Secrets at Sweetwater Cove

by Sally Roseveare

  The phone interrupted Sam’s thoughts. He started to ignore the ringing, but figured it might be the cops or Blanche Southerland reporting on Tom, so he answered it.

  “Aurora, it’s for you—a Dixie Lee Cunningham. I told her you’d call back after dinner, but she said it was urgent.” He handed the phone to Aurora.

  “Dixie Lee, what can I do for you?” Aurora asked.

  “I’m sorry to bother you, dear. I know you’re eating dinner. But Hessie is carrying on about a van, probably the one you told me nearly hit her. She said the van was black.”

  “She’s right.”

  “She rattled off a license number, swore it was correct.”

  “You’re kidding. This morning she couldn’t even remember my name,” Aurora said.

  “I know. And get this. She said she’s seen the van driver before in Sweetwater and in her house. And, according to Hessie, he called her a ‘retard.’”

  “He did. Doesn’t she have Alzheimer’s?”

  “That’s what the doctors say. But they don’t really know, do they? I thought an autopsy was the only way to know for sure, although I understand the medical people have come up with some pretty accurate tests. She hasn’t had the tests, and of course, she hasn’t had an autopsy.”

  “Sometimes the mind does strange things, Dixie Lee. I remember when Mother was in the nursing home. We didn’t think she could still use a phone, but we kept it in the room for our convenience when we were there. She didn’t even have a phone book in her room. But on my birthday I received a phone call from her. ‘Happy Birthday, Aurora. I love you,’ she said. And then she hung up.”

  For a moment Aurora fought to control her emotions.

  “Tell you what, Dixie Lee. Give me the license number and I’ll see what I can find out.” Sam handed Aurora a pen from his shirt pocket. She scribbled the number on her paper napkin. “I’ll let you know.”

  Sam noticed a puzzled look on Charlie’s face. “Anything wrong, Charlie?”

  Charlie sipped his wine, buttered a piece of garlic bread. “I knew a Dixie Lee Cunningham. Annie and I played bridge twice a month with a Dixie Lee and her husband Ernie when we guys were young lawyers practicing in Lynchburg. Then they moved west to Washington. To the Sequim area, I think. We lost touch.” He closed his eyes for a moment, embracing the memories. “But that was a lifetime ago, before you and Aurora came into the world. Couldn’t be the same Dixie Lee.”

  “Maybe it is, Uncle Charlie. After all, how many Dixie Lee Cunninghams could there be?” She looked at her uncle, saw a spark in his eyes she’d not seen often since Annie had died.

  “What did this Dixie Lee look like? Not that my Dixie Lee would look the same after all these years. I certainly don’t.” Charlie took a bite of bread.

  Aurora tried not to grin. She wondered if Uncle Charlie realized he was referring to the lady as my Dixie Lee. “She’s slim. Her hair’s kind of a strawberry blonde with some gray mingled in. She’s a pretty lady.”

  “My Dixie Lee’s hair was strawberry blonde. She wore it chin length, as did Annie. Those gals enjoyed each other so much. I remember them lugging portable sewing machines to each other’s homes. Sometimes they’d sew together all day. Dixie Lee and Annie were the same size, used each other’s patterns. Annie made most of her clothes, you know.” Aurora nodded.

  “Maybe you should call Dixie Lee and find out if she’s your long-lost friend.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Sunday Morning

  The doorbell interrupted Aurora’s quiet time in the sunroom. She laid her book on the chaise lounge and hurried to the front door. Usually on Sundays she and Sam went to church, but with Uncle Charlie visiting, she wanted to spend every possible minute enjoying his company. Aurora smiled, her irritation vanishing when she heard King’s high-pitched bark and an answering yap-yap of equal intensity. King had just identified the bell ringer. Still smiling, Aurora yanked open the door.

  “Jill! Robert!” The three friends hugged. “It’s so good to see you.” Aurora reached over to pet the ecstatic Jack Russell terrier. “Little Guy, you haven’t changed a bit.”

  Yelps and barks from King and Little Guy drowned out all chance of conversation. King whined and looked at Aurora.

