Beyond the Quiet: Romantic Thriller

by Brenda Hill

  “I have to get things settled.” Settled...what a strange word. Burying the past and changing the future.

  Something flashed in Shanna’s eyes. Her quick temper? Wounded feelings? I could no longer read my daughter’s moods; she’d grown too far away.

  The rest of the day I thought of nothing but making the move. Sipping coffee, I got out my checkbook and went over my finances, forcing an attention to details that I’d neglected the past couple of months. The rest of the day I thought of nothing but making the move. Sipping coffee, I got out my checkbook and went over my finances, forcing an attention to details that I’d neglected the past couple of months. Mac’s insurance, should tide me over until I was able to obtain my real estate license in Minneapolis. If I were careful, I should even have enough to live on until the commissions came in.

  But I had to make sure. With travel agencies on the downswing, Leif’s future was at risk, and I didn’t want to be a financial burden to my daughter and her family.

  I contacted Ben, my boss at the real estate office in Redlands, and told him I wanted to come back to work as soon as possible. I might as well earn some money while I waited for things to get settled.

  I scheduled an open house for tomorrow afternoon following Shanna’s flight. Ben thought it might be too soon, but I was afraid that, unless I went back to work, I’d come home from the airport, slip back into my robe, and wouldn’t get out of it again.

  The next morning, after dressing and even applying makeup before the trip to the airport, I sorted the mail, dropping the sympathy cards into an unopened pile. If I were to get on with my life, I couldn’t handle one more flowery card.

  An innocent-looking envelope addressed to Mac was stuck between a credit card solicitation and a weekend pizza special. Closing my eyes, I ran my fingers over his neatly-printed name, pretending, for just a moment, he was there to read it.

  “You okay, Mom?” Shanna asked, packing Kyle’s diaper bag for their plane trip home.

  Her voice snapped me out of the past. “Sure, honey. I’m fine.”

  Inside the envelope was a post office form, a reminder to Mac that his box number 1263 was due for a year’s renewal.

  We didn’t have a post office box. Living in Yucaipa, a Southern California community in the foothills below Big Bear, our mail came directly to the house. It had to be a mistake, some sort of computer error. Since Mac’s death, I’d received tons of solicitations and official-looking documents that amounted to nothing.

  Strange, though. Solicitations were always addressed to Ronald Montgomery, the legal name Mac had used for documents and purchases. He’d only scribbled his nickname, foisted on him as a child because of his love for Big Macs, for renting movies or personal things. Which made me consider that he must have, indeed, signed for the box.

  But why? Why on earth would he need a mailbox away from home?

  Chapter Two

  “What’s wrong?” Shanna asked.

  “Oh, nothing.”

  I must not have sounded convincing because she set down the diaper bag and stepped carefully around Kyle, who was playing on the floor with his fuzzy dinosaur.

  “Hmmm.” She peered over my shoulder at the note and I caught the soft scent of baby powder. “Why’d Dad have a box at the post office?”

  “I can’t imagine. He never mentioned it to me”

  The notice came from the San Bernardino post office, out of our district, but near the engineering firm where Mac had worked for twenty-five years. The date for renewal was exactly a year from the day he had retired on disability.

  “It’s probably some screw-up,” Shanna said, dismissing it. “I’m sure it’s for some other Montgomery.”

  “But it’s Mac’s nickname.”

  “Oh, Mom, this is the computer age. I bet I could find out anything about you or Dad in less than five minutes.” She snatched the note and read it closely. “Means nothing. You know Dad wouldn’t do anything for you to be concerned about.”

  I tucked the notice into my purse. The post office was open until noon on Saturdays, but I had to get Shanna to the airport and go to the open house I was hosting.

  Since spring could bring sudden gusty winds to the drier counties inland from Los Angeles, I grabbed my gray silk jacket and gathered Kyle into my arms, hugging him tightly and wishing I never had to let him go.

  How was I going to get through the days and weeks until I could move near them?

