Where would he go? Was he leaving town, or just finding somewhere else to sleep? Who would give him a job? Would somebody tell her where he ended up, or would she go on wondering, as she had for fifteen years?
With no energy to get up and turn on a light, Marian sat in her chair as the shadows crawled across the wall. She was hungry, but couldn’t face cooking. Her disability check didn’t come till next week, so she couldn’t even afford to get herself a bite to eat at the diner. Abby always took care of her….
As if somebody had flipped a switch, the answer came to her. She reached to the side for the phone and dialed a number that hadn’t changed in twenty years. “Abby, this is Marian Blake.”
NOAH FOUND A PAY PHONE at a gas station and dialed Rob Warren’s number.
“Hey, Noah. What’s up?”
“Sorry to bother you, but I think I’m going to have to back out on that job we talked about.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I hope that’s because you got a better offer.”
“N-no. I’m not going to be staying in town after all.”
“Noah, if it’s about this morning—”
“Only partly. My mother asked me to leave, though, and without an official residence…” He let his thought trail away. “I guess I’ll go back to Georgia.”
“But—” Rob hesitated. “I kinda hate to see you do that. This is your home.”
Noah didn’t have a polite answer for that comment.
“What if I hunted up another place for you to live?”
If he’d ever had any pride, today had broken it down. “I can’t afford—”
“Give me a few minutes. I’ve got an idea.” When Noah called back ten minutes later, Rob said, “Dixon’s got just what you need. He’s waiting for you to show up at his house.”
Dixon Bell still lived where he’d grown up, Magnolia Cottage—a plantation house his family had owned since before the Civil War. After Noah cut his engine, he sat for a few seconds admiring the stately home and the sheen of new paint on its white siding and green shutters. The grass was clipped close, the flower beds edged and covered with a deep layer of mulch. Somebody put in a lot of time and effort to keep this place looking so good.
As he swung off the bike, the front door opened and Dixon stepped out onto the porch. “Come in and warm up with some coffee. It’s got to be cold riding that bike around.”
Noah put his helmet on the seat just as Trace came around the corner of the house. The boy’s eyes shone with a hunger Noah remembered in himself. “Can I look at your bike?”
“Sure.” He put the keys in his pocket, just to be safe. If somebody had left him alone with a bike like this when he was sixteen, he would have roared away as soon as he had the chance.
Inside the house, Dixon ushered him into a room on the right of the hall, where an elderly lady sat on one of the small sofas facing each other across the fireplace.
“Yes, do come in.” She smoothed a hand over the light blue brocade beside her. “You can sit right here.”
“How are you, Miss Daisy?” Everybody in town knew Mrs. Crawford, Dixon’s grandmother—she was as close to an aristocrat as New Skye would ever get. Noah stepped forward, but hesitated to make contact between his jeans and the expensive fabric.
“I’m fine.” She beckoned him closer, then reached out to catch his wrist and pull him down onto the couch. “That’s better. It sounds like you’re having a rough day.”
“Well, things started out pretty good.” Was this elegant little woman aware she was entertaining a killer? Noah glanced at Dixon, on the opposite sofa.
“I told Miss Daisy what happened at the diner this morning,” he explained.
Noah looked at his hostess again. “You’ll probably get some comments from your friends about renting a room to an ex-con.”
Miss Daisy patted the smooth white hair on the back of her head. “My friends know better than to question my judgment at this point in my life. Ah, Kate,” she said, looking over his shoulder. “That smells heavenly. Give Noah a cup so he’ll relax.”
Kate smiled and set a big tray down on the table at Noah’s knee. Then she handed him a mug. “Here you are. Help yourself to cream and sugar.” Miss Daisy’s coffee was delivered in a fancy flowered cup, but Dixon and Kate both had mugs like his.
Noah took a sip and nearly groaned. He hadn’t eaten at all today, even though Abby had set a king’s breakfast on the table in front of him. The rich coffee eased the ache. “Terrific,” he said. “Thanks.”
