“No worries, but keep in mind that vandalism, if that’s all that happened here, can escalate. Someone might be testing you to see how far they can go or whether you have a working security system. Could be local kids up to no good, but until you know, it’s a good idea to do what you can to protect yourself and your property.”
“This is Samuels, Kentucky, not the big city.”
Tillie’s hand shook, and she placed her hands behind her to hide the fact that he truly was frightening her. She’d always prided herself in living within her budget. The money she’d earn from his ten-day stay would cover expenses until her guests flocked to the inn again during the upcoming holidays.
Who was she kidding? The Christmas season’s guests’ money had to pay her utilities until next September’s Bourbon Festival visitors poured in, so to speak. The rest of the year was intermittent. She shook her head. “I really don’t think—”
“Look, why don’t I run into town and pick up a few motion detectors and nanny cams? They won’t be a big hit on the budget and will do in a pinch.”
Tillie cocked her head. The man was tenacious. “Isn’t it a little late for that? Besides, my guests won’t like being spied upon, and neither would I.”
“I’d only install them in the cellar near the windows and around the perimeter of the house. They work on wi-fi, so no one will even be aware of them.”
“I suppose.” She ought to be grateful for the offer. She already needed to go to town for the replacement pane. The cameras might restore her peace of mind. She had her guests to think of, too.
Tillie loved everything about running her inn on her own, but purchasing and installing security equipment wasn’t on the list of duties she had any expertise with. At least Greg was offering to help.
To be honest, the thought of having him here for the next week and a half already made her feel safer.
“I guess that would be a good idea. If you work for meals, I can throw in your suppers for free.”
“I didn’t ask to be paid, did I?”
“No, but I still don’t want you spending your vacation working as a handy man for me. If someone comes back, I want them caught before anyone else checks in. I’d rather not have you deal with this during your stay.”
“I’m not used to vacations. Besides, having the chance to do anything on this beautiful old house would be an honor.” He met her gaze with those steely blues, and her stomach somersaulted. When he smiled, the corners of his eyes scrunched in a disarming way.
Don’t become too attached, Tillie. You can’t keep him.
Now she was letting her imagination run away with her. Get a grip, Tillie. “I think we ought to get back upstairs to Derek.” Her voice sounded a little breathless.
Before she could make her retreat and open some space between them, he pointed at the heavy-laden shelves. “You canned all these?”
Her chest swelled a bit, no lie, and she smiled. “Every single one. Some of the fruits were canned earlier in the summer. By early August, the veggies from my garden are coming in faster than I can use them, so I can straight through mid-October.”
He read some of the labels aloud. “Pie cherries. Peaches. Tomatoes. Green beans. Jalapeno jelly?” He turned toward her and quirked his eyebrow.
She chuckled. “It’s an acquired taste, but Mrs. Foster, the woman who raised me in this house, loved that stuff, so I still make a dozen jars each year. It’s popular with guests around Cinco de Mayo and available upon request when I have an adventurous guest wanting to try some.”
He stood a little taller, tipping his chin up a bit. “I’d like to try it.”
“Really?” She smiled. “You like food that spicy?”
“Sure.” She wasn’t convinced given his lack of enthusiasm.
“Hand me a jar, please.” He did so. “I mix the hot pepper jelly with cream cheese, which takes out some of the bite. I’ll need to pick up some along with some savory crackers, and we can enjoy them before you leave.”
“You put a lot of effort into the little things for your guests. I can see why this is such a popular place. Why do you feel the need to promote the hocus-pocus stuff?”
His question blindsided her. Hocus-pocus? “I beg your pardon?”
“All the talk about Jesse James and some old lady haunting the place to attract the ghost-hunting crowd. Is that really necessary?”
She squared her shoulders, fighting hard to control her breathing—and her temper. “I haven’t made up anything. Mrs. Foster, the woman who owned this house before me and left it in my care, visits me here. In fact, she left something for me this very afternoon.”
