Secrets at Sweetwater Cove

by Sally Roseveare

  “That wasn’t nice,” Estelle said.

  “You know I’m not always nice.” Blanche sipped her third Margarita. “Back to your question about the house, Mary Ann. One of the subs working on it suggested it was built on an old Indian burial ground.”

  “You don’t believe that.”

  “Of course not. Tom’s had trouble with many of the homes he’s building here. They couldn’t all be built on burial grounds. Could they?”

  “Wasn’t the house that burned a few weeks ago one of Tom’s?” asked Lillian.

  “I’m afraid so,” Blanche answered. “Glad no one had moved in yet.”

  “There’s a rumor that the construction problems and delays in Sweetwater are because Tom hires inferior subs to save money,” said Mary Ann. She fiddled with her cards, sipped her gin and tonic, and sneaked a peek at Blanche.

  “That’s not true. If you’re insinuating Tom’s a bad builder, you’re out of line. And I don’t like it one bit.”

  “My husband is Tom’s foreman. Both men have years of experience,” Estelle said.

  “If they’re so good, then why have they had so many problems with the homes in Sweetwater?” Mary Ann smiled sweetly.

  Blanche slapped her cards down on the table. “You will not talk to me that way if you know what’s good for you.” She glared at Mary Ann. “And don’t you forget, Mary Ann, that Tom helps butter your husband’s bread—yours, too. Tom buys all the appliances—overpriced ones, I might add—for Sweetwater Cove from your husband’s business. So don’t you act so high and mighty with me.”

  “I didn’t mean to offend you, Blanche. I was only repeating what I’d heard.”

  “Now, girls, let’s don’t go saying things we’ll regret,” said Lillian. “Besides, we need to finish this rubber. Let’s play bridge.”

  Across the room, Sam Harris smiled at his wife. “Come on, Aurora. That’s a cha-cha the band’s playing.”

  “Thought you’d never ask.” They pushed their chairs away from the table.

  “Hey, Sam,” Blanche said when the couple walked past her table. “I saw you sitting over there with this lovely lady. Who is she?” She flashed an icy smile at Aurora.

  “Good to see you again, Blanche. This is Aurora, my wife. Aurora, this is Blanche Southerland, one of the best golfers at the club.”

  “Oh, Sam, how you do go on.” Blanche put her hand on Sam’s arm, stroked it. “Aurora, you are the envy of all us ladies. Each of us would like to take your husband home. But, of course, he isn’t interested.”

  “I’m glad.” And this is probably the only cha-cha the band will play all night and I’m missing it, she thought.

  Sensing Aurora’s aggravation, Sam said, “I’ll see you around, Blanche, ladies. Must get my charming wife to the dance floor or she’ll find someone else to be her partner. ‘Bye.”

  “‘Bye, Sam,” the four women said in unison.

  “Who’s that woman?” Aurora asked. They reached the dance floor as the music stopped. “We missed a cha-cha because of her.”

  “That’s Blanche Southerland. Her husband’s the general contractor building the houses, town houses and condos in Sweetwater Cove. I’m sure you’ve seen his name in the Smith Mountain Eagle. He’s a big shot. So is Blanche. But enough about the Southerlands. Did anyone tell you you’re the prettiest lady in the house?”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Saturday Morning

  The Lab whined and looked up at Aurora. She reached over the side of the bed and massaged his big black head. “You’re the best dog in the whole world, King. But you already know that.” King barked. She looked at the clock. “Good heavens, it’s 8:00. Sam didn’t wake me.”

  King yelped, trotted across the room, whined, pawed the bedroom door.

  “All right already. I’m coming as fast as I can. Wonder where Sam is.” Aurora slid her feet into her slippers and hurried to catch up with her dog.

  Aurora put King outside. “Sam, where are you?” she called, then closed the door when she received no answer. She sniffed, smelled coffee, followed the aroma into the kitchen. A note from Sam lay on the counter beside the coffee maker. She reached in the cabinet for her favorite mug, poured herself a cup, and read Sam’s note.

