Jesse's Hideout (Bluegrass Spirits 1)

by Kallypso Masters

  “I’ll second that.” He finished his second cookie and said, “God, these things are becoming my crack.”

  Her face blanched, and he realized how insensitive his words had been given her mother’s addiction to drugs, although she’d said they were prescription pills. Before putting his foot in his mouth again, he finished the last bite of his remaining cookie, polished off his toddy, and stood. “Thanks for the cookies and the company.”

  She pushed her chair away from the table, stacked the dishes, and carried them to the sink as the buzzer went off. “You make a mean hot buttered rum. I’ll sleep like a baby tonight.” He watched her remove the bread from the oven.

  Don’t picture Tillie asleep in her pencil post bed.

  He’d let down his guard tonight in more ways than one. Tomorrow, he needed to focus on the search for what Gram had hinted about in her journals. He kept hoping for more time alone down in the cellar because his earlier inspection revealed several places he wanted to explore further without prying eyes. But an opportunity to sit and sip toddies with Tillie was hard to pass up.

  “I can’t tell you how nice it’s been having you here this week,” she said.

  The appreciation in her eyes made him feel like a heel when all he really wanted was a chance to snoop around.

  Please don’t make me feel any worse than I already do.

  * * *

  Crawling into her pencil post bed after Greg returned to his room, the only thing disturbing Tillie at the moment was the man sleeping at the other end of the house. How could a near-stranger make her feel so…much? So intensely? She’d never allowed anyone to come this close, especially within a few days of knowing each other. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust men. She’d had a couple of dates with Mark Peterson from the county’s historic preservation society—but all they had in common was their love of old houses and local Jesse James lore.

  While she preferred to let things develop slowly, Mark set her senses on edge with his grabby hands and pushiness. She couldn’t help but compare him to Greg. How could she be obsessing over a man she hardly knew?

  Utterly ridiculous.

  Flipping off the bedside light, she rolled onto her side. Enough already. Greg Buchanan would be gone from her life by next week. Why was she letting him get under her skin this way?

  Tillie closed her eyes. She drifted in and out of sleep throughout the night. When the six o’clock alarm went off, she groaned and slapped the snooze button. This was going to be one long day.

  It’s your own fault, mooning over a man that way. And a patron at your inn, no less.

  Such whimsical notions needed to be squelched into oblivion or she ran the risk of setting herself up for heartache.

  She was busy in the kitchen when Greg came in about an hour later, and his nearness set her heart to fluttering all over again. So much for trying to ignore him.

  He stood a few feet away, mug in hand, watching her set the griddle on the burner for later before removing the orange-cranberry bread from the oven to slice. She rarely had anyone in the kitchen with her, but he seemed to be in here whenever she turned around. Not that she could blame him. This was her favorite room in the house.

  “Good morning. The bread smells delicious.”

  “Thanks.” He’d come down alone. “Derek’s sleeping in?”

  He nodded. “I think all the excitement of this trip has worn him out.” Greg went to the coffee maker to help himself while she set the table.

  “Pancakes okay for breakfast again?” she asked. “I have lemon curd and raspberry topping or New England maple syrup, whichever you’d prefer.”

  “Lemon curd sounds interesting.”

  “Made it myself. Let me run down to the cellar and get a jar.”

  “Don’t go to any bother. Better yet, why don’t I go down for it? I’m sure it’s labeled.” He walked toward the dining-room door.

  She removed her apron and draped it over the bar stool at the island. “Why don’t I go with you? You can show me where you installed the surveillance cameras.” The pressing of his lips together told her he was less than thrilled she wanted to join him, which made no sense. Perhaps she was reading something into his expression that wasn’t there.

  In the foyer, she unlocked the cellar door and started to precede him down the stairs when he stayed her arm.

  “Let me go first, in case there’s been any more trouble.”

  Tillie hadn’t given any thought to the possibility the intruder might have returned. Of course, she hadn’t thought to check the laptop to see if any of the videos overnight had detected anything. The cameras would take some getting used to.