“What?”
“A recipe card.”
“You could have taken that from her collection. I don’t buy it.”
He didn’t have to buy anything. “I don’t inflict her spirit on anyone. She doesn’t come here for anyone but me. And I’ve never purported that Jesse James still shows up in any way, shape, or form. But there’s no denying he’s been inside the house in the flesh. That he hid out here from authorities. It’s documented. I love the history that’s unfolded in this house and community. I simply give credit where it’s due.”
“I don’t object to your telling the story of the house’s colorful past. Let’s just say I’m skeptical about the ghost tales.”
“What difference could it make to you? If you don’t believe in her, I’m sure she’ll steer clear of you.” As if she’d appeared to him outright. She’d never even done so with Tillie.
“I’m merely curious.”
More like dubious.
If he didn’t believe in spirits, why on earth had he chosen to stay at her inn?
Chapter Three
Why in the hell had he chosen this moment to challenge her on Gram’s behalf? He regretted his accusation almost immediately, but she hadn’t wavered. Without any proof, it was merely a believer in ghosts versus a non-believer. Still, he shouldn’t have blown his cool by blurting it out that way.
Greg raked his fingers through his hair. He needed to fix this and get back on a good footing with her. “Do you have a tape measure? I’d like to get that window replaced tonight, rather than wait.” If someone had broken in, a new window wasn’t going to stop them from trying again, but he’d make sure he did what he could to put things to rights. He might not have been here to take care of things like this for Gram, but in some strange way, Tillie was an extension of her and the closest connection he had to his grandmother.
Without a word, she pivoted and walked into the canning room, returning momentarily to hand him a cloth one. “My tool box is in the garden shed. This is all I have handy.”
“It’ll work.”
“I’ll go check on Derek.” Without another clipped word, she started up the stairs, pausing a moment halfway up but not meeting his gaze. “Thank you. I’ll give you the address of the hardware store I use with a note telling them to put the items you need on my tab.” Finally, she faced him. “If you wouldn’t mind picking up some window putty while you’re there, I’d appreciate it. I can keep Derek, if that would be easier.”
“Thanks, but I can take him with me. I’ll pick up anything you need, though.”
“If he decides to stay, I’ll be in the kitchen preparing supper. Just bring some of his toys in, or I can let him play with some pots and pans if he’d like.”
Gram used to let him pretend to cook while she made meals. The image of his son doing the same warmed some dark corner of his soul. Not that he’d taken any of the skills Gram taught him into adulthood. He rarely cooked anything, preferring to dine out instead.
Derek did choose to stay, so he took the measurements and the store’s address and drove five miles to Bardstown, the county seat. He barely recognized the place from when he’d been a kid and taken this road with his mother that last time. Many of the farms had become subdivisions, and a hospital had been built.
At the store, while they were cutting the glass cut to size, he shopped fo
r the rest of the supplies. Armed with everything he’d need, he made it back to the house in a little more than an hour. Before heading downstairs, he peeked into the kitchen where he found Derek pounding the bejeezus out of whatever was in the pot.
“Something sure smells good.”
Tillie, her arm protectively around Derek’s waist, looked toward Greg. Watching the smile fade from her eyes tore at his gut a little.
“Look, Daddy! I’m smashing potatoes!” He lifted the old-fashioned masher out of the pot and bits of potatoes flew through the air. Tillie giggled as she reached for a dishtowel to clean it up.
“You sure are, son. Great job!”
“Hope you like rosemary-lemon chicken.” Her smile returned when she looked toward his son. “Derek’s going to help with his chicken strips next. Supper should be ready in about half an hour.”
How she could stay so close to her original estimated time while having Derek as her sous chef amazed him. “Perfect timing. I’ll head downstairs and repair the window while there’s still some daylight left.”
