by SUE FINEMAN
The pounding stopped, and a minute later, he opened the front door to find three police officers, guns drawn, standing there. He swallowed hard, cold not just from the early morning temperature. “What’s wrong?” he asked, but he knew. Instead of coming to him, Julie had called the police. He also knew if he didn’t do something fast, he could end up spending the next two years in jail.
One of the officers spun him around and slammed him face first against the wall in the entry hall. “Brent Bosch, you’re under arrest—”
“Let go of me. I have to take my pills.”
The officer kept talking, reading him a Miranda speech he’d probably memorized years ago. Another officer cuffed his hands behind him. Here he stood, wearing jeans and little else, and these bozos were arresting him.
He didn’t want to go to jail.
Brent motioned with his head. “My pills are in the kitchen.” He hadn’t taken any of the meds since his mother died and didn’t intend to take any now, but they could be his ticket to freedom. Surely a mental problem would keep him out of jail.
All he had to do was convince the judge he’d gone to Julie’s apartment because he thought they were already married and he wanted to bring her things to the new house he’d bought for her. Would the judge believe that?
Why not?
<>
Hannah pulled into the driveway right behind Andy and Charlie. “I brought lunch and news,” she told Andy.
“News first, Mom.” He hoped they’d caught Brent.
“The police arrested Brent Bosch this morning. They haven’t found Julie’s things yet, but they aren’t finished searching.”
Julie walked over. “I heard. I hope they keep him this time.”
“Donovan said the judge would probably send him for a psychiatric evaluation before he sent him back to jail,” said Hannah. “Brent got a suspended sentence before, with the understanding that if he didn’t stay away from you and your apartment, he’d have to serve the full two-year sentence.”
“Why a psych evaluation?” Andy asked.
“Because he has a whole drug store of psychotropic meds in his house.”
“Oh, no,” Julie said, waving her hands. “He’s not going to play sick and get away with what he’s done. If they set him free again—”
“If they set him free again,” said Andy, “they’ll monitor him closely.”
“Yeah, right!” she muttered. “I don’t believe that bullshit any more than you do.”
Julie stormed off toward the barn, and Andy stood there, feeling helpless. He’d grown up with a policeman father who taught him to respect the law, but Julie didn’t share that respect.
She didn’t trust the justice system to take care of the problem.
Chapter Eleven
Thursday morning, while Andy worked on the farm, Julie sat in the back of the courtroom and listened to the judge send Brent to the state hospital for a complete psychiatric evaluation.
Brent turned to her and smiled, but she doubted he’d be smiling after a few days in the hospital. He wouldn’t like it there. Brent was accustomed to living well, eating gourmet meals, driving luxury cars, wearing expensive clothes, and having things his way. She had a feeling things wouldn’t go his way in the state hospital.
Brent was taken from the courtroom in handcuffs, shouting, “Julie, I’ll come and get you when I get out.”
The judge shook his head in wonder, and Julie quietly left the courtroom. She’d seen and heard enough. Sometimes it seemed the justice system was set up to protect the criminals, while the victims got screwed. They’d protected Brent’s legal rights, but Julie would be left to deal with the consequences of what he’d done to her life.
Maybe she should move out of River Valley while Brent was locked in the hospital. She could be long gone before he was released, but why should she have to run away? She’d done nothing wrong.
What about Andy? She couldn’t leave him now.
Bob came out of the courtroom. He looked so sad, she felt sorry for him.
“I didn’t know about the psychiatric problems, Julie. I knew my ex-wife had problems, but I didn’t know about Brent.”
“I didn’t know either. It explains a lot though, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, it does.” Bob brushed his hair back from his forehead. “Your copy of the title report on the farm is in the office.”
“Good. I don’t know where my mail has been going, but there wasn’t any at my apartment.”
“Brent may have filed a change of address form. Check the mailbox at the house on Manor Drive. Mr. Williamson has the key. He said he’d accompany you and a police officer there to get your clothes.”
She nodded, knowing she’d have to fill out a change of address form. No sense changing it back to her apartment when she was moving out in a few days. She’d have it sent to her parents’ home until she figured out what to do.
Brent’s attorney, Cole Williamson, and a female officer approached her. Mr. Williamson introduced himself and Officer Mary Barnes, and they left the building together.
Julie followed the officer and attorney to Brent’s house on Manor Drive. It was in an exclusive neighborhood of million dollar homes. The first thing she noticed was the high stucco fence. Someone had planted bushes in front of it, but it would take them forever to grow tall enough to soften the look of the fence. “Looks like a prison,” she muttered to herself. “All it needs is razor wire on top.”
The gate swung open, so she pulled into the circle drive and stopped behind the police car. The house was impressive, a sprawling one-story home with a distinct contemporary mid-century look. Mr. Williamson unlocked the big double front doors and Julie stepped inside the black and white marble foyer. She was glad the police officer had come. She didn’t want to be accused of taking something that didn’t belong to her.
