“Kayla?”
“Yes?”
“I, um, appreciate your kindness.”
“But I should keep my mouth shut.”
“No, I didn’t mean…” He blew out a breath, not sure what he wanted to say until it came out. “I used to be a nicer person. I mean, I know I’m…angry, but I didn’t used to be this way. Sure, I had a temper, but I knew how to control it, and I never, ever got physical, you have to believe me.”
“I do.”
“It’s just that, where I was, behind bars, it just got harder and harder to control.”
“I understand.”
And he knew she did.
He didn’t know what else to say; all he knew was that she got to him, with the understanding and old pain in her eyes, and that his skin prickled, even through his jacket, at the touch of her graceful fingers curled around his arm.
So what?
The question intruded on the quiet of the moment. He was letting down his guard, and he couldn’t do that; he had to keep and nurture his fine, razor-sharp edge of hate if he was ever to clear his name.
“Thanks for the ride,” he said abruptly. Jerking his arm out from under her gentle grip, he reached for the door handle.
“I’ll be heading home around nine or so,” she told him. “If you want a ride back, meet me at the grocery store on Middle Street.”
“I appreciate it,” he said gruffly, and began to push the door open.
“Paul?”
Something in her voice made him stop, turn and face her. “Yes?”
To his surprise, she raised a hand, stroked his cheek, just once, then leaned into him and gave him a brief, light kiss on the mouth. Just a butterfly touch, but it was enough to send his senses into overdrive.
Releasing the door handle, he moved toward her, reached out to touch her. But his momentum was stopped by the way she jerked her head back, hissed in a breath and stared at him, wide-eyed. She, too, had been taken by surprise, and was now probably kicking herself for her impulsiveness.
She turned away from him, faced front and put the car in gear. “See you later.”
“Fine.” He got out, closed the door and watched her drive away. Then he raised his hand to his cheek, touched his fingertips to where she’d stroked it.
Man, was he in trouble. Kayla Thorne pulled him away from the tunnel vision he so desperately needed. Kayla Thorne reminded him of the world of not what could go wrong, but what could go right between a man and a woman: quiet talks, gentle touches, wordless communication.
Kayla Thorne made him feel soft inside.
Damn her.
Chapter 5
Red curls bouncing, Lou McAndrews came rushing into the restaurant, the way she always rushed everywhere. When she spotted Kayla seated at a table, she hurried over, hugged her, then took her own seat and grinned. “It’s so good to see you, girlfriend.”
“Same here,” Kayla said with an answering smile.
“How’s that little Bailey dog?”
“Still hanging in.”
Kayla had met the town’s veterinarian, Louise McAndrews, on her first visit to the cabin with Walter. When Bailey had developed a hot spot that he couldn’t stop nibbling at, they’d taken him to the small office-hospital of Dr. Lou, as the locals called her. The two women had hit it off immediately, the way it sometimes happens between kindred spirits, and over the past four years, in person and by phone, their friendship had blossomed. Kayla considered Lou a close friend and knew the feeling was mutual.
“More important,” Lou said, checking her out thoroughly with warm brown eyes that missed nothing, “how are you doing?”
“Somewhat better, now that I’m up here. Although I’m having a little trouble adapting to the silence.”
She’d decided not to tell her friend about the whispers in the night and the dead rat. The purpose of this dinner was to get away from all that. Besides, Lou had been so generous to Kayla this past year, calling often, visiting her several times in Albany, generally being a safe harbor when the grief was too hard to bear. Now it was Kayla’s turn to hear about Lou and her life.
“Better the silence than getting ambushed by reporters,” Lou observed, having witnessed one of those incidents that last time she’d visited Kayla in Albany.
“Amen.”
“If I ever think about being famous or infamous, you have my permission to kick me in my big butt.”
“What big butt?” Kayla said. “It’s normal, as God intended. It’s the rest of the sick world that’s hung up on women having backsides as small as men’s.”
“Says the too-slender model type sitting across from me.”
“I’m trying to fatten up, I promise. But enough about that. Tell me, how’s everything with you? And your mom?”
“Still with us.” Lou’s mother was in the final stages of cancer but was still at home with her daughter, whose life was reduced to days at her veterinary clinic downstairs and evenings upstairs with her mother.
“I’m so glad you could make it tonight,” Kayla told her.
“We got mom a caregiver, so I can get away sometimes. Otherwise I’d slit my wrists.”
“Got you.”
They each ordered a drink, then dinner, all the while chatting easily, about movies, gossip, the latest reality TV show. Lou told amusing stories about various eccentric pet owners, and Kayla teased her friend about her perennial lack of a love life.
“I don’t suppose you’re seeing anyone?” she asked.
“What?” Lou answered with a snort. “And break my record? It’s eight years now. In fact, it’s been so long, I think my virginity has grown back. How about you? Whoops.” The redhead put her hand over her mouth. “Sorry,” she said, wincing. “You’re still in mourning.”
“No, no. It’s okay.” A month, even two weeks ago, she might have been upset by the question, but something inside had changed. She was, she realized, finally on the other side of her grief. In fact, it was on the tip of her tongue to mention Paul. But to mention him how?
