Young Ladies of Mystery Boxed Set

by Stacy Juba

  She sank onto an overstuffed wing chair diagonal from a cherry wood armoire with a hideaway television. Aromas of pancakes and sausage drifted from the kitchen. She'd told Rosemary she ate light breakfasts, but her hostess didn't listen.

  After three days, Cassidy hadn't adjusted to the farmhouse, nor to Rosemary and Donald, who bragged about hiking, bicycling, fly fishing, snowshoeing and cross country skiing as if they had carved out the mountains and lakes themselves.

  Glenn had driven her to their home. Sherlock Holmes couldn't have followed undetected on the twisting back roads that wound past cows lounging in meadows, tall red silos on stretches of farmland and antique shops whose owners must consider three sales a good year. They'd passed the town offices, cramped in a shack smaller than Angela's Diner. Cassidy could have sworn the post office was in someone's garage.

  Wiping her hands on a dishtowel, Rosemary appeared in the doorway. Close-cropped chestnut hair brushed Rosemary's ears in a slight curl at the tips. Her unlined face bore no makeup and a gentle smile.

  Rosemary switched on the lamp, flooding the room with warmth. "Soup's on, kiddo. Humor me. You need meat on those skinny bones."

  "I hope you didn't go to any trouble," Cassidy said.

  "Not at all. Donald and I enjoy a hearty breakfast." She shepherded Cassidy into a light oak-paneled kitchen with pots and pans hanging from low beams.

  Flowered yellow china filled a hutch built into the wall, and enough spices for a grocery store lined the baker's rack in orderly rows. Rosemary retrieved a pitcher of maple syrup off the sideboard and placed it on the knotted oak picnic table.

  Cassidy dribbled syrup over her blueberry pancakes. She would force down a couple and reserve her cholesterol lecture for another time. She'd heard Donald leave for work an hour earlier. No hearty breakfast for him today.

  Hackles tingling on her neck, Cassidy focused on the sliding patio door. The glass had been pulled back, a flimsy screen separating inside from outside. She swallowed a forkful of pancake.

  Rosemary and Donald had no neighbors for a couple miles. The road drew little traffic; in fact a cow shot her and Glenn an odd look when they drove up. Still, didn't these people remember why she was here? If she was going to fritter her time in rural limbo, she at least wanted to be safe.

  "Mind if I close the glass door?" Cassidy asked.

  Brow puckering, Rosemary sliced into her sausage. "Of course not. Go ahead."

  Cassidy slid the door shut and frowned. "You don't have a stick to reinforce the lock? These doors can be easily broken into."

  "We don't have break-ins here. We'll be more careful about locking up, but I'm sure you're safe with us. That man will get frustrated and move on to someone else." Rosemary poured them each a jelly glass of cranberry juice.

  They weren't talking about a grade school bully who wanted her Twinkie. Cassidy had to escape upstairs before her patience snapped. "Excuse me. I'm not that hungry."

  "But there's so much food."

  "I'll heat up the leftovers for lunch."

  "We're having chicken soup for lunch!" Rosemary called after her.

  Cassidy hid out in her room and balled up on the mahogany-finished sleigh bed. Ebony, gold and cocoa maple leaves patterned the handmade quilt. Exercising would energize her, but she couldn't summon the strength.

  She glanced around at the gold-papered walls stenciled with an upper border of maple leaves, and the antique dresser that Rosemary called bird's-eye maple. Cassidy fisted her hands at her sides. She liked Rosemary, but couldn't tolerate her smothering. She wanted her independence back. Her apartment. Rosemary had the slowest Internet connection on earth, so Cassidy couldn’t even research small business loans on the off-chance that she explored Zach’s career advice. She had nothing to do but stew – and check her voice mail.

  Cassidy punched the code to access her latest messages. She listened to annoying monologues from Spike and Howie, begging her to come back to the gym. Even less welcoming were invitations to serve as guest of honor at Garrett Pride Day and to share her SOS adventures in a community lecture at Garrett State College. She would have accepted the engagements under normal conditions, but what was she supposed to say now? I’m being stalked and am afraid to leave my hideout without a deadly weapon?

