by Tegan Maher
"That's a good idea. The varnish won't be the first thing that's been stripped on it, I can tell you that."
I cringed and pinched the bridge of my nose and Addy and Belle snickered.
"As far as the rest of the stuff, the only thing I'd like to keep—if Bob wants it—is that headboard." She pointed to the most ornate one I'd set aside. "Henry carved that for me for our first wedding anniversary. It took him months. The footboard is right over there." She motioned toward the back of the barn.
Bob, the poor guy, had tears in his eyes. "That's a keeper then. And it'll go in the master with us, where nobody can harm it."
He ran a finger over the top of it, and pulled it back covered in greasy grime.
"You say you restore furniture?"
"I do," I answered.
"I tell you what, then," he glanced at Janey, "My wife's already taken everything she wanted. If you'll refinish this for me, we'll call it square on whatever you want in here. As long as that's okay with Mama Janey."
She blushed to her roots with pleasure at the family name. "I'd love to see it restored," she said, "and as far as I'm concerned, you can take all of this stuff and it still won't be enough to repay you for what you did for us today."
It was my turn to blush. "That's not right. I didn't really do anything. I mean—"
"Hush, girl," Addy said, scowling. "You're bein' rude. They're offering you a sincere gift and a fair trade."
"Yeah," Bob said, "Remember, I'm basically trading you what, to us, is a bunch of junk for seventy acres and a mansion."
Well, when he put it that way.
"Deal, then," I said, and we shook on it.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
BOB HAD ONLY BEEN IN the house a couple times, and Janey ran him out both times, so she took him in for a proper tour. That suited me, because we had a ton of stuff to load, and I've already shared my feelings about furniture. Hunter backed the trailer in and I had it loaded without breaking a sweat in fifteen minutes or so.
We went inside to let them know we were leaving, and found them in one of the upstairs bathrooms. The place was ginormous inside, and our footsteps echoed in the empty space as we crossed the hardwoods. Janey was pointing at some of the plumbing, and Bob was explaining the dangers of lead pipes and paint.
"We're heading out now, y'all," I said. "Thank you for everything, and I should have the headboard done in a week or so."
"No rush," Bob said, holding his hand up. "We still have to arrange for the boys to transfer schools, and I'm sure the missus will want to come down and decorate. I think she and Mama Janey are gonna have a ball."
Janey was smiling and crying a little at the same time. She swooped in and hugged first Addy, then Belle. Neither of them were exactly huggers, but they patted her on the back none the same.
"We'll be back in a few days when Bob leaves to teach you how to leave," Addy said. We don't know many ghosts over here, but I suspect we're about to open up a whole new world, honey."
Belle nodded. "You're gonna have to keep an open mind about a lot of things, but if you want, we'll take you over and introduce you to the living-impaired community in Keyhole. They're good people. Oh, and my friend Nora lives right up the road. Distance don't mean much on this plane, though."
"Thank you both," Janey said. "I look forward to it."
I smiled. "Your life is about to get a whole lot more interesting, that's for sure."
"And less lonely," Addy said before she and Belle popped out of sight.
We jumped in the truck and pulled out, taking the easy way out. I felt danged good about the day so far, and it was only a little after ten.
About a mile down the road toward home, the gas light flickered on. That was fine with me, because I was about to die of thirst anyway.
Hunter pumped while I went in to get us something to drink and use the facilities. He came in and grabbed a couple Slim Jims and a bag of chips.
"You just ate like a dozen pancakes and a pound of bacon," I said, shaking my head in wonder at the man's appetite.
"That was three hours ago." He poured himself a sweet tea big enough to fill a fish tank.
"You know that stuff's not real tea, right? It's instant," I said as I poured myself a normal-sized Coke.
He lifted a shoulder. "Same difference."
A little old lady standing beside him gasped as if he'd just announced he was the anti-Christ and fluttered her hand at her throat, fingering her pearls.
