In Buckneck or some nearby town, my daughter is now a forty-year-old woman. Maybe my entire plan was a mistake, a failure. Perhaps I listened to the wrong voices.
Funny, the ghosts don’t follow me into this church. I’ve been coming here every day so I can think clearly a little while. The parishioners will probably start locking me out.
As I stand in the tiny church bathroom, I examine myself in the cheap gold mirror. My skin’s hardly wrinkled and my red-blonde hair is still long. I could pass for about fifteen years younger. What a cruel joke—I’ll die unloved, but beautiful. A metaphor for my life, perhaps.
Unless I find Rosemary in time.
~*~
First thing in the morning, I walk over to see Petey. Nikki Jo meets me at the door, wearing her exercise clothes and a big smile.
“Just made some fresh coffee—come and join me. How about a ham biscuit?”
Nikki Jo’s ham biscuits need to have their own restaurant. I grin. “Sure.”
She looks me over. “I do believe I see a baby bump. When’s that next appointment?”
“January fifth, I think. I’ll call you with the time.”
I pull out a stool and sit at the island. “How’s Petey?”
She pours two cups of coffee, adding creamer liberally to both. “I’ll be doggoned if he hasn’t slept like a log all night. I slept on the floor to keep a check on him, like Doc Cole suggested. He was a real angel to stop in yesterday.”
I don’t think I’d compare Bartholomew to an angel, but I nod and chew my biscuit.
“How are Miranda’s wedding plans coming along? Where’s she getting married again?”
“In The Haven. I think they have a chapel in the basement somewhere.”
“Law, imagine getting married in her condition. Nearly seventy, had that stroke and heart attack—and she’s stuck in that wheelchair. I hope Paul will take good care of her. She’s taken care of lots of us over the years. She used to come to our church, you know. Always saw the best in people. I remember she told me I was a good mom—this was when I was taking Andrew out to spank him about twice a service. I clung to her words, let me tell you that.”
Nikki Jo’s right. Miranda’s the kind of friend who sees the best in people. Even Paul. Despite his unkempt, plodding ways, she sees something valuable in him. What did she see in Rose, I wonder?
Nikki Jo takes a dainty bite of her biscuit. “You coming over for supper tonight? We’ll have plenty of stew.”
“I’ll try to. I have to run over to see Claire Hogan first. Just want to clear something up. When’s Helga getting here?”
“Andrew said this afternoon. Here I was just warming up to Kelsey, too. Did you know she sent me the nicest thank-you for that Thanksgiving dinner?”
“I didn’t know that. I sort of liked her, too.”
“Land sakes if that boy doesn’t give me fits. How he’ll ever stick it out in med school, I don’t know.”
Andrew saunters into the kitchen, sporting a stubble beard. His V-neck tee is about two sizes too big over his flannel pajama bottoms. The old Birks complete the ensemble.
He goes straight to the coffeemaker, emptying half the pot into a huge mug. “Ma, you know I can hear you.”
Nikki Jo talks to his back. “I don’t care. You ought not to toy with girls’ hearts that way.”
I put down my mug. “Could I go say hi to Petey?”
Andrew snorts. “You could, but he wouldn’t hear you. He’s dead to the world right now.”
“Okay. Could you please tell Petey I said hi and that I’ll play Xbox with him if I get back in time? Also, tell him I plan to beat him royally.”
Andrew grins. “Oh, I’ll tell him that.”
I give Nikki Jo a hug. “Thanks for the biscuit and coffee. I’ll be on my cell if you need me, unless I lose coverage.”
Charlotte calls as I walk back to the SUV. “What are you up to? I’m already bored without you.”
I hate to admit I’m tracking down Claire, but it’s the last piece of the puzzle—or the last nail in my coffin. It’s a toss-up which. But it’s the only way to get Rosemary to stop menacing my family and friends—I’ll confront her with the truth, once I figure out her relationship with the Hogans and the Good Doctor.
When I tell Charlotte, she’s determined to go with me. “Maybe Claire knows more about Paul, too. If so, I need to know, so Mom has the full picture.”
“Okay, okay. I’ll pick you up in about twenty minutes. Claire lives outside town a little ways.”
