A Change in Altitude (16 page)

“Activity? What kind of activity?”

“It looked like Miss Wynock was there, with a couple of young people. They were up on ladders by the sign at the entrance to the park.”

 

Cassie had really done it this time, Lucille thought as she and Olivia, followed by Maggie, Barb, Josh Miller, and no telling who else, headed toward the town park in a caravan that wound through the streets of Eureka. A small crowd, including Bob and Reggie, had already gathered at the entrance, drawn by the spectacle of Cassie Wynock on a ladder, shouting directions to Lucas Theriot and Alina Franklin, who were also on ladders, a large vinyl banner stretched between them.

Lucille stopped her car a scant two feet from the base of Cassie's perch and jumped out. “Cassie,” she called up. “What do you think you're doing?”

“I'm doing what the town should have done years ago.” She turned back to the two teens, who were eyeing the gathering crowd apprehensively. “Pull the banner tight and tie on the ends. The sign company said it should fit perfectly.”

A gasp rose from the crowd as the banner straightened to reveal the words
Ernestine Wynock Park.

“You do know it's a crime to deface public property,” Lucille said.

“I'm not defacing anything. Think of it as righting an old wrong.”

Lucille searched and found Reggie in the crowd of onlookers and beckoned him. “Where do we stand legally on this?” she asked.

“Well, she's not actually defacing anything, so you couldn't get her for vandalism. It's public property, so she's not trespassing. Maybe littering, but that's only a fifty-dollar fine, and the judge usually lets folks work that off by cleaning up alongside the highway one Saturday.”

The image of Cassie, dressed in orange jail coveralls and brandishing a trash-picking stick, flashed through Lucille's mind and she shuddered. “What's our liability if we don't do anything?” she asked.

“If she falls off that ladder, she could sue us, and depending on how good a lawyer she hired and how sympathetic the jury, she might actually win.”

Lucille never thought of Cassie as sympathetic, but the woman was determined, and even a decent actress, so who knew what she could get a jury to believe.

A flash went off to Lucille's right. She looked over to see Maggie, her camera aimed up at the sign and the trio holding it. “Rick is going to be sorry he chose today to go fishing over in Norwood,” Maggie said, as she repositioned the camera for another shot.

No question what would be on the front page of the next issue of the
Eureka Miner,
probably with a headline along the lines of
REBELS TAKE OVER TOWN PARK.
Rick tended to like military references. When it was his turn to write up the report of the town council meeting, council members never discussed issues, they always battled or fought.

“Do you want me to order them to stop?” Josh Miller had worked his way over to Lucille's side and spoke softly.

She probably should have Cassie arrested. The librarian was ignoring the town board's decision—or lack of one—and making a ridiculous show of getting her own way. On the other hand, “Town Park” was a dud of a name, and Ernestine Wynock had been a driving force for good in the town at one time. “Where did you get that banner?” she called up to Cassie.

“I had it printed in Montrose. It's guaranteed for a year, though they said it could last longer.”

“And you paid for it?”

“Of course.” She gave a very unladylike snort. “If I waited for the city to pay for it, I'd be in my grave before you ever got around to fitting it into the budget.”

“Alina, what do you think you're doing?” Sharon Franklin, a little out of breath, ran up to join them. She stared, white-faced, at her daughter, who was balanced on the tall step ladder, struggling to lift the heavy vinyl banner.

“Miss Wynock said she needed our help, Mom,” Alina called. “You always said we should help people, especially old people.”

“Do not speak of me as if I am in my dotage, young lady,” Cassie admonished. “And make sure you tie that banner tightly.”

“Don't be too hard on your daughter,” Olivia said. “I blame Lucas.” She looked amused. “For some reason, he actually likes Cassie. I sometimes think he even encourages her schemes.”

“Oh, let her hang her silly banner,” Bob said. “Everybody will still call it the town park, no matter whose name is on it. And it'll save you having to repaint the old sign before the movie fellow shows up.”

Discussion spread among the crowd; from what Lucille could tell, opinions were about fifty-fifty for and against the name change. “You can keep the banner up for now,” she called to Cassie. “But we won't be changing the permanent sign anytime soon—not until the town council has voted on the matter.”