  “Okay, the two of you can go play. Just don’t get in any trouble.”

  The two canine buddies first ran in circles, then dashed toward the lake.

  “Have you had breakfast?” Aurora asked her friends. They shook their heads. “Well, we’ll remedy that right now. Bacon’s cooked; I’ll scramble some eggs while you keep me company. Bring me up to date on what’s happening with you two. Haven’t seen you since the wedding. How was the honeymoon?”

  Sam, followed by Uncle Charlie, entered the kitchen. “Charlie and I were fishing on the dock when King and Little Guy came running to greet us. Figured you were here when they ran back to the house,” said Sam. “Good to see you.”

  Aurora cracked a dozen eggs into the frying pan, buttered some English muffins and popped them in the oven, and put on a fresh pot of coffee. When everything was ready, they took their plates to the table. The dogs, their energy depleted, stretched out under the table and slept.

  Jill and Robert assured their friends that their month-long honeymoon on the French Riviera was everything they thought it would be.

  “And I’m pregnant,” said Jill.

  “We’re thrilled,” said Robert. He squeezed his wife’s hand.

  Sam glanced at Aurora, saw the emotions on her face. He knew she was happy for their friends. He also knew she was a tiny bit jealous. He was, too. They’d wanted so badly to have a child, maybe even two or three, and the one time Aurora had gotten pregnant she’d miscarried. She’d be a fantastic mother, Sam thought. And I’d be a great dad. He wondered if time would dim their pain. Could the memories of life—and death—ever be erased? Did he want them to be?

  “A baby. I’m so happy for you both.” Aurora hid her emotions behind a smiling face. She murmured an excuse and left the room. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  In the bathroom, she blew her nose, wiped her eyes, told herself to get a grip and to stop wallowing in self-pity, and returned to the dining room.

  Jill and Robert, floating on their happiness of wedded bliss and pregnancy, couldn’t stop talking. They described in detail the French Riviera villa in Villefranche sur Mer from which Robert’s house next door had been modeled.

  “You need to see it for yourself,” said Robert. “I can get you a good rate if you ever want to go.”

  “Thanks. We may take you up on your offer one day,” said Sam.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Inside a metal building in Franklin County, three men worried.

  “She saw me. The old retard can identify me. I’m toast.” Butch lit a cigarette, inhaled, exhaled. He frowned. His hand shook slightly.

  “I told you before not to worry about her. Everyone knows she’s got Alzheimer’s. Why would anybody believe anything she says?” said Shorty. “Hell, even she probably don’t believe what she thinks she seen. If she can even think.”

  “Easy for you to say. I did some work inside her house right after her and her husband bought the place. She’s seen me up close.” Butch ground out his cigarette on a pine board.

  “She almost got inside the van yesterday. Can you believe what could’ve happened if them two women had seen what was in the van?” asked Butch.

  “Damn it, Butch, you had your gun on the seat. If they’d done got inside you coulda just blowed their brains out.” Shorty grinned, bit off a chew of tobacco. “I’d of just kilt ‘em both. You’re too uptight. Ain’t no way she’ll remember you now. Not with her memory.”

  “Hey, you’re not the one she saw. And why’d you stop by, anyhow, Shorty?”

  “Things are gittin’ a little too hot around here. I heard the cops are startin’ to ask questions ‘bout me. So I’m moving, going West. Won’t be around to help yo
u with your dirty work no more.” Shorty looked at his watch. “I’m late. Gotta go.”

  After Shorty drove off, Butch opened the back of the van. He looked at Otis. “You got rid of the body, I hope.”

  “Of course I did. Just ‘cause I’m a red-neck don’t mean I ain’t got good sense,” said Otis. “I put him in—”

  “No, don’t tell me where he’s at. As long as you’re sure we cain’t be connected if anybody finds him, then I’m satisfied. And the boss will be, too. Now let’s unload this stuff.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  From the passenger seat, Carole studied the man driving the Porsche. This was the third day in a row they’d been together. Granted, they were looking at real estate, and she often drove clients around for a week before they found property they thought they couldn’t live without. But her time spent with Win Ford was different, almost like pleasure instead of business. And Win exuded charm, charisma—and sex appeal. Watch it, Carole, she thought. You’re engaged to a fine man. Don’t fall for Win’s charm.

