by Terry Odell
“Not in the least. Means I use plants that grow in this climate, without you having to water them, or do much of anything.”
“That sounds like my style of gardening. Where would you plant them?”
“Up near the road, where everyone can see. And, if you don’t mind, I’d put a sign—small and tasteful, of course—with my company name in the plot.”
“I should get the landlord’s permission.”
“I understand, but it’s a win-win for them as well.” He set the plant on the porch. “I’ll leave this one here for now. You call me when you talk to them.” He grinned. “And if your boy wants to draw my truck while I’m working here, that’s fine too.”
She put one hand on the doorknob and smiled. “I’ll let you know, Mr. Logan.”
“Butch.”
She nodded and closed the door. After he drove off, she searched out the neighborhood directory Norma Fitzsimmons had left.
What had Norma said? Check the blue section. Elizabeth flipped to the section of the small pamphlet where the pages were printed on blue paper. Covenants and restrictions of the association. Also county rules and regulations.
No, she wanted names and addresses. She found the merchants’ advertising section. Nothing about Logan’s Landscaping. But hadn’t he said he was new, starting a business? So he might not be in this directory yet. Or had he not paid for an ad?
And did Butch Logan live in this development? He never said where he lived, only that he was trying to set up a business. For all she knew, he lived miles away and was simply casting a wide net for clients. Come to think of it, she couldn’t recall seeing any signs—tasteful or otherwise—on her route to and from town.
Was this what it was going to be like forever? Never able to take anyone at face value? Never trusting anyone, always considering ulterior motives? Another ulterior motive hit her like the winds that kicked up dust devils. Was he hitting on her?
She almost laughed out loud. She’d gone out of her way to appear unhittable, but from what she’d seen on her few shopping sojourns, she looked like every other woman in this part of the country. On the one hand, she didn’t stick out. On the other, maybe here guys hit on plain, frumpy women. If they wanted glamour, they’d live in the city.
Her head pounded. She was in the kitchen fixing tea when Will came in. He rested his elbows on the counter and his soft brown eyes melted her heart.
“It’s going to be fine, Mom. I know we have to hide from Dad.”
He’d seen Victor beat her. To protect her, Will had tried to bear the brunt of a few of those beatings himself, which is why she’d left. She walked around the counter, knelt, and clutched him to her chest. Stroking his hair, she said, “That’s right. We have to pretend we’re brand new people. You’re Will Parker now.”
“And you’re Elizabeth. I know.” He pulled away, his eyes filling with tears. “I think I forgot one of the rules one time.”
A flash of panic surged through her. She tamped it down and hugged Will tighter. “It’s okay. Tell me which one. And when.”
He sniffed. “The first time Mr. Grinch came over. When Dylan was sick. I told Mr. Grinch that you were good at taking care of sick kids. I told him I had an operation on my heart.” He gazed up at her. Tears streamed down his face. “I’m sorry.”
She thumbed away his tears. “Did you tell Dylan?”
Will shook his head. “No. Only Mr. Grinch. Will Daddy find us and hurt you some more?”
“Oh, baby, no. We should be fine. I can tell Mr. Grinch it’s a secret, and I’m sure he won’t tell anyone else. It’s harder for little kids to keep secrets, so I’m glad you didn’t say anything to Dylan.”
Will nodded sagely. “I know.”
Elizabeth took the opening. “I’ll bet Dylan told you things that maybe he shouldn’t have.”
“You mean like about his real mom and dad? He asked if my dad was in heaven like his mom and dad are.”
She hoped she kept the surprise off her face. Grinch wasn’t Dylan’s father? “What did you tell him?”
“What I’m supposed to say. That my dad died when I was a baby. And then I switched subjects, like you told me to. I talked about the deer.”
She squeezed him until he squirmed. “Good boy. You’re a champ.”
He pulled away from her embrace. “I saw Mr. Logan’s truck a little while ago. Did he come to visit you? Will he come back so I can draw his truck?”