  A series of hang-ups preceded the final message. After a long pause, a desperate female voice came on the line. "This is Rhonda Sue. I miss you so much, Cassidy. I know you told me to try other trainers, but it's not the same. I don't connect with them. You don't understand how miserable I am here without you. I'll pay whatever you want if you'll be my personal trainer. We could exercise at my house. Call me. Please."

  Cassidy's pulse resonated in her throat. Rhonda Sue's shameless pleading had left her with a chill, but she refused to worry about a skinny groupie with a bad hair-dye job. Cassidy dialed Detective Pierce's direct line. She’d been awaiting an update on Adam, but had heard nothing.

  "Pierce," he said.

  "It’s Cassidy. What happened with Adam at the car place?"

  "Sorry I haven’t called you yet, it’s on my to-do list. Adam has an alibi for Reggie’s murder, so we’re back to believing his death has nothing to do with you. Adam’s been staying with a cousin and his wife in New Hampshire and they claim he was with them that night. Adam denies stalking you also. His cousins were at a wedding the day of the ship preview and were working the afternoon your mother’s house was broken into. In other words, he was left to his own devices so we haven’t ruled him out as your stalker."

  Cassidy flattened her palm against the maple end table. "What about that night in the woods?"

  "According to the cousins, he was home watching a movie," Detective Pierce said. "That could have been anyone who followed you. After all, it was nighttime and you were walking alone."

  She ignored the disapproval in his voice. He sounded just like Zach. "Where is Adam now? Why did he return the car? Did he fly back home?"

  "He's still in New Hampshire. Decided to stay longer now that he's unemployed, but he doesn't want the expense of the car. His cousins followed him into Boston to give him a ride back."

  "You mean he's still around?" Cassidy started at movement in the window. Hand-sewn brown curtains stitched with maple leaves wafted in the caress of a mountain breeze.

  "If he harasses you, we'll go from there, but we've got no proof of any wrongdoing. He said he apologizes for frightening you and that he was caught off-guard by your reaction at the club."

  "Of course he'd say that. He wouldn’t admit to stalking me. Can’t you do anything else?"

  "Patrols have been driving past your stepfather's apartment, watching for suspicious vehicles," Detective Pierce said.

  "How long am I supposed to stay here?"

  "I wouldn’t be in a rush to come home. I'd play it cautious and maybe your stalker, whoever he is, will lose interest. If he’s not from around here, how long can he afford to stay devoting himself to a lost cause?"

  Sensing his readiness to hang up, Cassidy fired another question. "Do Adam’s cousins have a little girl?"

  "No, they don't have kids. Stay in touch."

  "I intend to." Cassidy replaced the receiver and rubbed the sides of her head in concentric circles. Adam wasn’t a murderer. That should come as a relief. But was he Miles? And if so, could he be frustrated into committing violence?

  Cassidy wandered to the dormer window with its built-in seat. Kneeling on the plush tan cushion, she gazed out at the mountains, their cool green vastness sending a shiver through her body. Last night as darkness had eclipsed the range, she'd remembered an old Wes Craven movie about a stranded family terrorized in the desert.

  She knew it was crazy, no one had followed her and Glenn down those curving roads, but the title resounded in her mind.

  The Hills Have Eyes.

  Cassidy jumped as her cell phone rang. She carried it to the window seat and couldn’t keep the cautious note from her voice. "Hello."

  "I have a su
rprise," her mother said. "Your friend Josh is here sitting in my living room."

  "Josh! Josh Sanchioni?" Cassidy hopped up, breathless, the air shocked out of her lungs. Josh, the past object of her infatuation, was at her mother’s house? She hadn’t thought about him in so long. Since she’d met Zach.

  "He said a last minute domestic violence talk came up in Connecticut. Since he was in New England, he stopped to see you. Josh wants to know where you are, but I’m afraid to tell him. If he visits you, he might be followed."

  Josh still cared about her. And, Cassidy cared about him, too. As a friend, of course, since he was engaged, but it didn’t matter. He was one of the few people who’d been through the SOS craziness with her, and he always made her laugh. Cassidy needed something to look forward to, besides Rosemary’s next meal.

  "Give him the address," she said.

  "Are you sure that's a good idea?" her mother asked.

