“Yes.” She breathed in the unexpected clean scent of his grubby-looking clothes. He hadn’t been on the road long this time.
“At the end, they have to say goodbye because of circumstances neither one of them can change.”
“Yes.”
“That’s us, Nell.”
“Then stop coming into my gin joint. There are others in the world.”
He chuckled. “You’re a sharp gal.” He took her face in his hands and kissed her twice, then a third time with a longing she could feel down to her bones. “I want you,” he murmured. “I want you more than I’ve wanted anybody in a long, long time.”
“That’s not enough,” she murmured, but she didn’t resist his lips coming down on hers for a fourth time.
“It has to be for now.”
“How long is now?”
“I can’t tell you.” He sat back away from her again and took a deep breath. “I need to know about the woman at your table.”
“Marlo Howard?”
“If that’s her name. Tell me about her.”
“I don’t know much. She’s a friend of the Dancers, lives in Little Rock, and wants to open an antique store and art gallery here in Amaryllis.”
“Okay, thanks.”
“I thought you’d already left when she came.”
“I was around.”
“Then you know what happened to the fireplace.”
“I saw the fire blaze up and then go out.”
“It didn’t just go out. It was like somebody turned it off. Did you hear the noise?”
“What noise?”
“Somebody moaning like they were in agony. You had to hear that.”
He hesitated. “I heard something, but it wasn’t human.”
“The fireplace was part of a house built by the town’s founder, Jeremiah Bowden. Apparently his sister taught at the school and lived in the house before it burned down. Whoever built on the site covered up the fireplace, and the Dancers found it when they were remodeling.”
“Rock fireplaces usually survive.”
“Daddy says the school is haunted by the ghost of Jeremiah Bowden.”
“Do you believe that?”
“I didn’t, but the other day when I was out there with Mary Lynn and Shana, we went down to the basement to look at the boiler, and we definitely heard voices.”
“What kind of voices?”
“Just voices. Maybe children’s voices. It was a school, after all.”
“You just imagined it.”
“I did not! We all heard them.”
“I wish your friend would wait on that community center project, but if she won’t, I wish you wouldn’t get involved.”
“You’ll have to give me a better reason than that.”
“I can’t, Nell.”
“We’re going ahead.”
“I can’t stop you.”
“I don’t really believe in ghosts, but I did hear those voices in the basement. And I heard that horrible sound coming from the fireplace tonight.”
“I can’t help you. I deal in hard cold facts. Tell me about the manager your son hired to run the farm.”
“How did you know about him?” Penelope tried to see Sam’s face in the moonlight, but it remained shadowy.
“Just tell me about him.”
“I don’t know anything really. He’s young. Seems nice. You don’t think he’s another drug dealer, do you?”
“Do you happen to know his name?”
“Chuck Runyon. Bradley says he had good references.”
“Where’d he come from?”
“He grew up on a farm in Mississippi and majored in agriculture at Ole Miss. Oh, and he minored in business and art.”
“Art.”
“He was telling us about some portraits he saw hanging above the stairs at the Point. He wants Bradley to get them appraised and be sure they’re insured. Oh, and he thinks the house should have an alarm system.”
“He does, does he?”
“That’s what he said. Do you need a place to sleep tonight?”
“Is the back bedroom available?” He put the tip of his finger on her nose and grinned.
“The front one is. All I did was make up the bed.”
“Hoping I’d be back, huh?”
“Don’t push your luck with me Tiny Sam.”
He grinned again. “Leave the kitchen door unlocked. Your door, too.”
“Sorry.”
He pulled her back into his arms. “Then I’ll have to make do with the front seat of the car, and it’s damned crowded.”
“Too crowded for what you have in mind.” But she lifted her face expectantly.
His kiss was brief, almost mechanical, before he slid out of the car. “Don’t wait up,” he said and disappeared into the darkness.
CHAPTER NINE
When Penelope hadn’t heard Sam come in by two o’clock, she went down the hall and knocked on the door of the front bedroom. “Sam?” No answer. She turned the knob and cracked the door. “Sam?” The name echoed in the emptiness of the room.
So why isn’t he here? And what would he think of you checking on him? Probably that I was ready to give him what he wanted. Closing the door, she went back to her room. Where is he? Has something happened? And why is he interested in Marlo Howard and the new farm manager? Why does he want Mary Lynn to wait to get started on turning the old school into a community center? What does he know that we don’t? Whatever it is, it probably doesn’t bode well for anybody.
When daylight filtered through the blinds, she was still awake and full of questions—but empty of answers.
****
On New Year’s Day, Bradley and Rosabel came for the obligatory black-eyed peas. Penelope made cornbread in her Grandmother Kelley’s iron skillet and put a maple glaze on some ham left-over from the party. Jake said a pot of turnip greens would make the meal perfect. Bradley rolled his eyes, and Rosabel wrinkled her nose.
“What did you think about Millie’s friend Marlo?” Rosabel asked as she helped Penelope clean up the kitchen while Jake and Brad watched the pre-game show on the television in the parlor.
“Not much.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. Why do you ask?”
