the window, looking outside; his back was to the door. He was leaning forward slightly, using one hand to hold the telephone up to his ear, and the other hand to brace up his body.
It dawned on George that the man was probably exhausted after being out all night. He was clearly too old for such shenanigans. And now he was working before the rest of the world had drunk their coffee. And based on what George was overhearing, the person at the other end of the telephone was feeling the wrath of Bernard’s tiredness.
“I’ve paid you good money,” Bernard said. “You said your contacts had what I needed.”
George moved off to the side, so that even if Bernard turned, he wouldn’t see him. There was silence and he assumed Bernard was listening.
“Just get me the photos,” Bernard said. “Now.”
George heard the telephone slam down and then movement in the office, like Bernard had pulled out his desk chair. George moved quickly, silently. In less than a minute he reached the side door and was outside the wine shed.
What the hell? Should he tell Melody what he’d heard?
He discounted the idea right away. If all he had was questions and no answers, he wasn’t going to say anything to Melody and worry her needlessly.
He walked over to the bunkhouse and sat on the bench outside the building. It was still too early for Arturo to have arrived. He sat and stared at the rows and rows of grapevines. He was still staring at them when Arturo drove up ten minutes later. Arturo opened the truck door and stepped out. “I was sort of hoping you might sleep late,” he said.
“Why?” George asked.
Arturo dug the point of his work boot into the dirt. “I interrupted your marriage celebration last night. I’m sorry about that. And then when Melody came to the rock quarry, I could not help but overhear. I didn’t mean to cause trouble for you and I. . .I guess I hoped that the two of you had made up.”
They had, he guessed. Not that it made any difference.
“You don’t need to worry,” he assured Arturo. “Melody and I understand each other.”
***
When Arturo and George pulled into the yard at lunchtime, Pearl and Melody were walking toward Melody’s car. Melody wore a yellow dress that buttoned down the front and fell just inches shy of her ankles. The wind made it swirl around her legs.
He knew he was a goner when he found himself hoping for a peek of her knees.
“Hi,” she said, waving to him as he got out of the truck.
She had her hair pulled back into a braid and it was tied with a yellow-and-white ribbon. She looked fresh and clean and pure, and a great longing filled his soul. When he had to leave her, he hoped that he would remember her just like she looked today. “Hello,” he said. “Where are you going?”
“Grandmother has an appointment with her oncologist. I’m going to drive her. If she’s not too tired afterwards, we may have dinner in Yountville.”
That meant it would be Louis, Tilly, Bernard, and him at dinner unless, of course, Genevieve decided to make a surprise reappearance. He wasn’t worried about Tilly—she’d be busy buttering her bread. Bernard and Louis could be a problem. Maybe he’d talk to Bessie in advance and have her remove all the sharp objects from the table.
Melody opened the car door for her grandmother and closed it gently once the woman was seated. George beat Melody to her side of the car and opened the door for her. She smiled at him and slid in behind the wheel.
“Be careful,” he said, unable to quell his own uneasiness.
She looked surprised, like she wasn’t used to having anyone look after her. “It’s just to Napa and then maybe dinner,” she said.
Still. He’d avoided more than one bullet by paying attention to the hairs on the back of his neck and right now, they were up, wanting to be noticed.
“I’ll call you if we’re going to be late,” she said.
“Call?”
She reached her hand into her purse and pulled out the machine she’d used in the car—the one that had allowed them to talk to Tilly.
“On my cell,” she said. “Grandmother’s number is the first one in my telephone book. I press one and I’ve got you.”
Of course. “Right. You do that. Call me,” he added, like a man who’d lost his senses. On his way to the bunkhouse, he ran into Bernard. “Morning,” George said.
“Good morning,” Bernard answered. He looked toward the gate where Melody’s car was just making the turn onto the road. “Is that Pearl and Melody?”
“Yes.”
“Everything okay?”
“Appointment for Pearl and maybe an early dinner.”
“Good for them. They need to be spending their days together.”
***
Melody drove home, her speed carefully controlled. Her emotions were another thing altogether.
