And that had been his downfall, and how she’d known he didn’t really love her. Because that ultimate power had always been denied her. Like fine wine, revenge was best with age. And Tilda would have her revenge. Nobody, not even the sexiest man she’d ever had, turned away from her. Especially not after she’d let him into her heart.
* * *
Deloris Ross preened under the jealous eye of her best friend. If only she’d had warning that Reba was stopping by, she’d have taken time to cut fresh flowers from her garden. So few flowers still grew in Rossdale, and nothing irked Reba more than knowing Deloris’s roses had a better scent than her own.
“I really love the new dining room set,” Reba said again. “I had no idea you were in the market for new furnishings.”
Deloris gave a little shrug. She hadn’t been, but after someone had commented on the age of her couch at the last little gathering she’d held, she’d realized she was losing her status with the townspeople. One must put on the best face possible under any circumstance. Which meant if she were going to continue to command the respect—and yes, the fear—of the town she had to present just the right image.
“Would you like more tea?” she asked, holding up her Spode teapot replica. Lucky for her, nobody in Rossdale could tell the difference between real and imitation. When Reba shook her head, Deloris refilled her own cup. Not that she was thirsty, but because of the pretty way the gold detailing looked when the light hit it.
“D’ya think it was those hoodlums out at the lake that messed up the town?” Reba asked, returning to her reason for stopping by. “Fred said everyone’s baffled at how there could be so much destruction and so little evidence.”
“Pshaw,” Deloris spat. “There’s plenty of evidence. Reggie Compton is just too stupid or too scared to do anything about it. He might have shooed off the county sheriff with that ‘no evidence’ fluff, but I happen to know there was plenty. Paint cans, fingerprints, even the muddy footprints. It’s all traceable to those wretched cultists.”
Reba nodded and reached for her third cinnamon bun. “You must be mighty proud of Gideon. Even though he’s not leader-material, he sure did rally the folks around here. Got a cleanup crew moving and is heading up the repairs himself.”
Not leader-material, her ass. Deloris barely refrained from baring her teeth in a growl.
“He’s a credit to his name,” was all she said though.
“I do love this new dining set of yours, Deloris. Must have cost you a fortune. European, you said?” Reba smoothed her hand over the sleek blond wood and sighed. “I sure wish we could afford such fancy furnishings.”
“I had it shipped over special.” She was careful not to say where exactly it had shipped from. Deloris Ross hadn’t spent over twenty-five years as a politician’s wife for nothing. “I was considering a dinner party before all this ugliness broke out. Now I think I’ll wait a bit, at least until my new living room furniture arrives, too.”
“Living room set, you say?”
Deloris preened at the envy in the other woman’s tone.
“White on white,” she said with a nod. “With silk pillows.”
“Ooooooh,” Reba breathed. “Fancy.”
“Of course,” Deloris said with a nod. Deciding the time was right, she took a delicate sip of her tea, then set the cup carefully on its saucer. She pulled a plain manila file folder toward her and patted it. “After all, I can’t see the townsfolk driving ten miles out of town to Gideon’s house for parties and such when my home is so much more accessible. Besides, like his father, he’s sure to rely on me to be hostess for all his events. I was thinking we’d start with a Memorial Barbeque, like Lucas and I used to hold.”
Reba shot her a narrow-eyed look, then pinned her gaze on the folder beneath Deloris’s tapping fingers.
“Any special event you were thinking of celebrating at this barbeque?”
“Gideon’s being elected mayor, of course.”
“Mayor? They won’t even be announcing the candidates for mayor for three months yet. Much too late for a Memorial Day party.”
Deloris tut-tutted and gave Reba an indulgent look. “You have to understand politics. Given the current political climate, it’s obviously time for Gideon to make his move. Sure, we... I mean, he can wait three months, make a declaration, and then waste a lot of time and money on a campaign that everyone knows will end in his election. But why should he?”