“You heard what she said, Lucas,” Cassie said. “How are you coming with your end?”

“Almost done.” He strained against the ropes that held the banner in place, red-faced.

“I can't get my end tight,” Alina said.

“Maybe I'd better help.” Josh handed Sharon his hat and climbed the ladder to help Alina fasten her end of the sign.

Maggie took another photograph. “You aren't going to print that one, are you?” Sharon asked. “I mean, he might get into trouble, since he's on duty.”

“I won't print it.” Maggie checked the shot on her camera's screen. “But I'll give you a copy if you like.”

“Oh.” Sharon flushed pink. “No, why would I want that?”

“I just thought, since she's your daughter . . .”

“Oh, yes. Of course. Sure, you can send me a copy.”

Maggie grinned. “Oh, I will.”

Together, Alina and Officer Miller succeeded in fastening their end of the sign. They climbed down and met Cassie and Lucas on the ground.

“It looks really good,” Lucas pronounced.

“But we need some kind of plaque in the park, to let people know who Ernestine was and what she did,” Alina said.

Cassie beamed at the girl. “That's an excellent idea. The historical society has some money in their funds. I'll persuade them a plaque would be a worthy expenditure.”

Lucille could have protested that there was no sense erecting a plaque when the sign was neither official nor permanent. But she could have suggested the sun stop shining or the wind stop blowing with about the same effect.

“Take another picture, now that we're done,” Cassie ordered Maggie. “And tell Rick I'll be sending over a press release, with all the information he needs to include in his story.”

“Rick always looks forward to your press releases,” Maggie said with a straight face as she raised the camera for another shot of the sign in place.

Someone in the crowd started clapping and others joined in. Cassie's cheeks pinked and she looked almost happy.

“It is kind of nice to see something named for a woman for a change,” Olivia said, as she and Lucille headed back to Lucille's car.

“There are lots of things around Eureka named after women,” Bob protested. “There's the French Mistress, the Irene McGraw, Washerwoman Hill, and don't forget the Dirty Sally.”

“Old mines and a saloon named after a mine,” Lucille said. “Forgive us if we're not flattered.”

“There wouldn't be a town here if it weren't for those mines,” Bob said.

“Speaking of mines, how are things at the Lucky Lady?” Lucille asked. “Have the engineers finished installing the safety gear to Gerald's satisfaction?”

Bob spat a stream of tobacco juice into the flower bed alongside the parking lot. “In case you haven't figured it out, there's almost nothing Pershing likes better than putting on airs and ordering people around. He keeps finding new work for the contractors—and I keep reminding him that until we get in there and start actually mining, none of us is going to be making any money.”

“What does he say to that?” Olivia asked.

“He tells me a good investment requires patience, or some such balderdash. He needs to watch it or I'll teach him a thing or two about patience.”

“Bob, promise me you won't do anything illegal,” Lucille said.

“Who's the proven shyster in this partnership?” Bob asked. “I'm not the one you need to worry about.”

“I'm pretty sure it's in the job description of the mayor to worry about everything.” She didn't point out that he hadn't promised not to break the law; Bob might pretend to be a loony old codger when it suited him, but the man's mind was still razor sharp, and he never did anything that wasn't deliberate. He'd probably broken more than a few laws when it suited him, and he had certainly bent plenty. “Be careful,” she said. “Eureka doesn't need any more problems.”

“I can handle Pershing,” Bob said. “Lesser men than him have tried to get the better of me and lived to regret it.”

She had plenty of regrets where Gerald Pershing was concerned, but it was too late to do anything about any of them. She could only move forward and hope things turned out for the best. She opened her car door. “Where's Lucas?” she asked Olivia.

“He asked if he could hang out with Alina and make sure she doesn't get into too much trouble with her mom,” Olivia said.

“How gallant,” Lucille said. “Is Alina Lucas's girlfriend?”

Olivia made a face. “He says she's just a friend. I don't know if he's really ready for romance. I know I'm not.”

“As if any of us are ever ready for that.” Lucille climbed into her car and stared out the windshield at the banner that now hung over the entrance. Ernestine Wynock Park.

“What are you thinking?” Olivia asked as she fastened her seat belt.

“That we could do worse than follow Cassie's example.”

Olivia frowned. “What example is that?”

