Dreams of Fire (Maple Hill Chronicles Book 1) (9 page)

He’d sent her a couple of emails saying she’d left her stuff at his house in hopes of eliciting a response. She’d always risen to the bait in the past, and he’d had fun meeting with her only to tell her he’d thrown it away already and no longer had it. She’d teared up, and he’d enjoyed pretending to be sympathetic.
 

He flipped to the retail business newsfeed he subscribed to and idly read the entries. Doing some homework before this meeting would probably be a good idea. It was hard to concentrate, though. He bounced his knee up and down, making the expensive leather shoe squeak slightly. The word ‘settlement’ came up in an item about a lawsuit with a manufacturer, and that reminded him of his own. The divorce settlement still irked him. Her lawyer had demanded far more from him than he’d thought was reasonable, and his own lawyer had told him just to take the deal. Who would have thought Marianne would hire such a sharp woman? When he complained, Mother told him she’d known all along Marianne was a gold digger after the Chubb family fortune.
 

Agitated, he flipped to his desktop and brought up a solitaire game. His knee resumed its ferocious vibration. His mother had never thought very much of Marianne or her family. The Chubbs were wealthier and moved in more elevated circles than the Singletons. His marriage to his college sweetheart had been a youthful decision. Mother had questioned his impulse at the time but let him have his way. Marianne had been pretty and completely devoted to him, which had been a heady feeling. They’d done some fun things together, but she’d become tiresome over the years. He really should have ditched her long ago and traded up. But the company partners were all married with kids and seemed to value the whole family thing, so he’d been reluctant to get divorced. For some reason they also seemed to like her. When he met Sandra two years ago, he’d enjoyed flirting with her before reveling in a full-blown affair. It had been easy to hide it from Marianne because she always took him at his word.

His desktop image was of him and Sandra together on a boat earlier that summer. Sandra was so much better! She was gorgeous, had better T and A, and was ambitious like him. She was a much better fit for him in so many ways, he grinned privately as his foot stilled. He could see himself as a partner at the company in a few years, if he kept working this hard. Even if he had to make his own opportunities.
 

He turned back to the retail newsfeed and tried to focus, but his thoughts kept drifting.

His good mood soured as he thought of his last promotion. That was the other reason he couldn’t quite let Marianne go yet. Tormenting her was satisfying payback for the ridiculous settlement. But there was the matter of what she might know about him.

She was so timid and completely ordinary on one hand, but then she also had this weird side. She claimed to know things about him because she ‘dreamt’ about them. Completely absurd, of course, because who does that? Yet she’d known about his affair with Sandra somehow. Obviously, she was hiding her sources. Someone in his office or one of his friend’s wives had ratted him out. It had reminded him of that time in college when she said she’d ‘dreamt’ he was plagiarizing a term paper and colluding with his professor to get an A in spite of his poor class performance. He had done that, but how could she have known? He and the prof had been very careful. Geoffrey had been able to suppress her suspicions and convince her she was merely stressed out, but it had always left him wondering just a little. He unconsciously jiggled his knee again.

In business school he’d helped himself along a few times, just when he needed it. She’d never said anything about that, but a part of him always wondered. At the time he assumed she’d wised up and was willing to let it go since his success benefited her too. He still wasn’t convinced she knew about his indiscretions. Since then he speculated that she had sources who told her things about him, even though he’d been careful to monitor and steer her connections. At this point he didn’t think there was anyone who would tell her what he did on the side. Yet she’d known about Sandra somehow.

He needed to keep tabs on her. Just in case she decided to use her information against him.

There was a tap at the door. He looked up to see his secretary, Diana, standing with a sheaf of papers. She was a pretty blonde and seemed appropriately in awe of him. “Mr. Chubb?” She said diffidently. “Your meeting’s in five minutes. I have the information you asked for here.” She held out the folders.

He straightened his tie and tugged his jacket into place as he stood. “Thank you, Diana. Could you get me a coffee too? You know how I like it.”

She handed him the papers as he stepped through the doorway, and he brushed her tight ass with one hand as she turned to get his beverage.

