Dangerous Inheritance

by Barbara Warren

  Neva laughed. “Yes, there’s not much about this house I don’t know. I was surprised to hear you’d moved in. I’m sure it has some difficult memories for you.”

  “I don’t remember much about living here. I was young, and from what I’ve been told, I was seriously injured at the time my mother was killed.”

  Neva wore her sandy hair cut short and straight, her face was devoid of makeup, and her jeans and long-sleeved green shirt looked loose and comfortable. Now her blue eyes squinted at Macy. “You don’t remember what happened that night?”

  “No. That’s one of the reasons I’m staying here. I’m hoping something will trigger my memory and it will all come back to me.”

  “I see.” Neva looked thoughtful. “Well, you may be right. But then again, you might be better off if you don’t remember.”

  Macy ignored that remark and glanced at her watch. There had to be a reason for this visit, so she hoped the woman would get to it. She had planned to do some more exploring before dark, and time was slipping by.

  Neva must have realized what she was thinking, because she said, “I suppose you wonder why I’m here. I was hoping I could continue taking care of the house for you the way I did for Megan and Opal. I could use the work and it’s a big house. If you tried to clean it yourself, let me tell you, it’s a never-ending job. I can set whatever schedule works for you. I’m flexible.”

  “I’m not sure how long I’ll be here, and I don’t have any long-term plans right now. You wouldn’t be interested in taking me on as a client knowing I might eventually leave, would you?”

  Neva beamed. “Of course I would. I’ll take care of you just like I took care of Megan and Opal.”

  Macy smiled. She knew what Neva meant, and this house would be a chore for her to keep up the way it should be. “All right. What would be a good day for you to come?”

  “Any day you like.”

  Macy thought for a minute. “How about Friday? Would that be convenient?”

  Neva agreed, and promised to be there Friday morning around nine o’clock. She coughed suddenly, gasping for breath. “Water.”

  Macy hurried to the kitchen to drop ice cubes into a glass. She turned on the water, letting it run until it was cold. Neva had stopped coughing, and Macy thought she heard a soft brushing sound from the other room, as if the woman was moving around. But when she carried the glass of water into the living room, Neva was sitting where Macy had left her.

  Neva drained half of the liquid before glancing up at Macy. “Thank you, dear. Got a frog in my throat. Allergies. They’re bad this time of the year.”

  Neva left soon after that and Macy locked the door behind her. She stood for a minute, overwhelmed by the heavy silence. Could she stay here? Alone? At night? Pride stiffened her spine. She’d set this course for herself. She couldn’t quit now.

  She wished she hadn’t agreed to let Neva work for her. Looking back she couldn’t find a reason for the way she felt. Maybe it was just the fear and suspicion she felt about Walnut Grove and the people who lived here. Another thought occurred to her. How had Neva learned she was here?

  Grandma Mattie’s letter she’d found in the box of papers containing information about her mother’s murder, and her father’s conviction and death in prison, had warned against going to Walnut Grove. Things she’d known nothing about. She’d been curious about her parents, asked questions, only to be brushed off by her grandmother, who made it clear she didn’t want to talk about the past. After a while Macy had stopped asking.

  After Grandma Mattie’s funeral, she’d decided to ignore the letter, determined to discover the truth and clear her father’s name. But there was one thing she could only ignore at her own peril—since she didn’t know who her family’s enemy was, she’d be a fool to trust anyone.

  Now that Neva had finally left, Macy spent her time prowling through the downstairs rooms. Not looking for anything in particular, just getting acquainted. She was standing in the kitchen when a sound startled her. She held her breath, listening. Had she heard something, or was it just her imagination?

  It came again, a distant rattle. Startled, she rushed to the window and identified the source. A garbage truck rumbled up the street. Nothing to be afraid of—nothing but the house. And yes, she was afraid of this house. Afraid of what lay hidden within these walls. The silence smothered her until she longed to get out, get away from the implied threat lurking in the echoing rooms.