“Brad ran her through the computer this morning. He came up empty though.”
“Why did he even check up on her?”
“It’s the art gallery she plans to open. There’s been a rash of art thefts from galleries all over the Midwest and clear to the east coast. Some of the pieces have been recovered from so-called antique shops in small towns.”
“They’re using small towns to hide out in?”
“Something like that.”
“So now what?”
“Now nothing unless she gives Brad a reason to dig deeper.”
“What about Chuck Runyon?” Penelope turned to study Rosabel’s reaction to the name.
“I like him, and so does Bradley.”
“Well, obviously, he hired him.”
“The references from his professors at Ole Miss were outstanding.”
“Art and agriculture don’t quite go together, do they?”
Rosabel laughed. “In his case, yes. Like he said, it’s a hobby, but he knows his stuff, and Brad is definitely going to get those paintings appraised and insured.”
For a split second, Penelope debated whether or not to tell Rosabel about Sam’s so-called advice about the old school and his curiosity about Marlo and Chuck. But if something was going on, Sam knew he could trust Bradley. He’d done it before.
“I’m glad you and Shana have gotten to be friends,” she said instead.
“I like her.”
“So you know she’s not looking to pick up with Bradley where she left off.”
Rosabel laughed, showing the deep dimples Penelope loved. “Brad said they had a good talk on the way to the airport. I’m glad they got things straightened out. And now there’s Peter Taliaferro.”
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sp; “I hope she had a good time with him last night. I want to hear about it.”
“I’m sure she’ll clue you in. It took guts for her to come back here.”
“She’s got a good supply. I found that out while we were on the run.”
Rosabel nodded. “She’d have made a good undercover operative.”
Operative. There was that word again. Penelope frowned.
“Did I say something?”
“No, of course not.” Penelope patted Rosabel’s arm. “I wasn’t cut out for that sort of cloak and dagger stuff. Shana’s pretty philosophical about it, but not me.”
“Well, it was a shock seeing your ex-husband killed like that.”
“It wasn’t just that. It was always looking over my shoulder, not knowing who to trust.”
“I only met Mr. Pembroke once. I can understand how he could convince Shana to shack up with him. Oh, I’m not judging her—and that’s the term she used, shacking up.”
“He was a charmer all right.”
“Now he’s gone, and you have to move on, and so does Brad.”
“Do you think he will?”
Rosabel smiled. “I think he’s made a good start. He’s like you, Mrs. Pembroke. Steady, grounded, caring, and very firm about decisions he makes.”
“Don’t you think it’s time you stopped calling me Mrs. Pembroke?”
“If you think it is.”
“I do. Try something else. Penelope. Nellie. Pen.” But not Nell. That’s reserved.
“I like Penelope. It’s a good name.”
“I’m stuck with it, I guess.
“That’s who you are.” Rosabel took off her apron and hung it in the pantry. “Now tell me what’s going on out at the old school—besides Shana and Peter hooking up. I really meant it when I said I wanted to help.”
****
Penelope spent the rest of the week readying the B&B for the expected guests who would be attending the Amaryllis Crystal Rainbow Convention. Somehow Harry Hargrove and the town council had located almost a hundred vendors who collected the old-fashioned glass prisms which once hung from chandeliers and lamps. Every January the high school opened its gym to a large crowd for the booths and displays, and every year Mary Lynn said, “I swear he got the idea from that old movie, Pollyanna. Remember how Haley Mills and Adolph Menjou strung those thingamabobs and hung them in the window to catch the sun?”
“Who’d have thought the idea would catch on like that?”
“Harry did.”
“Harry’s done a lot to save this town, Mary Lynn.”
“I know he has, and I’m proud of him. But sometimes I have to laugh at how some of his craziest ideas have been the most successful.”
Penelope recalled the annual conversation as she hung her own prisms in all the front windows of the B&B. Whatever brought business to town was all right with her. She was hanging the last bunch when Mary Lynn charged through from the kitchen.
“The boiler’s on the fritz again. I went out there with some paint samples this morning, and it was freezing.”
“You left it on?”
“I went by and turned the heat on low last night so it would be bearable when I got there.”
“Did you call Peter Taliaferro?”
“He’ll be here this afternoon.” Mary Lynn tossed her purse onto the loveseat. “I don’t have time for all this.”
“Simmer down, Mrs. Mayor.”
“That’s why I don’t have time for it. I have to be at Harry’s beck and call this weekend.”
“The school’s been there for over a hundred years. It’s not going to walk off before next week.”
“It might.”
“You didn’t, uh, hear anything while you were there, did you?”
“As a matter of fact, I did. When I got mad and started cussing out the boiler, I heard somebody laughing.”
“Oh, come on, Mary Lynn.”
“It’s true.”
“I’ve finished up here, so I’ll go with you this afternoon if you want me to.”
“Sure, why not? By the way, did you get a report from Shana on her big New Year’s Eve with Peter?”
“At least twice.”
“That bad, huh?” Mary Lynn ran a hand through her curls. “Figures.”
“The girl’s smitten.”