Yes, it was good to be a marketing strategist on his way up the ladder.

Marianne woke to the tabby’s whiskers tickling her cheeks, and his fishy breath in her nostrils. Rolling over with a groan, she tried to ignore him, but he persisted until she got up. Sore muscles from yesterday’s work and lack of sleep made her feel pretty awful. She dragged herself through a shower and ate breakfast.
 

Even though the periwinkle blue paint in her room was dry, she wasn’t sure she had the energy. If she could just get the rooms done, she could unpack and feel more like she lived here. Walking into the office, she discovered that the lid on the quart of brown had somehow come off again, and there were new insulting splatters of paint on the wall. They were already dry. Taking a closer look, she felt the hair rise on the back of her neck, and her heart start to beat faster. The organic splatters had been deliberately dragged sideways like finger paint across the wall. It was not an accident. Someone or something had made the mess, and that person or entity was in the house with her.

Suppressing the urge to scream, she backed away from the wall and retreated to the living room where she paced, arms wrapped around her torso.

Okay, my house really
is
haunted! She thought furiously. It’s not just nightmares and me scaring myself. Some angry ghost or spirit lives here and doesn’t like me. Is he still here? She looked around the room wildly, half expecting to see an apparition.

Just then Oscar strolled into the room, waving his crooked tail. He jumped up on the sofa, supremely unconcerned, and butted her elbow until she unwound enough to rub his head. She took a shaky breath and collected her panicked thoughts like scared sheep.
 

If Oscar isn’t worried, maybe that means I don’t have to be. She caressed his soft fur and calmed down. What am I going to do? I have nowhere else to go. I have to make this work.
 

She took another deep breath and channeled her practical PhD historian self. I’ve faced a difficult doctoral committee, surely I can do this. First things first: I can’t be repainting that room endlessly.

An idea struck her, and she hauled all the paint cans from both rooms, tamped their lids down firmly, and put them on the step outside the dining room door.
 

Take that, Angry Guy, she thought defiantly. Then, rolling up her sleeves mentally, she got out the primer and slowly repainted the affected wall for a third time. Oscar watched her from the top of the pile of boxes.

“You’re king of the boxes, Oscar,” she said tiredly when she was done, ruffling his fur and rubbing his chin. “I think this would look really nice if I could just finish painting. I need a break, mister, so I’m going to town for a bit.”

The air felt particularly muggy and oppressive with the threat of thunderstorms later in the day. Marianne walked up and down side streets trying to remember where she’d seen it, until the clean scent of green apple shampoo caught her attention. She followed the aroma until she saw the Hair Magic sign over the door. Gratefully, she stepped into the shadowy interior, hoping fervently they took walk-ins and had a space now.

The shop was cooler than the sidewalk by virtue of not being in direct sunlight. A small rectangle of light all the way in the back showed the alley door open to stray breezes. The comforting and delicious smell of green apple shampoo wafted through the air, making her think of her old stylist in the city. Vivid peach and granny apple green walls enclosed a working area with two sinks, two dryers, and two stations with a huge mirror reflecting the other half of the room.
 

The hairdresser stood with her full attention on an older woman sitting in the stylist’s chair. Today, she had her thick, blonde-brown hair pulled back in a simple ponytail that dangled down between her shoulder blades. The pale violet colored locks had been corkscrew curled, framing her face. Her bare shoulders held up skinny tank top straps and sported surprisingly muscular arms and upper back. A full-length crinkle skirt of indigo blue draped over shapely hips. Her arms moved with surety as she combed and cut. The client, draped in a dark peach cape, sat and talked non-stop about people and events Marianne didn’t know. They both glanced at her in the mirror, and the woman with the scissors said without turning, “Be with you in a few, hon.”

There was no receptionist, so Marianne sat in the waiting area out of the relentless heat coming in the front window and picked up a magazine. Too keyed up to read much of anything, she looked more out of habit than anything else at pictures of famous people smiling or pouting.
 

The client eventually doffed the cape and came to the desk to pay, still talking almost non-stop. Marianne appreciated the attractive cut of the woman’s iron-gray hair and began to hope she could relax and get a good haircut too. There was nothing like having her hair done to make her feel better about almost anything.