  It was probably caused by the fact that she felt completely alone, with no one to talk to, no one to rely on. In the months Grandma Mattie had been sick most of her friends had drifted away.

  Even Clark, her so-called fiancé, the man she thought cared for her and would stand by her forever, hadn’t lasted two months. He’d needed his freedom, claimed he couldn’t be tied to a woman who had to spend her time taking care of her sick grandmother. A woman who didn’t have enough time for him.

  The pain caused by his rejection had been devastating, but it had also taught her two valuable lessons: be careful about trusting anyone, and pretty words didn’t mean much without commitment behind them. It had also left her with a firm conviction that most men shouldn’t be trusted. She thought of Nick Baldwin. Did that include him? She didn’t know yet. He’d have to prove himself before she made that decision.

  Macy checked the doors, making sure they were safely locked. She paused at the foot of the stairs, looking up. The rooms above her waited with all the patience of a crouching lion. She climbed slowly, one step at a time, gripping the railing so tightly her hand ached. A step creaked underfoot. The hairs on her arms furred. The house smelled old, abandoned. It needed a good cleaning.

  No, it needed people, a family. Would this sad, lonely house ever be a home again?

  At the top of the stairs, she walked through the rooms, trying to decide where to sleep. Not in what was obviously the master bedroom—that had surely been her parents’ room. She wasn’t up to moving in there just yet. Not in the child’s room, either. Thinking about it sent a shiver up her back. Why hadn’t she been up here where she belonged that night? What had caused her to leave her bed and go downstairs? It was something she had to try to remember, but she couldn’t bear the thought of sleeping there. At least not yet.

  She also avoided the room that must have been her grandmother’s. Grandmother Lassiter probably hadn’t wanted to take the master bedroom, either—the one her daughter had shared with Steve Douglas. The man Grandmother Lassiter believed was her daughter’s killer.

  Finally Macy settled on the small room at the back. A search through various closets revealed a stack of clean sheets. She made up the bed, trying not to think about actually sleeping here. The thick branches of the trees outside blocked most of the glow from the streetlight, throwing the room into deep shadows when the lights were out. The house was too large, too lonely and way too silent for her to feel comfortable.

  She glanced inside the bathroom. Forget a shower tonight. No way was she brave enough for that. Macy paused in front of the dressing table, looking at her reflection. The face staring back at her wore a nervous expression. She swallowed hard, refusing to speculate on what she was afraid of—she knew, she just didn’t want to face it.

  She was afraid she would remember too much. More than she could handle. On this, her first night in the house.

  The phone shrilled, shattering the silence.

  Startled, Macy jerked as if she had been stung. Who could be calling at this hour? There was a phone in Grandmother Lassiter’s room. She scurried down the hall, catching it on the fourth ring.

  A harsh voice that she took to be male grated over the line. “Are you enjoying yourself in that house?”

  She almost dropped the receiver. “What? Who is this?”

  “You don’t belong here. If you want to live, get out of there while you still can.”

  Click.

  Macy stared in shock at the receiver. If she wanted to live? Who had been on the other end of that l
ine? Someone who knew she was in the house. Someone who didn’t want her there. Had news of her returning to Walnut Grove reached the ears of her mother’s killer?

  She turned her head to look at the window. Was the caller standing outside watching? Or was he in the house with her? If he was using a cell phone he could be anywhere. How could she turn out the light and behave as if nothing was wrong?

  God, are You listening? I’m afraid. Please...watch over me. Help me make it through this night.

  She sat rigid, straining to hear. Was she really alone? Or was someone lurking downstairs waiting until she fell asleep? She thought about calling the police but she wasn’t sure she trusted them, and she didn’t know Nick well enough to call him in the middle of the night.