“Are they going out again?”
“His little girl came home from visiting her grandparents the day after New Year’s, so that’ll curtail his social life a bit.”
“Grandparents? Her mother’s parents? I thought they didn’t get along.”
Penelope nodded. “They don’t. Shana says Peter wouldn’t let Tabby out of his sight with them. These are his parents. They were here for Christmas and took Tabby home with them to their place in Mountain View. He called her every night.”
“So Shana hasn’t met the kid.”
“Not yet. She wants to, but she’s also a little nervous about it.”
“It’s none of my business, but has she told Peter about her ill-fated interlude with Travis?”
“She says she’s going to.”
“Better sooner than later.”
“That’s what I told her.”
“Do you think it’ll make a difference to him?”
“I think it depends on how interested in her he is.”
“Let’s hope he’s interested enough.”
“Let’s hope.”
****
The white truck parked near the school steps had Taliaferro Heating and Air stenciled above a silhouette of a modern air conditioning unit. When the man behind the wheel opened the door and stepped out, Penelope’s first thought was that Shana’s description of him had been correct. A hunk. A definite hunk.
“I don’t understand why the boiler isn’t coming on,” he said as Mary Lynn unlocked the front door. “It was working perfectly when I was out here before Christmas.”
“Well, it’s not working now.” The door creaked as she shoved it open.
“Those hinges need some oil,” Peter observed.
“The building needs some heat,” Mary Lynn retorted. “By the way, the light is out in the basement again, but I brought another bulb.”
Peter held out his hand. “I’ll fix it.”
After he disappeared into the back room, Penelope said, “I’ve never been on the second floor.”
“There’s nothing up there but empty classrooms. We’ll go take a look if you want to.”
“You can almost imagine the desks lined up and full of children,” Penelope said as she stood in the middle of the first room. “And look at those tall windows. I think we need more natural light in the newer schools today.”
“Fluorescent light always gave me a headache.”
“Natural light and fresh air, that’s what kids need today.”
“Not according to the school board.”
“What do they know?” Penelope’s sneakers made no sound on the wide hardwood planks as she crossed floor to look into the long narrow room where students had hung their coats and stored their lunch pails. “Spooky,” she said.
“Don’t say that,” Mary Lynn snapped.
“You don’t want me to stir up the spirits of students past?” Penelope looked over her shoulder and snickered.
“Hush up, Pen. You heard the same thing I did the other day. So did Shana.”
“It was our imagination.”
“It was not. And that flashlight went out just like the fire did at the Sit-n-Swill. Bang!”
“You’re really into this, aren’t you?”
“Hush up, Pen.”
Downstairs, they ran into Peter just as he came up from the basement. “It’s purring like a kitten, Mrs. Hargrove.”
“It wasn’t working.”
“I don’t know why. Are you sure you had it turned on?”
Mary Lynn narrowed her eyes. “I know how to flip a switch, thank you.”
He shrugged. “It’s working. If it gives you anymore trouble, call me.”
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“You can count on it. How much do I owe you for the service call?”
“Nothing. I stand behind my work. But you can tell me how to get to the library.”
“Going to check out a book?” Penelope asked. “Or check out the librarian?”
Peter grinned. “The latter.”
“Straight down Cedar Street past City Hall. You’ll run right into it.”
“Thanks.”
“Are your intentions honorable?” Penelope asked, only half joking.
“Absolutely not.” Peter winked again, hitched up his tool belt, and headed for the door.
Seconds after he left, the basement door opened half-way and then closed again.
Mary Lynn grabbed Penelope’s hand and all but dragged her down the hall to the front door, outside, and down the steps.
CHAPTER TEN
With the Amaryllis Crystal Rainbow Convention behind them, and the February Cupid Convention a month away, Penelope, Mary Lynn, Shana, and Rosabel, tackled the old school in earnest. Mary Lynn rented professional vacuums to suck up years of accumulated dust, and when that was gone, they painted the walls of two downstairs rooms a soft robin’s egg blue with cream woodwork. “Someday we’ll refinish the floors,” she said, “but that’s too expensive right now. They’re scarred up but otherwise in good shape.”
The boiler came on and off like clockwork, although the radiators—painted silver instead of cream because Peter said they’d work better that way—whistled and groaned as if protesting being rousted from retirement. The four women discovered that as long as they stayed away from the two original schoolrooms and the basement, the voices and laughter stayed away, too.
Penelope felt grateful for the physical labor which helped her fall asleep at night without too many errant thoughts of Sam. Maybe she felt more yearnings than she had thoughts, but being tired was a boon. She almost wished he’d throw gravel against her window again or knock on her door—which she didn’t lock anymore—but wherever he was, it wasn’t around Amaryllis. She did think the least he could do was call, but that didn’t happen either.
Chuck Runyon moved into the quarters above the old carriage house at Pembroke Point and continued running the farm, Brad said, like he was born to the role. “It’s a load off my shoulders, that’s for sure.”
The Stubborn Schoolhouse Spirit (The Penelope Pembroke Cozy Mystery Series) Page 6