  Good morning, Susie-Q. Hope you slept late. I woke around 5:30, was just sitting down to eat an omelet when Blanche Southerland called. Tom didn’t pick her up last night at the club; she had to catch a ride with Estelle. Blanche said that last night she was furious. Now she’s worried. Tom still hasn’t come home. She asked if I’d go look for him—don’t know why she chose me. Anyhow, I didn’t wake you; figured you could use the sleep after last night—which, by the way, was spectacular. Call me on the cell phone if you need me. I love you. Sam.

  Aurora sipped her coffee. “Yum. Strong. Exactly what I need.” She thought about last night and how much fun they’d had. Picking up the phone, she dialed Sam.

  “Hey, Susie-Q,” he said. “What’s up?”

  Aurora smiled when she heard the nickname he’d given her on their first date. “Hey, handsome. Just wanted to let you know how much I enjoyed last night.” She sipped her coffee. “You’re a great dancer.”

  “You’re pretty good yourself. Remember the first time we danced together?”

  “How could I forget our first date? We went to the Peaks of Otter for dinner, and on the way home you pulled onto one of the overlooks and we danced. I love you, Sam.”

  “And I love you, too, Susie-Q. How about we have another incredible evening tonight?”

  “I’d like that very much.” She carried the phone and coffee mug with her to the bedroom. “I’ll fix shrimp and grits. That suit you?”

  “Shrimp and grits and you. Yum. Does it get any better than that? See you later.”

  Aurora quickly spread moisturizer on her face, brushed her blonde hair, dressed in gray sweats, and hurried outside. She stretched, then looked around for her dog.

  “King, want to go for a run?” she called. Seconds later he dashed around the corner of the house and sat in front of Aurora, his eyes sparkling, a big dog-smile covering his face. She laughed, leaned over and hugged his thick neck. He licked her cheek, and she laughed again.

  “Everyone should have a friend like you, boy.” This dog, this loyal, loving friend, had helped her survive the sorrows of the past year and a half. King offered his paw and she shook it. “Okay, let’s jog.” They headed down the drive past the barn and paddocks where she’d kept her dapple-gray pony years ago, and onto Spawning Run Road. King ran ahead.

  “Only half a mile to go,” she said to King after a mile. They always turned around at the end of Spawning Run. The next road, which formed a “T” at the stop sign, carried too much lake traffic to suit her.

  She jumped at the sound of screeching tires around the curve ahead. A horn blared and someone shouted. Aurora called King and they hurried toward the commotion.

  “Old woman, are you nuts?” The man screamed at the white-haired lady standing in the middle of the street, his van only two feet from her. He climbed out of the van, shook his fist at her. “I almost wrecked my van ‘cause of you. You’re a damn idiot. You oughta be locked up some place.”

  Aurora hurried to the woman’s side, touched her shoulder. “Are you hurt?”

  “Hello, little girl. What’s your name?” the elderly lady asked, a vacant look in her eyes.

  Aurora recognized a sign of dementia; she’d seen that same confused expression too many times in her own mother’s eyes. “I’m Aurora. I’d like to be your friend.” Gently she took the woman’s arm and guided her toward the van.

  “Can she sit in your van for a few minutes while I call 911? I think she’s lost,” Aurora said to the man.

  “Hell, no.” He blocked their way. “Get that old retard away from me.”

  Aurora glared at him. King growled, moved between them. Cursing, the man returned to his van and drove off.

  An antique store across the street had Adirondack chairs in
the yard, and Aurora said to the old woman, “Let’s go sit over there. Those chairs look so comfortable. Let’s see if they really are. Wouldn’t that be fun?” The woman nodded.

  “What’s your name, little girl?” she asked again as Aurora lowered her into a chair.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “I’m Aurora. Aurora Harris. What’s your name?” She held the old woman’s hand, massaged it gently.

  A pale green Camry drove up, braked and stopped. A woman jumped out. “Hessie, are you all right? I’ve been so worried about you.”

  Hessie stared straight ahead. Her thin lips formed a pout. “I want a cookie. I said I want a cookie!” she yelled.

  “Okay, Hessie, I have some cookies in my purse. See?” The lady offered her a chocolate chip cookie. Hessie snatched it.

  “I’m Dixie Lee Cunningham,” the woman said to Aurora.

