The Carriage House (8 page)

“She one of his women?”

“I didn't ask.”

“Ike wouldn't have gone down in the cellar after Tippy Tail, that's for damn sure. I'd feel better about this if we knew where the hell that slippery bastard's got himself off to.”

Harl was more inclined to blame Ike for Joanna's death than Andrew was, believing the man had slipped through a troubled woman's defenses, into her psyche, and used her for his own ego.

“It's getting late,” Andrew said.

Harl didn't move. He took a sip of beer. “Don't you wonder why Haviland didn't just tell you the truth?”

“Harl, if I saw a ghost—whether I thought I saw one or actually knew I saw one—I don't know if I'd go out of my way to tell anyone.”

“Ah.” Harl settled back in his chair, in no apparent hurry to return to his quarters across the yard. “A sin of omission isn't the same as a sin of commission.”

Andrew sighed. One beer, and Harl was in the mood to give him a headache. “It's none of our business.”

“She lied. If we hadn't heard her scream, or if you ran into her over the lilacs tomorrow and she didn't mention falling, that'd be a sin of omission. Telling you it was the thought of snakes that made her scream is a sin of commission. A flat-out lie.”

“Well, Harl, guess what? I don't care. If she saw a ghost, she saw a ghost. Doesn't have anything to do with me.”

“What if it's Jedidiah?”

“Jedidiah has nothing to do with me. Or you.” He rinsed out his beer bottle in the sink. “I just want to find Tippy Tail, for Dolly's sake. The rest I don't care about.”

“Not me.” Harl pushed back his chair and got to his feet, his white ponytail hanging down his back. “I want to know about the ghost.”

He left without another word, taking his baseball bat with him. In the ensuing silence, Andrew refused to think about what Tess had actually seen in her cellar. Instead he thought about what he'd have done if she'd taken him up on his offer to spend the night. The guest-room beds weren't made up.

Dangerous thinking.

He thought of her tucked on her camp mat for the night with her lantern, her book, her white-noise machine. Would she sleep in her dusty, cobweb-covered clothes? Would she sleep at all?

More dangerous thinking.

He jumped up, and when he walked down the hall, he could feel how big and empty his house was. He'd renovated a few of the rooms, had more to go.

He headed up to Dolly's room. She was curled up with her stuffed kittens and wore a glittery star crown half off her coppery hair. His sweet, stubborn, imaginative daughter. Whatever else he did wrong in his life, he needed to do right by her.

Tess Haviland had done right by her six-year-old neighbor and her expectant cat, never mind what she was willing to admit about why she'd screamed.

And yet, Harl's reaction had done the trick. She was hiding something. Andrew had sensed it, and now he wondered what it was, and why she hadn't just told him the truth.

T
ess didn't sleep, at least not enough to amount to much. Awake or asleep, her mind kept conjuring ghosts and skeletons, yowling cats, strange men materializing out of the dark. She could have taken up Andrew Thorne's invitation to sleep at his house, but what did she know about him and this Harl character?

At 5:00 a.m., she grabbed her cell phone to call the police—but stopped after punching the nine and first one. She needed to go back down into the cellar first, herself, and make sure of what she saw.
Then
call the police if necessary. This was a small town. Word would get out if it was simply a Halloween skeleton or her imagination.

“The hell with it,” she muttered. “Let the police check the damn cellar.”

She wasn't going back down there.

But she didn't call.

At seven, she decided to put the carriage house on the market. She wouldn't mention the skeleton. Had
Ike
mentioned the skeleton? She'd never be able to sell the place if she made a big stink and got the police in here, forensics, historians, exorcists, God knew who else.

If it
was
human remains she'd seen, they had to be of a nineteenth-century horse thief, some anonymous person, not Jedidiah Thorne.

Not Ike.

At eight, Tess crawled stiffly out of her sleeping bag into the glorious May sunlight streaming through the kitchen window. How could she possibly have seen a human skull in the cellar? Ridiculous. At worst, she'd come upon the resident ghost and his tricks. At best, nothing at all, just the workings of her creative mind.

Andrew Thorne hadn't believed she'd screamed at the thought of snakes. She was sure of that. She should have said she'd seen an actual snake. Two feet long, with spots. Slithering among the heating ducts.
That
would have wiped the skepticism out of those incisive, very blue eyes.

She took a long, very hot shower in her gold-fix-tured bathroom. The heat helped her bruises and eased her tension, but provided no clear-cut answers about what she should do. She changed into her favorite jeans, a denim work shirt and cross-trainers, then made Earl Grey tea and warmed up her apricot scone.

She had breakfast on the kitchen steps, feeling a twinge where she'd banged her hip last night. It was a warm, breezy morning, something in the air suggesting the ocean was just across the main road.