  “Thanks.” She flipped on the light and waved for him to go first. When they’d both reached the floor, he opened the door to the northern room and shined the LED light on his phone around the room. “Nothing else appears to be out of order. No more broken windows at least.”

  He closed the door soundly, and she crossed the space to the shelves and retrieved a half-pint jar of lemon curd.

  “I still can’t believe you make all this yourself.” Greg had come up behind her so close she could feel the heat emanating from his body. She sidestepped before facing him, but the way he scrutinized the jars, he’d only been interested in getting closer to the shelves, not to her.

  “Mind if I come down later and remove the jars to take a better look behind here since that’s where the intruder had focused his attention?”

  She didn’t want to keep dwelling on the fact someone had been down here. “Well…I suppose not.”

  “I’ll label where everything came from so that I can put them in the same spots later.” He must have misinterpreted the reason for her reluctance.

  “You don’t have to worry about putting them away. I’ll do that.”

  He cast his gaze downward a moment before facing her again. “I hate to ask, but would appreciate it if you could keep an eye on Derek while I’m down here.”

  Did he not want her down here with him?

  “After yesterday, I’d rather not bring him down here again.”

  Don’t be so distrustful. He had the boy to consider and was only trying to help her out.

  “Of course. I’ll be happy to watch him.” If Greg would put his son and their vacation on hold to investigate the break-in, she’d be rude not to accept the offer. She simply wasn’t used to handing over control or responsibility for the inn to anyone else. “Before you leave, you’ll have to explain the equipment to me and how to work it.”

  He smiled and melted her heart. “Absolutely.”

  Together, they walked upstairs, and he left her in the kitchen while he went upstairs to prepare Derek for the day. By the time they joined her, she’d placed everything on the sideboard and had the third batch of pancakes bubbling away on the griddle.

  “Pancakes! My favorite!” Derek cried as he took his place at the breakfast table, as if dining here for the first time. His hair was still wet but combed neatly. Such a sweet little man.

  “I remembered. Good thing you love them, too, or I’ll have way too much batter left over. I’m counting on you both to eat these up.”

  Once seated, Greg slathered butter on a piece of the bread while she delivered a plate with a Mickey Mouse pancake to his son.

  “Tillie, you’re going to spoil us rotten.”

  “That’s what I’m here for.” Somehow, spoiling these two gave her much more joy and satisfaction than she’d received from anyone else who’d ever stayed here. Okay, Greg could be a bit annoying and judgmental, but overall, he seemed to be a good person. Perhaps he had a lot of stress in his life. Clearly, he wasn’t used to having to think about a five-year-old twenty-four hours a day.

  Already she’d noticed he wasn’t quite as harsh with her as he had been in the beginning. Perhaps she could find some activities and interests that would help them bond more and make this trip a life-changer for the two. One they’d never forget.

  Despite having only known th
em a short while, Tillie knew the house wouldn’t be the same without them. Neither would she.

  Chapter Eight

  “Jesse, while I have your wandering attention, how in tarnation is this going to work if you go around scaring that little boy the way you did last night?”

  “I didn’t do anything on purpose. How can I help it if he saw me?”

  The two spirits had retreated to Elmer’s office after breakfast. This had always been one of her favorite places in the house, conjuring up fond memories of her husband and the many hours they’d spent here together as physician and nurse. She could almost smell the vanilla tobacco from his pipe.

  She couldn’t recall when she’d fallen in love with the man, although if she ventured a guess, it was the night he’d delivered Caroline’s baby in the birthing room.

  Amelia forced her mind back to the present. If she intended to reunite in Heaven with her beloved husband and her dear traveling companion Joseph Hill, she had work to finish on this plane first.

  “I’m not sure Tillie and Gregory are ever going to trust each other for more than a minute. How is this going to work without that foundation?”

  “Darlin’, don’t you worry about a thing. Didn’t you notice the way he stared at her when she was making that bread last night?”