I tipped up the corner of my mouth in a half-smile as she tottered back up the aisle. "Better watch you language there young man. Remember where you are."
Once we were back in the truck and on the way, he ripped into his Slim Jim. While he was chewing, he asked, "Have you girls come to any conclusion about the letter? Any idea what Sylvia was talking about?"
"None," I said. "Gabi's racked her brain trying to think of what it could mean, but even if she did know what she was referring to, she'd still have to find the key first."
"True, I guess. I just feel like we'd know so much more if that piece of the puzzle would fall into place."
He pulled the last bite of Slim Jim out of the sleeve with his teeth and stuffed the wrapper back in the bag. "Has she thought maybe—"
His phone rang, cutting him off. I glanced down at it as he picked it up. "Smitty. Wonder what he wants on a Saturday afternoon?" Smitty was his second in command.
"One way to find out," he said, sliding his finger across the screen to accept the call.
"Hey Smitty. What's up?"
He listened for a few minutes.
"That doesn't make any sense."
I could hear Smitty's excited chatter, but couldn't make out his words.
Hunter shook his head. "No, that's okay. I'll take care of it. Thanks for letting me know. Hey, can you send a screenshot of that to my phone?"
He pulled the phone away from his ear and frowned as he ended the call.
"Well don't leave me hanging," I said. "What was that all about?"
"The green truck's not registered to Sam Keith," he said. "It's registered to some girl named Clara Thomas. Last known address is in Atlanta, except the address is now a bed-and-breakfast."
"Atlanta?"
"That's what he said. And she's owned it for almost five years."
"Okay, then." I slowed down as another vehicle passed me. "So either the sheriff lied to you, or somebody in his department lied to him."
He scratched his jaw. "I met a Deputy Thomas, but I was under the impression Custer ran the tags."
"Yeah, but did he say that specifically? Or did you just assume it?"
He thought for a second, then shook his head. "I don't know. He may have said, we ran the tags, or even if he said he ran them, he could have just meant his department."
His phone beeped with an incoming text, and he opened it up and pulled in a deep breath.
"Oh Lord. I'm pretty sure we just found Marcus's girlfriend," he said, turning the phone toward me.
"How do you know?" I said, turning my head to take a quick glance at his phone.
"Oh. Yeah, I'd lay money on it." The pic was of a license, and the face in the corner could have been Gabi's sister, at least until you looked closer.
"So, now what?" I asked.
"Now I need to find out who's yanking my chain. Somebody's dirty over there and I wanna know who."
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
HUNTER MADE HALF A dozen phone calls on the way home, but couldn't track anybody down. Apparently, most of the sheriff's department was out patrolling a festival going on over there, and the Sheriff Custer was out of town.
He left a message with the only deputy manning the phones, saying only that he needed to talk to the sheriff. He left a voicemail directly with the sheriff though, demanding information.
"Do you think that was a good idea?" I asked. "What if he's involved? At this point, the odds that he's not aren't good."
It's not like that would surprise me. Keyhole had, aft
er all, been run by a bunch of strong-arming good ole boys for almost two decades, and nobody could do anything because he had so many people in his pocket that nobody knew who to tell. Once he died, nearly fifty people in high places were pulled off their high-horses and sent to prison.
Ten or twenty times that many were freed, though.
Hunter blew a puff of breath through his nose. "You know, if you'd have said something like that to me a year ago, it would have been laughable to me. But after seeing what Hank got away with for so long, I've started wondering how many others just like him exist."
I knew just thinking that killed him, because he was one of the good guys. He was in law enforcement for all the right reasons, and when somebody abused the badge, he took it as a personal insult.
"Maybe I should call the judge," he said, referring the Judge Clayton. He was Hunter's liaison with the regional circuit. Every scrap of paperwork or tax bill, or speeding ticket in Keyhole Lake was scrutinized like a bug under a microscope, though the judge has started to loosen the reins a bit in the last couple months.
