Hidden Hills (15 page)

He phoned Charlotte with the pretense of checking on the cat, and she agreed to drop off the key on her way to work. By eight o'clock, he'd finished his excuses for not showing up at the store and was on his way to satisfy his curiosity.

Everything at the entrance was the same, except for the fresh coat of black paint on the wrought iron gate. While willing to admit they were more impressive than before, why waste money she didn't have?

His truck stirred up a thin plume of dust when driving deeper into the thick woods toward the hairpin turn. He'd started down the steep slope when he noticed a white jeep with Alabama Land Surveyors on the side door, blocking his entrance onto the narrow bridge. The postcard scene was marred by a man in dirty fatigues adjusting a transit in the middle of the road. Jake pulled up next to the truck, switching off the motor to wait.

The surveyor finished jotting his figures on a small notepad, then turned back to his equipment. Jake sensed a bit of irritation in the guy's demeanor, as if he didn't appreciate being interrupted.

“I'll be out of your way in a jiff,” the man said.

“No hurry.” He was glad for once his curiosity was working. Rounding the front of the truck, he held out his hand.

The surveyor's handshake was firm. “I'm Conner Sparks.”

“Jake Weatherman,” he replied. “Peaceful job you've got.”

The man removed his cap and wiped the sweat away with his forearm. “Yeah, kind of hot though. You buying the place?”

Jake slid his hands into his pockets and gazed around as if seeing the area for the first time. “No, I'm just here to look it over. The owner seems to think I might be interested in making an offer.”

Sparks crammed his damp hair under his cap and spit a wad of tobacco juice into the dust-covered, Black-eyed Susans beside the road.

“I don't see why the judge is in such an all-fired hurry for me to finish the survey, if you haven't even seen it yet. From the way he talked, it was me holding up the sale.”

“I wouldn't know anything about that.”

More juice splattered the ground. “I've a good mind to stop work and go fish'n when I get over to Sam Drenfield's place.”

Jake frowned. “Are the forty lines located there?”

Sparks spit again. “You talking about the corner markers?”

“Yeah, I guess that's what they're called,” Jake said, not caring if the man thought he was ignorant, as long as it kept him talking. He wanted to know why the judge, and not Charlotte, was having it surveyed.

Sparks raked his nasty finger inside his jaw and slung a black wad of tobacco into the grass. “Naw,” he said, biting off a fresh plug. “The judge stays in a tizzy… wants both places done yesterday.”

“I get antsy myself sometimes,” Jake admitted, trying to imagine Maggie's reaction to this tobacco-spitting stranger in his dirty fatigues. “What judge are we talking about? I was under the impression a Mrs. McGregor was the owner.”

“Oh, she is,” he agreed. “But Tom McGregor is her father-in-law. If I didn't know better, I'd say he was doing this to help her out.”

“I've heard of him.” He contemplated what the surveyor said. “If he's the one I have to deal with to get this place… I'm not sure it's worth it.”

Sparks laughed. “I do a lot of work for the judge. Believe me, there's bad blood between those two.”

He could like this guy. “Guess it wouldn't hurt to look. Mind if I ease around and go up to the house?”

The surveyor eyed the distance between his transit and the nearest tree, a reminder to Jake that he was there first and he wasn't moving. “Help yourself. The old house is something to see.”

Hidden Hills mansion was as impressive as Jake recalled, only this time he'd steeled himself to its grandeur. Taking his time, he walked around the house, checking the foundation for cracks and signs of termite damage and found none. He'd need a carpenter to check underneath, but it wouldn't be a problem since the crawlspace appeared to give a good four-foot head clearance in the back, dropping to three at the front.

Jake wasn't sure why he was taking such an interest in the house, other than his overactive curiosity. Returning to the truck, he tore a page from one of Jeremy's notebooks lying in the floorboard and carried it inside. The elegance of the large entry hall had the same impact as before. He'd been able to see only part of the house then, but now he had time to study the layout of the rooms. His diagram was hastily drawn, noting things like heating and cooling, bathroom locations, and the availability of hot water. The house seemed to have most of the newfangled conveniences, including a satellite dish out back, yet it still retained the character of the Civil War period.

To keep the house as a private residence would take a healthy bank account, and as much as he'd like to help Charlotte, there was no way he'd gamble away the security he'd worked so hard to build. There had to be another way to save the house.

There was no sign of Conner Sparks when he crossed the creek on the way out. The white jeep was gone, along with any evidence the place had ever been surveyed.

The boys were in the backyard playing football when he arrived home. From the look of things, he'd just missed seeing the younger boys tackle Jeremy. The huddle broke when he blew his horn, and the game came to an abrupt end. It did his heart good for them to gather around the moment he stepped out of the cab.

“Hurry up, Dad. Granny dropped us off over an hour ago.”

Jake lifted Andy to his hip. “Why didn't you let yourselves in?”

“'Cause we didn't have a key,” Bruce replied, the ball rocking back and forth in his hands.