I double check the cottage locks and then get into the SUV. I can’t imagine the miles I’ve been putting on this vehicle lately—yet another reason to stop this insanity.
In Buckneck, the law office looks unexpectedly festive with red bows and a lighted wreath. Wonder if my Christmas-décor expert of a husband had any say in the decorating. One could only hope so.
Charlotte has it easy: traveling everywhere, spending all her money on herself, looking at life as an adventure. She doesn’t have to worry about putting everyone in danger when she pokes around into this Rose business.
She’s waiting on her porch, snazzy in her boot-cut cords and a soft orange sweater. When she gets in the SUV, I scold her for not wearing a jacket, then compliment her eyeliner. “Girl, if I wore that dark liner, I’d look like a vampire. You can pull off that perfect smoky eye.”
She smiles. “And if I had your porcelain skin, I wouldn’t have to emphasize my eyes.”
“I guess grass is always greener, huh?”
“You’d better believe it. You know, I’ve been thinking about my mom. Do you think Rose was envious of her? I mean, Mom had such a great marriage and Rose’s was so lousy, from all appearances.”
The thought had run through my mind. “Could be.”
Charlotte absently straightens the tissue box, sunglasses case, and atlas. “And what if it was Rose that wrote those anonymous notes? It was her handwriting. Maybe she heard Mom’s marrying Paul and she was jealous?”
“Why would she be jealous if she never loved Paul?”
She twists her gold bracelet. “Maybe…maybe he was like a possession. You know, she could have him, but nobody else?”
“I suppose that’s possible. But why the elaborate suicide hoax to get away? Now she wants to get him back?”
Charlotte feigns a British accent. “Oft-times, the human heart is an enigma, even to itself.”
I chuckle. “Did you just make that up?”
“Sure did.”
In the valley where Claire lives, there’s a sudden clearing in the cloud-scudded sky. A beam of sunlight hits the SUV. Charlotte says, “It’s a sign I’m right.”
“Maybe so. Let’s hope Claire can give us some insights.”
We pull up to 213 Mechanic Lane. Turns out, Claire lives in a trailer. Turns out, I can’t go in. When Charlotte swings open her door, I sit frozen to my seat. She walks around the SUV and raps on my window. “You coming?”
How do words capture a phobia—something that slithers into every cell and disrupts the way you see everything? I grew up in a rickety trailer. It still bothers me, and I’m a grown woman. I suppose if I dug deeper and psychoanalyzed myself, there’d be a parallel with how trailers’ narrow confines make me feel trapped, the exact way I felt looking out for my reckless mom.
No time for explanations. I roll down the window, then grab my stomach. “Not…feeling too good. Can you take it from here?”
Her eyes widen. “Are you sick? Do you need a bathroom? Maybe you could use hers.”
“No, no. I just need to lay back and drink a little water from this bottle. I get dehydrated sometimes.”
Charlotte looks at the trailer, then back at me. It’s a really souped-up place, with white wood siding, flower boxes, and proper shutters. I just can’t go inside.
“What do I ask? You’re Nancy Drew and I’m only George, remember?”
“Ask about Rosemary. Ask if she adopted her and how. Oh, and where. And even why. Ask how
Rose treated her son, Cliff.”
“Got it. Who, what, where, and why. Okay, you lie back and I’ll handle this.”
I feel bad I can’t go in to make a mental reel of the questioning. Hopefully, Charlotte will be adept at remembering the key info.
I crank the seat back and stare at the taupe ceiling. Closing my eyes, I imagine myself walking to my mossy rock in the woods. In that leafy embrace, all sorts of impractical notions make sense. Dead trees point to heaven, praising their Maker. Spiders’ webs part for me to pass through. Deer don’t shy away, but meet my eyes and keep walking.
I’m deep into my woods scenario when the trailer door slams. Claire Hogan and Charlotte walk slowly toward me, Claire holding onto Charlotte’s arm. Claire is heavy-set, with sparse white hair and a strong chin.
She peers into the car. “So you’re the one asking questions about our Rose, are you?”
I nod.