The four of them drank in silence for a minute. The window behind Dixon and Kate looked out onto the driveway, and Noah grinned a little as he watched Trace crouch down to check out the Harley’s back wheel.
With a clink of china, Miss Daisy set her cup on the tray again. “I wondered when we’d see you smile.” She put her fingers lightly on his arm. “I understand you’ve been in prison, for a serious crime. And the details are your own business. But I know Dixon wouldn’t suggest having you stay if you were any kind of danger to us.”
He could feel his cheeks heating up. “I appreciate his confidence. And yours. I—” Damn, but he hated having to explain. “Just so you’ll know, I didn’t set out to kill anybody. I got into a fight with a guy, he hit his head and died. That’s what happened.”
Her pale blue gaze captured his own. “Very well. And just so you know, I expect you to behave yourself as long as you’re in this town, Noah Blake. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m not here to hurt anybody, Miss Daisy.” He pulled in a deep breath. “I promise.”
“HI, MRS. BLAKE.” Upon hearing the scratchy voice, Abby rubbed her eyes with the fingers of one hand. This was probably going to be another conversation she would have preferred to avoid today. “How are you feeling?”
“No better than usual. Listen, I need you to do something for me.”
“If I can.”
“Noah moved out this afternoon.”
The news left Abby speechless. “I—”
“I want you to find out where he’s staying. I want you to let me know what he’s doing, where he’s working. That kind of thing.”
Abby found the breath to speak. “Mrs. Blake—”
“He told me he just got out of prison for murder.”
“I believe it was manslaughter, not murder.”
“He killed a man, didn’t he? Just because he’s not living here doesn’t mean I don’t intend to keep an eye on him. I can’t count on him to come see me. But I can count on you to find him and let me know.”
“I don’t—”
“Call me when you know where he’s staying.” The line went dead.
Abby hung up the diner phone with a shaking hand just as the bell on the door jingled and the Torres family, all twelve of them, came in for dinner. Kate Bell’s daughter, Kelsey, had joined them—Sal Torres, the oldest of the kids, had been her steady boyfriend for several years. To Abby’s relief, the minutes after Mrs. Blake’s call were occupied with pulling tables together to make room for so many people, taking drink orders, handing out menus and providing silverware.
After delivering the drinks, she started on orders for food. The youngest kids wanted hamburgers and fries, and the Torres parents asked for meat loaf and mashed potatoes. Abby worked her way around the table until she reached Sal and Kelsey.
“How’s it going, Kelsey?”
“Good.” The pretty blonde nodded her head. “How about you, Miss Abby?”
“Can’t complain.” Only because it wouldn’t do any good. “Have you got all those college applications sent off?”
“I mailed the last one yesterday. Now all I have to do is wait.”
“What’s your first pick?”
“I’m hoping to hear really soon about early acceptance at Vanderbilt, in Nashville. It’s a great school.”
“So far away!” Abby looked at Sal. “You’re going to let her escape?”
He gave her one of his beautiful smiles. “They need
good car mechanics in Nashville, just like everywhere else. I figure I can get a recommendation from my boss and relocate.”
“Um…does Kate know about this, Kelsey?”
Now the girl blushed. “Well, kinda.”
“‘Kinda.’ Okay.” Abby patted Kelsey’s shoulder. “You might want to talk things over with her and Dixon. Soon. Parents aren’t crazy about surprises like that.”
While she put salads together, Abby’s mind went back to the surprise of her day. Surely somebody in town, besides the police department, had to have known that Noah was coming home. Weren’t paroled inmates—she winced at the “i” word—required to have a job and an address to go to when they left prison? Somebody in New Skye must’ve promised Noah a job.
How would she discover who? Would she have to worm the information out of Wade during a date? Carrying the tray of salads back to the Torres table, Abby shuddered at the thought.