“Well...” Reba’s face rolled tight in a frown, then she shrugged. “Because that’s the way it’s done?”
“Pshaw. Under most circumstances, it might be. But this attack is proof positive that Reggie Compton is unfit to protect Rossdale. I say it’s time to take steps.”
Reba’s eyes grew huge and a beatific grin graced her moon-shaped face. “Impeachment?” she breathed the word as if it were a prayer.
“Exactly.”
For the next hour, the two women put their heads together, Reba taking notes as Deloris dictated the outline of her plan, dubbed ‘Project Take Over.’ A pot of tea, three more cinnamon buns, and a potty break later, they had it nailed down.
“You sure Gideon’s gonna go along with this?” Reba asked.
“Gideon’s gonna do what’s best for the town,” Deloris declared. She’d make sure of that.
“Well, it’s time for me to be going.” Reba hefted herself out of the chair. “I promised Fred I’d help him with inventorying the special order coming in today.”
“Special order?” Deloris asked. “Supplies for repairs, I’m guessing.”
Deloris paused to admire her dining set again before getting up to follow Reba. God bless eBay.
“Oh no, those won’t be here until tomorrow. This is a big ol’ order for that California gal.” Reba shot her a sly look in the way to the front door. “Gideon placed it for her.”
The only thing keeping the shock from Deloris’s face was the glee on Reba’s.
“California gal? The one living next door to you at the old Henderson place? She’s here with her brother?”
“I don’t know nothing about a brother, but she’s the one. Ordered a bunch of stuff to fix up that place. I figure she must be planning to stay, as much money as she’s pouring into repairs.”
“Those fancy types don’t last. Especially not the ones from California,” Deloris argued. She should know; her son had brought one home once. She’d only stayed long enough to ruin Deloris’s reputation, break Gideon’s heart, and derail the Ross family’s future.
“Last or not, she’s got her hooks into that house... and a few other things.” Reba, hand on the doorknob, glanced over her shoulder with a malicious look on her moon-shaped face. “I told Fred we should tack on an extra ten percent to her order, she can afford it. After all, we know Gideon don’t come cheap.”
“Gideon?”
“Well I assume that’s what his truck parked in her driveway for two and a half hours last week meant. I mean, it’s either that or your boy is romancing her. And even though we know he’s got a weak spot for them fancy gals, I’d have to think he’s too smart to get caught in that trap a second time around.”
Her jovial tone was enough for Deloris to know bets had already been placed.
“I can’t tell you what it means knowing you’re there to keep that nasty gossip at bay, Reba. I’m grateful to you.” Deloris waited a beat, just long enough for the guilt to take hold, then shooed the other woman out the door. “Next week when my new couch and loveseat arrive, I’ll call you over for a looksee.”
With that, she slammed the door and headed for her computer. She had an auction to bid on. After those snide comments and rude behavior, Reba deserved to drool with envy. Not just over the new couch, but maybe even those pretty side tables too.
Deloris booted up her PC with a grunt.
That boy had never been easy to control. Bad enough he’d had to join the military, but to be stationed in California, of all places? Why couldn’t he have stayed back east where
he’d done basic training? Easterners had a better sense of responsibility, whereas California was nothing more than laidback lifestyles and loose women.
Damn Gideon, damn that snotty little California gal, and damn Reba Ambrose for her big mouth. Deloris was going to have to do some damage control, fast. The town was already stirred up against Gideon, whispering behind their hands about his lack of civic duty. His father, bless his soul, would roll over in his grave if he thought Gideon was even thinking about getting involved with another gal like that. She’d ruin Gideon.
And it was a mother’s job to keep her child safe from ruin.
* * *
Miki parked her car in front of the General Store and gaped. What on earth had happened? The whole Main Street looked like one very pissed off tornado had touched down. Blocks of paint patched many surfaces, something she’d seen plenty of on the Southern California freeway overpasses. But who expected to see graffiti cover-up here in small town USA?