“I’ve talked to your friend here. I’m sure she’ll explain it. But she tells me you’re expecting? Feeling sick, are ye?” The more she talks, the more brogue kicks in.
“I’m feeling some better now, thank you, Mrs. Hogan.”
She reaches in the open window and lays a shaky hand on my stomach, letting it rest there for a moment. A blush jumps to my cheeks.
“P’raps ye have a small fever, do ye?”
“No, I’m fine. I just need to get home, I guess.”
“That’s sure and certain. Get back to home and take good care of your wee girl.”
“Girl?” Is she saying what I think she’s saying?
“The babe. Did ye know what ‘twas?”
“Not yet. But I guess I do now. I’ll take care, and you do the same, Mrs. Hogan.”
She smiles, her dentures too big for her mouth. “God will take care of ye. Don’t ye worry.”
We both wave as I pull out. Charlotte offers to drive, but I need something to focus my excitement. A girl! I wonder if Claire is right.
Charlotte watches me closely. “Feeling better?”
I’m sure my emotions are flitting across my face. “Yes, just kinda surprised at what she said.”
“About the baby? Yeah, she seems like some kind of mountain sage with that accent, doesn’t she? And she had lots of information for us.”
All the way to Buckneck, Charlotte fills me in. Yes, Claire adopted Rosemary, because she recognized Rose was pregnant and assumed it was Cliff’s child. As Rosemary grew, Claire realized she didn’t resemble Cliff in the least, but at that point she loved her so much she didn’t care who her father was.
She’d flown to Arizona to adopt Rosemary.
Arizona.
So the Good Doctor had gotten Rose out of West Virginia. Had she lived with his sister? That explains why he went there soon after Rose faked her death. And that’s yet another thing he forgot to tell us.
Charlotte tries to cross her long legs, only to crack her knee into the console. She finds the seat lever and slides it back. “I feel like we’re getting close, Tess. Really close.”
I groan. “It’s been one step forward and two steps back this entire process. I want to be out of this, you know. I thought we’d close the case with Claire Hogan—boom! End of story! But we still don’t know everything.”
Charlotte’s phone rings. “It’s Claire! I gave her my number.” She picks up. “Yes, this is she…What? When was this? Did you tell her?…Good heavens. Thanks for letting us know.”
Charlotte’s face looks like she saw a ghost. “Someone followed us to Claire’s house and asked her where Rosemary lives—someone in a blue car. Tess, pull over. Pull off the road now.”
I oblige, pulling onto the narrow gravel shoulder. Hitting my hazard lights, I try to stay calm.
“What? What is it—are they coming to kill us?”
“No. I mean, I don’t think so. Tess. The person looking for Rosemary is Rose.”
50
~*~
Sure enough, Tess is easy to follow, giving me the direction I need. It’s surprising to see Claire, looking so run-down and old, as she walks out to the red SUV. Once Tess and her friend leave, I pull up and knock on Claire’s door. She recognizes me immediately.
“Ye’re here for the child, after all these years,” she says.
I speak loudly, in case she can’t hear. “I couldn’t come before this.”
“This bodes ill, your return to the mountains,” she says.
“Are you telling me it’s a mistake? Because I’ve made all my mistakes. Now I’m making things right.”
“The child’s not Cliff’s.” The old woman leans on the arm of her couch. “Ye misled me.”
“Of course I did. It was the only way to give her a home. I trusted you’d hide her from Paul.”
“‘Twasn’t Paul I was protecting her from.”
Ungrateful hag. I get close to her face. “Where is she?”
“I willnae tell ye.” She pulls her sweater close.
I pull a pill from my pocket. “Oh yes, ye will. Or you’ll take this pill and die right now.”
Fear fills her eyes. “Ye wouldn’t, after all I did for ye.”
“Don’t push me, Claire. Just tell me where she is. I don’t want to hurt her.”
“Just being here will hurt her more than ye know. Ye can’t make me take the pill.”
I take out Paul’s revolver—I found it in our house. Not only has Paul never changed the locks on our door, he still keeps his gun in his closet. I aim it at Claire’s chest. “I think I can.”
