Uncomfortable in her crouching position, Reece sat up, then scooted to one side before patting the seat. Mick crawled up with her, the front half of his body across her lap. “Twenty million dollars. Wow. You could do a lot of good with that kind of money.”
“Not those people. Money had never made them happy, and it never would.”
Had money made Grandmother and Grandfather happy? Did it make Mark happy? After considering it a moment, Reece decided she couldn’t reconcile the notion of her grandparents and happiness. They just weren’t the smiles-and-joy type.
Mark, on the other hand… He’d always had money and had taken it for granted. She would bet the idea of not being wealthy had never crossed his mind; it was literally unthinkable. And, like many overindulged children, he’d grown into an adult for whom, apparently, the more he had, the more he wanted.
What about Jones? She watched him, gazing into the darkness. “Does money make you happy?”
His gaze flickered to hers, and a thin smile touched the corners of his mouth. “Money’s important. I won’t deny that. There have been times, back when I was in college, when I could barely pay my rent or buy groceries, and the last few years I’ve made more than I can spend. I definitely prefer the extra cash. But there’s a lot more to being happy than that.”
“So
are
you happy?” It was a nosy question, too personal to ask someone she’d known less than forty-eight hours. Valerie would admonish her; Grandmother would remind her that Howard women never pried. But Jones was free to ignore the question or tell her it was none of her business. She wouldn’t be offended.
He was quiet a long time, as if it wasn’t an easy answer for him. Finally, he exhaled loudly. “Yeah, I guess. For the most part.”
What parts of his life was he unhappy with? Besides his estrangement from his family, what would have to change to make his answer a simple
Yes, I am?
He turned the question back on her. “What about you? Are you happy?”
“Yes,” she said immediately, then, feeling a flush of guilt for not being totally honest, she added, “For the most part. I, uh…” She looked at him, then focused her gaze on the dog settled so contentedly in her lap. “I don’t get along with my mother, I’m not close to my grandmother and cousin, and I’d like to get married and have kids someday though I’ve never met anyone I’d remotely consider tying myself to. But other than that and…that summer, yes, I’m happy. I like my job. I love my dogs and my friends. I can pay my bills, and I’m in good health. That’s a lot.”
Halfway through her response, his gaze had zeroed in on her. She could feel it as surely as she felt Mick’s warm, comforting weight against her.
“What happened that summer?” His voice was low and comforting, too, with its blend of accents. It was a perfect voice for talking in the dark, for lulling an edgy woman into relaxing all those taut muscles, for making her feel safe.
God, she’d been using that word a lot lately. Yearning for something she couldn’t regain until she faced the fears that had taken it from her.
Unless remembering stole it from her for good.
Jones watched her, her fingers lightly stroking Mick’s fur. Her head was tilted so little of her face was visible to him, but that was enough in the silvery light to know that her expression had gone blank. The suspicions that had reared their ugly head that morning came back, prickling his spine, making him sit straighter in the chair.
He thought she wasn’t going to answer and didn’t blame her at all when slowly she lifted her head and met his gaze. “I don’t know.”
“What do you mean?”
She shrugged. “I don’t remember most of the time I spent here. I remember coming with my mother. Mark arrived soon after we did for his summer visit, and Valerie left again not long after that. She didn’t even tell me goodbye. I got up one morning, and she was…gone. The next memory I have after that day, she and I were back in Colorado.”
Truth? It was impossible to tell with an accomplished liar. But something about the look on her face, the way she said the words…it
felt
like truth.
He knew from fifteen years ago that her mother had just bailed on her. She’d told Glen the story, and he’d repeated it angrily, wondering how a woman could do that to her child. In their culture, family came first…unless two restless sons ran off to experience a different life.
“Where did she go?” he asked, though he knew the answers to that, too.
“Grandmother said she left to take care of things back at home, but she was gone a long time. There wasn’t that much to take care of.”
That had been Miss Willa’s first explanation. Later, she’d told Reece that her mother had gone to Europe with friends. Glen had shaken his head in disgust.
