He huffed out a breath. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sue and Brad. Gold script on a pink background. Matches from your parents’ wedding.”
The matches he’d found in a drawer and used to start fires at the cabin. Not once did he look at the cover. Josh ran his fingers across the top of the counter and thought of Joe helping him install the railing across the front of the loft. Joe Kowalsky did nice work. Maybe he should get out of the tea business and try woodworking. “Your parents were happy once.”
Josh shook his head and found himself returning Wendy’s hard gaze. “You know what, Miss Valentine? Maybe you should just mind your own business.” He left, slamming the door behind him.
* * *
“NO? ARE YOU kidding me?” This time instead of getting the news over the phone, Wendy sat directly across from the station manager in his cluttered office. She had waited until finishing the morning broadcast before she’d approached Walt. They had watched the interview together.
“Apparently he’s in the clear.” Walt rocked back and forth, gazing up at the drop ceiling.
Wendy was so frustrated she thought about screaming. She was sure Walt would be receptive to the story. Joe Kowalsky was involved in bank fraud, and he ran away to hide in Bear Meadows. “But he was charged.”
“And then released.” Walt continued to rock. “Either they don’t have enough evidence, or he’s innocent. Either way, there’s no story.”
Taking a deep breath, Wendy released the stranglehold her fingers had on her chair. She wouldn’t have been surprised if her fingertips had left dents in the wood. “Fine.” She stood and headed for the door, steaming.
“Do you know why I’m here, Wendy?”
She stopped abruptly. The boss wasn’t finished with her.
Turning, she eyed the older man. “No.”
“Sixty-five years old and I’m at a tiny station in central Pennsylvania.”
Walt’s rocking was starting to get on her nerves, and she suspected she was in for a lesson. She crossed her arms, leaned back against the frosted glass of the door. “I don’t know, Walt. You must want to be here.”
“Are you kidding? I want to be in Seattle. These mountains make me claustrophobic. I grew up on the West Coast. I should finish out my career there.”
She had been so sure. First that Josh would appreciate the truth about Joe and second that Walt would want to air it. The guy was a charlatan. Walt seemed to be waiting for a response. “So why aren’t you in Seattle? There must be stations there like WSHF. You’re talented, loads of experience.”
Walt sat forward and rested his heavy arms on the paper-strewed desk. “I aired a story about an important businessman accused of assault. Turns out it was a case of mistaken identity. Took a while to clear up. Lucky for the guy he had an ironclad alibi. And because I ran with the story so I could beat the competition, I didn’t verify my sources. The station was sued. I was out of a job. Being unemployed eats through the savings quicker than you might think.” He picked up the shot glass. “And this little souvenir reminds me every day I might have started drinking a little bit too much. So here I am, in Shadow Falls, Pennsylvania, waiting to retire.”
“I’m sorry.” Wendy stared at the cluttered cardboard box next to the chair.
“Live and learn.”
The photo of Walt with Mount Kilimanjaro in the background stared back at her. “So you’re not airing the interview at the tea shop.”
Walt shook his head. “Not even the part about how to brew the perfect cup of tea.”
* * *
JOSH HAD RETURNED to the cabin after Wendy’s exposé. His mother for once didn’t seem to want him around and begged off, saying she had a headache. Since the cabin was finished, he spent all day Monday sweeping up sawdust and polishing the surfaces. Nobody came by. Not that he expected anyone. Joe wouldn’t want to be seen. Hawkeye would be closing ranks around a family member. And Wendy would be busy looking for her next victim.
Despite what she’d done to Hawkeye and Joe, he admired the young woman. Another time, another place, and they might have become an item. Running a cloth along the top of the mantel, he stopped when he came to the pack of matches Wendy had mentioned. Gold script on a pink background. Sue and Brad. A souvenir of a happier time indeed.
His parents would have to work things out for themselves, if ever. He was just relieved that his mom wasn’t sick. So the time had come to head back out west. He would continue at his friend’s ranch until another opportunity presented itself.