“Here you go.” She put a bowl in front of little Marguerite, who wrinkled her nose.
“Are there onions in it?”
“Would I put onions in your salad?” Abby smoothed her palm over the girl’s sleek black hair. “Of course not.”
Kelsey came next. “He drives this great bike,” she said to Sal, as Abby set their salads down. “Trace is still out there staring at it, I bet.”
Sal nodded as he speared a tomato. “I saw it when I picked you up. Hot machine.”
“Dixon said he’d be staying in the garage studio for a while, so maybe he’ll give us a ride sometime.” Kelsey slanted a glance at Sal. “He’s really cool, you know?”
The young man’s dark gaze sparked with anger. “No, I don’t know.” He turned a shoulder to Kelsey and said something to his brother across the table.
Kelsey’s jaw dropped at being so abruptly dismissed. “Sal?”
Abby put a hand on the girl’s shoulder to get her attention. “Who’s really cool?”
“The guy Dixon has staying at our house.” With obvious reluctance, Kelsey turned away from her boyfriend. “Noah Blake. Dixon said he went to high school here.”
“He did.” She blew out a deep breath. “So Trace likes the bike?”
“He’s been bugging our dad for a motorcycle for a year now. But Kate’s really not happy with the idea, and Dixon backs her up.” Kelsey sighed. “Me, I’d just settle for a little VW Bug, instead of having to drive Kate’s stupid Volvo. Or Dixon’s beatup truck.”
“You do have it hard,” Abby said, hiding her smile.
Kelsey stuck her tongue out in pretended disrespect. Sal continued his jealous pout.
The Torres family usually came in for late lunch or early dinner, so their crowd didn’t take too much room away from other customers. At the moment, all the other tables were empty, so once the Torres table had received their food and drink, Abby felt free to take a break.
She went into the office behind the kitchen, sat down at the desk and picked up the phone. With a sigh of relief, she heard Kate Bell’s “Hello.”
“Kate, it’s Abby.”
“Hi, there. Hold on just a minute.”
Kate asked Dixon to hang up the phone when she picked up in another room. Abby waited without saying anything—she didn’t want Dixon to know about her call. Half a minute later, Kate came back on the line. “I’ve got it, Dixon. Thanks.” After the click, Kate said, “Sorry to keep you waiting. How are you?”
“Not too bad. Um…can I ask you a question?”
“Yes, and the answer is yes.”
“Noah’s there?”
“Sitting on a love seat in the parlor as we speak.”
What else did she need to know? “I…thanks.”
“Dixon told me about this morning. Are you okay?”
“Sure. Why not?”
“Abby,” Kate said, in a reproving voice.
“Do I have another choice? I hadn’t seen the man for fifteen years until Wednesday. He doesn’t owe me anything.”
“There’s more to the story than you’ve heard so far.”
“There always is. I’m just not sure that I want to know.” Or, to be more truthful, that Noah cared what she knew or thought. “We’ve got a reunion dance meeting tomorrow afternoon, right?”
“That’s right. I’ll see you there.”
“Sure.”
After hanging up, Abby folded her arms on the desk and rested her forehead on her crossed hands.
Now what? Call Mrs. Blake and report on Noah’s whereabouts, then forget about him? Let his life take its course without further interference from Abby Brannon?
She argued with herself through the dinner rush, which wasn’t much of a rush since a cold rain had started about five o’clock. While cleaning, setting up for tomorrow morning, locking the doors and driving home, Abby debated her options.
Charlie was waiting in the living room when she went into the house. “Took you long enough.”
“I made some breakfast casserole for tomorrow.”
“Did you get some dinner?”
Abby had to think back. “Um…no. But I’m not hungry.”
“You didn’t have lunch, either. Or much breakfast. I’ll make you some toast, at least.”
She wanted to protest but was too tired. Dropping into her usual chair by the window, she waited for her dad to bring her a plate of cinnamon toast and a big glass of orange juice.