A second glance showed boarded up windows, missing flowerpots, and the odd brown splatter here and there, that, if this had been a horror movie, would have been dried blood.
Miki cast a quick protection spell and, with a deep breath, exited her car. The few passersby shot her sideways looks, but nobody said a word. No surprise there, they’d probably get cooties if they greeted her.
A quick pat assured her she had her wallet, and cash. She pulled open the door to the General Store. The once cheery tinkling bell gave a half-hearted clank as she entered.
She stared in horror.
The quaint and delightful store was a shambles. Shelves hung from their hinges, contents dumped on the floor. The window display of ugly potato dolls now looked like charred French fries. A broken fishing rod, a pile of crockery pieces, and a mound of flour blocked her from stepping further into the store. Apparently the tornado made house calls.
“Oh. My....”
“We’re closed to business,” Fred said before she could finish her exclamation. “Until we’ve inventoried what’s what, I’m not selling nothing.”
“I need cat food.”
“What for? Cats don’t survive here in Rossdale.”
“Survive?” Miki cast a horrified glance at the brownish stain on the deck outside the store. “Why? What do you people do to them?”
He followed her gaze and rolled his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. That’s possum blood, not feline.”
Miki swallowed, not wanting to know how he could tell the difference.
“Cats just don’t seem to take to Rossdale. Dogs, now, they do fine. But a cat? Don’t bother bringing one in. It won’t last two days here. That’s the max one’s lasted, and it was kept indoors. Nobody ever did figure out how it got away.”
“I guess things change, because I’ve got a cat out at my place and I’m tired of feeding it canned crab from the pantry. I need a bag of cat food.”
“Can’t sell you one.”
“I’ve got cash.”
“It ain’t a matter of how you pay, it’s a matter of what I’ve got here to sell.”
Miki looked around the mess, bags and cans and boxes all strewn together over the floor and frowned.
“Who did this?”
“Outsiders, I’m sure,” he said with a squint-eyed look that made Miki wonder if she should lawyer up.
“Just exactly how many outsiders do you all piss off on a general basis?”
“You’re the most recent, as I recall.”
“Well, I didn’t do this.”
“Didn’t think you did. I doubt a city girl like you would be able to catch a possum, let alone slit its throat and hang it to bleed outside my door.”
Miki pressed her hand to her mouth to keep from retching at the image. Fred smirked. For the first time since she’d arrived, she appreciated her city-girl status.
The phone rang at the back of the store, and with a shrug and a ‘be back in a sec,’ Fred scooted back to answer it.
Miki stepped over the crockery remnants further into the store. Her heart ached at the sight. Despite the snotty attitude of its owner, the store had been a delight when she’d first visited two weeks before.
It was as if someone had come in and deliberately taken the charming glimpse of history and tried to obliterate it. Miki wasn’t skilled in empathy, but even she could feel Fred’s grief and dismay. He might be a jerk, but this was his livelihood, and someone had viciously tried to destroy it.
A quick glance at the back of the store assured her he was still on the phone with his back to her. Miki closed her eyes, breathed deep, and focused inward.
Opening her eyes, she muttered, “Let it be only surface harm, repair the rest now with this charm. Seal it with protection tight, safe from those who’d cause such blight,” and swept her index finger East to West in a quick arc. With a barely visible shimmer, the energy moved through the store. Miki watched, narrow-eyed, as cans undented, bags mended and the worst of the destruction repaired itself. As much as she’d like to do more obvious repairs, she knew better. So she left the shelves askew, the displays overturned and the kicked-in table in pieces.
Then her gaze caught on the darling antique dresser she’d admired with Gideon. Tears filled her eyes and her heart clenched. Splinters. The drawers, once filled with pieces of history, were busted in. The lovely paint, once aged with character, was chipped and gouged.