  “No. I went up to watch over the boy again while Gregory was down in the kitchen. Didn’t want my great-grandson to wake up alone and get scared.”

  “Don’t you think seeing another apparition might scare him more than the dark?”

  “Stuff and nonsense. He’s seen me plenty of times and always gives me the sweetest smile. Kids don’t spook as easily as grown-ups do.”

  “You never spooked when I showed up.”

  “You’re different. I’d known you for years before you passed—although a lot of folk thought you’d passed fifty-seven years earlier. I considered it a comfort when you popped in for a visit ever’ now ’n’ then.”

  “You know why I’m still here.”

  Amelia nodded. “I didn’t flatter myself that you’d only come to see me. I understood that all along.”

  Each was lost in thought a moment before Jesse said, “I scared Tillie good that first night when she heard my footsteps.” He sighed. “Wish she could see me, too, though.” His disappointment must cut like a knife.

  She shared the same regret. “Not everyone is clairvoyant.” At least Tillie sensed her once in a while and remembered her daily. “However, I am happy she’s finally starting to see my grandson as someone other than another guest.”

  “Matilda Jane reminds me of my Zee.”

  “What’s your wife got to do with my Tillie?”

  “Nothin’. Zee was dead and buried long before Tillie was a twinkle in God’s eye.”

  “Don’t you think I know that?”

  “I’m just saying it took some work for me to get Zee Mimms to see me for who I was, even when I was alive. We stayed engaged for nine years. She weren’t one to jump into nothing.”

  “How’d you finally win her over?”

  “Charm and patience, I reckon.”

  Amelia huffed, but perhaps Zee saw a different side of him. “I’ll bet she’ll be none too happy to see you when you finally cross over.”

  Jesse shrugged. “I had to disappear. In the end, we were checking over our shoulders at ev’ry step. Thought my family would be better off without an outlaw putting them at risk. ’Sides, Bob Ford promised he’d make sure Zee and the kids were looked after. Bastard pocketed every penny I left for them, along with the reward money from the State of Missouri.” He sighed. “Fortunately, she forgave me. About that stunt, anyhow. She’s still a little miffed about Caroline.”

  “Well, what’s done is done. No sense crying over spilt milk. Zee was long dead when you met my dear friend.”

  “Tell that to Zee. Now I’d like to make up for abandoning my offspring.” He glanced down at Tillie.

  “Well, the only unfinished business I have has to do with those two young’uns. Jesse, do you think I’m going to need to go down there and knock some sense into them?”

  “You can’t override their free will, Amelia, even if you do know what’s best for ’em.”

  “I know. I know.” She let out another puff of air. “Don’t have to like it, but I’m fully aware of the limitations we must abide by.”

  Amelia watched as Tillie gathered up an arrangement of autumn flowers. Not again. “Oh dear. Tillie’s getting ready to go for her weekly trip to the cemetery.”

  “Why do you let it bother you so much?”

  “Because it’s the most depressing place on Earth. I’ll never understand why either of them feels the need to visit me there when usually I’m hanging around much closer to them.”

  “My mama was the same way, watching over what she thought was my grave—although I think she mostly wanted to keep souvenir hunters from diggin’ up my bones and sellin’ ’em or something.”

  Amelia shook her head at such a thought, but soon smiled. “Maybe I ought to have a little bit of fun if she insists on drawing me to that cold stone so often.”

  “Want me to join you?”

  “Nah. No sense dragging you along, too, and makin’ you hang out in that sorry place. I may just kill two birds with one stone.”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “Watch and learn, Jesse. Watch and learn.”

  * * *

  Every Thursday morning, after feeding any guests their breakfast and sending them on their way for good or for the day, Tillie paid a visit to Mrs. Foster’s gravesite to tend the flowers she planted each spring and summer. Most of the blooms were gone now, so today she brought a gold-and-burnt-orange silk flower arrangement for the Thanksgiving season. Tomorrow being Veterans Day, she also brought a flag to place there in honor of the woman’s service as an Army nurse.