  As though reading her thoughts, Win glanced at Carole and said in his deep voice, “So what happens when you find that perfect house for me?”

  “What do you mean? My thought was that you’d buy it.”

  “Of course I’ll buy the house. I mean what will happen to us?” Win reached across the seat, cupped his hand over hers.

  “What do you mean?” She pulled her hand away. You love Luke, Carole. Remember that, she reminded herself.

  “That’s the second time in thirty seconds you’ve asked me that question. You know exactly what I mean.” He looked at her, licked his lips.

  “Win, I’m engaged. You’re my client. That’s all.” She looked away from him, folded her arms. Warning bells sounded in her brain. Remember Luke, remember Luke, remember sweet Luke, she thought.

  Win started to respond, but Carole interrupted him. “Turn left here, then take the second right. The property I want to show you is the last one on the right in the cul-de-sac.”

  Win turned into the driveway and shut off the engine. Carole opened her door and hurried toward the house. Win sat for a minute in the driver’s seat and watched her. He didn’t understand. Surely she knew he wanted their relationship to go further. Why didn’t she jump at the chance? Any other woman would have. It couldn’t be Luke. Hell, Luke could never shower expensive gifts on Carole or take her on exotic trips the way Win could. And Luke didn’t have the class a woman like Carole needed. He smiled. Carole was a challenge. Win liked challenges.

  On the porch, Carole opened the front door. “Win, you coming or not?”

  Win grinned. Now he understood. Carole was playing hard to get. Of course she wanted him. All women wanted him. His name was Win—and he would. He always did. Or else.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  In her Sweetwater Cove condo, Dixie Lee Cunningham brushed away a tear. Lord, she was lonesome. Sure, she had her part-time job—if there really was such a thing. Being a caregiver to Hessie Davis kept her busy about 40 hours a week. Hessie’s nephew only paid Dixie Lee to work 25 hours, but somehow she put in extra time (no pay, of course), often overlapping with other caregivers. Besides, she liked Hessie. And Dixie Lee felt that now was her chance to pay back some of the help her mother had received when her dad was so ill.

  Dixie Lee had lived in Sequim, Washington, when her dad was diagnosed with lung cancer. She’d hated being unable to help her mother care for him. But Dixie Lee worked full time as a registered nurse and couldn’t get back to Virginia often. Ernie, her husband, had urged her to quit her job or ask for a leave of absence, to take all the time she needed to help her mother. But life and her job kept throwing surprises at her, and when Dixie Lee finally gave her notice and quit, her dad was in a hospice house. He didn’t last long after that. And neither did her mother. Now she wondered if all the attention she lavished on Hessie was an attempt to rid herself of all the guilt she’d felt for not being there for her parents when they’d needed her.

  The pain she had felt after losing her parents had slowly diminished. Now she remembered mostly the good times.

  It was a different story where Ernie was concerned. Dixie Lee remembered the day the two cops had appeared at her door and told her that her husband had died in a plane crash. “We think a flock of geese flew into the engine on your husband’s Cessna. He didn’t stand a chance,” they’d said. She remembered how they’d looked standing on the front porch, their hats in their hands, their eyes brimming with tears. They’d loved Ernie, too. “We’ll never find another District Attorney like him. They don’t make ‘em like Ernie Cunningham anymore.”

  That was two years ago.

  She banged her fist on the kitchen counter. “Ernie asked me to fly to Seattle with him that weekend, but I was too busy. I should have been on that plane. I wish I’d been on that plane. I wish I’d died, too.” She hadn’t said that for probably four or five months. Would the experts tell her that she was coming out of her depression? It didn’t feel like it.

  Dixie Lee walked over to the sliding glass door and stepped onto the porch five stories above the lake. Seven months ago, when she could no longer stand to wallow in her own self-pity, she returned to Lynchburg, looked at property at Smith Mountain Lake, and bought this condo.

  For several minutes she watched the boats—not nearly as many since Labor Day—skim over the glistening water. She liked the designs their wakes left behind.