Tuesday morning he tidied the cabin and packed up the truck. He felt some satisfaction that the cabin was a little more habitable than when he had first arrived. One final check on his mother. He went by the house, knowing his father would be at a job site, showered, found some clean clothes and then drove to The Cookie Jar. His mom would be baking whether she wanted to or not. She had orders to fill, and she wouldn’t let down her customers for love nor money. Or lack of love.
Parking in front of the bakery, he climbed the stairs and then stopped. He turned. Tea for You was dark. He felt bad for the tea shop owner. We all make mistakes. Sometimes we get caught, sometimes we don’t. A little voice in the back of his head said we always get caught. Josh wondered.
He entered the shop and heard the rattling of pans in the kitchen. Rounding the counter, he followed the noise. “Hi, Mom.”
Her back to him, his mom jumped at his words. “I didn’t hear you come in.” After a quick smile, she returned to the bread dough on a floured board. Her shoulders worked as she kneaded and flipped the mound of dough. “If you want coffee, help yourself. The nursing home asked for an extra order of rolls. They’re having a special dinner this evening.”
“Thanks.” Josh grabbed a flowered mug from the shelf, the twin to the one at his cabin, and poured himself a cup of coffee. He eyed a box of pastries. His stomach growled, and he remembered he hadn’t eaten yet. “Can I have a glazed doughnut?”
His mother nodded. She flipped the dough into a bowl and covered it with a towel. Then she poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down opposite him. “Good?”
He nodded, his mind on how to tell his mother he was leaving. “I should—”
“I’m so glad we’ve had this much time together...despite everything. I’ve missed you, Josh. I’m glad you’re okay.” She patted his hand. “Are you okay?”
Josh pulled his hand away and got up under the pretense of taking his dishes to the sink. “Sure. I have plenty of money. I like being outdoors, the ranch is pretty cool. Did you see my new truck?”
“Of course. You took Joe and me to the church, remember?”
Josh nodded, thinking of the night of the blizzard. That seemed like ages ago. “It’s a great vehicle, has all the bells and whistles.”
“Well, how about you and that fancy vehicle do some deliveries for me?”
Josh looked for a clock, knowing it was getting late. “I was planning on getting an early start.” Her face fell at his response. He took a deep breath. “Okay, what do you need, Mom?”
“I have a box of chicken salad sandwiches—”
“Yum. Your homemade bread?” Josh peered into the box at the perfect triangles.
“Absolutely.”
“Any leftovers?”
“Unfortunately, no.” His mom retrieved two more boxes from the far counter and set them on the table. “A box of raisin-filled cookies and one of assorted.”
Josh rubbed his stomach, which, despite the doughnut, had begun to growl. “Where to? The nursing home?” He could still be on the road by noon.
“Mrs. Hershberger’s. The ladies from the church are meeting.”
Josh’s heart sank. “Mrs. Hershberger? Now? Maybe I should do the delivery to the nursing home and you can take Mrs. Hershberger’s orde
r. She lives closer.”
His mother looked at him oddly, her brow wrinkled. “You have a problem going to the Hershberger home?”
“No, it’s just...” What could he say? He had no choice but to carry the boxes out and put them on the front seat of his truck and drive the few blocks to the home of the retired teacher. He could be in and out quickly.
The tiny ranch house was outside the main business square of Bear Meadows. A white-picket fence surrounded a small lawn that still had traces of the big snow. A Go Bears sign stood perched in the flowerbed.
He unlatched the gate and walked up the sidewalk. He transferred the boxes to one arm so he could use the other hand to knock on the door. He waited. No sound came from inside. He looked around and debated leaving the boxes on the porch. He knocked again.
When the door opened, he expected to see the retired first-grade teacher, dressed in her signature pink tracksuit. Instead, he found himself looking down.
“And who might you be?” His expression disgruntled, a broad-shouldered man with thinning hair sat in a wheelchair. Hank Hershberger.
The man he had almost killed was alive.
But certainly not well.