  "Why did you call me if you didn't want my answer? Tell Josh where I am, Mom."

  Long sigh. "Okay. Any news on Adam?"

  Cassidy briefly filled her in on the latest update.

  "I’m so nervous, honey," her mother said. "I’m going crazy with this stalker still out there. Are you-"

  "I've gotta go, Mom. Stop worrying." Cassidy hung up and turned back to the mountain range. The sky had swelled to puffy streaks of slate gray.

  "I’m worried enough for both of us," she said to the empty room.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Haunting New Age music filtered up the basement steps. Cassidy walked downstairs, the ethereal tones slowing her racing heart. Rosemary stooped over the sewing table, slicing a black flannel strip with a rotary cutter along the edge of a ruler. Cloth bits and long quilting pins speckled the plastic mat spread out before her. A tabletop iron rested on one side of her workspace and a sewing machine on an adjoining desk.

  Cassidy maneuvered past overstuffed split-wood baskets of sorted colored scraps. "This is a nice room."

  Rosemary dropped her cutters beside a strawberry pincushion, sank back onto a hard stool and turned sideways. Fabric pieces littered the tiled floor, awaiting a broom and dustpan. She ran her fingers through her short hair. "Thanks. What brings you down here?"

  "Just wanted to thank you for making me feel welcome," Cassidy said. "I appreciate it."

  "You're our guest. It was my pleasure."

  "Don't mind me if I'm short-tempered. I've been stressed out with this stalking."

  "Who could blame you? I guess your situation is hard for me to understand. We've been sheltered."

  Cassidy fingered one of the drafting lamps clamped to the table. "Garrett's a small town, too. I never thought I'd be the target of a stalker."

  She wouldn't say victim.

  She studied the cloth squares arranged on a flannel covering tacked to the wall. Cassidy moved closer, absorbed in the blood red triangles pursuing themselves in eternal flight around the black center square. Pins fastened individual patches to the flannel, the squares unconnected.

  "I’ve always wanted to try something like this, but I never have time," she said. "Did you create the pattern?"

  Chuckling, Rosemary scooped up a handful of pins and tossed them into a clear plastic container. "No, I’m not that creative. I choose patterns from books. See all the magazine pictures on the bulletin board? Those are my future projects. This one is called Wild Goose Chase."

  Chase. Cassidy hugged her arms around her chest. She had seen pursuit reflected in the design, red triangles trapped in the black prison, doomed to snap into position wherever they turned, controlled by an unseen hand. Her stalker wanted to make this scenario spring to life, cornering her like a hunter. She wouldn't let him beat her.

  "If it’s okay, a friend of mine will be visiting. Josh Sanchioni. He was a contestant on the game show. Can you recommend a hotel in case he plans to hang around a couple days?"

  Rosemary waved a hand, her trimmed nails unpolished. "Don't be silly. We have plenty of space. I'll make up another guest room."

  "You're stuck with me. That's enough of an imposition when I’m in a good mood, never mind when I’m a grouch. Josh will be fine at a hotel."

  "Glenn warned me how headstrong you are. You need to keep a low profile. If your friend stays at a hotel, he might be recognized. We don't want rumors flying around that SOS contestants are in town."

  Cassidy chastised herself for thinking so carelessly. She’d blown up over no stick in the door, yet had almost committed a worse blunder. She touched Rosemary’s hand. "Thank you. That’s good advice."

  "You're safe here. Just remember that."

  Gazing around at the cozy studio with its bright colors and cramped furniture, Cassidy wished she could believe her hostess.

  ***

  Josh arrived the next evening after dinner, leather suitcase and travel bag in hand. As Donald led him out to the enclosed back porch, Cassidy set down her paperback on the glass table. Her initial delight over his visit had evolved into nervousness. They’d spoken briefly on the phone and hearing his voice had brought back all the old memories.

  Please don’t let it be awkward between us. Should she stand to greet him? Remain seated? Cassidy opted for taking his lead so she wouldn’t appear too eager.

  "Cass!" Josh placed the suitcase near a potted plant and moved toward her. Instinctively, Cassidy half-rose and he swept her into an Old Spice-scented hug. His arms engulfed her, strong and warm.