  Tillie parked off the edge of the narrow lane and carried the bouquet toward Mrs. Foster’s grave. She rounded the headstone and was surprised to find a fresh, professional flower arrangement in the pot. No one had left flowers here since Mrs. Foster’s funeral. Tillie knelt on the grass to place her artificial flowers next to the beautiful bouquet.

  A card fluttered among the apricot-colored roses and baby’s breath, but she couldn’t be nosy and remove it from its place amidst the blossoms.

  A breeze kicked up, making the air feel much chillier than the fifty-two degrees she’d read on her thermometer before leaving the house. It swirled around her as if wrapping her in an embrace.

  Stop anthropomorphizing the wind.

  The air current increased in intensity, and the card sailed out of the arrangement and onto the ground. The words stared her in the face. How could she not read them?

  With love to Gram.

  Her grandson had been here? As far as Tillie knew, he’d rarely visited Mrs. Foster. She’d only seen him in Samuels once, soon after Tillie had first met Mrs. Foster.

  Tillie had watched him and his mother from afar, but hadn’t been brave enough to venture anywhere near the house again until after they’d left. Mrs. Foster’s daughter had an air about her that left Tillie flat-out cold. Worse, their presence had caused Tillie’s dear friend to be sad for weeks after they left, which didn’t sit well with Tillie, either. Honestly, as Tillie became more and more attached to Mrs. Foster, she was glad they never returned. Guilt washed over her at the thought. Mrs. Foster deeply regretted not seeing her grandson again.

  The boy, on the other hand, always intrigued her, even though they never spoke a single word to one another. However, there had been a brief eye-to-eye glimpse between Tillie and the grandson as he rode away. Those sad, gray eyes would haunt her forever.

  Tillie blinked back to the present. The boy’s eyes reminded her very much of Greg’s, but that wasn’t possible. Or was it?

  She reached for the card, fully intending to place it inside the arrangement where it belonged, but a burst of wind flipped it over and just out of reach. More handwritin
g.

  I’m so sorry.

  Gregory

  Greg? He was the grandson Tillie had seen all those years ago? Why hadn’t he told her who he really was?

  Heck, why hadn’t she realized he had Mrs. Foster’s eyes before? No wonder he seemed so familiar.

  Tillie picked up the card before it could get away and tucked it inside the arrangement. Why had he included a card at all? Had he needed tangible evidence of his sentiments?

  Suddenly, his occasional bursts of anger made sense. He clearly didn’t like for her to refer to Mrs. Foster as being the spirit haunting her inn. Perhaps he also resented Tillie living in his ancestral home.

  But he’d had no relationship with the woman in the last ten years of her life as far as Tillie could tell. Tillie had lived with Mrs. Foster during her last few years and didn’t recall any phone calls or letters.

  When did he plan to reveal his true identity to Tillie? If ever.

  And what was he apologizing to his grandmother for? Not visiting her as an adult? Clearly, he’d broken the woman’s heart by not coming back, but realistically, he was probably in college when she died. Had Mrs. Foster’s daughter painted a less-than-flattering portrait of her mother?

  She stood, realizing she hadn’t spoken a word to her friend. “Mrs. Foster, don’t you worry. I’ll see that your grandson and great-grandson are treated with the same hospitality you would show them.”

  First, she needed to head to the grocery and liquor stores. By sharing Mrs. Foster’s favorite foods, Tillie could help Greg become closer to his grandmother.

  Why are you ignoring the fact that he’s lied to you, by omission at least?

  What her guests chose to reveal or not about themselves was none of her business. Tillie didn’t make waves. She didn’t make anyone uncomfortable. Maybe her years of tiptoeing around her mother—trying not to be sent off to foster care or to cause her mother any other reason to pop pills—had made her tolerant of bad behavior.

  For now, she’d play along with the ruse that he was a total stranger here, mainly to see what he was hiding from her—and why.