  ***

  At the Ontario airport, I held Kyle while Shanna checked their baggage. Before they entered the security check, I handed Kyle to her and hugged them both for the last time. Shanna strapped Kyle in the harness and returned the embrace, but her body was rigid and she kept looking at me as if she had something to say.

  “What is it, honey? Is something wrong?”

  She bit her lip, something she’d done as child when she needed time to form the proper words. Her eyes filled and she swiped the tears away. She hadn’t mentioned anything during her visit, but then she wouldn’t, not when I was so rattled.

  “You don’t have to wait, Mom. You could come on out if you wanted to. I...I need you. For once in your life, take a chance on something you haven’t planned down to the last detail.”

  I knew that harsh tone. I’d heard it too many times in the past not to recognize it now.

  “I wish I could. You have no idea how much I want to,” I told her, “but I can’t. Too many things I have to take care of.”

  “There’s always something, isn’t there? Always something that comes first.”

  “That’s not fair.”

  Shanna said nothing for a few moments. “Well, Mom, you go ahead and do what you have to do. I’ll take care of...things.”

  “What things?”

  “Nothing important, obviously.” She flashed that bright smile she always used when she covered something up.

  “Honey—”

  “Good luck on your open house.” She busied herself straightening Kyle’s jacket. “Not to worry, though. With your record of sales, you’ll make a killing.” She gave me a peck on the cheek. “Have to go now. I’ll call you.” With a small wave, she turned and walked to the security check, her stiff body loaded with a baby and two bags.

  I wanted to run after her, demand that she tell me the problem, but they’d passed through the security gate and disappeared in the crowd. I kept seeing the look on her face. Was I doing the right thing?

  Making my way to the car, I found each step longer than the last.

  Where are you, Mac, and why aren’t you here to help me?

  I brushed away sudden tears. Crying wasn’t going to help. I had learned that long ago. Somehow, I’d have to smooth things with Shanna. I had lost my husband; I couldn’t lose my daughter and grandson as well.

  ***

  Twenty minutes later, I pulled in front of the frame ranch-style house in San Bernardino with its peeling white paint and the foreclosure sign stuck in the window. Dandelions poked through cracks in the driveway.

  The house looked as sad and abandoned as I felt. But underneath the signs of neglect, it was a sturdily built structure with an old-time charm of hardwood floors and built-in bookcases. Someone who cared could give this forlorn little house enough love and attention to bring it back to life.

  I placed an Open House sign on the corner of the street and another one in front of the house, then strung multi-colored banners on the sidewalk leading to the front door. With my briefcase full of specs, contracts and business cards, I was ready.

  Three hours later I wanted to scream.

  A man and woman in their late forties or early fifties stopped by, and every time I turned around, there the man stood, ready with another of his endless questions.

  Towering over me with the stocky build of someone used to working outdoors, he outweighed me by a hundred pounds. Yet every time I met his gaze, he flushed like an embarrassed boy.

  “Mrs. Montgomery, uh, Lisa,” he began, running one hand through
his silver hair, “do you know what cable company services this area?”

  Pegging them as looky-loos, people who toured properties for a Saturday afternoon’s entertainment, I’d been polite as long as I could before escaping to the kitchen for a few moments of quiet. I was finding it more difficult than I had thought to get back to the routine, and I was exhausted and only wanted the day to end. But I’d advertised that the house would be open until five and I wouldn't go back on my word.

  “I’m not sure, but I believe Inland Cablevision,” I told him, longing for a comfortable chair. “If you're interested in the house, I could find out Monday morning.”

  The woman accompanying him entered the kitchen and took his arm.

  “No thanks,” she said, barely glancing at me. Thin, with kinky gray hair, she was one of those nervous types who couldn’t stand still. Her fingers twitched and she shifted from foot to foot. ‘Too big for a woman alone,” she added, shooting an accusatory look at the man.

  Was she his wife? Sister? Girlfriend? No matter who she was, it was clear she wasn’t happy.

  “I'm Terry O'Neal and this is, uh...”