The wood floors in the living areas were beautiful, as were the wood plank ceilings, but the stark lines of the home and the furnishings left her cold. The only color in the living room was a huge abstract painting on the wall. The dominate color in the painting was dark red, as if someone had dumped blood all over it. Black and chrome furniture was grouped around deep white area rugs, but there wasn’t a single piece of furniture that looked comfortable.
Rubbing her arms, Julie moved on to the dining room, which mirrored the living room, and then the kitchen. The attorney followed her through the house.
The stove looked brand new. “Looks like nobody has ever cooked in here.”
“The contractor recently finished the renovations,” said Mr. Williamson. “Brent had a decorator furnish it to his specifications, right down to the dishes.”
Julie opened a cabinet to reveal a stack of dark red plates. At least there was some color in the black and white kitchen.
A fountain splashed water outside the breakfast room windows. The backyard looked like it had been landscaped by a professional with an artist’s eye. “The yard is nice, but I wouldn’t want to live in the house.”
“Not your style?” the officer asked.
“No.” Definitely not her style.
They glanced in the library, which looked warmer than the living areas, and then walked down the hallway to two bedrooms, each with its own private bathroom. The closets and drawers were empty, so they moved on to the master bedroom, which was at the back of the house. Some of Julie’s clothes were hanging in the massive walk-in closet, other things were folded and stored in the drawers in the center console of the closet. She looked around for boxes, but didn’t see any. “He must have thrown the boxes away.”
The officer said, “I brought some.”
Julie nodded her thanks.
A row of French doors in the bedroom overlooked the pool and backyard, which was absolutely beautiful. The wall behind the bed was painted dark red. The black and white print bedspread had a red blanket folded across the bottom. Black, white, and red pillows were skillfully arranged by the black headboard. It was too neat for anyone to
ever have slept there. Two overstuffed red chairs and ottomans sat against a white wall, and another huge abstract painting hung on the wall above them. “This is a little more inviting than the living room.” But not much. The red, white, and black color scheme was overwhelming, especially all over the house.
A fully furnished gym off the black and white master bath completed the master suite. None of the equipment looked like it had ever been used. A television was mounted on the wall in the gym and red towels were stacked in the master bathroom.
Andy’s condo was contemporary, but it was a comfortable place to be. Not like this. She couldn’t picture herself ever living here, even without Brent. Living anywhere with him would be a nightmare.
“I wonder what Brent did with my pictures and papers and the other things he took from my apartment.”
Mr. Williamson suggested, “Maybe we should check in the library.”
She found her missing mail in the desk drawer in the library, but not her pictures or her personal papers. Julie felt like crying. “I can replace the clothes, but not the family pictures.”
“But you have the house,” said the attorney.
She whipped around to face him. “Let’s get one thing straight. I don’t want the damn house. I don’t want anything to do with Brent Bosch. I want what he took from my apartment, and then I want him to leave me the hell alone.”
“But the house is worth—”
“I don’t care what it’s worth. I don’t want it.” If she accepted ownership, Brent would never leave her alone. “I don’t want to be obligated to him in any way.”
Her freedom was worth more than a million dollar house.
<>
The air hung heavy and hot in the cornfield that morning, but Andy’s mind wasn’t on the weather. He was worried about Julie going to Brent’s hearing by herself. Any other day, and he would have gone with her, but he couldn’t let his family do all the work out here without him.
Dad said the judge would send Brent to the state hospital for a psychiatric evaluation, and those things took time, so he wouldn’t be roaming the streets of River Valley anytime soon. Still, it wasn’t a permanent solution to the problem. If they released him, he could come after Julie again.
Would she leave him when she got her commission check? Did he want her to stay and live with him? Would she be satisfied with that arrangement, or would she want a permanent commitment? He wasn’t sure he was ready for marriage, especially with this past life thing hanging over him.
They’d made love last night and again this morning. He couldn’t get enough of her, and it wasn’t just sex. He loved having her around, knowing she’d be there when he finished work, showering with her, sharing meals, and watching her bring a smile to Otis’s wrinkled face. They’d been together for such a short time, yet it felt like he’d known her forever.
Charlie yelled at him to get the trailer, so Andy moved it into position. The combine spit the corn into the trailer, and then Charlie turned the combine off. “Time for a break.”
Andy glanced at his watch. Noon. They’d been working hard for nearly six hours. Definitely time for a break.
As they drove up to the barn, Andy looked for Julie’s car, but she wasn’t there. Mom had brought sandwiches and fresh fruit for lunch, and Dad had come to help, but it wasn’t the same without Julie.
Charlie and Dad took the corn down the road and Andy sat in the shade of the barn with Otis.
“Your father brought me a chair, said it was from Julie.”
Andy nodded. “She said she wanted to give you her grandfather’s recliner. Is it comfortable?”
“Sure is. Is she coming out today?”
“I don’t know.”
Mom walked over with cold drinks. “Julie will be out later this afternoon. She said she’d make dinner.”
“When did you talk with her, Mom?”
“Around ten this morning. She was waiting for an officer and Brent’s attorney to take her to Brent’s new house, so she could retrieve her clothes.”
“What about her pictures?”
“All they found were clothes.”