She spied the fabric caught under one destroyed drawer and bent down to rescue it. Covered in the same brown stains as the walkway, it was Gideon’s grandmother’s dress. Or what was left of it. Shredded lace spilled over her fingers and Miki absorbed the sense of hatred covering the fabric.
She frowned through her tears. This was the second empathetic hit she’d had in here. Fred’s she could understand. He was right here and the waves of pain were practically emanating from him in Technicolor. But this? This wasn’t Fred. If she wasn’t mistaken, it was the person behind the destruction.
Miki wished Lena was here, or better yet, their mother. Nobody could track an energy source down like Alexis.
“Might as well toss that in the trash pile,” Fred said behind her. Miki gave her face a quick swipe, whispered a glamour spell to hide her emotions, then glanced at him. Sorrow etched his saggy face as he eyed the fabric in her hand and he heaved a sigh. “Most every family in town had a piece of clothing in that bureau. Whoever did this took special care to rip them all up.”
“Ripped up the clothes?” Why would they focus on the clothes? Miki glanced at the dress again, and noted the missing sleeve.
Fred looked at her, then narrowed his eyes. Miki realized her spell had likely failed. She rubbed a quick finger under her eye and came away with a smudge of black. She sighed. She probably looked like a raccoon.
“I hate to see antiques destroyed,” she offered. Lame excuse, but the best she had. “Who would go around ruining things as beautiful as these?”
Thankfully, he took the bait, although he still gave her a thoughtful stare.
“The general feeling is it’s the work of them crazies out at the lake,” he told her. “Bunch of kooks and weirdoes mostly, they’ve been out there for years. But now that Gideon’s got the town all stirred up to take the lake back for some fishing tournament, I figure the kooks are trying to stir up trouble.”
Miki fingered the dress in her hand. It felt like a lot more than kooks and territory issues. This was hate, pure and simple.
“I’ve got work to do,” Fred claimed, although his tone was a lot less antagonistic than she’d heard before. “You might want to call Doc Ransom. It’s possible he has pet food samples or something out at his place.”
“You really don’t have any cat food?”
“No point in stocking something nobody here in town would need.”
“Tuna?” The cat had turned its nose up at the first can of tuna Miki had set out, seeming partial to the crab and flaked chicken. But tuna was still a step up from the dried food Miki had planned to get.
F
red pursed his lips, then shrugged.
“I had some, at one point. It’d be over here.” He pointed, and with a last glance at the dresser, Miki laid the dress remnants on it and followed him. “They’re likely destroyed. Most of the canned goods were dented up good, like someone had taken a hammer...”
He trailed off as, kicking aside the broken shelving, he discovered perfectly intact cans and plastic bottles of condiments.
“Well, what d’ya know? They must have missed this aisle.”
Five minutes later, Miki left Fred frowning and mumbling over his inventory, a bag filled with tuna, crab, and canned chicken clutched in her hand. And almost ran straight into a woman on the sidewalk. Miki rocked back on her heels at the look of hatred on the woman’s puckered face as their eyes met.
Miki glanced at the man’s face emblazoned on the old woman’s tee shirt. Who was he? He looked familiar. And what was a hundred-year-old woman doing wearing some dude’s face on her chest? This town was really odd.
“Um, hi?” Miki said when she couldn’t stand the silent stare any longer. “Apparently the store doesn’t stock cat food.”
Well, at least a look saying ‘pity the idiot’ was better than the silent hatred. Maybe.
“What are you doing here?” Fish-Face asked, her tone ice cold.
“Shopping, obviously.” How was that for uppity?
“Haven’t you shopped enough? I hear tell you’re tying up people’s time and energy on all your projects. Just waltzed into town, not giving a good darn about what other commitments someone might have and shoved your way to the front of the line.”
Miki tilted her head one way, squinted, then tilted it back the other. She bit her lip and shook her head.
“Was that supposed to make sense?”
The older woman’s pale face turned red.
Holding Out For A Hero: SEALs, Soldiers, Spies, Cops, FBI Agents and Rangers Page 71
