“Aha! Caught you. Try perfume, jewelry, maybe a gift certificate for a spa day.” I’d been learning to enjoy little luxuries rather than focus on the practical all the time. “Everything okay at the station?”
He nodded, looking satisfied. “Yeah, Roger’s on top of stuff as usual. So far, it’s been a dead shift—which is just fine with me. Means nobody’s in trouble.” Joe was the captain of Chiqetaw’s medical rescue unit. Ultimately, he was responsible for all of the EMTs, and they couldn’t have chosen a more conscientious leader. The men’s safety came first and, even on his days off, he never let a shift go by without checking in.
As he stripped off his clothes I caught my breath, once again aware of how beautiful he was—my own Norse god come to sweep me away. He caught me looking and winked. Blushing, I shrugged, and he grabbed a fresh towel and headed into the shower.
I slipped onto the bench at my vanity. I’d cultivated a beauty ritual over the years, a daily pampering except on my grungiest of days when I was too tired to care. Opium dusting powder under my breasts, on my inner elbows, behind my knees. Matching lotion on arms and legs. Then deodorant, face cream, and finally, a spritz of Opium eau de toilette.
I examined my closet. What to wear on a cool autumn evening? With the changing season, I’d revamped my wardrobe. Maybe my relationship with Joe had rekindled my interest in clothing, or maybe Harlow had won and I’d turned into a girly girl, but whatever the cause, I’d begged her to go shopping with me.
She’d jumped at the chance. She was suffering from new-mother claustrophobia, and since her nanny was more reliable than Old Faithful, we spent an entire afternoon haunting the shops in Bellingham, heating up my credit card on calf-length rayon skirts and camisoles and crisp linen shirts. I’d even bought a new pair of suede knee-high boots that looked great with just about everything.
I slipped on my favorite bra and panties, shimmied into a flowing plum skirt and matching V-neck sweater, then hooked my gold chain belt around my newly resculpted waist. Yep, yoga had been good to me. I’d never be stick thin—wasn’t built for it and didn’t want to be. But at least I could fasten my jeans without sucking in my gut.
“I’m headed downstairs,” I called into the bathroom, and Joe let out a garbled “okay.”
I reached the foyer just as the front door opened and a gust of wind blew Kip and Miranda through the door. As I looked at them, I couldn’t help but think about how fast they were growing up. This year, after-school activities ate up their early evenings and neither one made it home till close to six most weeknights.
Miranda was tutoring others in science and math, while being tutored in English. Kip had computer club, and he’d just started gymnastics, for which he showed a surprising aptitude. Since I was usually at the shop until six, I’d taken comfort in the fact that they were being supervised while I was at work. Miranda might be fourteen, but I’d learned the hard way that even a small, friendly town like Chiqetaw held more than its fair share of dark secrets.
“Mom! Hey, you look pretty tonight. What’s the occasion?” Randa grinned at me as she dropped her backpack on the bench in the foyer and shrugged out of her coat.
I waited until they were both sans jackets and motioned them over for a hug. I managed to get in a quick peck on the cheek before they slipped away, out from under my wing. Yeah, they were growing up all right.
“How was school? Cause any trouble today?”
Randa rolled her eyes. “Come on, Mom, you’ve asked that every day since we started school this year. It’s getting old.”
“I stand corrected, but I still want an answer. What did you two do today?” I nodded toward the hall. “Come help me get dinner ready. Mr. Ledbetter’s coming to dinner.”
“Yay!” Kip said. He liked Horvald, who treated both of my kids like grandchildren. “What’s for dinner?”
“Joe’s grilling steaks on the porch.”
They followed me into the kitchen, where Kip scrambled up on the counter and pulled the cookie jar down from the cupboard. I held up two fingers and he nodded, handing Miranda two cookies and taking two for himself. Then, because he knew me all too well, he handed me a couple of Oreos. I winked at him and he laughed and put the jar away.
Randa hopped on the counter, swinging her legs as she nibbled on a cookie. “I had to meet with Gunner again today. Why are you making me go? Mrs. García de Lopez says my grade is borderline. If I study, I can probably bring up it up on my own.”
I tapped her knee. “No whining, Miss. You know perfectly well that, left on your own, you’d ignore it until it’s too late. I know exactly what you think about the English language when it’s not being used to describe a star system.”