He quickly unlocked the door, stepping back while they wrestled their way in. Jeremy went straight to the refrigerator and poured milk to go with the snack cakes Bruce tore open. Their ravenous appetites gave him an easy opening. “Where's the extra key?”

“We lost it.”

Walking over to the answering machine, he checked for the message his mother had left earlier in the week… blank. “Well, do you think God could be punishing you boys for what you did to Charlotte?”

The older boys eyed each other. “We didn't do nothing.”

“You didn't copy her keys? Or you didn't eat supper over there every night this week without asking?”

Bruce began edging toward the door. “That's crazy. Where'd you hear such a dumb thing?”

Their saintly innocence was getting old. “Knock it off. You two have done some rotten things before, but this takes the cake. Charlotte's gone out of her way to be nice to you.”

“Nice!” Bruce cried, full of righteous indignation. “She made me mop her ‘ole floor, and then she put soap in my mouth!”

Jake eyed his eight-year-old. Soap? He could only imagine what the boy had done. “I want some explanations.”

Jeremy slumped against the refrigerator. “We didn't think Charlotte would mind. We were hungry, and she always cooks lots of food.”

“That's not the point,” Jake said, disappointed they'd taken her kindness for granted. “You should have asked, or better yet, waited for her to ask you.”

Bruce munched on a raisin cake. “But what if she forgot to ask?”

“Son.” Jake rubbed his forehead where the pain had set in. “If she didn't ask, then maybe it's because she wasn't cooking for you.”

“But you ate it too.” Bruce crammed the rest of his cake into his mouth. “How come it's okay for you to eat, but not us?”

“I didn't say it was okay…”

“But if she cooks too much, won't it just be thrown out if somebody don't eat it?”

“Sit down, both of you.” Jake motioned toward the kitchen table where they'd had many discussions. “Guys — Charlotte has worked two jobs for over a year, and she's exhausted when she comes home at night. She cooks a couple of meals at a time so she won't have to cook every day.”

The boys were quiet as his words sank in. It was evident from their expressions this hadn't crossed their minds. Jeremy frowned, gnawing on a piece of beef jerky. “Does this mean we ate all of her food?”

“We didn't know,” Bruce admitted, contrite for once.

He had their attention and it was time for their lesson. “I know you didn't, but it happened, and now we need to replace her groceries. I think since you guys did the crime, it's only fair you pay.”

Bruce's mouth fell open. “But groceries costs money!”

“Yeah, Dad… lots of it!”

“Exactly,” Jake agreed. “I think twenty dollars from each of you should make a good start.”

“But Andy ate, too!”

“Your brother didn't know any better, so I'm paying for the rest of the grocery bill.”

“But, Dad — twenty bucks? It'll wipe me out!”

Jake reached for the phone. “Sounds fair to me. Eating Charlotte's groceries behind her back is the same as stealing from her. Now get your money while I talk Grandma into shopping.”

“Hurry, Mama.” Maggie buckled her black, second-hand shoes as fast as her little fingers would work. “We'll be late for church.”

Charlotte closed the mascara with a snap and applied a thin layer of her only lipstick before making one last turn in front of the mirror. She hated walking into a new church for the first time. To make things worse, if Jake's boys were still mad for being caught red-handed in their last escapade, there was no telling what they might do to get even.

“You look pretty, Mama.” Becky's sweet expression did more for her self-esteem than the compliment. The girls were excited about going to church.

Maggie clicked the patent leather heels together like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz. “I'm ready.”

Church was only three blocks away, but Charlotte decided to take her car for the sole purpose of having an excuse not to ride home with Jake, if he offered. She'd yet to see a church without its tongue-wagging gossipers, and she didn't intend to be linked to him.

Following her girls to the third pew on the right, they sat down, hopefully not taking anyone's favorite seat. Annabelle's fingers danced over the keys as the music filled the sanctuary, calming her nerves. This was what she'd been missing — God's house and His people.

She relaxed on the padded pew, noticing the material worn from years of use by faithful believers. The wooden beams overhead were darkened with age, and the floors gleamed where colorful streaks of light poured through the stained-glass windows. The church, just like the house on Robins Lane, seemed to welcome her with open arms. Talking quietly to the lady in front of her, the peaceful tranquility shattered when Andy bounced onto the pew beside her.

“Hi, Mama Char-it!” His excitement echoed throughout the entire sanctuary. Laughter from the other congregation members proved his clear, sweet voice had been heard loud and clear.

Of all the pews in the church, she'd managed to sit with the one family with whom she'd hoped not to get her name linked. She tried to pretend the red glow of her cheeks was normal, but then Annabelle nodded from the piano, confirming she'd inadvertently started the tongue-wagging. There was no one to blame but herself.

The elderly preacher walked up to the pulpit with a slight stoop in his shoulders. She wondered if he was carrying a burden as heavy as her own. His thick, white hair matched his bushy eyebrows, and when he began to read, “Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen,” it was as if he was speaking directly to her.

Looking back, she realized she'd been living on nothing but hope since Mitch's death. Had her faith begun to waver? She knew all things happened for a reason, and God's grace would handle any situation, but had she been so busy lately she'd failed to ask for His guidance?