Hey, girlfriend, she could say. I’ve got the hots for a hunky ex-con.
No. She decided against it, just as she had earlier decided not to discuss the disturbances at her cabin. She chose instead to order a second martini and to laugh with her friend.
The library had evening hours, so Paul was able to use their computers to log on to the Net. First he tried to see if there was anything new on Jay Goodall, but all that showed up was the mention of his name as one of the witnesses at Paul’s trial. There was more, Paul knew, but not for “public” use. Informants were highly prized and kept pretty deeply under cover. As a disgraced officer of the law, he no longer had access to those kinds of confidential police files.
It was thanks to his friends still on the force that he’d found out about the connection between Jay Goodall, the witness against him, and Jay Vinovich, petty thief and brother of Kayla Thorne. Through his lawyer, Paul had received updated reports while in jail, which was how he’d become familiar with his present employer and her life.
From the background information gathered by various local and state newspapers, he knew she’d been born in Bakersfield, California, twenty-nine years earlier. As she’d told him, she’d been one of five kids. The mother had died in childbirth with the last one, when Kayla had been three.
Her father was an uneducated itinerant worker, which meant the family moved around a lot. A couple of her brothers had been in scrapes, a minor drug charge—older brother Jay—and a DUI—younger brother Thomas.
Kayla had left home before graduating high school in Phoenix, had worked her way across the country, winding up in New York City. She’d put herself through nursing school, after which she’d secured a job at the hospital where Sonny Thorne had been going for cancer treatments. To earn extra money, Kayla had filled in as Mrs. Thorne’s private duty nurse during her off hours. The older woman took a liking to her, and when she decided to live out her last days at home, in Albany, rather than
dying in the hospital, she’d offered Kayla a job nursing her.
These were facts, only, of course; there wasn’t a hint of what her real, inner life had been like. Paul and Kayla had something pretty major in common. Both had lost their mothers at an early age. He’d been lucky to have a loving father and a couple of okay brothers to fill the gap. From what he knew about her, it didn’t sound as though Kayla had been nearly as fortunate.
He searched the Net for anything that might link either Kayla or her late husband to organized crime, but found nothing. If there were any ongoing investigations, of course, again, he had no access to official information, which made him feel frustrated.
The rat left on the porch bothered him. Even though the state cops thought it was a harmless prank—and back in the days when he was on the job, he probably would have had the same opinion—he wasn’t so sure. There was something…ominous about it. Was it a warning? A precursor of more ahead? More what? Bad jokes or malice? He had no way of knowing.
He punched in the name Steven Thorne. Wealthy, fifty-two. He’d been in business with his dad, two marriages, both ended in divorce. No children. No run-ins with the cops, no rumors of shifty business practices, nothing at all on the iffy side of the ledger. But then, as Paul knew all too well, with enough money, you could cover up anything.
He sat back in his chair, rubbed his eyes. Enough about Kayla Thorne and her problems.
His dad had given him a prepaid phone card, so he went to a public phone booth and tried to make contact with the two close friends he still had in the Albany police department, to see if they’d come up with anything on his case. Charley Biggs wasn’t home so he left a message saying he’d call back tomorrow; the other, Brian Kaye, had been able to nose around—surreptitiously, of course, which Paul understood—and had been the one to connect Goodall to Vinovich and the earlier drug charges, which had been wiped from his record, probably when he’d turned informant. Since then, not a word—his files were sealed pretty tightly, so there was no obvious connection to the corrupt cops who had been the cause of Paul’s conviction. But Brian promised to keep plugging away; he’d been Paul’s partner and remained a loyal friend, for which Paul was more grateful than he could express.
Finally, he called his dad. Their conversation was much less emotional than the previous one had been—the day he got released. Dad had wanted him to come right home, but Paul had needed to take advantage of his proximity to Kayla Thorne first. Today he was rewarded by a pep talk from the strong, decent man who had raised three boys alone after his wife had died, way too young.
Lucas Fitzgerald, a retired firefighter, was confident that everything would work out, that the system always came through eventually. Paul wasn’t so sure about either. Still, it always warmed him to make contact with the old man, who he promised to visit soon, so it was with a lighter heart that he sought out the next item on his agenda: dinner.
As he ambled along the streets of the town that was home to the state penitentiary, so recently the location of his incarceration, he breathed in the cool evening air, peered into shop windows, observed others out for a stroll, and felt his spirits rise. He could do these things now, nothing stood in his way.
He noted Kayla’s car parked in front of what looked like a decent restaurant. Was she in there? he wondered. If so, who was she was eating with? A date?
He scowled at the thought—not that it was any of his business. Nah, it was probably not a date, not with the way she seemed to miss her husband, the sainted Walter Thorne, who had apparently known everything there was to know about everything in the universe, at least enough to awe his young wife.
Paul scowled again. Like a homing pigeon, his mind kept returning to Kayla. She was much too much in his thoughts.
He wound up at a fast-food place and treated himself to a huge double cheeseburger and jumbo fries and finished it off with a large piece of apple pie with two scoops of ice cream on top. He savored each bite; surely he’d never had such a fine meal in all his life.