  Finally she went to bed, only to lie there staring at the ceiling, straining to hear. Something creaked. A footstep on the stairs? She listened, nerves raw. Nothing. Probably just the normal sounds of an old house, but how could she be sure? She stared at the door, imagining a shadow lurking, peering into the room, but there was no movement. She tried closing her eyes, hoping to relax, but nothing helped.

  Macy threw back the covers and crawled out of bed. The silence was too heavy, too full of danger—real or imagined—for her to sleep. For the past hour she’d been lying with her eyes wide-open, ears straining to hear and nerves stressed to the max. Now she strode down the hall, looking for something to distract her, anything to take her mind off the phone call and the few things she’d learned today. The house felt empty, dead. She shivered. Would life ever fill these echoing rooms again?

  She slowed her pace, creeping past the room that had belonged to her parents, afraid of waking any of those long-forgotten memories. Facing them in the light of day was hard enough without confronting them in the dark and lonely evening hours. She felt the same way about her childhood room and its air of familiarity.

  That left the room her grandmother Lassiter had used. Macy entered her grandmother Lassiter’s room feeling as if she was violating Opal’s privacy. She turned on the bedside lamp. The dark blue drapes and carpet matched the deepest shade of the striped bedspread. A worn Bible lay on the bedside table.

  So both of her grandmothers had been believers. She sat down on the bed and picked up the Bible, thumbing through the fragile pages. Several passages were underlined, with personal notes written in the margin. The ninth verse of Joshua, chapter one, caught her attention.

  Macy read it aloud. “‘Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be terrified; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.’”

  She read it a second time, comforted by its simple promise. God must have led her to this verse, because it was exactly what she needed.

  A church bulletin fell out of the back of the Bible. Walnut Grove Community Church. This must be where her grandmother had attended.

  Tomorrow was Sunday. She’d start getting acquainted with the citizens of Walnut Grove by going to church. The people there would have known Opal Lassiter. Some of them must have been her friends. At least it was a place to start.

  Macy sat on the bed, pondering her situation and begging God to help her. Finally she went back to her room, carrying the Bible. After placing the worn book on her bedside table, she crawled back into bed, pulling the blanket up around her shoulders.

  She closed her eyes, feeling comforted—for now.

  * * *

  Nick drove past the Lassiter house, checking to see if everything looked all right.

  The lights were off except for the one in the foyer and one upstairs that was probably the hall light. This was his third time to drive past here tonight. He hoped Macy was okay. It had to be strange for her staying in that house by herself. He was on duty tonight and he’d continue making a pass down this street occasionally. Not that he expected anything to happen, but there had been attempts to break in before she arrived in town. It paid to be careful.

  Sam’s suspicion that Macy was bent on stirring up trouble had left him unsettled. There was also Macy’s conviction that her father was innocent. What was that based on? Nick’s thoughts turned again to Macy Douglas.

  Maybe it was the rather dramatic way they had met last night, but something about her had gotten to him. It was more than the way she looked, with that fiery hair and gorgeous eyes. There was something deeper, something more personal drawing him to her.

  Part of it had to be her determination to discover what really happened to her parents. This wasn’t a shallow woman. She had an appealing depth and a passion. As his father would have said, Macy was the real deal. If he tried to help in this search, he’d be seeing a lot more of her. He could handle that.

  He waved at two kids on bicycles he knew. About time they were getting home. He thought about stopping and asking what they were doing out at night like this, but decided against it. They had just another block to go and he’d keep an eye on them. As often as he drove through this neighborhood checking on attempted burglaries at the Lassiter house, he knew every child and most of the adults.

  Nick drove past the police station and saw Sam headed for his car. The chief motioned for him to pull in. He parked next to Sam’s car and waited for him to walk around to face him. Sam leaned his hands on the door. “You seen the Douglas woman today?”

  “Yeah, I’ve seen her. She moved into Opal Lassiter’s house. Guess she’s planning to stay.”

  Sam puffed out a blast of air. “That’s what I was afraid of.”