Marveling at the way Will shifted gears, she tousled his hair. “We’ll see. He wants to put some plants up by the road. If he does, yes, you can draw his truck.”
“Cool! When?”
“First I have to get permission from the people who own the house. It doesn’t belong to us, remember?”
“They’ll say yes, won’t they?”
“We’ll see.”
“While you ask, I’m going to go outside and look for spoor.” He turned to her. “Did you know that’s what you call it when you track an animal? Looking for spoor. I found that out in my animal encyclopedia.” He grinned. “And poop counts as spoor, too.”
She couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, spoor sounds classier than poop. And don’t forget your jacket.”
“Mom, I don’t need a jacket. It’s not cold.” He dashed outside.
She thought about hot summer days, and kids going to the pool, or to one of the nearby lakes or streams. She couldn’t forbid Will to enjoy his childhood. The surgeon had used a minimally invasive technique, so the scar wasn’t conspicuous. And Will would love making up some new and exciting story about how he got it.
She sat on the couch with her tea and the neighborhood directory. This time, she searched the resident listings. No Logans. She turned to the Gs and found Grinciewicz. No Mark, but there was an entry for a Paul and Eva. His parents? But grandparents would surely have offered guidance. That didn’t connect with Grinch’s obvious lack of experience. And why had Dylan come to live with Grinch?
According to Will, Dylan said his real parents had died. Was that true? Or was Dylan living in a child’s fantasy world? Making up a story that helped him cope with a less-than-adequate father?
Alternate scenarios whipped through her brain. Grinch had kidnapped Dylan, told him his parents had died. Someone had abandoned Dylan, and Grinch had rescued him. Grinch was simply minding Dylan while his parents were off somewhere. He was Dylan’s uncle.
Maybe she could get Will to pump Dylan.
Great—encourage your own kid to do what you’re trying to teach him to avoid. Talk about his past. Nope, no way. She couldn’t ask Will to do it. But nothing was stopping her from chatting with Dylan.
Curious, she flipped to the map at the end of the book and found the Grinciewicz’s address. Too far to happen by on a walk. And not on the way to anywhere else she had a reason to be going.
Or ask Grinch. If he had nothing to hide, he shouldn’t mind a few questions. But there she was at that tit-for-tat thing again.
The door slammed and Will bounded in. “I saw a different kind of bird. I’m going to try to find it in my books. It had a funny bill.” He shot toward his room.
Glad that she’d invested in some books about Colorado wildlife, Elizabeth debated calling for an Internet connection for Will’s sake. Grace had said not to, not right away. But driving to town to use Wi-Fi was a pain. Could someone trace them if Will poked around wildlife sites? She sighed. Maybe by the time school started, her identity would be secure enough to justify prudent use of the web.
Moments later, Will appeared, tiptoeing instead of bounding. His eyes were saucer-wide.
“Mom. There’s a weird noise in my room.”
* * * * *
Grinch muted the game. “Thank you for getting in touch with me, Mrs. Ellsworth.”
“Forgive me for bringing this up, but I do trust that everything we say remains in the strictest confidence. I know you wouldn’t be working for Horace Blackthorne if your credentials weren’t impeccable.”
“You h
ave my word.” And, he would bet, a complete background check sitting in front of her.
“First, it’s not a coincidence that I relocated Ms. Parker where I did. I was aware of your circumstances, and at the time, it didn’t seem that she would need more than a friendly neighbor, someone to help her make the transition.”
“And now?”
“And now there is the possibility of complications.”
He took a breath, keeping his voice level, as much to avoid disturbing Dylan as to hide his irritation. “Mrs. Ellsworth, I understand that you’re trying to divulge as little information as possible—I’m quite familiar with the ‘need to know’ concept. I’m also familiar with what can happen if vital information is withheld based on someone else’s decision as to who needs to know what. But if you want my help in any capacity, I’m going to insist on being in the loop. All the way in.”
“Understood. And I’m sure you understand that I protect my charges as if they were my own children. I have a specialized network, and most of them are unaware of anything beyond the people they deal with directly. The system has served me well since long before you were born.”