She sighed, but I saw the spark of a grin back there. I had her number and she knew it.
At the beginning of the school year, Randa had joined a brand-new program for gifted teens who went to the Chiqetaw Middle School. Within two weeks, my brilliant daughter had promptly nosedived in English, receiving a high D on the first two quizzes. Given her past performance, stellar except for English and P.E., where she’d always managed at least a C, her advisor called me. Mrs. García de Lopez suggested either letting her work it out on her own, or requesting a tutor before the problem got any worse.
Much to Randa’s dismay, I’d chosen the latter. When she whined, I firmly reminded her that she’d gotten what she hoped for—more challenging schoolwork—and now that she belonged to an advanced group of students, she’d better get used to the extra effort. In
all
subjects, not just her favorites.
“How’s Gunner working out, by the way? Is he any good?”
A flush raced up her cheeks and she ducked her head. “Yeah, though he could lighten up a bit,” she mumbled. “He doesn’t think anything matters except English. He’s really talented. The teacher thinks he can make it as a writer.”
Um hmm … the red face, the mumbling. My little girl was getting her first crush, though I wasn’t about to say anything. Fourteen is a volatile age and I didn’t want to embarrass her, especially in front of her brother, who would use juicy information like that to his best advantage.
I turned my attention to Kip, who launched into an explanation of the Trojan horse—he was learning Greek and Roman history this year. Half-listening, I pulled the steaks out of the fridge. Joe had placed them in a Ziploc bag, added port, ground black pepper, basil olive oil, and a little Worcestershire sauce earlier in the day, and set them to marinate. They smelled heavenly. A quick rummage through the cupboard uncovered a platter on which to arrange them after they finished grilling.
“Would you please start on the potatoes?” I asked Randa.
“How many?” she asked, without complaint. Randa had recently learned how to cook and had developed an unexpected liking for simpler tasks, especially considering how she’d kicked and screamed her way through home economics the first year.
“Enough to fill the red bowl. If you’ll peel and dice them, I’ll boil and mash. And then, if you would fix a salad, I’d appreciate it.”
With a nod, she headed into the pantry as Joe popped into the kitchen. I winked at him. “Hurry up, Files. We’re doing your work for you!”
Kip and Randa waved a friendly hello. Miranda accepted our relationship in stride. She liked Joe, and never complained about him hanging around. And Kip … Kip was overjoyed, what with having another man around the house to listen to him, throw a few balls, help with model cars. Joe won his heart when he’d challenged him at a few video games.
Joe managed to walk a fine line, never interfering with my parenting, but neither would he allow himself to be a doormat, for which I was grateful. I might have the last word with the kids, but they always treated him with respect.
While Joe and Kip grilled up the steaks, I mashed the potatoes and Randa put the finishing touches on the salad. The French bread was ready to go in the oven, and Joe would make a gravy out of the marinade. Horvald had promised to bring an apple pie from Davida’s Choco-hol Bakery, so dessert was taken care of.
Promptly at seven, the doorbell rang and Horvald wandered in, pie in one hand, bouquet of mums in the other.
“The last from my garden,” he said, holding out the flowers. The retired security guard had a thumb as green as my name, and kept me in freshly cut flowers all summer long. Horvald also kept an eye on us, which was comforting considering some of the mishaps we’d gone through. He was more like a grandpa than a neighbor.
Randa swept by, gracefully scooping the pie from his hands, and scurried into the kitchen. I snagged an empty vase from the living room and we followed her. As I arranged the flowers in the vase, Horvald sat back, watching.
“The four of you make quite the team, don’t you?” He wasn’t joking.
I glanced at Joe and Kip, who were carrying in the platter of steaks. The smell wafted ahead of them, convincing my stomach that, yes, food was on the way and the danger of starvation would be staved off for yet another day.
With a gentle nod, I returned Horvald’s gaze and smiled. “Yeah, I guess we do.” We gathered around the big old kitchen table where, for a moment, the only sound was that of stainless on china and the busy cutting of meat.
After we were all settled into our meal, I turned to Horvald. “How long are you going to be gone?” I asked. He and Ida—my babysitter extraordinaire and a fine retired schoolteacher—had become an item earlier in the year.