  What was Sam’s problem with Macy Douglas? He hadn’t been a policeman back when the Douglas case happened, so he couldn’t have been involved. The way he’d been acting, though, seemed as if he had a personal grudge against Macy.

  Surely Sam wasn’t one of the people he needed to watch. He liked and respected the guy, but this attitude about Macy Douglas was making him uncomfortable.

  He glanced at his watch. Another hour and he’d be off duty. Then he could rest a bit, eat breakfast and go to church. He wondered if Macy would be there. Not that it was any of his business, but he wished he’d invited her to attend his church.

  Nick waited for Sam to walk away, but Sam just stood there eyeing him suspiciously. “You taking up with that woman?”

  “What woman?” He knew exactly what Sam meant, but right now he didn’t feel like cooperating.

  Sam grunted. “That Douglas woman. You need to stay away from her. She’s trouble from the get-go. I don’t want you hanging around talking to her while on the clock. And that’s an order.”

  Nick pursed his lips, feeling contrary. “I’d think you’d want someone watching her to see what she’s going to do next.”

  “You sure that’s what you’ve got on your mind? She’s a good-looking woman and I’d hate to see you get involved with whatever trouble she plans to stir up.”

  Nick thought about telling him that Macy didn’t remember her parents, didn’t remember living in that house, but that was her story to tell. “All she wants is to learn the truth. I can’t see any harm in that. The way I see it, knowing the truth is always better than believing a lie.”

  “You go right on meddling if that’s what you’re determined to do, but don’t come running to me when you get in trouble. And if you help divide this town, you can forget about your job security. You got that?”

  “I got it.” Nick watched Sam stomp toward his car. Really ticked off. That wasn’t good. Maybe he should back off, forget about it, but his conscience wouldn’t let him. Even if the truth destroyed his memories of his father. He hoped it didn’t come to that, but from the way Sam was acting, Nick had a gut feeling there might be a surprise headed his way.

  FIVE

  The next morning, Macy unearthed a box of breakfast burritos from the bottom of the freezer and settled for one of those, washing it down with freshly made coffee, and then got ready for church.

  As she backed out of the driveway, she wondered if she’d see Nick. She straightened the car, irritated at the thou
ght. Why would she care one way or another? After all, he was practically a stranger. Although, against her better judgment, she found herself thinking about him and depending on him much more than she should. She needed to back off where Nick Baldwin was concerned, not let him get in the way or distract her from her goal. Still she smiled, thinking it would be nice to see a familiar face.

  Macy found the church, a medium-size white stucco building. A tall steeple pointed toward the lacy clouds drifting over a bright blue sky. Inside, the sun glowed through stained-glass windows depicting scenes from the Bible. Macy walked the center aisle and took a seat about halfway down.

  Across the aisle from her an older woman with white hair and piercing hazel eyes smiled a welcome. Another woman, seated in front of Macy, whose face held enough wrinkles to belie the youthfulness of her bleached-blonde hair, turned and gave her a cold look before dismissing her with an audible sniff.

  All right. Not everyone would welcome her. Had she really expected them to? After all, she wasn’t here because she wanted to win friends and influence people. She was searching for information and she’d take what she could get, where she could find it, even if she had to fight for every morsel.

  Which wasn’t exactly the right attitude for attending church. Was she misusing a worship service for her own personal reasons? Maybe she needed to get her priorities straight.

  As she stood to leave after the closing hymn, a warning tingle rippled up her spine. The hair on her arms prickled as she felt an almost visible wave of hostility wash over her. Stunned, Macy grasped the back of the seat in front of her so tightly her knuckles whitened. Her eyes searched the congregation. No one seemed to be paying attention to her, and after a moment the sensation of being watched—of being hated—eased. She took a deep breath and released the back of the wooden pew.

  The blonde shoved past without a glance in her direction, but the older woman stopped to talk. “Macy? I’m Hilda Yates. I was a friend of your grandmother Lassiter.”