by Melissa Tagg
Wait until the last second . . .
He was nearly on top of the Buick.
Now.
He pounded the brake and jerked on his steering wheel and though his insides quaked, the truck did exactly as he’d hoped—curving off to the side as its back end swung around. “Please, God . . . Mara.”
The prayer burst from his lips as his truck bed crashed into the back of the Buick, clanging, scraping metal and shattering glass . . .
He shot from his seat and out into the air, first angling toward the Buick’s passenger side, but reversing course when he saw the driver’s door open and a figure pitch forward.
Garrett.
“Stop!” He roared the word, long legs catching up to the kid in three easy strides.
But just as he reached him, Garret whirled around, wielding a blade and a holler of his own. “Get back.”
Marshall slowed his steps. Garrett’s blond hair was mussed and a trickle of blood ran down one side of his face. It was all Marshall could do not to turn back to the car, check to see if Mara had been injured too.
“Kid, I have chased down criminals holding far worse in their hands than a measly knife. You might as well—”
“I’m not a kid.” Garrett charged at him with another howl.
Marshall braced himself for the impact, planting his feet but leaning enough to avoid the plunging of Garrett’s knife. The blade merely nicked his torso as he latched onto Garrett, shoving him to the side.
With a grunt, the kid hit the back end of a jeep but he managed to stay on his feet. Before he could charge again, Marshall grabbed him from behind and stretched for the hand that grasped the knife.
“Marshall!”
Relief flooded him at the sound of Mara’s voice but he didn’t turn. Garrett had surprising strength, butting against him, jutting an elbow into Marshall’s ribs, refusing to loosen his hold on the knife. Marshall whipped him around and slammed Garrett’s arm against the jeep once, twice.
Finally, the knife clattered to the ground.
Still, Garrett fought back, throwing a wild punch that barely brushed Marshall’s cheekbone before Marshall wrestled him down. He pinned both of Garrett’s arms to the cement floor as footsteps hurried toward him.
“Marsh, are you okay? You’re bleeding.”
“I’m fine,” he panted. “Stay back, all right?”
More footsteps—security guards, thank goodness. By the time they reached him, he’d hauled Garrett to his feet.
The moment he handed off Garrett to a guard, he spun toward Mara. She stood motionless, face as ashen as the cement walls of the garage. If not for the way she cradled one arm, he’d have pulled her into his hold without another thought—and wouldn’t have let go for anything.
The moving lights of a security vehicle flashed on the wall behind her and voices faded around him. He stopped in front of her. “I’m so sorry, Mara. I’m so—”
“Sorry? Marshall, you just . . . you’re bleeding and . . . what in the world do you have to be sorry for?”
He cupped her cheeks in his hands. “Are you okay?”
“Mostly. Something’s up with my shoulder. Might be dislocated.”
“I’m sorry about the crash. I couldn’t think of any other way to stop him. If he’d gotten out onto the open road, it would’ve turned into a car chase and—”
“I know. And it’s not the crash that hurt my shoulder. Garrett did that. Or maybe that Morse guy. I don’t know.”
Because Marshall had left her alone. Because despite his gut instinct, he’d let down his guard. Let emotion distract him. He dropped his hands. And who was Morse? The crumpled man, obviously, but what did he have to do with this? “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
“Marshall, would you stop apologizing?” She leaned into him, still supporting her arm and avoiding where Garrett’s blade had ripped his shirt and cut into his side. “You just saved the day.”
Garrett’s raised voice sounded in the distance. Marshall and Mara would need to answer questions, probably go down to a police station and make statements. But he couldn’t move from this spot. Couldn’t let go of the guilt slamming through him, just as heady as the relief from only moments ago.
“I should’ve known. After the lurker last weekend . . . then on the way here, there were these headlights and . . . ”
Mara shook her head against his chest. “I knew you’d come. I distracted him as long as I could. Because I knew you’d come.”
And then, as if the shock had finally slid away, she succumbed to tears. As carefully as he could, he wrapped her in a tender embrace as her tears wetted his shirt. “It’s okay, Mara. It’s over now.”