“Just for a few days. We’ll be back in time for your birthday, though. Ida and I are driving down to the Salish Lodge & Spa at Snoqualmie Falls. We leave tomorrow morning, bright and early.”
“Cool, we’ll keep an eye on your houses for you,” I said.
Joe suddenly set down his fork and turned to Horvald. “You’ve lived around here a long time, haven’t you? You must have seen the changes that have gone on in this neighborhood.”
“I’ve lived in Chiqetaw all my life,” Horvald said. “Why?”
I immediately caught Joe’s drift. “I suppose you’ve noticed that we’re clearing out the lot next door. We haven’t told many people yet, but Joe put money down on it a couple months ago and the owner said we could start in on it whenever we wanted. We’re tearing out all the brambles so we can see what we have to work with.”
“You thinking of putting a house there?” Horvald asked. I could sense he was brimming with questions.
Joe shrugged. “Maybe. The thing is, today we cleared out a patch in the middle of the lot and found what looks to be an old foundation. A basement of some sorts. And we found what looks like it might have been a driveway at one time. Do you know if there was ever a house on that lot?”
“Way cool!” Kip jumped up and started for the back door.
I caught him by the arm. “Just where do you think you’re going, kiddo?”
He turned to look at me, his expression falling. “I guess I should’ve asked first, huh?”
“I guess you should have. Sit down and finish your dinner. I don’t want you or Randa mucking about over there, especially after dark. You could fall in and hurt yourself. Capiche?”
After he gave me a muted “okay,” I turned back to Horvald.
“So, was there a house? Something feels odd about the place.” I didn’t want to come out in front of the kids and say that I’d been spooked. Maybe Horvald could shed some light on the situation. Before he could answer, a crash of thunder broke through the sky and rain cascaded down in sheets. Yep, the KLIK-TV weatherman was just as effective as their star reporter, Cathy Sutton.
“So, you found the old Brunswick house? Or rather, what’s left of it.” Horvald mopped up the last of his gravy with a piece of French bread. He patted his stomach and politely covered his mouth as he burped. “Wonderful dinner. You know, I haven’t thought about that family in years. It’s a shame, everything that happened to them.”
Randa and Kip leaned forward, all ears.
I glanced at them and cleared my throat. “No tragedies, I hope?” Irena Finch hadn’t mentioned she ever lived on my street when she came to my shop.
He shook his head. “Not if you’re talking lives lost, or anything like that. But the house … oh, she was a beauty. A mansion, three stories high, not including the basement. It towered over the other houses around here. I didn’t live where I do now. In fact, your lot, my lot, everything down to the highway was woodland back then. The Brunswicks lived at the end of the road. Sixteen-nineteen Hyacinth Street. They were rich, and their son Brent was the captain of the high school football team. Irena Finch is his sister.”
“Yes, she’s the one selling me the lot. Or rather, her lawyer is. I’ve never met the woman myself. She inherited the land, I gather,” Joe said.
“She married Thomas Finch, who comes from one of the oldest families in Chiqetaw. Real blueblood, you know,” Horvald said, touching his nose. “Anyway, the Brunswick house burned to the ground.”
“Wow,” Kip said, captivated. “Did anybody die?”
I repressed a smile. My son, all right. Kipling the Morbid.
“Not that I know of,” Horvald said, lowering his voice as he leaned toward Kip, whose eyes were growing wider by the minute. “But one Halloween night, a fork of lightning hit the house during a thunderstorm. The wood was dry and the rain wasn’t strong enough to put out the flames. Nobody was home, and by the time the fire department got there, the blaze was totally out of control.”
“Jeez,” I said. “That’s harsh. But at least nobody was hurt.”
“No, but the fire destroyed everything they owned. They had insurance, of course, but it was still bad.”
“When did it happen?” Joe asked.
Horvald squinted, thinking. “Oh, it had to have been back in 1955 or so. The Brunswicks decided not to rebuild. The twins were about twenty, I think. Brent had left for Europe about a month before the fire. I don’t know whether he ever came back. Irena got married right around that time and I think Edward and Lauren Brunswick moved back to New York after their daughter’s wedding. I’d forgotten all about that family until now.” He turned to Joe. “So you really bought the lot?”