CHAPTER TWELVE
FOR A MOMENT Josh feared his lungs had collapsed because all the air seemed to have left his body. The boxes would’ve landed on the Happy Holidays welcome mat at his feet if he hadn’t taken a step back.
The man gripped the armrests and leaned forward in his wheelchair. His eyes narrowed. “Are you deaf? What do you want?”
Before Josh could answer, Mrs. Hershberger appeared. One hand covered two pink rollers at her forehead. “This is Sue and Brad Hunter’s boy. You brought my goodies, didn’t you, Josh? You’re such a sweetheart. Move back so the boy can get in the door, Hank.”
Hank wheeled backward. But his expression was decidedly less welcome than his wife’s.
“The ladies will be here any minute, and I’m not ready yet.” Waving a hand, she pointed down the hallway. “Just put the boxes on the kitchen table.” She disappeared through a door.
With a nod to the husband, he hurried into the kitchen and set the boxes on a metal table, which could have been the twin to the one in his mother’s bakery. He couldn’t get out of the house soon enough. But when he turned to leave, the doorway was blocked.
The man in the wheelchair looked him up and down. Josh must have passed inspection. “Cup of coffee?” Mr. Hershberger wheeled past Josh and stretched to reach the pot on the back of the stove. “I keep telling Vera not to push the pot to the back burner, but she never listens.” He sat back, disgusted. “I think she’s afraid I’ll spill it on myself.” He motioned to his skinny legs and laughed. “Not like I’ll feel anything.”
The kitchen was small, but, even so, Josh felt as if the walls were closing in. He wanted nothing more than to run away from the man staring at the pot on the back of the stove. “I’ll get it.”
“There’s two travel cups in that corner cupboard. Let’s get out of here before those church ladies show up.” Hank wheeled over to the table and inspected the boxes.
Josh poured the coffee and snapped the lids on the cups. “My mom said your wife asked for two dozen sandwiches.”
“She always gets more than she needs. She won’t miss them.” He loaded up a plate with four sandwiches and a half-dozen cookies and balanced the plate on his lap. With a conspiratorial grin, he tipped his head toward the back door. “Follow me.”
Josh glanced down the hall. His escape was only feet away. Instead, he picked up the cups and followed the man. Mr. Hershberger wheeled himself down a ramp and onto a wide concrete pathway.
Josh followed him to a large garage at the farthest part of the yard. Hank disappeared through the wide double doors. Josh took one last look at the pathway and the gate leading to the front of the house. His plan to leave town had crumbled. Well, what was one more hour or two?
Josh entered the dark garage and spied Hank at a cluttered workbench. The air smelled of turpentine and grease. He set Hank’s cup close enough that the man could reach it.
“I’ll take one of the sandwiches, and you help yourself. Looks like you’ve missed a few meals.” Mr. Hershberger passed him the plate and again looked Josh over head to toe. “You a military man?”
“I was.”
“I thought so. The way you carry yourself. I had it, too, in my day.” He shook his head. “Come look at this.” He led Josh to the back of the garage. “Flip on that light switch.”
The last thing Josh expected to see at Christmastime in Bear Meadows was a boat under construction. This was no small project. The vessel had to be about twenty feel long. “You built this?” He walked around the vessel. Up on cribbing, the hull was at eye level. He ran a hand along the edge, sanded down to bare wood.
“She’s an antique, son. A 1949 classic luxury item. I bought her from a guy in Florida ten years ago.”
Josh continued to examine the boat. She certainly was beautiful. The seats were red upholstery. The dash was a rich mahogany. Then Hank’s words sunk in. “You bought the boat to restore.”
“Yep.”
Josh felt sick. He looked at the half-finished sandwich in his hand. He was at the stern of the boat now, out of Hank’s sight. He leaned over, breathing deep. He should have left town.
“She’ll hold up to eight people. I thought I’d take her over to the lake. I used to have a marina there. Look at that hull. Man, I’ll bet she’ll skim across the water.” His last sentence had been full of wistfulness. “Hey, where’d you get to, fella?”