"I think that's a good idea," I said. "If for no other reason, than to CYA. It's reported, you followed all the steps, and there won't be so much as a hint that you stepped a toe across the line."
I worried about him because of that. We were already painted with the brush, and there was no giving Hunter the benefit of the doubt. His job was all uphill because it was almost like they expected him to be guilty. And in that situation, it wasn't hard to find fault even if everything was on the up-and-up.
He pulled up the judge's number on his phone, but left a voicemail. It was Saturday, and the judge did love his weekend tee-times.
"So now what?" I asked.
"Now nothing. I can't do anything at all until I hear back from somebody."
We spent a few more minutes speculating about the murder and the mysterious note, but didn't come up with anything new, so I shifted the conversation to another mystery that was killing me.
"Are you going to spill your guts about Matt?" I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye, trying to gauge his reaction.
"I don't know what you're talking about," he said, but his eye twitched up in the barest hint of a smile before he caught himself.
"You're lying to me. You know relationships are based on honesty, right?"
He didn't bother to try to hide his grin this time. "Yes, honey, I do realize that. And it's honestly none of your business. He'll tell you when he's ready."
The worst part is that I knew he was right. I was spending too much time with Coralee.
"Just tell me it's not some guttersnipe trying to pull one over on him."
He cocked a brow. "Does Matt strike you as somebody susceptible to a guttersnipe? Or to anything, for that matter?"
I couldn't argue that point. Though there was definitely an element of nosiness, most of my curiosity was protectiveness, but Hunter was right. Matt was a grown man and who he dated was none of my business.
"Who's coming tonight?" he asked. "Do we need to stop and get anything?"
"Oh, I'm glad you said that. I almost forgot to tell Erol about it. I need to stop by the shop and change channels for him anyway. It's Saturday and he likes to catch a couple movies on Lifetime. Besides him, just the regular crew. Bobbie Sue's coming to pick up Justin, so she's gonna hang out for a while, too."
I swung the truck wide and pulled into the back alley so I wouldn't be hogging five spaces out front.
"Come in and check out the table and chairs," I said, flipping through my keys for the one to the back door.
I cruised through the hall toward the front, calling a hello to Erol. He waved a hand in my direction, absorbed in the drama unfolding in front of him on Chopped. I hung a right into my workroom and I reached for the string to turn on the fluorescents. "You're not gonna believe the diff—"
Something large and furry ran across the top of my foot just as I pulled the string. Surprised—and a little terrified—I squealed and jumped backward into Hunter, my gaze darting in the direction the critter had been heading when it brushed against me.
"What?" he said, scanning the room for a serial killer. I caught a brief glimpse of a long, pink tail attached to a huge, furry brown-and-white butt just before it squeezed beneath the cushion of an old couch that had been there when I bought the place.
Erol came whooshing in, eyes wide and looking all about. "What? What is it? Were we robbed?" He put his hands on his cheeks. "Oh, I just knew something horrible would happen if I started wandering around, livin' the high afterlife instead of sticking close!"
I stalked toward the couch, picking up my broom as I went. I didn't have anything against rats, per se, but I didn't particularly want the bubonic plague dragged into my workspace either. He could exist just fine without doing it in my shop.
"No, Erol, everything's okay, or it's gonna be in a minute."
Hunter followed, confused.
"Noe, what are you doing?"
I had the broom drawn back like a club and I reached down and grasped the corner of the cushion. I took a deep breath and yanked it up. Sure enough, there it was. When it just huddled in the corner of the cushion looking terrified, still clasping a paperclip, I felt bad and put the broom down. We'd figure out a way to scoop him up and put him outside. I didn't wish him harm.
Erol swooped in and, peering over my shoulder, let out an ear-piercing squeal. "Norman! Oh dear heavens, I'm so glad you're okay. You know daddy didn't leave you behind on purpose, don't you?"
He reached to scoop up the rat, but of course his hands passed right through, and the rodent shivered.