  She’d ached for a man to comfort her, to help her forget her troubles, and had thought Zach would fill that role. But he’d declined, at least for the time-being when she craved intimacy most, and Josh was off-limits, too. Cassidy resisted the urge to cling against his muscular frame and hurriedly drew away.

  She lowered herself back into the chair. Instead of the sweats and jeans he’d lived in during SOS, Josh wore a button-down shirt, tie and khakis. His business-like attire almost transformed him into a stranger, but that was silly, he was the same old Josh whom Cassidy had known since the auditions.

  "I’m so glad you’re here," she said. "Did you do your presentation?"

  "Yeah, it was earlier in the week for a summer conference. I’ve been sticking around, dropping off flyers, trying to drum up business."

  He looked worn. Cassidy could soon find herself in the same situation, striving to promote herself as a public speaker, if she accepted Deniz Jewell’s advice. At least Josh already specialized in a topic, domestic violence. What would she talk about? Herself? Making dreams come true? That would be ironic, considering she hadn’t accomplished her dreams yet.

  Josh’s face clouded beneath his tan as he joined her at the table. "Your mom brought me up to date. It stinks that you're going through this."

  Donald cleared his throat. His lemon yellow shirt bulged at the seams, emphasizing his burly frame. "I'll carry up your bags. You'll be on the second floor."

  "You're sure you don't mind?" Josh asked.

  Grunting, Donald scraped back his unruly longish gray hair and hefted the luggage. "No problem."

  Rosemary strolled out with iced tea and earthenware dishes of strawberry shortcake. "Have fun, and if it gets chilly out here, come inside and make yourselves at home. You can have the living room to yourselves."

  "Thanks, Rosemary," Cassidy said. "I appreciate it."

  Once they were alone, Josh admired the mountains rising to the fiery orange sky. "They're so green. Nothing like L.A. Must be cold in the winter."

  "I'll be long gone then," Cassidy said.

  He spooned off a dollop of whipped cream. "Do you really think Adam's stalking you?"

  "I don't know."

  "He's odd, that's for sure. Let me hire a bodyguard for you. Somebody from a reputable security agency."

  Cassidy shook her head, relieved the stalking gave them something to talk about besides their almost-kiss on the ship, his wedding plans, or her lack of love life. "I can protect myself against Adam and anyone else. Thanks for the offer, though."
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  He pressed his elbows into the table and leaned forward. "Now isn't the time to be proud. I'm serious. Cost isn't a problem."

  She avoided the concern brimming in his blue eyes. It only confused her, made her wonder whether Josh considered her a little sister who needed safeguarding, or something forbidden. "You’re a good friend, but soon I'll have all the protection I need. His name is Sig Sauer. Then I’m out of here."

  "You're getting a gun? You know how to use it?"

  "I took a class. I'm a good shot."

  "If you change your mind, I'll give you the money. I mean it."

  "Thanks again, but save the money for you and Shannon," Cassidy said. "Bodyguards are expensive."

  "Shannon doesn’t need my money. She's got as much family dough as Felicia Fowler. Her father was a real estate tycoon."

  "Was?"

  Josh covered a napkin over his empty plate and pushed back his chair. "Her father died ten years ago. Lucky for Shannon and her mother. Her dad used to get his kicks out of hitting them. Her mom got active with prevention after he died, starting the non-profit organization where I work."

  Cassidy knew what Josh did for a living, but hadn’t realized he was employed by his future mother-in-law. "Is that how you met Shannon?"

  "Yeah, her mom hired me a couple years back. Now I’m trying to branch out into being an independent contractor, with her mother’s help. That’s been my goal all along, to have the freedom to travel and work for myself."

  "I don’t think I ever asked, but how did you get interested in domestic violence? Because of the job?"

  His face shadowed, a subtle shift in his features. Dark red spots patched his cheeks and flushed down his neck. The suppressed crackle of ire rankled in his calm voice. "My father used to punch my mother, throw her against the wall or the stove. It was like living in a time bomb."

  "I'm so sorry. That’s terrible, Josh." Cassidy sipped her iced tea, unsure what to say. It wasn’t fair that some kids lived in violent households. Her own dysfunctional childhood seemed normal by comparison.