Can you believe that? Leaving her own kid to go on
vacation?
“What did Valerie say when you asked her?”
Reece’s brow furrowed. “She would never talk about it. Even now, if I ask her anything about that summer, even about my father’s death, she says the past is past and she’s not going to waste any time discussing it.”
That was cold, when your daughter still had questions.
If
the daughter really did have questions. But leaving your grieving thirteen-year-old daughter for whatever reason was pretty damn cold, too.
“So you really don’t remember anything? Swimming in the creek? That old cemetery? Hanging out with your cousin?”
She shook her head. “I remember enough from the first few weeks to know that Mark and I didn’t hang out. He was mean.”
Mean
wasn’t the half of it.
If she was being honest, she didn’t remember Jones and Glen.
She didn’t remember Mark trying to drown her.
She didn’t remember anything her grandfather might have done to her.
She had no answers to give him.
She was of no use to him.
If
she was being honest.
He could be honest even if she wasn’t. He could tell her why he was here, what he remembered of that summer. He could appeal to her conscience, could trade answers to some of her questions for some sort of closure for the family regarding Glen.
Silently he snorted. If Glen was dead, knowing was better than not knowing, but it wouldn’t provide closure. It wouldn’t make the knowledge any easier to bear. It damn sure wouldn’t ease his guilt for leaving his brother there. Yeah, Glen had been older; yeah, he’d been stubborn as a mule. But Jones should have stayed with him. After that threat from Mark…
It had been such spoiled-juvenile bluster.
I’m gonna tell my grandfather that you’re trespassing out here, and he’ll call the sheriff to put you in jail.
Reece, dripping wet, eyes huge and still shaking from her near-drowning, had gotten in his face.
You say a word, and I’ll tell him you tried to kill me.
Mark had put on a good show of bravado—
He’d never believe you over me. He loves
me,
not you!—
but his voice had quavered and a look of pure panic had come into his eyes before he’d run off through the woods.
None of them had believed he would really tell, or have the nerve to confront either Glen or Jones again.
The whisper of cushions and a grunt from Mick drew his attention back to Reece, shifting to a more comfortable position. As soon as she settled again, so did the dog, looking utterly content.
“Did I mention that I had a visit from a ghost tonight?” she asked, the lighter tone in her voice signaling the end of the other subject.
“It must have slipped your mind. What happened?”
“Just light. Footsteps. A book moved from where I’d left it a few moments before.” She paused. “A note written on the mirror telling me to leave.”
“Not a very friendly ghost, huh.”
She shrugged carelessly, though Jones wasn’t too convinced by it. “Maybe he doesn’t like sharing my room with me. Or maybe he thinks if I couldn’t bother to visit while he was alive, I’m not welcome now that he’s dead.”
“He? Your grandfather?”
She shrugged. “I smelled tobacco. Though I doubt he’s the only Howard who liked his cigars.”
The presence at the creek that morning had smelled of tobacco, too. Arthur Howard had dominated the place while he lived. It was no surprise he’d hang around now.
“You planning to spend the night out here instead of inside with him?”
She made a
pfft
sound. “If Grandmother had a chaise with a nice thick cushion on it… He didn’t waste any time on me when he was alive. I doubt he’ll give me much more of his attention now.”
“That would be my guess.” Jones yawned, then nudged Mick. “Come on, boy, I need to get some sleep.”
He half expected the dog to open one eye, give him a blank look, then close it again. Instead, Mick stepped lightly to the ground, stretched, then trotted for the cottage. Reece laughed at his fickleness. “Yeah, good night to you, too, Mick. You’re welcome for all the scratching.”
“Sitting with you is comfortable,” Jones said as he stood. “Stretching out on the bed, though, is his idea of the way to spend a night. See you tomorrow.”
He crossed the road into the shadows that hugged the other side, listening for some sound that Reece was going inside, too. It didn’t come. When he stepped inside the cottage, he turned back to fasten the screen door and saw her still sitting there.
He intended to lock up, strip down to his boxers and crawl back into bed, but the sight of her held him there. She seemed so alone and vulnerable. She
was
alone: no family that counted, no man to stand beside her, just friends back in Louisiana.