“What can I do for you, hon?” The stylist looked at her with a smile of recognition. “Oh, hey, you’re the woman from the co-op aren’t you?” She had a pleasant contralto voice.

“Yes, we met the other day and you said you did hair. Do you take walk-ins?”

“Sure.” She flipped a page in her appointment book and said, “You’re in luck. I have no one else right now. As long as it’s just a wash and cut, I can take you right now. If you want color or a perm, you’ll have to make an appointment for later.”
 

“No, no. A wash and cut is all I need.”

“What’s your name?” Her pencil poised above the book, she raised a dark eyebrow.

“Marianne Singleton. I just moved here from the city,” she added.

“I’m Kelly Walker. Welcome to Maple Hill. Nice to meet you again.” Kelly stuck out her hand, and Marianne shook it. Kelly’s hand was sinewy and her grip very firm. Marianne had to shake extra hard in return. She must have shown her surprise, because Kelly smiled and said, “I go rock climbing on my days off.”

After Marianne was seated in the chair, Kelly fluffed the thick brown waves and commented, “You’ve got gorgeous hair. What are we going to do today?” She met Marianne’s toffee brown gaze appraisingly with her own hazel green eyes in the mirror.

“It’s gotten shaggy since my last cut.” Marianne described what her previous hairdresser had done. Kelly nodded as she listened and asked a few questions then invited her back to the sink.

“So, you’re new to Maple Hill. What brought you here?” Kelly asked conversationally as she turned on the water and tested it for temperature.
 

“I got divorced a couple of months ago and moved up here last week.” Marianne began to relax as the pleasantly lukewarm water drenched her wavy locks, and Kelly’s strong hands kneaded her scalp with shampoo.
 
“My grandmother lives over in Vandenberg, and I used to visit her and my grandpa every summer so when a house came up here I took it. I have nice memories of coming here as a kid.”

“Well, I hope you like it here,” Kelly said sincerely as she rinsed Marianne’s hair and began working in the conditioner.

“I’m really just settling in. So far it’s great, though. I’ve lived in apartments most of my life, so I’m getting used to the idea of having a whole house to myself. It’s a little strange. You probably know old houses make all kinds of odd noises and such.”
 

Kelly did a final rinse and wrapped a towel around her head, and Marianne transferred herself back to the stylist’s chair.
 

“Yeah, they do,” Kelly laughed, showing white, slightly crooked teeth in her tanned face.

Marianne looked at Kelly in the mirror as she took the towel off and gently blotted the stray drips on Marianne’s face and neck. Kelly’s strong-boned, sunburned, and freckled visage looked down to earth, and Marianne decided to tell her everything. She wasn’t sure if Kelly was a friend-to-be or a convenient confidante the way so many stylists seemed to be. She had no idea if Kelly would tell the next person in the chair all about her crazy last client, or if she’d keep her confidence. But Marianne really needed to talk to someone.

“Well, my house seems to make more than the usual share of strange noises,” Marianne began with an apologetic laugh. “The basement is seriously creepy. It’s completely clean, and I don’t mind spiders or anything, but I really don’t like being down there. The washer/dryer are down there, and I’m not sure I can stand to go down long enough to get my laundry done!” She continued to tell Kelly about her nightmares, feelings of being watched, and all the other weird events. She said far more than she’d anticipated, but it was such a relief to get it all out there.

 
“You probably think I’m completely pathetic. I’m not usually such a scaredy cat. Maybe I’m just frazzled by this whole move.” Marianne laughed a little shakily at herself.

Kelly had been an excellent listener, cutting and combing with practiced motions at the same time. She’d paused when Marianne had told her about the paint splashes and again when the piano had played by itself in the middle of the night.
 

When Marianne had finished her story, Kelly put the comb and scissors aside, turned the chair away from the mirror so that she could look her client in the eyes, and said, “Hon, I don’t think you’re pathetic. You’ve had a rough year and moved away from everything you know to live in a totally new place. I don’t know many people who are that brave.”