Remember Tuesday Morning (16 page)

S
IXTEEN

H
olly was having trouble focusing. She’d given three tours that day and closed the deal on the sale of the largest home in the current phase — the one at the end of the street. It was early afternoon, and she still had two more appointments, but not for another hour. The break gave her the chance to grab a cup of coffee and settle in at her desk for some paperwork.

But her heart wasn’t interested in numbers and spreadsheets. She pushed the pile of papers back and leaned on her elbows, her eyes on the brown hills adjacent to the development. The sky was bluer up here above the valley, and today especially so. The Santa Ana winds hadn’t materialized into anything too strong yet, and it had been a week since anyone had mentioned the fire danger posed by the phoned-in threat.

Life should be wonderful, but there was a heaviness in Holly’s soul that made every breath a struggle. Something caught her attention, and she looked across the street and over one homesite to see Dave and Ron examining the framing of a spec home that they’d just broken ground on. Ron’s confidence was like a force around him, something she could feel without seeing his face or hearing his voice. It was what had attracted her to him the first time they met.

So what was the problem? Holly released a heavy breath and covered her face with her hands. She and Ron had gone out twice now, two Saturdays in a row. The first night he’d taken her to LAX where they boarded a plane and flew to Vegas for dinner at Andre’s in the Monte Carlo hotel. They sat near a grand fireplace and ate exquisite French food by candlelight. After dinner a limo met them out front and whisked them to the Hilton where they had stage seats for Barry Manilow.

Holly had never been on a date like that in her life, never even dreamed of such a thing. The whole time, Ron was attentive and proud of himself for coming up with something so creative. They caught a red-eye back, and he dropped her off at her townhouse just before three in the morning. Holly dropped her hands back to the desk and looked up at the pair of champagne glasses sitting on the top shelf of her office bookcase. They were souvenirs from the concert. Their seats were so close they had the chance to shake Barry’s hand during one of the songs.

Once she realized how extravagant a date he’d planned for her, Holly worried about his expectations. When Ron wanted something, he got it. But on the flight home he simply took her hand and looked into her eyes. “I hope you don’t mind getting home so late.”

“No,” Holly’s answer was quick. How could she mind? He’d just given her a night fit for a princess. “I’m fine … the night was,” no other word seemed to fit, “it was lovely, Ron.”

“Good.” He gave her hand a squeeze. His palms were dry this time. “I wanted to get you home before morning. So you wouldn’t question my intentions.”

With that he launched into a dissertation about faith and his moral compass and maintaining integrity in every area of life, including his relationships. Holly agreed with everything he said, but he never asked for her input, and for some reason the whole bit came across like a lecture or a speech — impersonal and more about Ron than something intimate and special the two of them might’ve shared.

When he drove her home, he hopped out of his BMW, walked around the front of the car, and opened her door. She’d been curious about whether he’d kiss her, but before she had time to think about it, he moved in close and pressed his lips to hers. It was quick and to the point, then he took a step back and patted her arm. “Thank you, Holly. I had a wonderful evening.”

She resisted the temptation to say the word
lovely
. Instead she smiled and thanked him, and that was that. When she went inside, she walked around her empty townhouse trying to understand why she felt so let down, so alone.

Holly stood and walked to the bookcase. She took one of the champagne glasses and held it by the stem. The date should’ve been a dream come true, but instead it reminded her of something she’d read in a magazine once about a certain pop star’s wedding. The couple had spent more than a million dollars on everything from a dress handmade in Vienna to a cake whose price tag was in the five figures. Holly read the article, and rather than longing for something similar, she caught herself feeling sorry for the couple. Could love ever find its way into a ceremony so lavishly wasteful, so grossly materialistic?

She set the glass down again. This past Saturday had been simpler. A drive to the beach and dinner at Gladstone’s. But by the time he’d brought her home and efficiently kissed her goodnight, she finally figured out the problem. Both times they went out, Ron had the entire evening scripted. There seemed to be a schedule to keep, an agenda. Though in some ways he seemed the most spontaneous guy she’d ever met, the spirit of spontaneity was completely missing on their dates. It was like he was in a hurry to check things off the list.

Dinner … conversation … even the kiss.

She wandered back to her desk and sat down again. Or maybe that wasn’t it at all. Maybe it was all about the newspaper article, about seeing Alex after so much time. Holly couldn’t stop thinking about him. She breathed in deeply and checked her watch. She still had half an hour before her next appointment. She rolled her chair a few feet to the computer and placed her hands over the keyboard. Without really meaning to, she typed his name into the Google search line. Alex Brady. Then she added the keywords she already knew would work.
LA Sheriff’s Department … award … K9
. The story with his picture was the first thing that popped up.

And there he was, the stern-faced deputy who had once been the boy she loved. The photo showed him accepting an award, but it might as well have been a cry for help. His expression was so closed off. The phone began to ring, and in a rush Holly closed the Internet site. But before she could reach for the receiver, Ron and Dave stormed through the front door. Ron stuck his head in her office. “We need you out here.” His expression was all business. “It’s urgent.” He continued into the house after his father.

She glanced at the Caller ID, in case the call was from one of her appointments. But the window read
Michaels
— a name she wasn’t familiar with. She would have to let the machine take the call. She hurried past the computer, where the image of Alex’s face remained. “Coming,” she announced. She found them sitting at the dining room table, poring over a piece of paper. Whatever the problem, they both looked stricken. She hesitated as she reached them. “What’s going on?”

Ron’s face was several shades paler than usual. “Remember the phone threat we got the other day? The one that said we would be targeted for a fire up here?”