That wasn’t too different from his life, the cynic in him scoffed, and he wasn’t alone or vulnerable.
But no one had abandoned him. No one had ever wanted him dead.
After a few minutes, she stood and, like Mick, stretched. Her back arched, her breasts pushing against her thin shirt, the hem of the shirt rising up over her middle. She held the position long enough to make his mouth dry, then straightened, looking at the house for a time before finally walking to the door. She really didn’t like the place. But why should she, when all the memories were bad?
He stood there in the dark, just watching, until she disappeared inside. A moment later the patio light came on again. Soon after that, a shadow appeared in the only room lit up, then those lights went out, too.
Rubbing at the unease cramping his neck, Jones closed and locked the door and went to bed.
Reece awoke even more tired than when she’d finally fallen asleep. She hadn’t had any screaming-to-wake-the-dead nightmares, but her sleep had been restless, her dreams haunted by Grandfather’s fierce scowls, Mark’s taunts and angry words.
If you say a word…
Curiosity killed the cat.
Meee-oww.
She felt a little better after a long shower. After dressing in jeans and a shirt, she picked up the family-history book from the dresser, her gaze fixing on the mirror. Leaning forward, she blew out her breath on the glass, curious to see if the message might reappear in the fog. It didn’t.
Grandmother had already eaten breakfast and was in her study, her back to the door, when Reece tried to slip past. Without glancing up, she said, “It’s about time you got out of bed.”
Reece grimaced before turning into the room. Grandmother could hear the faintest creak of a floorboard when someone was trying to sneak past, but never heard any of the thumps and thuds from the ghosts. How was that? “Good morning.”
The old lady turned, and displeasure wrinkled her nose. She disapproved of jeans—Reece had heard that on her first day in the house fifteen years ago—and shorts—Reece had learned that on her second day. And she
certainly
disapproved of Hawaiian shirts with bright red flowers on a royal-blue background.
Some days a girl just had to dress to suit herself, and today Reece really needed the lift from the vividly colored shirt.
“I’m going to a meeting in town today,” Grandmother said once she was certain the censure had been recognized. “As Mr. Jones is going to restore the gardens, I believe joining the garden society is in my best interests. The meeting is today, and there will be a luncheon afterward. I gave Lois the day off, so you’ll be on your own for lunch.”
“That’s fine.” Reece wasn’t a fan of eating out by herself, but this would give her a chance to go into town and see if anything jogged her memory. She doubted it, since the bulk of her time had been spent here on the property, but hey, it was an excuse to get out for a few hours, right?
Grandmother tucked her handbag under one arm and bypassed Reece on the way to the door. When her gaze fell on the book Reece held, she gave a firm nod of approval.
Reece followed her into the hall. “Do you need a ride?”
“Of course not. I am fully capable of driving myself where I want to go.” Grandmother cast a sharp look over one shoulder. “I may be approaching eighty, but I’m as able-bodied and sharp-minded as ever.”
Her snippy tone made Reece draw back emotionally if not physically. “I never suggested you weren’t.”
“Your cousin suggests it quite regularly.”
“He worries about you.” Heavens, she was defending Mark. Who would have imagined it.
As she stepped outside, Grandmother shot her another scowl. “When he’s got something genuine to worry about, I’ll tell him.”
When the warm morning sun struck her, Reece felt a moment of relief. A gentle breeze blew from the west and smelled faintly of wood smoke. On the far side of the river, a thin plume of smoke circled lazily into the sky, and an unseen boat putted on the water. It seemed such a normal scene that, for a moment,
she
felt normal.
As Grandmother passed the fountain, heels tapping on the brick, Reece drew her attention back. “I only offered because I hadn’t seen a car around.”
“It’s in the garage, where we’ve always kept the cars.”
Garage? Reece glanced around, her gaze lighting on the storage sheds that stood between the house and the barn. She’d walked right past them yesterday, paying them no mind, but now she saw the keypad on the nearest one, and the overhead door.