“I'm not sure—maybe ‘Don't take no for an answer,' or ‘When someone puts an obstacle in your way, climb over it.' ”

“Or maybe the lesson is, ‘Don't be the person everyone expects you to be,' ” Olivia said.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean, did you ever expect Cassie to pay for her own banner and then climb up a ladder to hang it? I didn't. I thought she was all about manipulating other people to do what she wanted.”

“Well, she did recruit Alina and Lucas to do most of the work.”

“Still, she paid for the banner. She stopped whining and just did something for a change.”

“That probably ought to go on a bumper sticker.” Lucille started the car, then glanced at the banner one more time. “It looks nice,” she said. “I think I'll vote for it to stay.”

“Tell Cassie she owes you one,” Olivia said. “Who knows? It might pay off one day.”

S
haron smoothed the hair back out of Alina's eyes. “What were you thinking—up on that ladder with that heavy sign?” she asked. “You could have fallen and broken your neck.” She'd brought the young people back to her house, proud of herself for remaining calm.

“It wasn't that heavy.” Alina squirmed away from her mother and pretended to focus on the sandwich her mother had fixed as a makeshift supper. “And I couldn't let old Miss Wynock climb up on the ladder, could I?”

“She's really not that old, you know.” Sharon sat at the end of the table and contemplated her own sandwich. Cassie was technically old enough to be Sharon's mother, and thus Alina's grandmother, but she wasn't ancient and decrepit.

“What's dotage?” Alina asked.

“It means somebody who's really old and maybe not altogether with it. You know, like when they say somebody is dotty?” Lucas looked up from his tuna sandwich, then flushed. “Sorry, Mrs. Franklin. I shouldn't have interrupted.”

“I don't mind the interrupting as much as I mind you involving Alina in these schemes of yours,” Sharon said. But there was no malice behind her words, and without being asked, she added more tea to Lucas's glass.

“I tried to talk Miss Wynock out of it,” Lucas said. “Nobody believes me, but I did. But she was really determined.”

“I thought it was a good idea,” Alina said. “The town should do more to honor the women who were so important in settling the area. All anyone remembers is the men.”

“When the police came to tell the mayor you were up there on that ladder I couldn't believe it,” Sharon said, not ready yet to let her daughter off the hook.

“We weren't breaking any law.” Alina's voice rose. “Officer Miller even helped me with the sign.”

“Maggie took our picture for the paper,” Lucas said. “I'll bet we make the front page.”

“Cool!”

“Just how I want everyone in town to get to know my daughter,” Sharon said.

“Oh, Mom—people in Eureka are nice. They won't think you're a bad mom or anything.”

“How was the baby shower?” Lucas asked, clearly trying to change the subject.

Sharon should have been annoyed, but maybe it was time to leave this topic for now. “The shower was nice. Maggie got a lot of things she needed for the baby. Some pretty clothes.”

“I can't wait to see them. All those little shirts and tiny socks—so cute.”

Lucas rolled his eyes and pushed back from the table. “Thanks for the sandwich, Mrs. Franklin,” he said. “I'd better get home or I'll be late for dinner.”

She could have pointed out that the sandwich was dinner, but for a teenage boy that was probably irrelevant. “You're welcome, Lucas.”

“See you tomorrow,” he said to Alina.

When Lucas was gone, Alina started clearing the table without being asked. “Don't be mad, Mom,” she said. “I was just trying to help Miss Wynock.”

“I know Cassie can be . . . persuasive.” She'd been about to say “bossy,” but maybe that wasn't the best way to describe her supervisor in front of her daughter. “But next time, check with me before you do something like this. Let me deal with Cassie. With school out next week, maybe we need to set some rules for you.”

Alina slumped. “I'm thirteen, Mom. I can look after myself while you're at work.”

“What are you going to do with yourself all day?”

“I can hang out with Lucas.”

“I don't know if I like you spending so much time alone with a boy.”

More eye rolling. “Lucas and I are just friends.”

“I know, dear, but sometimes friends can develop . . . feelings for one another, and that can lead to experimenting and . . .” Oh, this wasn't going well. Sharon's face was hot and Alina looked torn between laughter and tears.