“Six pieces?” She savored the taste of buttery cinnamon sugar. “I’m going to get fat.”
“Not if you don’t eat anything else all day. Everything go okay with closing tonight?”
“Sure.”
“No last-minute orders?”
Abby looked at him closely. “What do you really want to know?”
He shrugged, fingering the remote for the television. “Just wondered if anybody came in right before closing.”
“Noah Blake, for instance?”
“I don’t want him hanging around.”
“He won’t be. He doesn’t… He’s not… I don’t expect to see him any more than I see anybody else in town.”
“But with him working for Rob Warren, he’s likely to show up fairly often.”
She gazed at him with her jaw hanging loose. “He’s working for Rob?” Something Valerie hadn’t mentioned. Maybe Rob hadn’t told her yet?
“Yeah, in that new security-system business he’s setting up. Though how anybody’s supposed to feel secure with an ex-con involved is more than I can see.”
“How did you find out?”
He had the grace to look embarrassed. “I…called Wade Hayes when I got home tonight. He didn’t mind telling me.”
She still had four pieces of toast left and absolutely no appetite. “Well…it’s good Noah has…a job. I expect Rob can reassure his clients about their security.”
“How, for heaven’s sake? The boy left town after setting fire to the school office. Doesn’t that tell you something?”
“It tells me he knew he’d be blamed, whether he’d done it or not.”
“You think somebody went to the trouble of making it look like Noah Blake set the fire? That they parked a motorcycle like his out in the school parking lot for me to see just about an hour before the alarm sounded?”
“I think Noah’s too smart to leave his bike where it would be identified if he wanted to pull a stunt like that.”
“He was still a kid. Kids aren’t too smart.”
Abby gazed at her dad for a minute without saying anything. “That’s right. He was a kid. A kid whose dad beat up on him pretty regularly until he deserted the family completely. A kid trying to hold his life together without much help. Nobody ever gave Noah the benefit of the doubt. Nobody tried to reach him with kindness, or the gentleness he didn’t get at home. He made a lot of mistakes. But did anybody offer help?”
Her dad swiped a hand over his face. “I did.”
“What?”
“I tried to give him a job.”
“I didn’t know that. You never told me.”
She made a sound, and her dad nodded. “He did that pretty often. So I told him I’d hire him to bus tables and do dishes. If he wanted to learn to cook, I could promote him someday, with a pay raise.”
“But he never worked for you.”
“No. I went to the kitchen, let him think for a few minutes. When I came back, he was gone…along with a hundred bucks.”
“He left the register open?”
Charlie shook his head. “I was short when I closed that night. I talked to the sheriff, but I didn’t have any proof that Noah Blake had taken the money.”
Abby blinked back tears.
“The next week the fire at the school happened and the kid disappeared. Your mom was sick and I had more to worry about than missing cash.” He got to his feet. “Now we know he’s a killer, as well as a thief. And you think he’s a good choice to work in a security business?” Shaking his head, her dad headed down the hallway to his bedroom. From his doorway, he called, “’Night.”
“Good night, Dad,” she responded automatically. Minutes went by—ten, twenty?—while she tried to make sense of the puzzle that was Noah Blake. Had she been wrong all these years? Was the sweet, struggling soul she’d seen in him just a mirage?
She realized she’d never taken off her coat, which made going out again easy. Grabbing her purse and keys, she went to the near end of the hallway. “I forgot something at the diner, Dad. Be back in a little while.” He argued with her, but she finally managed to get out of the house.
The rain had stopped on her way home. As she walked to the car, her breath formed white clouds in the cold night air. The car’s old heater took a long time to warm up, so she traveled in pretty much the outdoor temperature—thirty degrees by the bank clock—as she crossed town. She made a hard left at Dixon’s lane, then a right onto the circular drive. But instead of following the circle to the front walk, she drove toward the back of the house, where the old stable had been converted to a ground-level garage with an apartment upstairs.
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