  “Yeah, Terry,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper, her eyes pulling his to hers, “just what am I?”

  Even as a bystander, the intensity of her gaze held me captivated.

  “You promised you wouldn't do that,” he said, his own expression one of pain and something else I couldn’t identify. Guilt?

  “Yeah, promises. They used to mean something.” Betty’s voice returned to that sharp edge she’d used before, and she dropped her gaze.

  “This is Betty,” he told me in a rush, his sapphire eyes sending a message I didn't even try to understand. “We’re house-hunting for her. I’d sure like to have your card. You know, to find something more suitable for her.”

  I grabbed one from the counter. Anything to be rid of him.

  Betty’s gaze settled on me for the first time. “I don’t even know if I want a house. Too much work.”

  I understood. Even though it meant giving up the site of so many memories, I was still glad Mac and I had sold the family home and moved into the condo.

  “Come on,” Betty said, an impatient twang in her voice, “we gotta get going.” Tugging on Terry's arm, she led him to the entryway. When he shrugged out of her grasp, she disappeared out the door.

  He turned and smiled—a shy smile, but one of interest.

  Taken aback, I dropped my gaze.

  No one had shown interest in me as a woman in a long time, and I couldn't imagine why this man was doing so now. Mac had thought I was pretty, but he’d loved me. I’d always been slim, but with the strain of the last couple of years, I barely ate and now my clothes hung on my thin body.

  Something pulled my gaze back to Mr. O’Neal. He looked nice in his black trousers and pullover knit shirt, and he had a little tummy that he kept trying to suck in.

  When our eyes met, he smiled. It was the strangest thing. While I had no interest in men and certainly not in Mr. O’Neal, something about his smile caused me to feel, for just an instant, like a carefree young girl.

  “Lisa, may I talk to you?” he asked.

  I gave myself a mental shake. “What is it, Mr. O’Neal? What do you want?”

  “I know you must think I’m crazy, but I’d like you to know—”

  “Terry?” Betty appeared back at the door. “You coming?” She threw a withering glance at me and stood waiting.

  “Guess I’d better go,” he told me with a wry smile. “I’ll call you.”

  He would call me? Lord, I hoped not. I wasn’t interested in the complications his eyes suggested.

  For the rest of the afternoon, I shooed kids out of bathrooms, hauled them off counters, and strongly discouraged them from trying to use the hardwood floors as skating rinks.

  Finally, at a quarter to five, feeling I couldn’t go another step, I retrieved the Open House signs and stuffed them in my trunk.

  Just as I was locking the house, a green compact car pulled in the drive. The driver, a raven-haired woman in her thirties, sat talking to a boy about seven. Waiting for them by the door, I considered reopening the house to seem inviting, but if they were only looky-loos, I felt too tired to bother.

  A few more minutes went by and still no one exited. I could see them talking, and I wondered what they could be discussing so animatedly in front of a vacant house. When neither moved to get out of the car, I braced myself to approach them. After all, a client is a client.

  Just as I reached the driver’s window, the woman signaled the boy to be quiet. A folded newspaper page rested on the dash and I saw, circled in red, a classified ad that looked like mine.

  “Hi,” I said. “I’m Lisa Montgomery. I was just closing the house, but if you’d like to take a look—”

  “No!” The woman started the engine. “We...were just coming back from shopping and thought we’d stop by—”

  “Mommy,” the boy interrupted, frowning. A lock of tawny hair fell over his forehead. Something about him seemed familiar, but I couldn’t place it. “That’s not—”

  “Shhh!” she hissed at him. When she turned to me, the expression in her aqua eyes, for just an instant, was one of familiarity. Then it was gone. But in that instant, we’d connected. Something about her seemed familiar as well. Had she been to other open houses I’d held? I didn’t think so; I’d remember someone with such striking features.

  Before I could ask, she began to ease the car backward.

  “Sorry,” she said, then turned to peer over her shoulder at the street traffic. “This isn’t the right house for us.”