  Aurora held out her hand. “Hey, Dixie Lee, I’m Aurora Harris.” The two women shook hands. Aurora judged the woman to be between 60 and 65 years old.

  “This is Hessie Davis,” said Dixie Lee. “I’m one of her caregivers. I thought it would be good for her to get out of the house, let her breathe in some fresh air, watch the boats, and maybe get a bite to eat at Bridgewater Plaza. On the way, she demanded a cookie, so we stopped at a convenience store. She promised she’d wait in the car while I ran in to get some cookies. I shouldn’t have trusted her. When I returned, she’d disappeared.” She handed Hessie another treat. “I wasn’t gone long. What happened?” She guided Hessie toward the Camry and helped her into the car.

  Aurora told Dixie Lee about the van nearly hitting Hessie. “The man driving the van treated her terribly. I felt like clobbering him. King was ready to attack. I almost let him. I just don’t understand people like that man.”

  “Thank you for intervening, Aurora. I’m quite fond of Hessie. She’s fun to be with when she’s having a good day. This isn’t one of those. The poor thing has had a hard time. Three years ago Hessie developed Alzheimer’s. Then her husband died a year ago, five years after they’d moved into Sweetwater Cove.” She looked at Aurora. “Do you know where that is?”

  Aurora nodded. She smiled and pointed to Hessie who was snoozing in the car.

  Dixie Lee smiled back. “Good, she’s asleep. By the time I get her home and she awakens, all she’ll remember is that she had some cookies. At least I hope she’ll remember the cookies. Thanks so much for your help.” She looked at King. “Thank you, too, King.” King offered Dixie Lee a paw. She shook it and laughed.

  “Hope to see you again, Aurora.” Dixie Lee waved and drove away.

  “Let’s go home, King. I don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  In Sweetwater Cove, Sam pulled his cell phone from his belt clip and called Blanche. “Tom’s not at your house or any of the other houses under construction,” he said.

  “Did you look everywhere?”

  “Everywhere you told me. Your new house is locked, so I couldn’t go inside. I banged on the door, though, but Tom didn’t come. Is there any place he frequents other than the club?”

  “No. And Tom doesn’t use the club much. That’s my thing, and he just goes along with me. His work is his life. I wish I’d known that when I married him. Oh, Sam, I’m so very lonely. Tom’s, well, our needs aren’t the same. I want some romance in my life.”

  Sam couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Your husband’s missing and you’re coming on to me? he wanted to ask. Instead, he said, “Blanche, I know this is difficult for you, but I have to know. Is there someone he visits occasionally, a friend or, or something?”

  “Are you suggesting there’s another woman? How could you?” Sam didn’t answer. “Well, I guess you would think that of most men, but Tom isn’t most men. He loves his work and me. As you’re probably interested only in your work and Aurora?”

  Sam heard the question in her voice. “Yes, Blanche. From the first day I saw Aurora sunning on the dock. She’s the only woman for me, more important than my work. Or anything else, for that matter.” He wanted this conversation to end.

  “Oh, I see. Well, then, if that’s the way it is, I won’t keep you any longer. I’d planned to go to the house, help you hunt for my husband, but I’ll stay here instead. I’ll call the Sweetwater Cove clubhouse and tell them you’ll pick up a key to the house. I keep one there for convenience. Let me know when you find Tom.” Blanche slammed down the phone.

  Sam stared at the phone in his hand. “What does she think I am? Her private detective? No way. And that’s what that crazy woman needs.” He hung up. “And maybe a good scolding. And a marriage counselor wouldn’t hurt, either.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  In his office, Luke Stancill sat at his desk and frowned. Dinner last night at Carole’s hadn’t gone well. Instead of fixing her usual semi-gourmet meal, she’d popped a frozen lasagna in the oven, opened a bag of spinach salad, and twisted the lid off a jar of applesauce. And she’d seemed distant, pensive, not her usual fun-loving, Luke-loving self. At ten o’clock she’d even implied that Luke should go home.

  Uh-oh. Maybe she was coming down with a cold, not feeling well. Flu season was here. Had she remembered to get her flu shot? He’d call and check on her.

  “This is Carole Barco. Thank you for calling Your Real Estate Agency. I’m out of the office right now, but I’d love to help you with all of your real estate needs. Please leave your name and phone number and I’ll return your call as soon as possible. Or you may call my cell at 540….”