His head was leaden and his lungs still scraped and he was pretty sure Mara wasn’t the only one shaking right now. She needed to see a doctor about her shoulder and his side could use a bandage. He needed to send officers to pick up the man she’d called Morse.
But for now he needed to hold her.
And to believe his own murmurs, even if only for a few feeble, fleeting seconds. “It’s all okay.”
21
“I have some very good news for you, Lenora.”
The doctor whisked into Lenora’s hospital room, steps as brisk as his voice was breezy. He’d become Mara’s favorite of all the medical personnel she was now on a first-name basis with, after two weeks of days spent visiting at Lenora’s bedside, accompanying her to physical therapy, slow walks up and down the corridor.
Mara sat on the ledge under the room’s lone window, sunlight heating her back, hope warming her soul. “She gets to go home?”
Dr. Nichols held both ends of the stethoscope curved around his neck. “You’re stealing my thunder, young lady.”
“Sorry, doc.” But oh, this is what they’d been waiting for. At first, they’d been told Lenora might be in the hospital for a month or more, but her progress in the past stretch of days had astounded everyone.
Lenora was sitting up in bed, her silver hair woven into a braid. Gone was the leash tethering her to an IV pole, the fog in her hazel eyes. There were still lingering effects of her stroke—the way one corner of her mouth tilted downward, the slowness of her speech, the need for a walker for the time being. But looking at her now, it was hard to believe she’d spent two whole months unconscious.
“But yes, Mara’s got it right,” Dr. Nichols said. “We’ll need to talk about in-home care and get your physical therapy and rehabilitation plan into place. But by this evening, you’ll be on your way home.”
Home.
The word felt like spring. Like the peace of a gentle rainfall and the bright joy of a sun-kissed, green landscape all at once. Home to the Everwood.
Where Marshall waited.
He’d stayed in Illinois long enough to see Mara through all the chaos in that first week. They’d both made statements to the police. Garrett had been taken into custody. Between law enforcement, pending charges, and parents who could no longer deny his issues, Garrett wouldn’t be crossing any more state lines.
As for Jim Morse, he was sitting in a jail cell on charges of attempted kidnapping as well as a slew of other criminal activities. And as expected, he had connections stemming back to Spinelli. From what they’d pieced together so far, he’d been keeping tabs on Davis for years. He’d eventually connected the dots and hoped they’d lead to the painting.
Just in case Morse wasn’t alone, an officer was stationed outside Lenora’s room at all hours. Another accompanied Mara back and forth between the hospital and the hotel.
So Marshall had returned to Iowa earlier this week, by way of a rental car since his truck had been totaled in the parking garage crash. Their first post-open house guests were due next weekend. Though Mara had considered canceling the reservations, Marshall had assured her he could get the place ready, even welcome guests and make breakfast if Mara wasn’t back in time.
“I’ll be the perfect host. Promise.”
“You’re the perfect superhero, that
’s what you are, Marshall Hawkins.”
Though she’d said it with a playful grin, there’d been more sincerity in her words than she knew what to do with. He just kept doing it—showing up, providing exactly what she needed right when she needed it most.
He was the very definition of a hero. A rescuer.
She just wished he’d called more often in the past few days. Responded to her texts a little quicker. But surely he was just busy.
“. . . so we’ll schedule regular check-ups and monitor those things closely,” Dr. Nichols was saying now. “Nurse Mendell will get appointments set up before you’re discharged.”
Mara hopped down from her perch at the window. How much had she just missed out on? “We’ll be able to do those appointments and physical therapy at a hospital in Iowa, though, right? Ames is only about thirty minutes from Maple Valley and Des Moines is only an hour. I’ve already made some calls.”
Dr. Nichols glanced at Lenora. “Well, yes. Certainly we can connect with your doctor in Iowa. But I wasn’t aware that was the plan. I thought . . .”
Was he waiting for Lenora to jump in?