“Mom! Lucas and I aren't going to have sex. We're just going to, you know, ride our bikes and talk and stuff. He has to paint and stuff at his mom's new house and I could help with that.”

“All right. I don't want you to think I don't trust you.”

“But you don't trust me.” Alina patted Sharon's arm. “It's okay. But honestly, Lucas and I are just friends.”

“And I'm glad you've made friends here in Eureka. I really am.”

“I have girlfriends, too, but none of them are as fun as Lucas.”

“Whatever came of that research project you were working on with him, searching the tax records to find more about the history of his house?”

“We found the records, but it was crazy. Mrs. McCutcheon just disappears after 1966. Maybe her husband really did murder her and bury her in the backyard.”

Sharon rubbed her shoulders against a sudden chill. “I hope that's not really the case.”

“Well, it did happen years and years ago. But it would be cool to know . . . like solving a mystery.”

Sharon had never been a fan of mysteries. But she'd welcome any detective, amateur or professional, who could find her son for her.

A knock on the door distracted her from her brooding. “I'll get it!” Alina shouted, and popped up from the table.

By the time Sharon made it into the living room, Officer Josh Miller had stepped inside. “Hello, Sharon,” he said.

She wondered what had happened to “Mrs. Franklin,” but she liked the way he said her name, and she'd never been a very formal person anyway.

“Hello, Josh.” She hesitated only a little over the name, and his smile told her she'd made the right decision.

Alina collected her backpack from where she'd dropped it by the door when she'd come in from school on Friday. “I have homework,” she said. “Thanks for helping me with the sign, Officer Miller. That banner was a lot heavier than it looks.”

“You're welcome, Alina.”

And then he and Sharon were alone, with two feet of space and a much larger silence between them. “She's a good girl,” he said.

“Yes, she is.” Sharon tried not to fidget. “Can I get you anything? I have iced tea.”

“Tea would be nice.”

“It's in the kitchen.” She turned and he followed. She hastily cleared the remains of dinner and put fresh ice in glasses.

He pulled out a chair and sat as if he'd spent hours in her kitchen, perfectly at home. “I'm beginning to get a complex,” he said. “You look so hopeful every time you see me; then you always end up disappointed.”

She clutched an empty ice tray to her chest. “It's not you. I—”

“I know. And that was my poor attempt at a joke.”

“I'm not good company right now, I'm afraid.”

“It's all right.” He shifted in the chair, enough to remove his wallet from his hip pocket, and withdrew a folded scrap of paper. “Tell me what you think of this.”

The paper was a classified ad.

A shiver raced up her spine. She looked up at Josh. “Where did you get this?”

“It's from the classified section of a magazine for preppers. Does that sound like something your ex-husband would have responded to?”

“It sounds like something he would have written.” She sank into a chair. “Where did you get a prepper magazine?”

“Bob Prescott subscribes. I saw him with it at the post office the other day and asked if I could take a look. I was really just curious, but for some reason the ad caught my eye.”

She read the ad again. “It doesn't say where this supposed community is.”

“I can check with the magazine. They may not know either, but it's worth a shot.”

“It sounds innocent enough,” she said. “All patriotic and peaceful.”

“Was your husband ever violent?”

“Yes and no.”

He leaned toward her. “Care to elaborate on that?”

“He had a lot of guns. He taught us all how to shoot, so we'd know how to defend ourselves.”

“Against what—or whom?”

“No specific threat—foreign invaders, people who tried to destroy our home—no one in particular.”

“But you don't think he'd hurt your son?”

It was the second time today someone had asked that question, but her answer was the same. “No, Joe loved Adan. As much as Joe could love anyone. His son was an extension of himself, a chance to live out his hopes and dreams.”

“That's a lot of pressure to put on a kid.”

“Yes.” She sighed. “Adan adores his father, but I worry about the long-term effect of Joe's influence.”

“He has your influence to counteract that.”

“Had.” She met his gaze, hoping, perhaps, for some reassurance or comfort from those warm brown eyes. “What if he thinks I let him go too easily? What if he believes—and Joe lets him believe—that I didn't love him enough to fight for him? That I willingly abandoned him.” Saying the words out loud made her stomach clench.