“Just admiring your craftsmanship.” Josh walked back to the bow.
“She’s a beauty, isn’t she?” For the first time since their encounter at the front door, Hank Hershberger smiled. He wheeled slowly around the boat, running his hand along the side. “A 1949 seventeen-foot runabout. The trailer’s over there in the other corner.”
“But how...”
“I bought her before my accident. I’ve got everything done except painting the outer hull. White with red trim. What do you think?”
Josh looked away. “Sounds good.”
“I guess it doesn’t matter anymore. The next owner can paint her any color he or she wants. I don’t suppose you’re in the market?”
Josh shook his head, unable to speak. Not enough that he had put a person in a wheelchair, he had destroyed his dream. He recalled seeing Mrs. Hershberger’s little car. Without thinking, he asked, “What were you going to pull the boat with?”
“I used to have a three-quarter-ton pickup. Couldn’t drive anymore. So what was the point?” He sighed. Josh spied a set of weights in the corner, covered with dust. “Whose weights?”
“Mine.” Hank laughed. “After the accident, they said I should work out to maintain my upper body strength. I did for a while. But again...what’s the point?
“I’m glad you brought Vera’s delivery, son. I don’t get to talk to many young people anymore. And Fritz Hoffman used to come around, but after he and Rose bought that Victorian he’s kept busy with repairs.”
Josh rested a hand on the hull of the boat.
A trusting man, Dr. Reed always left the keys in the car’s ignition. Josh opened the garage door, glancing around in the gathering dusk for potential witnesses to his deed. The mansion and the garage with the second-floor apartment were set far back from the main street and hidden in a century’s old grove of oak trees. He settled on the leather seat and inserted the key. Thanks to the hours the two men had spent, the engine turned over instantly. Josh couldn’t tell if the warm glow deep inside came from driving the car or was left over from the whiskey he had consumed in the den. It didn’t matter. The memories of his disagreement with his father faded, and he pulled into the alley behind the house and drove out of town. Knowing the red car was easily recogn
ized, he headed toward the cabin. When he got to Little Bear Creek, he didn’t want to stop. The night was beautiful. A crescent moon lay just above the horizon, the evening star crisp against the azure western sky. He made it to Last Chance Road, less likely to be seen, and sped down the narrow road. He was watching the rest of the stars come into sight in the night sky, still lit from the setting sun. On the road, night had already fallen thanks to the pine trees lining both sides. He had been looking up at the moon when he felt the sudden thump. His heart leaped into his chest. He slowed just in time to see a deer leap across the road. What were the odds? The one time he took Dr. Reed’s car for a spin without permission...and he had hit a deer.
“It’s safe to come in now, boys.” Josh turned at the sound of Mrs. Hershberger’s voice. He glanced at the clock over the workbench. A big fish seemed to jump out between the nine and the three, caught by a fisherman in the background. That’s how he felt. He was hooked. He had been talking to Hank for two hours.
“The church ladies gone, Vera?”
“Yes, dear. And don’t think I didn’t know you lifted a couple sandwiches.” She approached the boat. “What have you two been up to this whole time?”
“Talking about boats, the service. Josh just got out of the military. What branch were you in, son?”
Josh wished the man would stop calling him son. “Army.”
Hank chuckled. “No wonder you didn’t know what kind of boat this is.”
The retired teacher gave him an appraising look. “I knew you’d joined the military, but I couldn’t remember what branch. That’s nice that you two have something in common then.” She nodded, a thoughtful expression on her face. “Supper’s almost ready, Hank. Why don’t you go on in and wash up. Would you like to stay, Josh?”
Watching Hank wheel across the concrete floor reminded Josh of what he had done. “Thanks, Mrs. Hershberger, but I have plans.” He started to follow Hank out the door, but Mrs. Hershberger grabbed his elbow with a viselike grip. “Josh.”
He grimaced. Did she know? Could she see it on his face? The woman had always had an uncanny ability of knowing what her students were up to, sometimes before they did.
An Allegheny Homecoming Page 13
