by B. J Daniels
“We should go back inside,” he said. “I didn’t mean to just drop this on you, but I wanted you to know. I just thought you might like the view, and downstairs was a little too intimate. I needed a clear head. I was afraid of how you’d take the news.”
She didn’t turn to look at him. “Aren’t you going to ask me if I know anything about the adoptions?”
“I don’t need to. I know you would tell me if you knew anything.” He placed his hand on her shoulder.
She turned, shrugging his hand off. “I’m sorry but I need to go home now.”
“Laci—”
“I’m tired. A lot has happened. Thank you for a wonderful dinner, but I need to be alone.”
“I’ve upset you. I’m sorry, but I had to be honest with you.”
Laci nodded. “And I need to be honest with you.” She told him everything she’d learned about Spencer Donovan, including about the yellow roses.
But as she finished she saw that he hadn’t taken the threat seriously.
“They’re roses.”
“With thorns.”
“Has he threatened to hurt you?”
“No. But don’t you see? The man is dangerous. Women around him die or get hurt.” She could feel her frustration growing.
“And I don’t want you to be one of them,” he said. “Spencer is leaving town. He’s spending tonight behind bars. He isn’t a threat anymore.”
Bridger’s logic infuriated her. “Maybe not to me, but what about other women?”
Bridger raked a hand through his hair. “We just keep going around about Spencer. Did you find proof that he killed any of the women? No. Or proof that he left the other women yellow roses?”
“You can’t think it’s a coincidence,” she snapped.
“I don’t know what to think. Frankly I don’t want to think about Spencer at all. I want him out of our lives. I want you. I don’t want to argue about Spencer. I hate it.”
“Then quit defending him!”
“I feel like you put me in this position where I have to defend him. Even you admit you have no evidence of any wrongdoing on his part. The police and the sheriff have found nothing. Even if Spencer is leaving you the roses, they don’t seem like much of a threat. And now that he’s leaving town and right this moment behind bars...”
She shook her head, amazed at how furious she could be with him. He was so damned...fair. But he was wrong. “I don’t think we should discuss this anymore tonight.”
Bridger relaxed. “Good.”
“I have to go.”
He groaned. “I wish you’d stay.”
She shook her head. “It’s best I go.” She turned on her heel and headed down the stairs, through the restaurant and to her car. Her head was spinning. She had needed him to take her side against Spencer. She knew it wasn’t fair, but she didn’t care.
Worse, she couldn’t help thinking about what he’d told her. Her grandmother and the rest of the Whitehorse Sewing Circle had been operating an illegal adoption agency?
It was too bizarre to be believable, and yet she knew Bridger wouldn’t have made something like this up. Especially given that apparently the sheriff knew all about it since he was dating Eve.
Laci stopped by the rest home. It was late, but she just needed to see her grandmother. Pearl Cavanaugh’s room was dimly lit. Laci stepped in, tiptoeing to the bed. Her grandmother was sleeping peacefully.
Laci bent down to plant a kiss on her cool, dry cheek. As she straightened, she felt tears blur her eyes. If only her grandmother would get better. If only she would be able to talk to Laci again. Laci missed their long talks. If her grandmother really was involved in something before her stroke, Laci knew she would have had her reasons. Laci really needed to hear those reasons.
Once outside again, she climbed in her car and drove the five miles to pull into her lane. The house was dark, the night even blacker. A wind had come up. It whipped the trees around the house and rocked her car as she got out and started toward the porch wishing she’d left a light on.
A coyote howled, making her jump. She glanced toward the Banning ranch. No lights were on. Bridger had told her that Spencer was in jail. She had nothing to worry about.
This time the note was stuck in the door. It dropped to the floor as Laci unlocked the door. Angry, she pushed into the living room, slamming the door behind her as she snapped on a light and ripped open the envelope with Laci Cherry printed on the front.
The words written inside shouldn’t have shocked her. But they did.
Your mother’s body is in the old Cherry house.
Laci dropped the note. It fluttered to the floor to land in a pile of broken glass. She stumbled back in surprise, finally seeing the room in front of her.
It had been ransacked: books thrown to the floor, the couch cushions cut and bleeding stuffing, the lamps upended.
What struck her was that the house hadn’t been burglarized—but vandalized instead. This was the work of someone who’d been furious.
She dug her cell phone out of her purse and was making the call to the sheriff when the front door banged open on a gust of wind.
She swung around, dropping the cell phone to snatch up the base of a lamp from an end table where it had been knocked over. She raised it as the door filled with a dark shape. Belatedly she realized that she couldn’t have heard anyone drive up over the roar of the wind.
* * *
“EASY, IT’S ME,” Bridger called as Laci started to swing the lamp base, ready to coldcock him.
She dropped the lamp and ran into his arms.
He could feel her trembling and near tears as he took in the room beyond her. He knew it wasn’t just the ransacked house that had her upset.
After she’d taken off, he’d gone after her, fearing that she might be right about a whole lot of things. It was his fault that he’d let Spencer come between them. His guilt had made him defend Spencer even when he’d had doubts. Worse, he hadn’t wanted to believe it. Even about the roses.