~*~
We sit in the car, in our far-from-scenic pull-off spot. Several fast-food cups, a beat-up egg carton, and an empty cat litter container dot the grass nearby. Whatever happened to Adopt-a-Highway?
“Rose?” I repeat. “She’s here?”
“Yes, and she’s not doing well. She pulled a gun on Claire.”
“A gun?”
“According to Claire, she was desperate to find Rosemary.”
“Did Claire tell her about the bistro? Oh my word, we need to contact Rosemary!”
Charlotte shivers. “Claire already called her. Rosemary left work early and is going to a hotel for now.”
I rummage in my purse for the phone. “Rosemary should call the police—we should call the police!”
“And tell them what? That we’re being stalked by a dead woman?”
“I don’t know what to do…your mom! We have to make sure she’s safe.”
Charlotte calls The Haven. She instructs a caregiver to stay outside Miranda’s door 24-7. “Money’s not an issue. Just make sure no one goes into or out of her room until I get there.”
I turn the key, and the SUV purrs to life. “You going to stay over there instead of the house?”
“What else can I do? I can’t move her in with me when I’ll be leaving soon. This is such a huge can of worms. Dangerous worms.”
“Okay. We have to stay calm. Rose wants to see her daughter, that’s all. Who do we need to tell? Paul? The Doctor? Miranda?”
“We won’t tell Mom yet—I’ll tell her when I get there. Maybe the Doctor?”
I hand her my phone. “He’s the Doctor Who number. Just call him at home and see if he’s still there.”
As Charlotte talks with Bartholomew, my mind races. If Rose was in that blue car, she was the one who followed me from the Doctor’s house to Buckneck. Does she know where I live? And why’s she so keen on following me? She must’ve ordered the begonias and the black roses, with that Arizona card.
How can we celebrate Christmas if that gun-wielding woman might show up on the doorstep? I won’t put any of the Spencers in danger again. But I have no idea how to stop her. Instead of cutting this sticky, deceitful web, I grabbed hold of it and spun around in it a few times.
Charlotte hangs up as I sigh. She pats my hand, just like her mother would do. “It’ll be okay. The Doctor says he’ll try to track her down.”
Small comfort. I know the Good Doctor is still withholding info. I can feel it.<
br />
Charlotte observes me with her cat-eyes. “You don’t like him much, do you? But then again, you kinda do.”
“He’s handsome and wealthy; he cooks; he’s been loyal for forty years to Rose—admirable qualities, no doubt. But he’s not telling me everything. Maybe we should divulge that he has a daughter and see if that rocks his boat.”
Charlotte shakes her head. “I don’t think this is the right time, when she’s in hiding from her crazed mom.”
“Okay, we’ll tell him later.”
As I pull in front of the big green house, Charlotte grabs her purse. “I’ll get over to Mom first thing. What about you? Tomorrow’s Christmas Eve.”
“Oh, shoot, I have a Christmas party to go to. I can’t be worried about running into Rose right now!”
She taps her cell phone. “Call me for any reason!”
“Will do.”
As I pass the law office, I’m tempted to stop and talk with Thomas about today’s strange turn of events. But the last thing he needs is another reason to leave work early. Driving through town, I check my rearview mirror at least seven times to make sure the blue car isn’t following me.
Let’s see. Dinner tonight with the fam and Helga. Tomorrow night, office party. Then Christmas. We should go to some kind of Christmas program to get in the spirit. I’m sure Nikki Jo’s planned a gift exchange under the monkey tree. And I’m in total denial that Rose is on the loose.
As I round the curve before our hidden driveway, I check behind me, then zip off the road without signaling. I hit the brakes to avoid hitting Andrew’s Karmann Ghia, which is heading right toward me. Backing down the driveway, he motions me to stop. He rolls down his window, and a tall blonde woman leans over in the passenger’s seat, waving at me.
“Tess, what’s up with the maniacal driving? You nearly hit My Precious.” He strokes his car door.
“Hi.” I wave at Helga, who is obviously not his Precious.
“Oh, sorry. Tess, this is Helga Ang. She’s totally Nordic.” He turns to her. “Where are you from again?”
Fatal 5 Page 47