  “Okay.” Keeping pace with the moving car, I dug in my purse for my card. “I’d be happy to show you something else, if you’ll—”

  “No thanks.” Reaching the street, she spun the car around and took off without another word.

  I stared after the disappearing car. Some strange people in this world.

  Chapter Three

  By the time I pulled my white Toyota onto my driveway, I was so relieved I almost cried. No more nicey-nice faces, no more screaming children. Just a quiet evening with a good book and a nice soak in my oversized tub.

  My condo was actually a two-story townhouse in Upper Yucaipa, and the back of the building faced the San Bernardino Mountains. My unit, the end one, had an unrestricted view. Oh, how Mac had loved it. When we first toured the property, he got as far as the patio and waited while I checked out the rest of the rooms. I think it could have been gutted and he wouldn’t have cared as long as he could see the mountains.

  Today, they were spectacular.

  In the growing dusk, a tinge of blue shaded the snow-capped peaks as they pushed their way through a layer of wispy clouds. Beautiful and mysterious, they rode the sky like a jagged island of bluish-white, standing miles above foothills lost in a sea of fog.

  During his last months, Mac had often asked me to help him to the patio where he’d sit and gaze endlessly at the mountains. Savoring the beauty today, I took a deep breath and wished with all my heart that he could be there to share it with me. This has to be for you, Mac, I silently told him, hoping that from somewhere, he could still see the view that he had so loved.

  Inside, I tossed my briefcase on the wing chair, kicked off my shoes, and padded barefoot into the kitchen. I poured a tall glass of Diet Coke and looked at my watch. Shanna should be home by now. Talking to her so soon after that awkward scene at the airport would be tough, but I wouldn’t be able to relax until I’d made sure she and Kyle had arrived in Minneapolis safely.

  Downing a full glass of soda and wishing it gave courage, even false courage, I punched the numbers.

  “Hi sweetheart. Get home okay?”

  “Of course.” Her tone was stilted, her words clipped.

  There was an awkward pause and I could hear the slight hum of the wires. I longed to beg her to understand, but something, pride, perhaps, kept me silent.

  “How did Kyle l
ike the trip?”

  “He was wide awake,” she answered, her voice a little warmer, “but the woman in the seat next to me gave him all her attention. He loved it.” She asked me about the house, and I tried to sound natural as I told her about the afternoon, but we soon ended the call. I think we both wanted to avoid exchanging harsh words.

  Was I doing the right thing? In trying not to be a burden, was I causing Shanna more pain? Thinking back to our conversation at the airport, she’d seemed to be pleading with me to make the move now. But why? Her marriage was secure, and since she’d given birth to Kyle, she had the complete family she had always wanted. An intruding widowed mother was something she didn’t need.

  Slipping off my jacket, I hung it in the closet next to the others, arranged in blacks, grays, and navy blues. Off to the side, price tags intact, was the red blazer Mac had encouraged me to buy two years ago. After a year, he finally gave up trying to get me to wear it.

  But jewelry was something else. How I loved artificial diamonds and rhinestones, and the bigger the stone, the better. Mac had teased me about my gaudy taste, but I loved watching the sparkling reds, blues and yellows, always reminding me of the magic of long-ago fairy tales where, no matter what had happened, the main character wound up living happily ever after.

  I pulled the cotton shell over my head and shrugged out of my bra. My nipples puckered at the sudden change and I lightly massaged them, savoring the luxurious feel of freedom.

  The last couple of years Mac had pestered me to leave off my bra. Finally one day when I had wanted to cheer him up, I’d pulled a bulky sweatshirt over my bare breasts. Whether it was the relaxing of my standards or just watching my small breasts bounce, I couldn’t say, but Mac got a kick out of it. I’d felt so silly that I never did it again.

  I was the quiet one, an only child conditioned to fading into the woodwork. Mac was tall, blonde, and gregarious, with a mischievous twinkle in his hazel eyes. He’d loved to tease me, to make me blush. I’d adored him, and we had everything we needed to make it through together.