After breakfast, she walked out to the water, over rocks and down to the sand, where the tide was rolling out. The ocean smells were strong here, pungent and salty, yet pleasant. A strand of wet, slimy seaweed curled around the bottom of her sneaker, water easing under her feet. The sun sparkled on the horizon. Boats were out.

When she returned to the carriage house, Tess knew she'd have to work herself up to going back down in the cellar. It was just a matter of timing. She'd planned on walking to the village, perhaps having lunch on the pier. Should she check and see if she'd seen a skull in the cellar last night before or after her jaunt to the village?

After. If she did it before, and discovered she'd seen exactly what she thought she'd seen, there'd be no wandering in shops, no chowder in a cute restaurant with red-and-white-checked tablecloths. She'd have to call the police, probably Lauren Montague. The neighbors.

“Hi, Tess, can I come over?”

Tess almost let out another yell, but gulped it back when she spotted Dolly Thorne's little face peering through the lilacs.

“Is it okay with your father and Harl?”

“They won't mind.”

After last night, Tess would doubt that. “You'd better go ask.”

The girl rolled her eyes. “Really, they won't mind.”

Tess went over to the lilacs. Technically, Dolly was still in her own yard. She had on a crown of glittery red hearts today, which matched the hearts on her shirt.

“Did Tippy Tail come home last night?” Tess asked.

Dolly shook her head, sighing dramatically. “She's lost. I don't know why she keeps running away.”

“I don't, either. I guess some cats are like that. Did your dad tell you I saw her last night? I'm afraid we startled each other, and she ran off. I'm sure she didn't go far.”

“That happens,” the girl said sagely.

“Maybe she's hiding here somewhere. Do you want to call her?”

Dolly crouched amidst the lilacs, calling in a patient whisper, “Kitty, kitty.”

A cat meowed from inside the carriage house, and not from the cellar. The plaintive cry was coming, distinctly, from the kitchen.

Tess couldn't believe it.

Dolly jumped up and squealed. “Oh my God!”

“Come on, we'll go ask your dad and Harl if you can go inside with me and check if that's Tippy Tail.”

“It is! I know it is! She'll run away—”

Tess stood firm. “She won't run away. But let's hurry, okay?”

She didn't want the girl throwing a tantrum in her driveway, but there was no way Tess was taking her inside without permission from the adults in the girl's life, especially after last night. With slumped shoulders, Dolly slipped back through to her side of the lilacs. Tess followed, squeezing through branches, twigs, drooping blossoms, fat leaves and protruding roots, all of which slapped, poked or tripped her.

When she was finally clear of the lilacs, she landed in an oasis, at least compared to her own yard. The Thorne lawn was lush and green, with a half-dozen rhododendrons just coming into blossom and huge, graceful shade trees strategically placed. Tess couldn't imagine what had motivated Jedidiah Thorne to throw away this life in a duel.

Dolly ran over to a white-haired man near a cottage-like outbuilding. He had a small chest of drawers set up on a drop cloth, paint supplies neatly laid out. Dolly, Tess realized, couldn't have been out of his sight, even in the lilacs.

“Harl,” the girl called, breathless, “Harl, I found Tippy Tail! I found her!”

“No kidding, baby. Where is she?”

“At Tess's house.”

Tess smiled, hoping she didn't look too rattled after last night's surprise. In her work, she was often called upon to fake good cheer and a calm disposition under pressure.

Harl moved to meet her halfway. When he got closer, Tess noticed the scars on his face and a tattoo on his arm. He wore a POW-MIA shirt and was missing the tips of at least two fingers. “I'm Harl Beckett, Andrew's cousin.”

“Tess Haviland. It's nice to meet you. I think Tippy Tail's in my house. We heard her meow.”

He adjusted Dolly's crown, and Tess could see he had a curious calming effect on the girl. Probably this wasn't the effect Harl Beckett had on most people in his life. He said, “Sorry you got mixed up with this cat of hers.”

“It's okay,” Tess said. “I don't mind.”

“I understand last night was a little rough.”

His tone was even, his expression unreadable, but she knew he didn't believe her story any more than his cousin. She resisted the urge to turn away, and even managed a smile. “Yes, I had quite the adventure. That'll teach me. I suspect Tippy Tail would have done just fine without me.”

“How'd she get in?”

“Broken window. I should repair it this weekend while I'm up here. Did you hear me yell? I tripped over some old furniture and landed on the dirt floor. I kept thinking about snakes.”

Harl Beckett studied her a moment, his expression unchanged. “Sticking to your story, are you?”

“I beg your pardon?”