Lenora reached for the glass of water on her bedside table. She took a sip before her gaze sought out Mara. “We’ll talk when Dr. Nichols is finished, dear.”
“Actually, that’s all I have right now.” The doctor leaned down to pat Lenora’s hand. “Don’t tell anyone, but you’re currently my favorite patient. I don’t use the word ‘miracle’ often, but I don’t think there’s any other term that fits your case.”
When he’d left the room, Mara lowered into the chair beside Lenora’s bed. She leaned over, grasping one of Lenora’s hands. “We’re going home.”
“Mara—”
“I can’t wait for you to see it, Lenora. The Everwood almost looks like a new house from the outside. I hope you’re okay with the blue door and matching shutters. If you’re not, blame Marshall, because it was his idea. The color is almost closer to purple than blue. Which I’ve tried telling Marsh, but he still insists it’s blue. And you should see the lobby. Marshall made us start there and he was so right. Now it’s light and airy and—”
“Mara, please.”
The firmness in Lenora’s tone finally cut through Mara’s exuberance. “Sorry, I’m just really excited.” To pack her bags and hit the road. To get back to Iowa.
To see Marshall.
A couple of phone calls, a few texts—they were no substitution for the man himself. She missed seeing him every day, working alongside him. She missed sharing breakfasts and going over renovation plans and all his teasing over her love of cereal and her tendency to go barefoot even on the coldest of days.
She missed finding those crazy porcelain dolls in so many crazy places.
She missed him.
Which was why she checked her phone a dozen times an hour for texts. Why she’d struggled to sleep last night when he’d never returned her evening call. Goodness, she might as well admit it—she was half in love with the man. Or maybe wholly.
Sunbeams washed the room in a warm glow. “Everything’s going to be okay now, Lenora. More than okay.” Of course, Dad still hadn’t answered her email. Maybe never would. But his absence from her life was nothing new. She wouldn’t let it derail the promising future unfolding before her.
Lenora sat up straighter, shifting against her pillows. “The thing is, I’ve had to make a hard decision.”
Mara unzipped the hoodie she wore over a simple blue tee, the same outfit she’d worn time and again in the past two weeks. She’d packed too hastily the night she and Marshall left Maple Valley, never anticipating she’d end up staying in Illinois this long. “A hard decision about what?”
“About the Everwood.”
A first barb of apprehension pricked her. She shrugged out of her hoodie. “Go on.”
Lenora’s hazel eyes were filled with compassion and concern. And regret. “I’ve decided to put up the Everwood for sale.”
Mara stilled in her chair as her hoodie dropped to the floor. Cool air skimmed her bare arms, disbelief unraveling inside her. “What?”
“I know it’s a surprise, dear—”
“A surprise?” Mara reeled from her chair, one foot snagging in her discarded hoodie. She kicked it free. “Surprises are supposed to be good things. Birthday parties. Unexpected gifts. But selling the Everwood?”
“This isn’t a decision I’ve made lightly. I’ve agonized over it for days now.”
“Yet you’ve let me talk about continued renovations and reservations and plans for the summer.” She moved away from Lenora’s bed, rubbing one hand over the opposite arm, willing her voice to steady and her mind to calm. “I thought you loved the Everwood.”
“Of course I do. But you have to understand, I can’t afford to keep it going.”
“We’ve already talked about this. I took care of those outstanding mortgage payments. We have deposits now from the rooms we’ve booked so far. It’s not a lot but it’s enough to pay the bills for the next few months at least. And business is going to pick up even more come summer. We—”
“But I have hospital expenses. I can’t let Davis, dear as he is, continue to pay for everything.” Lenora gripped the edges of her bed’s pale blue blanket. “Plus, I’d like to get to know Davis. He has children and grandchildren, Mara. I have cousins I’ve never met.” She took a long, slow breath.
Mara turned away before Lenora could see the prick of tears in her eyes. Lenora wasn’t only selling the house Mara loved. She was . . . leaving. Again.