“I don’t doubt it. But, as I’m sure you’re aware, I’m a single parent of a five-year-old boy who’s in a fragile emotional state.” He figured she already knew the details. “While putting my life on the line is part of the Blackthorne job description, I will not do anything to jeopardize my son—not only his personal safety, but his adjustment to his new life.”
“Of course.”
Well, she was being a lot of help. He sneaked a quick peek at the television. Naturally, they were in commercial mode. He took a deep breath. “What are these complications you mentioned?”
The pause told him Grace Ellsworth was deciding what to tell him. His grip on the phone tightened.
“Very well, Mr. Grinciewicz. You tell me what you know, and I’ll fill in any other necessary details.”
Grinch recapped what he’d learned from Jinx’s data. “I don’t mean to belittle the plight of abuse victims, but they’re not exactly a rarity. What’s so special about Julie Ann Vaughn?”
“I’d prefer it if you forget that name. She’s Elizabeth Parker.”
“Agreed. But the question stands. How did Elizabeth Parker get into a Blackthorne operation?”
Another pause. “You don’t know?”
“Mrs. Ellsworth, until a short time ago, I was a pilot first, an operative second. After my last mission, I was on enforced medical leave, and then Dylan came into my life. I haven’t exactly been up to speed with Blackthorne business. So no, I don’t know.”
“I apologize. Mr. Dalton said he would fill you in.”
Dalton? What did the cowboy have to do with this? Last Grinch heard, Dalt had found the woman of his dreams. “We haven’t been in touch.”
“My apologies for making the assumption. Mr. Dalton’s path crossed that of Elizabeth Parker, and since he was the one who brought you to my attention, I assumed he’d followed through with you.” Her tone had shifted, as if she was embarrassed to admit she’d made a mistake by not confirming.
“Working for Blackthorne, we can be hard to reach sometimes. Odds are, I missed Dalton’s message. At this point, it’s irrelevant. What can you tell me?”
“For reasons unclear, Elizabeth’s husband has recently become highly motivated to recreate her path after she left him.”
“I thought you’d arranged her death.” If Grace Ellsworth was as good as Jinx said, there shouldn’t be a scrap of evidence Elizabeth was alive.
“I did. The documentation should stand up to any scrutiny. However, as I’m sure you know, often there’s a weak link in the chain, and someone is willing to talk if the motivation is right.”
“Social engineering generally trumps following the rules.” He picked up his beer. “Is she in immediate danger?”
“Not immediate. But I believe in being prepared.”
He took a swig of his drink. “Excuse me for asking, but wouldn’t telling Elizabeth make more sense?”
“A valid point. But if they do suspect Julie Ann Vaughn is alive and they connect her to Elizabeth Parker, if she runs again, that would confirm it. She’s safer if she firmly establishes her new identity. Her cover is solid.”
“Unless there’s a weak link in the chain.”
“Which is why there are as few links as possible.”
He got it. “Well, I’m in the chain now. And I have no intention of being a weak link. But it would be nice to know who the other links are.”
“Where you live, you’re the only one. As far as anyone else knows, Elizabeth Parker is relocating to get away from the stress of city life. She wants to provide a small-town upbringing for her son, reminiscent of the one she knew as a child. If anyone she’s dealt with delves into her background, that’s what they’ll find.”
“Was there ever a real Elizabeth Parker? You know, in case a long-lost cousin shows up?”
“Anyone who thinks they share a branch of her family tree will be mistaken.”
He heard the edge in her tone. As if she wasn’t used to being questioned. Hell, she probably wasn’t. “Sorry. We’re used to going into an op knowing everything inside, outside and upside down. What we don’t know can get us killed.”
“I appreciate your thoroughness.”
“Now that we understand each other, what exactly do you expect me to do?”
“As I said earlier, everything possible to integrate Elizabeth into the community.”