"Uh, Erol?"
My poor friend was beside himself, crying silvery tears and talking baby talk to the critter.
He turned to me, sniffling and wiping his eyes. Poor Hunter looked more like a trapped animal than the rat did. He's not good with tears.
"Oh, Noelle, this is Norman," Erol gushed, beside himself. "I got him as a baby right before I moved here. He's one of the most loving, intelligent creatures I've ever met."
I creased my brow and stared down at him. He was quivering, but obviously responding to Erol's attempts to calm him. And I swear, when he looked up at me, he knew we were discussing his fate. He held the paperclip toward me, almost like a peace offering. Oh good Lord, I had Ratatouille happening right in my own workshop.
Hunter stepped forward, keeping a cautious eye on Norman. "Let me get this straight. That's your pet rat?"
Erol nodded, still sniffling. "I thought for sure those awful men who killed me destroyed him, too. Then I worried he'd starved to death, or that he froze to death. He really doesn't do well with cold. He always needed a sweater." The waterworks were about to start again so I held up a hand.
"Calm down. Everything's gonna be okay."
Norman was edging toward me as we talked, and the light glinted off something in the corner of the couch. I looked closer and it was the earring. I felt bad; Lainey hadn't taken it after all. The tip of what I was sure was the spoon lure was sticking out, and there were several paperclips and even a glass marble from my pen cup.
"He always did like shiny things," Erol said, his gaze still attached to the rat.
He turned, pleading with his eyes. "You'll take care of him for me now, won't you? I mean, I can still keep him company, and it will be wonderful"
Did I mention I'm not a fan of rats?
I pressed my lips together and gave it token consideration, but I knew I was going to give in. Resigned, I turned to Hunter. "So, you seem to be okay with the bratty teenage sister, the bossy dead aunt, and the sixteenth-century talking donkey. How do you feel about rats?"
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
IT WAS ONLY NOON WHEN we got back to the farm, but I felt like it was midnight. Erol had decided to hang out at the shop to spend time with Norman—who I learned was named after Norman Norell because he had a spot that looked just like a bowtie on his neck. Who's that, you ask? It's okay. I had to ask,
too, much to Erol's outrage.
Norman Norell was the pioneer of American fashion. A philanthropist, artist, and master of understated elegance. I feel like I should have known that.
The kids were still out riding, but Gabi was in the arena working Mayhem. I backed the trailer up to the pole barn, then went over and watched them, my elbows resting on the top rail of the fence.
Speaking of artists, that horse was amazing. She was loping him up the rail, practicing flying lead changes just for fun. It almost looked like he was skipping. In dressage, it was called tempi changes, and he was so good at it that I found myself watching her legs and seat for the cues. Every now and then, I'd catch a squeeze of a calf or a tap with a spur, but for the most part, they made it look effortless.
She pushed him into a full lope, then did a perfect rollback at the end of the arena; that is, he shifted his weight to his haunches and did a turn so that he was facing the opposite direction without missing a stride. I shook my head as she did a couple small, slow circles, then brought him at a full canter straight toward us, sitting back just in time for him to dig in and slide to a stop right in front of us.
Dropping her reins, she leaned forward, laughing, and patted him on both sides of the neck. He bobbed his head up and down and poked his nose toward me in greeting.
"Y'all look amazing," I said, rubbing his forehead.
"Thanks," she said. "I was speaking to the attorney who holds his trust and found out that Sylvia included show fees in her list of allowable expenses. How awesome is that? There's a non-points show tomorrow up near Atlanta that I'm considering going to. I still have my show clothes, so I figure, why not?"
I had mixed feelings about the show circuits on a number of levels, but they could be a blast if you were with the right people. "I think you should!" Matt pulled up on the other side of the barn.
Hunter leaned down and gave me a quick kiss. "As much as I love hanging out with you ladies and talking horses, I'm gonna go hang out with Matt and talk motorcycles."