He kept glancing at his watch, making sure he’d be ready by nine. He didn’t want to miss a free ride back up the mountain. Bull. He didn’t want to miss her.
He could swear his cheek was still warm from her touch, his mouth still savoring the kiss. Had there been sexual overtones? Or had she just been feeling kind?
After dinner, Kayla stopped off at the C & L Market for groceries and a chat with Francis Crosbie, the proprietor, who also lived up the mountain, between Cragsmont and Susanville in the hamlet of Hilltown. Francis, another widow, had managed to keep her Susanville store a going concern, despite the chain supermarket that had opened a couple of miles down the road.
The market was not large, but its shelves were stocked neatly and the meat and produce were fresh. As Kayla pushed her cart up and down the aisles, she found herself adding that little bit extra for Paul, then putting that little bit extra back on the shelf, then grabbing it again and tossing it into her cart. Wasn’t it always better to have more food than you needed? Besides, she could afford it.
During their marriage, Walter had encouraged her to indulge herself a lot more than she did, and she’d always told him old habits died hard. When you grew up making do with an old scrap of a soap bar, hidden from your brothers so you could at least be clean when you went to school, when the clothes you wore were cast-offs rejected by a thrift store, well then, you had a heck of a time entering a large, lavish-looking boutique filled with expensive soaps and lotions and picking out anything that took your fancy.
When it came to grocery shopping, the concept of “have it in the house, just in case” was foreign to her, but tonight, she made herself act as if there would always be enough money for food. Which, in fact, there always would.
Her cart loaded to the brim, Kayla wheeled it over to the check stand manned by Francis.
“Good to see you, Mrs. Thorne,” the plump, gray-haired woman said as she began to ring up the purchases.
“Kayla, please. I keep telling you.”
“All these years I called your late husband Mr. Thorne. It’s a hard habit to break.”
“Will you make the effort?” Kayla asked with a smile.
“Will do,” Francis replied with a big, generous smile of her own. “So, how’s that handyman working out?”
“Excuse me?”
“You got one of Hank’s guys doing chores for you, right?”
“How did you know?”
“Word travels. I heard this one is an ex-cop.”
“You heard right. I’m always amazed at the Cragsmont-Hilltown-Susanville grapevine, and how fast news gets up and down the mountain.”
Francis shrugged easily, moving a large package of steaks along the scanner. “Hank comes in all the time, talks about his guys.”
“He’s something, isn’t he?”
“The handyman or Hank?”
Kayla felt her cheeks heat up. “Hank.”
“Sure is. The man does good deeds, just like the Bible says to do.”
“And I’m so glad he does,” Kayla agreed with a nod. “You don’t often hear about ex-cons getting a second chance.”
“That’s ’cause Hank got one. Came back from serving his time, that was twenty years ago now, for armed robbery. His wife walked out on him, he was broke, at the end of his rope, thought about killing himself. But then it came to him—in the Old Stone Church, he says—kind of a voice in his ear said that if he could help others, his heart would heal. And by God, he has, and it has. Built up a nice little business for himself, our Hank.”
The market owner was a bottomless font of information, so as Kayla was handing Francis her credit card, she asked, “Tell me, do you know anything about Melinda?”
“The crazy mountain woman? Poor thing. Has she been bothering you?”
“Not really. She just came by once. Mumbled something about bones. Do you have any idea what that means?”
“Hmm. Well, the Old Stone Church is on old Indian burial ground up t
here. And I think Melinda’s folks, going way back, were Indians. Probably something to do with that. She’s no danger to anyone…unless she’s gotten worse lately. I haven’t seen her in a while.”
“Does she ever, you know, drop off gifts?”
“Gifts?”
Kayla made a face. “I found a dead rat on the porch this morning.”
“A rat? Gee, I haven’t seen many of those up there. Of course,” she added philosophically, “they’re all over the planet now, aren’t they? Them and cockroaches.”
Kayla grimaced again. “Sorry I asked.”
At that minute, a gust of cold air hit her, and she glanced toward the market door.
Paul stood in the entranceway, his eyes scanning the store. When he saw Kayla, he stood still for a moment, gazing at her. Then he nodded, smileless as ever.
She’d wondered if he would show up, considering the fact that she’d behaved like an idiot. She shouldn’t have said anything to him about his anger. He hadn’t asked for her advice, so why had she given it? And she shouldn’t have touched him…or kissed him.
But here he was. And she was awfully glad to see him. Smiling, she gave a quick wave, which made Francis glance over in that direction. The older woman, who missed nothing, raised an eyebrow. “Whew. Who’s that?”
“The handyman,” Kayla said casually, sensing her face warming as she did. Something odd was happening, also, to her insides. She felt…giggly. A little breathless. Immature. As if she were in high school and the captain of the football team had singled her out for attention.
Nothing like that had ever happened to Kayla in any high school she’d attended, for sure.
Except for that one time. And while, on that evening thirteen years ago, she’d started out with naive hope in her heart and stars in her eyes, by the end she had learned a near-tragic lesson in the foolishness of expectations. That night, her life had changed forever.
Whispers in the Night Page 8