But who had done this to her house? Not Spencer—he was in jail. Was it possible he’d done this before Bridger had seen him and called the cops?
Laci pulled back to look up at him, her eyes a liquid blue that threatened to drown him.
“Here, let me do that,” he said, taking her cell phone from her. He told the dispatcher what had happened. She patched him through to the sheriff, who told him to sit tight, not touch anything, he was on his way.
Bridger watched Laci kneel down to carefully pick up a note and envelope from the floor.
“The sheriff said not to touch anything,” he told her.
“Too late,” she said. “This was stuck in the door.”
“Let’s go wait in my truck.” He led her out to his pickup and started the engine to clear the windows.
“This is the third one I’ve received,” she said, handing him the note.
He snapped on the overhead light and read the note twice. “I don’t understand.”
“Someone has been leaving them for me.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about this?” he demanded, but her expression made it too clear why. He snapped off the light, pitching them into darkness. The only sound was the engine and the whir of the heater fan. “I’m sorry. I haven’t exactly inspired your trust in me, have I?”
The night was mild for November, but only a fool wouldn’t know it could snow at any time. This was Montana. Wait ten minutes and the weather would change.
Bridger looked out into the semidarkness. It was too dark to see the outline of the Little Rockies along the horizon. At first he’d missed mountains, but something about the prairie appealed to him. Its terrain appeared flat but was in truth filled with rocky, juniper-thick gullies and ravines. At first it also appeared harsh, barr
en, but it was neither.
He saw the lights before he heard the wail of the siren. It was going to be a long night—and nothing like he’d planned when he’d asked Laci to dinner.
He drew her to him as they sat on the bench seat of his pickup and waited for the sheriff.
“I need to ask you something,” he said as he watched the sheriff’s car grow closer. “Did you go through Spencer’s house looking for evidence?”
Her eyes widened with surprise. “No. You think he did that to my house in retaliation?”
Bridger shrugged. He no longer knew what to think.
“I suppose you know about my parents.”
He’d already heard the story and seen the old Cherry house.
“Every kid in town thinks the house is haunted,” she said as the wail of the siren grew.
He didn’t blame kids for thinking that. The first time he’d seen the house, it had given him an eerie feeling. Finding out that there’d been a murder/suicide in the house had certainly added to that.
“So you don’t remember your father’s parents?” he asked.
She shook her head. “From what I can gather, we seldom saw them before the...tragedy.” She chewed at her lower lip for a moment. “I was too young to remember them. I can’t even remember my parents.”
“You had your grandparents. I had my adoptive parents,” he said. “But it still doesn’t keep you from wondering about your real parents, does it?”
“I’m sorry I got so upset earlier,” Laci said. “I’ll do what I can to help you find your birth mother.”
He smiled. “Thanks.”
“I know what it’s like not knowing your mother. In my case, both of my parents.” She sat up straighter as Sheriff Jackson pulled into the yard and cut his lights and engine.
“What is this?” Laci asked as she picked up something from the floorboard.
He looked up to see that she was holding the photo album he’d found in the basement of Doc Holloway’s house. He’d tossed it on the seat, but it must have fallen to the floor on the drive out here. Once he’d made up his mind to go after her, he’d been in a hurry, hating the way they’d left things.
Laci snapped on the overhead light and ran her fingers over the cover of the album. He’d pretty much forgotten about finding it, he’d been so busy with the restaurant. And Laci.
She flipped the album open to a page with photographs.
“It’s just an old album I—” Her shocked expression stopped him. “You recognize the girls in the photographs?”
Her voice broke as she asked, “Where did you get this?”
“In an old house owned by Dr. Holloway.” Was it possible the girls in the photographs were part of the adoption ring, just as he suspected?
He saw that Laci’s hands were shaking as she clutched the photo album to her chest, her eyes filling with tears.
“This had to have belonged to my mother. She took the album with her when she left. The photos are of me and my sister Laney.”
Chapter Eleven
“OKAY, CALM DOWN,” Sheriff Carter Jackson said as he and Laci and Bridger congregated in his office later that night. “I have forensics coming to go through your house to see what we can find, but I have to tell you, I doubt whoever did that to your house left any fingerprints.”
“I’m more concerned about the notes about my mother, especially after discovering this album,” Laci said.
Carter nodded. “How can you be so sure it’s your mother’s, the one she took with her?”
“I remember my grandfather saying it was blue, my mother’s favorite color,” Laci said. “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t tell him about it at this point, though. I know how much it’s going to upset him.”
“I assume for that reason you also haven’t mentioned the notes to him?” Carter asked.
She nodded and dropped into a chair across from his desk. “You think they’re just a prank, don’t you? But what if my mother never left town, just like the note says? What if she’s buried in that house?”
“It doesn’t explain how her photo album ended up in Dr. Holloway’s house, either,” Bridger pointed out. “Especially given what we know about the doctor’s connection to the adoption ring. I told Laci.”