What in the hell had Bosch done with Julie’s pictures?
<>
After Julie put her clothes away in Andy’s condo, the phone rang. She considered not answering it, since it was the middle of the work day, but it could be his mother, or it could be Andy. So she answered.
“Is this, like, the housekeeper?” the woman asked in a high-pitched voice.
“May I ask who’s calling?”
“It’s Gina, Andy’s girlfriend.”
Girlfriend? “I’ll tell him you called.”
“Uh, tell him I’ll, like, make him dinner tomorrow night. Terri gave me the address, so I’ll, like, see him around six tomorrow.”
“You’d better check with Andy before you come over.”
“Like, why? He has to eat, and I don’t, like, have anything better to do.”
Maybe you don’t, but he does. “Andy has, like, other plans.” With me.
Julie hung up. She didn’t like the idea of another woman making dinner for Andy, especially one who was doing it because she didn’t have anything better to do. Andy deserved better. He deserved her. She was there because she wanted to be there, not because she didn’t have anything better to do.
Her patience stretched thin today, first in the courtroom, then at that house Brent had bought and furnished for her without any regard for what she liked, and now with this rude, squeaky-voiced woman who couldn’t speak an entire sentence without using the word like at least twice.
Andy said he didn’t have a girlfriend.
Apparently Gina hadn’t, like, gotten the message.
<>
Andy dropped into a chair at Otis’s kitchen table while Julie finished making dinner. He was beat, but they had another hour or two of work before they could quit for the day. Only one field left to harvest after this one, and they could do that one in the morning, before the weather turned. Maybe.
Otis asked, “How is the work coming?”
Charlie told him what they’d accomplished and what was yet to be done.
Otis leaned back. “After my Granddad died, my father and I would take the last trailer load to the poor part of town, put a big sign on the side that said FREE CORN, and let folks help themselves. The last couple years, I gave some to the mission downtown. We have a good crop this year, and there’s no reason not to share. That’s what my father would have done.”
“Your father sounds like a nice man,” said Julie.
Andy nodded. “Then that’s what we’ll do. We’ll take a load to the food bank, and if we have any left, we’ll give it to the mission.”
Julie drained the spaghetti and steam billowed around her. Something smelled good, and Andy was hungry. All this hard physical labor increased his appetite. Looking at Julie, in her shorts and tank top, his appetite was for more than food. She had her hair pulled back in a ponytail, leaving her long neck exposed. Her cheeks had turned pink from the heat, but they had more work to do before they could go home and take a cool shower.
Julie filled plates with spaghetti at the stove and put the garlic bread and salad on the table. All conversation stopped while they dug in.
Charlie cleaned his plate and went to the stove for a refill. As he sat at the table, Julie said, “Andy, your girlfriend called this afternoon.”
“What girlfriend?”
“The one with the squeaky voice who says like every other word. Gina. She wanted to come over and make you dinner tomorrow night, but—”
Andy turned to Charlie. “How did Gina get my phone number, as if I didn’t already know.”
Charlie swallowed a bite. “Not from me.”
“She said she got the address from Terri,” said Julie. “Who’s Terri?”
Andy nearly came out of his chair. He leaned menacingly over Charlie. “You told Terri where I live? Dammit, Charlie. How could you do that?”
“I
didn’t tell her. She must have snooped through my desk while I was asleep.”
Julie put her hand on Andy’s arm. “I told her you had other plans, to check with you before she comes over.”
Charlie took another piece of bread. “Terri told her she had to move out this weekend.”
Andy groaned. “I don’t want her. Why do you get me into these things?”
Charlie shrugged. “One look at Julie and she’ll leave.”
“Maybe.” But Andy didn’t think it would be that easy to get rid of the empty-headed bimbo. If she was capable of taking care of herself, she wouldn’t have come to Ohio in the first place. She would have stayed in California.
<>
Two hours later, Andy and Charlie had finished harvesting the field of corn. Andy dropped Charlie off and drove home. Julie was already there, reading through some papers.
“What’s that?”
“The title report on the farm. Henry Jefferson, from Virginia, homesteaded the farm in 1802, with a section of land. The farm passed from one Jefferson to another until 1920, when the farm reverted to the Ohio Valley Bank.”
All those years only to lose it all. Andy felt a keen sense of sadness for the way the family had ended. The Jefferson brothers should have produced enough children to help with the farming, enough for the family to hold onto the homestead for many more generations. But they didn’t live long enough.
Julie flipped through the pages. “By the time Wallace Bedford bought the farm in 1925, the land had been divided into quarter sections, and he bought the quarter section with the house and barn. That’s what you’re getting. A quarter section.”
“That’s enough,” said Andy. Plenty of land for him. “Did the survey come back yet?”
“No. I wouldn’t look for it until next week.”
Next week. Another week or so and he’d own the farm.
“Andy, I suggest we buy some of those face masks before we go into the attic of the farmhouse. The mold is so bad in there it’ll make you sick. Did you know the loft in the barn was filled with Otis’s family things?”
“No, but I’m not surprised. There’s not much room in the trailer for keepsakes.”