He turned to Dolly, who was obviously losing patience with the chitchat. “Run tell your dad where we're going.” Obviously he didn't trust Tess enough to let Dolly go over with her alone. “Hurry up.”

Dolly didn't argue, just charged across the yard calling for her father.

Tess hesitated. “Mr. Beckett—”

“Harl.”

“I don't know what you meant just now.”

“Didn't mean anything.”

“You don't believe me,” she said.

“Nope. That going to keep you up nights?”

She smiled suddenly, although she had no idea why. “I did think about snakes.”

He cocked an eyebrow at her. “And what else?”

She shrugged. “Ghosts.”

“Now we're talking.”

Dolly raced back across the lawn, breathing hard, cheeks red. “Daddy says to go on, he'll be along in a minute. Come
on,
let's go, let's go!”

“You go on with Tess,” Harl said, “I'm right behind you.”

But Dolly was already climbing through the lilacs, and by the time Tess made it back through, the little girl was bounding up the kitchen steps.

Tess ran to catch up with her. “Take it easy, Princess Dolly. If Tippy Tail's having her kittens, we don't want to scare her.”

Dolly was barely able to contain her excitement, but she nodded gravely and pressed a finger to her lips. “Shh.”

Tess pushed open the screen door and glanced back at the driveway. Harl was there, motioning for her to go on in. Dolly slipped past her inside, running quietly into the kitchen. She gasped in delight, covering her mouth with both hands as if to hold back a squeal. Tess stood next to her, following the girl's wide-eyed look.

There, in the middle of Tess's camp bed, was the missing cat, with a litter of tiny, squirming newborn kittens. Four of them. Little bits of matted gray, white and black fur.

How? Tess wondered. How had this happened? Either Tippy Tail had snuck past her in the dark last night and lurked in the house all night, or she'd seized her opening when Tess had gone out to enjoy her tea and scone, then for a walk on the beach.

If nothing else, the cat was an opportunist. This was the only relatively soft, warm spot in the entire house. It certainly beat a dark, junky corner of the dirt cellar.

It wasn't Harl who came into the kitchen, but Andrew, his eyes connecting with Tess. Before either of them could say anything, Dolly waved them into silence. Tess pointed to the cat.

He had the gall to grin, amused.

“It's not funny,” she whispered.

“No, Tess, it's very funny.”

She wanted to be magnanimous, but a mother cat and four kittens had taken up residence on her only furniture, on her
bed.

Andrew stood close to her. He smelled of fresh soap, and she could see a small scar on his jaw, almost into his dark hair, and wondered how he'd gotten it. He smiled. “I can see I owe you for all the trouble this cat's caused you.”

“Big time.”

But he wasn't doing a good job of pretending to be chagrined at the situation. Dolly tiptoed to the foot of the sleeping bag and knelt down, instinctively quiet. Her cat was half-asleep, dazed almost, curled up with her kittens amidst Tess's pillows and the T-shirt she'd slept in. The tiny kittens were suckling, barely moving.

Andrew bent over his daughter. “Just look,” he whispered. “Don't touch.”

She angled her face up at him, her eyes bright. “When can I pick them up?”

“In a few days. If we bother them now, Tippy Tail might get upset and move them.” He glanced back at Tess. “A few days? You can manage?”

As if she had a choice. She couldn't evict a mother cat and newborn kittens. “Sure.”

“The offer of a guest room stands.”

The cat fixed her golden eyes on Tess, as if she knew exactly how she'd complicated her life. Pay-back, no doubt, for Tess scaring her last night. She'd probably been all set to have her kittens down in the cellar, and then Tess had come whomping in there to the rescue.

Andrew touched his daughter's shoulder, and she grabbed his hand. They moved back through the kitchen and outside without a word. Tess joined them, because there wasn't much else she could do except scare off poor Tippy Tail again.

Once she was safe on the driveway, Dolly jumped up and down and clapped her hands, spun herself around in a circle. “Oh, they're so cute! Oh, Daddy, did you see them? I want to name them.” Harl was there, hovering close to the lilacs. “Harl, Harl, you
have
to see them! Oh my God!”

Andrew grimaced. “Dolly, you have to stop saying ‘oh my God' like that.”

She nodded, obviously not really hearing him. “Can I show Harl?”

“Yes, you can show Harl.”

Harl didn't seem eager to see the kittens, but Dolly had him by the hand, dragging him. If his appearance and demeanor were intimidating to others, they had no effect whatsoever on his cousin's six-year-old daughter.

Andrew shifted to look at Tess, the morning sun bringing out the flecks of gray in his dark hair, the angles of his face. As gentle as he was with his irrepressible daughter, Tess suspected he wasn't a man given to easy expression of emotion. “I see you got through the night all right.”