The domestic scene left him disconcerted yet not wanting to leave the kitchen. Is this what Nancy had found lacking in him? She’d often tried to get him to join her in preparing meals or in taking care of Derek while she cooked, but he’d kept late hours and most nights didn’t even make it home in time to join them for dinner.
The failure of their marriage was largely due to him, no doubt. Nancy had moved on, finding someone she said “completed her,” whatever that meant. With her remarriage a few months ago, he’d given up on any hope of a second chance. He might have been relegated to ex-husband, but refused to be ousted as Derek’s father.
Greg made quick work of replacing and sealing the window, the oppressiveness of this room getting to him the way it apparently did Tillie, too. Torn between snooping around down here a little and joining Tillie and Derek upstairs, his conscience won out.
His step was light as he ran up the stairs to rejoin them, careful not to hit his head on the low overhang. Entering the dining room as Tillie placed a casserole dish on the table next to a green salad and the bowl of mashed potatoes, he announced, “All fixed.”
She met his gaze and smiled what appeared to be a genuine one. Maybe she’d forgotten about their earlier exchange—or had she forgiven him? Determined to keep things pleasant, he grinned back. “Looks like you’ve prepared a feast.”
“Hope you like everything. Let me fill Derek’s plate first. Have a seat. Is sweet tea okay?”
Not his favorite, but he didn’t want to make her go to any extra work. “Sounds great. We’ll go wash up first.”
“Bathroom is right through there and to the left,” she said, pointing toward the kitchen door. Gram had indoor facilities put in long before he’d made his first visit here.
When they re-entered the dining room, Derek took his seat. “Let me plate your supper. I didn’t earlier so it wouldn’t get cold.”
“No need to wait on us. You’ve done enough. Let’s dine family style.”
She eyed the chair then him. “I don’t usually—”
“Have a seat, Tillie. Join us.” When she remained hesitant, he added, “Please.”
She didn’t seem particularly thrilled, probably because of the way he’d spoken to her in the cellar. He needed information from her, and talking over the dinner table would be the perfect place.
“Please,” he repeated.
A smile lifted the corners of her mouth ever so slowly. “If you insist.” She went to the sideboard behind her and retrieved another plate and some silverware.
After they’d both filled their plates, Tillie said grace—the same words Gram had used at every meal they had eaten together—and the three of them began enjoying their food. The woman had an amazing talent in the kitchen, even if she credited the source of her recipes as coming from beyond the grave.
“Everything’s delicious. Thank you for going to all this trouble.”
“You’re welcome. No trouble at all.”
He hated being the reason for her clipped tone. Gram always said you could catch more flies with honey than with vinegar. Whatever had possessed him to spoil their first meal in this house by starting so soon to chip away at the woman’s preposterous claims? While Greg only had a short time here and their interactions would be limited primarily to meals, he’d attempt to be civil.
“Have you always lived locally?” he asked, hoping small talk would save the evening.
“Yes, in fact, never more than half a mile from this house.” She took a few bites, but he let the silence drag out until nervousness made her fill the void. “I did attend college in Lexington, but chose to commute from here rather than live on campus. Mrs. Foster encouraged me to go to culinary school. Most of what I’ve learned came from her tutelage in her kitchen in the years before her death. She was an amazing cook—and an even better baker.”
“Tell me more about her.” He’d take any bits and pieces he could learn about Gram, even from this charming charlatan.
A sweet smile radiated across her face at whatever memory passed through her mind, and he experienced a flash of jealousy. “Mrs. Foster had a way of stimulating my mind that made it seem like an adventure whenever I stopped by. While she wasn’t very mobile in her later years and had lost her eyesight, when I was younger, she was quite the instigator for all kinds of fun. We might be in search of pirates one day or Jesse James’s elusive treasure the next.”
Was she aware of the story Gram had told in her journals? He’d play it close to the vest for now. “There’s treasure?”
She laughed, glancing toward Derek before returning her gaze to him. “As I told you earlier, if there is, I haven’t found it. Mrs. Foster hinted at secret passageways even, not that I’ve found any of those here.”