  Luke hung up. Maybe she was sick in bed, unable to come to the phone. Visions of Carole up-chucking into the toilet ran through his mind. He’d better go check on her. He picked up his car keys but stopped. A client was due at 9:30. That gave Luke only 15 minutes, not enough time to get to Carole’s and back. He dialed her cell phone.

  “Hey, Luke. What’s up?” Carole said.

  “Carole, are you okay?” He looked at the picture of her on his desk.

  “I’m fine. Why shouldn’t I be?”

  “I called your other phone and you didn’t answer. Didn’t know if you were downstairs in your office or upstairs sick or something. I was concerned about you.” A ladybug crawled across the photo. He flicked it off.

  “A client called early this morning and wanted me to show him more houses.”

  Luke heard laughter and voices in the background. “Where are you now?”

  “We’re at Diamond Hill General Store. Win hadn’t eaten breakfast, so we stopped for a quick bite. We’ll be leaving in a few minutes. Was there something you needed?”

  “No, I just called to say I love you.”

  “Me, too. Gotta go. I’ll call you later. ‘Bye, Luke.”

  Win. Carole’s with Win. Luke didn’t like the man. He’s too rich, too good-looking, too smooth. Too damn perfect. And too interested in Carole.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Back home, Aurora showered, cleaned the kitchen, unloaded the dishwasher, made the bed, and tossed a load of whites in the washing machine.

  She retrieved the newspaper from the kitchen counter, flipped through the pages. The headline “Boats Missing” caught her eye. She read the article.

  Sheriff Paul Jones reported yesterday that there have been no leads in the missing boat cases. Four boats, each valued at $65,000 or more, have disappeared within the past two months from boathouses while the owners were either on vacation or at their primary residences. Sheriff Jones said that he, the state police, and the law enforcement agencies in the two other counties around the lake are working together to solve the mysteries. “We don’t know yet how the boats were taken,” said the sheriff. “Photos and descriptions have gone out to all law enforcement agencies in the Eastern US. A breakthrough is expected any time.”

  Right, thought Aurora. But I won’t hold my breath. She folded the paper and put it in the recycle bin.

  She noticed a dirty smudge on a sliding glass door and wagged a finger at King. “Loo
ks like your nose print. And I just scrubbed that slider yesterday.”

  She started to the pantry for window cleaner but stopped. No, she thought, I don’t want to do housework today. I want to spend the day with Sam. But he’s not here.

  In the bedroom, she sat on the chaise lounge facing the lake and pulled a cross-stitch project from her tote bag. She’d designed the pattern from a scene in the Lexington, Virginia, travelogue she was creating. The City of Lexington had called in June and asked her to produce the travelogue, said they wanted footage from all four seasons, so she could take her time. She’d jumped at the chance to portray one of her favorite cities for all to see.

  Years ago her mother had suggested that Aurora design a cross-stitch kit from each travelogue, commercial, or promotional film she produced. Aurora agreed, and the kits quickly became sought-after items in upscale gift and needlework shops. This kit, a picture of horses grazing in the foreground with the Blue Ridge Mountains as a backdrop, would be one of at least four in the Lexington area.

  She stitched a row, didn’t like the color, pulled it out. She looked at the framed and hanging cross-stitch of the shoreline of the Pamlico Sound in North Carolina. Her dad had framed it for her. Memories of her dad’s murder in January and her mother’s death in April from Alzheimer’s disease surfaced. Meeting Hessie Davis hadn’t helped her emotions, either.

  “I can’t do this right now,” she said to King. “I’ve gotta get outside, do something to occupy my mind. I can work on the cross-stitch later when Sam’s home.”

  King whined and licked her hand.

  Aurora called Sam. “Where are you?” she asked.

  “I’m back at Tom Southerland’s house in Sweetwater Cove. Just got back from picking up a key at the clubhouse. Still can’t find Tom. Seems as though he’s just vanished.”

  “Want some help? King and I can be there in about twenty minutes.” She opened the closet door, pulled out the dark yellow L.L. Bean jacket that Sam had bought for her because it matched the color of her hair.