“You had to make an awful choice,” Josh said. “You did your best—it's all any of us can do. If it helps, my father raised me after my mother died, and I like to think I turned out okay.” He held out his hand. “Let me have that back and I'll see what I can find out.”

“Of course.” She returned the little square of paper, then looked around, trying to remember what she was supposed to be doing. Her gaze landed on the glasses of ice still sitting on the counter. “Your tea.”

“That's all right.” He stood. “I have to go, but I'll let you know as soon as I hear anything.”

“Thanks for stopping by.” She stood also. “And thanks for listening.”

“Anytime.” He touched her arm—a brief contact that carried with it a great deal of reassurance. “I'll talk to you soon.”

She walked him to the front door and watched him climb into his cruiser and drive away. She couldn't afford to get her hopes up that the ad would lead to anything; Josh probably didn't think so either, but she was touched that he'd gone to the trouble to cut it out. Knowing he'd done so made her feel less alone, and that was a gift in and of itself; but at the same time, the feeling made her nervous.

She was fighting hard to stand on her own two feet, to avoid years of conditioning that told her to look to a man to make decisions for her. Jameso refusing to do that was probably the best thing that could have happened to her, but she was still trying to find her way. It would be so easy to surrender the small bit of independence she'd gained to rely on a man like Josh for help and comfort. Like an addict who needed to avoid drink or drugs, she needed to spend some time alone, making friends with herself and discovering her own strengths.

 

Chris Amesbury turned out to be a lanky surfer dude whose long blond hair wasn't combed quite artfully enough to hide his bald spot, and whose blond goatee was heavily sprinkled with gray. His uniform of board shorts, Mexican guayabera shirt, and rubber sandals stood out even among the tourists on Eureka's streets, but his enthusiasm for the town won over the welcoming committee that greeted his car and driver on the steps of the Idlewilde B and B Inn, otherwise known as Barb's place.

“Welcome to Eureka, Mr. Amesbury.” Lucille, who'd unearthed an actual blazer from dry cleaner's bags at the back of her closet, greeted the VIP with a firm handshake.

“The town is perfect,” he said in a voice an octave higher than she'd expected. “So charming. And the scenery!”

“Thank you,” Lucille said, then had to hold back a snort of nervous laughter. As if she herself were personally responsible for the scenery. “Most people who come here end up falling in love with the place. I'd like you to meet Barbara and James Stanowski. They own this bed-and-breakfast.”

“So pleased to meet you.” Barb, dressed in a chic pantsuit, looked every inch the former beauty queen and current socialite. Beside her, Jimmy fidgeted in the suit she'd made him wear, despite his protests that he'd come to Eureka to relax and see his wife, not fawn over Hollywood directors. “I hope you'll be comfortable during your stay.”

“As long as you have room service and plenty of drinks, I'll be great,” Amesbury said.

Barb's smile never faltered. “We don't have room service, but I can give you directions to all the restaurants and a wonderful bar. It will be the perfect way for you to get to know some of the townspeople.”

“Oh. That's, uh, very thoughtful of you.”

“We try to think of everything.” She put a well-manicured hand on his arm, the red lacquer standing out against skin that was surprisingly pale for someone from California. “Let me show you to your room.”

The welcoming party, which consisted of Lucille, Maggie, Reggie, Katya, Junior Dominick, and Paul Percival, flowed up the stairs after the director and his hosts. Though most of the bedrooms remained unfurnished, the rest of the house looked amazing, like something straight out of a luxury home brochure. Plush carpet in a deep shade of rose muffled their footsteps, and paintings that looked real and valuable filled the walls.

“Putting him here might have been a wrong move,” Reggie whispered in Lucille's ear. “The rest of the town is going to look like Dogpatch after this luxury.”

“Hush.” Lucille sent him a quelling look. “The rest of the town is authentic. He said he wanted authentic.”

“This is your room.” Barb opened the door to a large bedroom that overlooked the front of the house. It was furnished in a cherry four-poster, a red-velvet fainting couch, and had its own fireplace. She ushered the director inside, then turned to the others. “Perhaps you'd like to wait downstairs while Mr. Amesbury freshens up for lunch.”

Right. What kind of rubes followed a guy into his bedroom? Lucille thought as she did an about face and headed toward the stairs. Dogpatch indeed.