He remembered the odd stones in the cellar. Might they be entrances to some kind of passageways? But how would anyone move those massive stones out of the way without some serious equipment or some type of mechanism in place?
“Can I search for buried treasure, too? Like on Jake and the Neverland Pirates cartoon?” Derek asked.
Tillie sought silent permission from Greg. After he gave a nod of approval, she addressed Derek directly. This might be the break he needed to snoop without raising her suspicions. “Of course you may. Say when, and I’ll try to be ready.” Darn. He’d much rather do so without being watched.
“Can we start tonight?” Derek asked.
“Well, that all depends on how fond you are of dark cellars.”
His eyes opened wider. “Wh-what’s a cellar?”
Greg answered, “That’s another word for basement. Usually, it has a dirt floor.”
“Yes, although I had my cellar floor covered in concrete,” Tillie continued. He hoped Tillie’s covering the dirt floor hadn’t obliterated any evidence. “But one room down there is dark and dank and rather scary even in daylight.” She winked at Greg, but spoke to Derek. “I think we’d best wait until tomorrow afternoon—or whenever your dad says is good for you. I’m sure he has plans for your day tomorrow.”
Greg didn’t want to seem too anxious, but still hoped to prove Gram’s claim that Jesse James had been here—not merely in the 1860s as historians pretty much have documented, but as late as the 1930s, half a century after he was supposed to have been killed in Missouri.
He’d found stories online about a man named James Frank Dalton purporting to be Jesse James. That man had lived to be more than 100 years old, dying in 1951 in Texas, although DNA tests didn’t appear to substantiate the claim. But Gram insinuated in her journals that history had it all wrong. If Greg could find any evidence that Jesse was here in the ’30s, it would be an earthshattering discovery.
He smiled at Tillie. “I can’t think of anything that would be as exciting as hunting for lost treasure. But there are a couple places we need to go first tomorrow.”
“You’ll help us find the treasure, won’t you, Daddy?” When invited so sweet
ly, how could he refuse? Was Derek a little nervous about venturing into the cellar without him? A sense of paternal pride surged through him making him anticipate sharing the hunt with his son more than going it alone.
At least he hadn’t foisted himself on the two of them.
“I suppose I could, if Tillie doesn’t mind.”
“Daddy can go with us, right?” Derek and Greg turned toward her in unison.
Her smile wavered momentarily. “Of course.” She didn’t appear to be as thrilled as Derek was about the prospect. But Greg jumped at the chance to check out parts of the house he hadn’t seen in decades before he resorted to outright snooping.
During his last visit with Gram, they’d been in the kitchen and parlor mostly. Even though it had been mid-November, Gram asked him to decorate her Christmas tree. She said it was too difficult for her to do it by herself anymore, and she wanted it up before they left so she could enjoy it. His mother had read a magazine while he and Gram worked on it, as he recalled. Christmas wasn’t a big deal for his mother. Unlike Gram.
When Tillie stood to clear the table, he realized he’d spaced out. He started to do the same until she said, “Leave them. You’re my guests. Why don’t you go into the parlor? I have some games and books you can relax with and can bring in dessert after our meal settles a bit.”
“I don’t mind.” He stacked Derek’s plate on his and picked up his tea glass. Dinner had come to an end all too soon, leaving him surprisingly puzzled as to why he wanted to prolong the moment. But he did. Perhaps because he hadn’t shared a meal with anyone as interesting to talk with in a long while. Definitely not since Nancy left him two years ago.
After clearing the table, she drew him aside. “Before you get your hopes up, metal detectors scoured the cellar before I had the cement floor laid and only found flatware, bits of cracked pottery, and a Civil War ammunition ball.”
That answered one question. “I’m sure Derek will love the search, whether he finds anything or not.”
Jesse's Hideout (Bluegrass Spirits 1) Page 5