They hadn’t gone to dinner. Grandmother had felt good enough after her appointment with the oncologist to do a little shopping in Napa but had confessed afterwards that she was too tired to stay out for dinner. Melody had walked her back to the car, one hand under her elbow, the other hand busy with a shopping bag. It held at least ten sleepers for the baby in all shades of pink.
“I’m sorry about dinner,” Grandmother said. Her face was turned toward the window.
“Another time,” Melody said.
Out of the corner of her eye, she could see her grandmother turn toward her. “We shouldn’t wait too long,” she said.
The silence hung in the air. “Definitely not,” Melody said, once she could speak. She knew her tone was too bright, too much, but it was the best she could do. “I won’t be eating out much after the baby is born.”
Her grandmother smiled. “Of course not,” she said, choosing to let it go. They drove in silence for several miles before her grandmother spoke again. “I like George.”
Me too. “I’m glad.”
“It’s wonderful that you could both come for a visit and now with Gino’s news, I’m very grateful for George’s help.”
“He’s happy to do it.” At least she hoped he was. It did get him away from Tilly and Louis.
“Will the two of you keep living in Los Angeles?”
Melody kept her eyes on the road. “We haven’t talked about it,” she said. He, no doubt, wanted to get a few dollars in his pocket and then go home. When he’d said he was from North Dakota, she’d heard a real sense of longing in his voice.
“Maybe the two of you would consider settling here?”
Melody flipped on her turn signal and turned off the main road. They’d be at her Grandmother’s house in less than ten minutes. “I’m not sure that would work,” she said. She had some savings but not enough to pay George to stay for a really long-term assignment.
“Why?”
It wasn’t like her grandmother to push an issue. Melody gave her the only explanation that she could. “Well, I don’t think that Tilly or Louis would be thrilled about it.” She negotiated a hairpin turn.
“Tilly’s an unhappy woman,” Grandmother said, her voice heavy. “It’s difficult for me to see that. To know that’s how I’m leaving her.”
Melody gripped the wheel and gave her grandmother a glance. “You have enough to worry about without stressing out over why Tilly is in a perpetual funk. Leave that to her massage therapist, her manicurist, or her personal shopper.”
The minute she said it, she felt bad. It wasn’t her business if Grandmother wanted to look at Tilly with rose-colored glasses. Heck, maybe she’d do the same for Jingle one day. Parents loved their children. Totally. Which meant loving their cracks and holes, too. It was the way it was meant to be. “I’m sorry, Grandmother.”
She leaned over and patted Melody’s leg. “It’s all right, darling.”
Melody looked down, looked at the familiar hand that had guided her through adolescence and beyond, and sorrow filled her heart. She was losing her best friend. Could it get much worse?
She looked up, saw the old blue pickup that was barreling toward them, on their side of the narrow road, and realized that it could.
Oh, Jingle.
It was her last thought before she whipped the wheel to the side.
***
On top of the rise, where they often came to play, two black and brown dogs stopped, sniffed the air, and looked down at the road below, just in time to see a green-colored car plummet over the hill and a blue-colored pickup truck speed off.
Running like the wind, they went home.
***
George had just set the water jug back onto the bed of the truck when a huge car rounded the corner at a speed that had him jumping to the side. Somehow the great beast got stopped just inches from where his legs had been.
The door opened and Aunt Genevieve leaned her body halfway out. Her feathers were pink and sticking straight out from her head. “Get in,” she ordered.
She acted like she had every right to suddenly appear and order him around. The woman had some explaining to do. “Beg pardon?” he said, as politely as he could.
She shook her head, looking impatient. “No time for long explanations. Melody and Pearl have been in a car accident.”
He reached the car in three strides, wrenched open the door, and threw his body inside. His butt was barely in the seat when Aunt Genevieve backed the car up with such speed that it knocked his head back. “Where are they?” he demanded.
“On their way to the hospital. In an ambulance.”
Ambulance. There was that word again. Now he knew what it meant. He’d read it in the newspaper last night. A child who had fallen into a swimming pool had been rushed by ambulance. But the child had still died. Fear made his insides turn to water.
“Is Melody dead?” he asked.
“No.” Aunt Genevieve turned the wheel to the left and swerved around one car, then another, before getting back on her side of the road.