He heard the emphasis on Elizabeth. “You mean integrate Julie Ann with Elizabeth. Because, frankly, Mrs. Ellsworth, it didn’t take me more than a few minutes with her to wonder what she was scared of. And that was before I heard word one from Blackthorne. If she’s going to turn into Elizabeth, she needs a tutor.”
“Precisely. I attempted to lay some foundation for an effective disappearance before she left, but I think her own fears interfered with the absorption of her lessons. I’m hoping some of it will come back to her once you broach the subject.”
“Me?”
“I can’t think of anyone better. I will confess, at first I thought your cover should be a suitor, but given even the remotest possibility that Mr. Vaughn might uncover a lead, we need to move more quickly than establishing a proper relationship would permit.”
“To do that, she’ll have to know who I am.”
“I’ll take care of that. However, your cover in the community should lean toward a more … personal … relationship.”
“You mean we’re going to have to pretend we’re … dating?” At least she wasn’t pushing a love-at-first-sight gig.
“It makes sense. You’re both single parents. She’s new to the area, you’re returning after a long absence. I’m sure you can find sufficient reasons to see her while making sure she’s acquiring the requisite skills.”
Grinch set down his now-empty beer and dragged his hand through his hair. “You did say you’ll take care of the introductions.”
“I will. Meanwhile, I suggest you start finding activities that will provide opportunities for you to spend time together. Publicly, of course. You both have sons. There are numerous summer programs for children. I’m sure you can start there.”
“Thank you. I will.” Grinch ended the call, feeling like he’d just auto-rotated a landing in a stalled-out helo. Start with summer programs, she’d said. Not until he’d had another beer. And called Dalton.
Chapter 10
The fear on Will’s face jerked Elizabeth to attention. “What kind of a noise?”
“I dunno. Kind of a clunky, creaky, squeaky thing. Do you think this house has ghosts?”
“Ghosts? No, I’m sure the house isn’t haunted.” She gave Will a reassuring pat. “Let’s go check it out.” She stood and offered her hand, surprised when he took it.
He hesitated at the doorway. She squeezed his hand. “Where did it come from?”
He pointed toward his closet. “Over there.”
She stepped into the room. Will hung in the doorway. His reluctance to enter had her own heart thumping.
Ghosts? She dismissed that easily enough, but couldn’t shake images of Victor, or someone he’d sent, hiding, waiting to snatch Will, even though she knew there couldn’t be anyone in the house. Could there? No, she’d have noticed. Wouldn’t she?
Too bad Will didn’t play baseball. A hefty bat would feel pretty good right now.
Stop it. You’re being ridiculous. There’s a simple explanation.
She moved toward the closet. Something rumbled through the floorboards. She stopped. Listened. This time there was a whooshing sound. She exhaled, then smiled.
“All clear,” she said to Will. “Your closet is above the laundry room. I’m washing clothes, and sometimes the pipes make funny noises, especially if they haven’t been used for a while.”
“Are you sure?” He didn’t sound convinced. “Ghosts are good at hiding.”
Elizabeth flipped on the closet light. “Come here. We can check together. If there are ghosts, I’m sure they’ll leave evidence.”
“Like spoor?” His eyes brightened. “Wait. I’ll get my flashlight.”
“Good idea.” Together, they examined every inch of the closet. “I can’t see any spoor, can you?”
Will shook his head. “I don’t know if ghosts leave spoor.”
“I don’t know either. But tell you what.” She pointed to the heaps of clothes and toys. “I know you don’t have shelves for some of these things yet, but if you keep your closet tidy, there won’t be any ghost hiding places.”
He tilted his head and gave her his You’re doing sneaky Mom stuff frown. “I guess.”
An exceptionally loud screeching noise, followed by a series of high-pitched beeps, echoed in the space. Will dropped his flashlight and grabbed her hand. Then silence. He let go, then peered around warily.
“I think that means the washer is done,” Elizabeth said. “You want to start organizing in here while I put the laundry in the dryer?”
Will stooped and picked up the flashlight. “I think I’ll go with you. Maybe there’s ghost spoor downstairs.”