Mara stared out the window, its paltry view no more than the beige and gray of the hospital’s cement walls, the parking garage, other buildings squeezed in. She finally croaked the question she didn’t want to ask, looking over her shoulder. “When? And is it okay if I stay until it’s sold? I’ll need to make some plans, update my resume—”
“Oh, dear girl, you don’t think . . . I’ve made a mess of this. Mara, I want to ask you to stay here with me.” Lenora attempted to scoot up against her wall of pillows. When she struggled, Mara hurried over to help her shift. “I should’ve led off with that. I’ll need some in-home care, you see. And eventually help finding a home here—an apartment maybe or a townhouse—though Davis says he has plenty of room until I’m ready.”
Mara sat down once more, idly reached for her hoodie, tried to make sense of Lenora’s offer. She should find it comforting. Touching, really. One moment she’d felt cast out at sea and the next Lenora had tossed her a float.
But her sinking emotions couldn’t find a firm grasp.
Marshall.
Of course her heart would tow her there. If she agreed to Lenora’s plan, what of Marshall and his . . . their . . . friendship . . . relationship? Or whatever it was. Whatever it could’ve been. They’d never even gone on that date.
Then again, for all she knew, Marshall might be readying to leave her too. Return to his life in Wisconsin.
“What do you think, Mara?”
Captain Wagner had shown up on the Everwood’s front doorstep more than an hour ago, and Marshall still couldn’t figure out why.
The man crouched as he climbed out of the fireplace after Marshall, his chuckles echoing off the stone interior. “Here I put you on administrative leave thinking you’d get some much-needed rest. Instead you take a road trip, remodel a house, and solve a mystery.”
Soot stains marred the captain’s shirt—starched and pressed as always, though the jeans and lack of tie gave him a considerably more low-key appearance than usual. Their venture into the secret room was the last stop on Marshall’s tour of the bed and breakfast.
“It was a team effort,” he said now.
“Which? The remodel or the mystery?”
“Both.” He brushed the ash from his hands over the fireplace grate. “Best we can figure, this room didn’t serve much purpose other than as a handy hiding spot for Jeane and Arnold. Davis—Jeane’s brother—told us his father’s house had a similar hidden
room. He kept packed luggage stored there, complete with fake I.D.s, passports, whatever he needed to completely start over as someone new. Davis says Jeane probably took a cue from him.”
Captain Wagner reached for the can of Diet Coke he’d abandoned on an end table before checking out the hidden room. He dropped onto the couch. “But you don’t know why the couple fled the Everwood in the sixties?”
“Actually, we do now. We learned from Davis that while his father was searching for Jeane decades ago, Davis was conducting his own search. But he managed to do what his father didn’t—he found them. Showed up on the Everwood’s doorstep one night. Told his sister if he could locate her then their father wasn’t far behind.”
He plucked his own can of pop from the fireplace mantel and perched on the arm of the loveseat. “They said a final goodbye, and the next morning, Jeane and Arnold—who’d been living here as Sherrie and Kenneth—fled. Started over as Alice and Aric.” And Eleanor had become Lenora. “Great story, huh?”
“Yup.” Captain Wagner took a swig from his can, then rubbed his chin. “Though I’d like the ending better if you’d actually found the painting.”
“We know it was in the secret room at one point. Lenora remembers seeing it there as a kid, though she also recalls it hanging in the den previously. Davis said it would’ve been just like his sister to display it for all to see—an act of defiance against their father. Apparently Jeane was gutsy like that. But we’re guessing that when the buyer of the other canvas was murdered, they may have decided it wasn’t such a good idea to keep it out in the open.”
As for not finding the painting now, it wasn’t for lack of trying. Since Marshall had returned last week, he’d scoured the place from the cellar to the attic. If Arnold and Jeane had left The Crabapple Tree behind, they were better hiders than he was a seeker.
It was probably silly to think he’d have had any more luck finding the thing in a week than Lenora had in months of searching. But it sure would’ve been the perfect “welcome home” surprise for Mara.