Sheriff Jackson didn’t look happy to hear that. “Let’s not jump to any conclusions.”
“Unless Dr. Holloway had something to do with her death,” Bridger said.
The sheriff shot Bridger a look. “Let’s try to keep to the facts. I’ll go out with some men and we’ll see what we can find at the house. But let’s keep in mind—it’s been almost thirty years. If someone around here knew about this, why would they decide to tell you now?”
“I’ve wondered about that. Maybe the person is dying and has to get this off her conscience,” Laci said. “Or maybe she’s been gone all these years.” She saw the look the sheriff gave her. “It doesn’t mean the person doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”
“She?” Carter asked.
“It feels like a woman is writing the notes to me,” Laci said and shrugged.
“I did some checking,” Carter said. “A friend of your grandmother Cherry’s is in the nursing home. The nurses found her in your grandmother Pearl’s room.”
Laci sat up in alarm. “Is Gramma Pearl all right?”
“She’s fine.”
“Who is this woman who was a friend of Alma Cherry?”
“Nina Mae Cross.”
“Eve Bailey’s grandmother?”
Carter nodded. “Nina Mae has Alzheimer’s so there’s no way she sent you the notes. But there’s a chance another woman at the nursing home took it upon herself to do it based on something Nina Mae had been saying.”
“And this is the first time you mentioned this to Laci?” Bridger demanded.
Carter sighed. “Given Nina Mae’s mental state, there was no reason to suspect that she knows anything about Geneva Cherry’s whereabouts. Also, the notes Laci gave me had no fingerprints on them. It is doubtful that an elderly person living at the nursing home would make sure her fingerprints weren’t on anything.”
“Who was the woman who you think sent the notes?” Bridger asked.
“Bertie Cavanaugh.”
“My great-aunt?” Laci said and saw Bridger’s surprise.
“I found some stationery in her room that matches that of the notes,” Carter said. “But it’s a common brand sold at the drugstore in Whitehorse. Meanwhile, we’ll search the old Cherry place.”
“What are the chances there’s something there to find after all these years?” Bridger said. “Laci said kids have played in that old house as far back as she can remember. You would have thought they’d have found anything of interest years ago.”
“Unless...” The words caught in Laci’s throat. “Unless the body is in the root cellar under the house.”
Sheriff Carter shook his head. “Your grandfather had one of the local masons brick up the entrance years ago.”
Rumor was that the root cellar was where her grandfather Cherry had taken his wife and killed her before taking his own life.
“Who does the house belong to?” Bridger asked, frowning.
“It was put up for auction for taxes after the incident,” the sheriff said. “There were no offers on it. So I believe it belongs to the county.”
“My grandfather had it bricked up after my mother left?” Laci asked, her voice sounding strange to her.
Carter nodded. “We’ll reopen it tomorrow. If there is anything down there to find, we’ll find it.”
“Anyone ever figure out why Cherry did it?” Bridger asked.
“There was no note and no sign of a problem, according to the file I looked up about the deaths,” the sheriff said.
Laci rose unsteadily from her chair. “When will you do it?”
“At first light—but I don’t want you anywhere near there,” Carter said.
She started to argue, but Bridger stepped in. “I’ll go,” he said more to her than the sheriff. “I’ll be there and I’ll call you as soon as we know something.” He turned to face the sheriff. Laci could see the determined set of his jaw.
Carter looked as if he was going to object but must have seen it would be better than having Laci anywhere nearby. “Okay, Laci. Bridger comes as long as he stays out of the way—and you are nowhere near the place, agreed?”
Laci had no choice but to agree even though she knew she would go crazy until she heard. And she knew that Bridger knew it, as well.
He grabbed her hand and squeezed it as he pulled her to him and gave her a quick kiss, his gaze locking with hers. “Will you be all right alone in my apartment over the restaurant?”
“I’ll be fine. Later I’ll go down to the restaurant and bake something,” she said, holding up the key he’d given her earlier that night.
“Good thinking. Just keep the doors locked.” He turned to the sheriff. “You picked up Spencer this evening for driving under the influence, right?”
Carter nodded.
So Spencer was under lock and key. Now all she had to worry about was what was in the old Cherry house.
The next morning she watched Bridger leave with the sheriff and the deputies in one of the patrol cars, headed for Old Town Whitehorse. It took all her self-control not to follow them, but she knew the sheriff well enough to know he’d meant what he’d said about her staying away.
Carter had allowed Bridger to come along only to keep her away. If she showed up, she was certain the sheriff would send Bridger away, as well.
She was too antsy to stay in the apartment—or even to cook. She decided to go see her grandmother.
* * *
AT THE NURSING HOME, her grandmother glanced toward her as she entered. Laci thought Gramma Pearl’s eyes brightened, but it could have been just the light.
“Hi, Gramma,” she said, taking the chair next to the bed. She was so anxious she feared her grandmother would sense it and it might cause the elderly woman more stress. She shifted her thoughts away from her mother and the old Cherry place and what was going to happen there and thought of Bridger.