“Of course.” Holly’s heartbeat doubled. She sat slowly in the chair opposite them and looked at the paper on the table. “What about it?”

Dave handed the paper to her. “One of the framers found this tacked to the back of the house across the street.”

“I didn’t think the threat was serious before.” Ron wasn’t panicked, but he was definitely concerned.

Holly took the paper and studied it. The person had typed the brief letter, and Holly scanned it quickly, wanting to get to the point.

Developer:

Since you have chosen to violate the natural resources of our canyons and hillsides, and since you persist in creating homes that meet the gluttonous needs of the over-indulgent in our society, we are hereby giving you notice. Tear down your homes, or they will be burned to the ground. Don’t think your gate can keep us out. We’re everywhere.

The letter was signed only, “
The REA.
”

Holly felt sick to her stomach. There were often nights when she worked later than the others, up here alone. Day or night, she was terrified at the thought of being here when a fire might be set. “Have you called the police?”

“Of course.” Ron took the letter from her. “They’ve promised increased security, but still …”

“They found a way to get up here and tack that threat onto one of our homes.” Dave’s forehead glistened with a faint layer of perspiration. He’d never looked this upset in all the time Holly had known him. “That could just as easily have been a match, and — “

“And there’s no telling how much we would’ve lost.” Ron stood and walked to the window at the back of the room. For a while he stared out at the hills behind the development. Then he turned back to them. “We’re surrounded by dry brush.”

“Which we’ve known about from the beginning.” Dave sounded as if he were trying to calm himself down. “Every hillside home stands in the line of fire danger. Same as homes in the Midwest stand in the line of tornado danger. People buy these houses knowing that. But an arsonist?” He stared at his son. “We never planned for this.”

Holly was grateful they’d included her in the meeting. The danger was as much hers as theirs, but neither of them was looking to her for comments or thoughts on the matter. She sat back in her chair and listened, trying not to give way to the anxiety building up inside her. “We have the gate, don’t forget. And the security fence.” Dave stood and paced to the nearest window and back. “That’s gotta be worth some sort of protection.”

Ron waved the paper at the front door. “Neither one did us any good last night, or whenever this was left here.”

Dave anchored his forearms on the table and uttered a heavy sigh. “Tell her what the sheriff’s department said.”

Ron shifted his attention, and for the first time — maybe the first time ever — he had genuine concern in his eyes. “They said we need to be very careful. Report any suspicious activity … be aware of people wanting tours and then not following through. That sort of thing.”

“Not following through?” Holly felt overwhelmed at the idea. “I’ve given tours to hundreds of people. We’ve sold only a handful of homes.” She felt bewildered, and her nervous laugh conveyed the fact. “So everyone who comes up for a tour is a suspect?”

Ron maintained his concern. “They told me we can’t be too careful. That’s all I’m saying.”

“They’re afraid someone’ll start a fire in the middle of the day? With the gates wide open?”

“That’s why we wanted you in on this.” Dave tapped his knuckles on the table, his voice tense. “This is very serious. Every person who makes it up that road must be greeted. We must get names and addresses. Phone numbers.” He shot a questioning look at Ron. “Maybe even license plates and descriptions.”

Ron jabbed his finger in the air, and his eyebrows lifted. “I like that.” He looked at Holly. “You could do that, right? I mean, there’s not that much traffic up here.”

Holly didn’t mind, certainly, but she had her doubts. “Most of the time that would work, but … I have to say that on the weekend there are times when I can’t get to everyone. Some people come up, drive around, and maybe get out of their cars for a few minutes. They leave before I can get to them.”

Dave and Ron seemed to think about that for a minute. “That should be okay.” Ron walked back to the table and sat down. “No one would start a fire when it’s busy, when people are all around.”

Holly tried to imagine an arsonist coming up the hill. They might avoid the crowded days, but they would hardly want to be the only visitor here, either. Catching a lone visitor would be easier than catching someone who slipped into a crowd. But before she could say so, Dave threw his hands up, his tension high. “Crowded or not, it doesn’t matter. The point is we need license plates and descriptions. Some way of tracking the people who come up. I can’t stand the thought of someone getting hurt in our development.”

They talked about the idea of a guard station and decided it might be a good idea — at least when the gate was open. That way, every car up the hill would be accounted for.

“Paying a security guard to screen every visitor would cost considerably less than the damage a fire would cause.” Dave seemed to settle down some. “I like the idea.”

The conversation wrapped up, and Dave and Ron congratulated Holly on closing another deal that morning. “There’ll be a bonus in your next paycheck,” Ron told her. “You’re really quite good at what you do, Holly.”

Holly wished his compliment made her feel warm and special inside, but it didn’t. The way he delivered his lines — even to her — made him sound like a college math professor declaring some sort of algebraic theory.

Ron and Dave left to check the progress on a home at the far right end of the street, across from the large model they’d just sold. After they were gone, Holly returned to her office. She was terrified at the thought of an arsonist. No matter how the note had gotten tacked to the back of the new house, a fire setter could do his work alone or with people all around. The idea was way too possible.

She sat back at her desk and positioned herself in front of the computer again. But what scared her more than a fire in the hills was the possibility of settling for a man she didn’t love. A nice guy with a nice faith and a nice job who knew how to take her out on the town and show her a nice time. A guy who hadn’t once dug deep enough to know her heart, and who seemed to handle dating like another to-do list. Settling for just okay, when once upon a high school romance she’d had a love that seemed to have slipped right from the pages of a storybook.