  Dixie Lee frowned when the phone rang, thought about not answering it. After the third ring, she sighed and stepped back inside. “Hello?” she said.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “Breakfast was delicious, Aurora. Thank you. You and Sam look great. I can’t tell you how good it is to see you again.”

  Aurora put the last plate in the drainboard. Jill dried and stacked it with the others.

  “It’s nice to see you, too, Jill. And I’m so happy for you and Robert.” She looked at her friend. “Honestly, I’m thrilled for you.” She started a fresh pot of coffee.

  “I’m so relieved. As soon as we announced our pregnancy to you and Sam, I realized the news was upsetting you. And I believe I understand how you feel. If I should lose this baby, Robert and I would be devastated.”

  “Sam and I will pray for you, Robert, and the baby. In my heart, I believe you’ll deliver a strong, healthy child.” And, God willing, one day I will, too, Aurora thought. The two friends hugged.

  In the den, a grinning Charlie hung up the phone. Hurrying to the kitchen, he grabbed his coat and hat off the coat rack, hugged Aurora and gave her a quick peck on her cheek.

  “Can’t stay for lunch, Aurora.” Charlie put on his coat, pulled his car keys from his pocket.

  “Why not? Where are you rushing off to?”

  “I’ve got a date. I took your advice and called the number you gave me for Dixie Lee Cunningham.”

  “And?”

  “You were right. She’s my Dixie Lee. We’re meeting for lunch.” Charlie put his hand on the doorknob, then hurried back to Aurora and kissed her cheek again. “I love you, girl.”

  She laughed when he hugged and kissed Jill, too.

  “I’ll call you later,” he said, as he dashed out the door.

  “Uncle Charlie, its only 10:30.”

  “I know, girl, but I don’t want to be late. Goodbye,” he called back to her.

  “What was that all about?” asked Jill, laughing.

  Aurora explained to Jill the events leading up to Uncle Charlie’s quick departure. “Did you see the gleam in his eyes and the spring in his step? I haven’t seen him this excited since I told him I was pregnant.” She didn’t mention Uncle Charlie’s despair when she miscarried.

  The friends refilled their coffee cups and took them to the sunroom. The trees were at their full, glorious color.

  “I think fall is my favorite season,” said Jill. “I love the shades of red, gold, orange and green. Soon only dry brown oak leaves will be left clinging defiantly to the branches
.”

  “You’re right. And fall is my favorite season, too,” said Aurora. “Look.”

  She pointed to the great blue heron standing on the floating dock.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Sunday night

  On the Leesville Lake side of Smith Mountain, two weary coon hounds—one a male blue tick, the other a female red bone—waited beside the rutted trail. They knew their owner would come back for them. He always did. During the night, he and his buddy had driven a four-wheel drive truck loaded with five hounds to the mountain for training. The two experienced hounds had picked up the scent of a raccoon and treed him; the three young ones had run a deer.

  The female whined, looked at the male. Both dogs stood, sniffed the morning air and howled. From the ridge came an answering bay. Soon two of the missing hounds trotted down the mountain, touched noses with the other two, and dropped exhausted on the cold ground. The blue tick barked, listened, nudged the female. The four hounds stood, cocked their ears to the sound of a truck grinding gears.

  The mud-splattered truck appeared around the curve and stopped near the hounds.

  “Told you they’d be here,” said the driver. “Blue and Maggie know their stuff. And they always manage to bring in the others.”

  “Ain’t but four hounds here, Jude,” said the friend. He glanced around the clearing. “Where’s number five?”

  “Wish I knew, Elton.” Jude pulled a whistle from his shirt pocket and blew. The sound echoed across the mountain. Men and dogs cocked their ears, listened for an answering bark. Jude blew three more times. No answer.

  “Wuz hopin’ that young bitch would git herself back up this mountain. I ain’t in no mood to go traipsin’ cross this rough ground. She’s always been an ornery cuss.” Jude looked at his friend. “You want her, Elton? She’s got real good bloodlines. I’ll sell her to you cheap. But you gotta go find her yourself.”