The Jewelry Case (8 page)

"I might," said Paisley politely, although she had no more intention of doing
that
than she had of attending opening night. She drained her lemonade and stood. "Thanks. I appreciate the drink."

Shirley waved her thanks away. "Are you sure you can make it home? I'd be happy to close down the shop for a few minutes and give you a lift."

Paisley had almost forgotten her limp and the long red scar down her left calf, neater than the jagged one on her neck. Her lips clamped together and her tone grew frosty. "I'll be fine."

Shirley seemed oblivious that she had offended Paisley. "You really do need a car, you know. Out here in the country, it's a necessity. Try Craigslist. In the meantime, I'll keep my ear open; if I hear of anything that's available, I'll let you know."

Paisley thawed slightly. "Thanks. I'd appreciate that."

As she crossed the street, Shirley called in a bellow that caused several passers-by to turn and stare. "And be sure to drop by next time you're in town. I'd like to pick your brains about that house of yours. I'm a member of the historical society, and the Perleman place is one of our older homes. If we compare notes, maybe we can learn something, huh? I've heard some interesting stories about that place."

Paisley waved and hurried away. It was one thing to have people stare when one was onstage, in character, she thought; quite another in the middle of a small town like this one, with amused residents looking on. She was beginning to realize that her plan to spend the next few weeks wallowing in self-pity and hiding from the world was becoming more and more remote. She wondered if that was one of the reasons Esther had gone to such lengths to bring her to River Bend.

The bag of groceries grew heavier with each step as she walked home. When a car swooshed at full speed down the hill by the bend in the river, Paisley hopped to the side of the road to avoid being hit. Pain stabbed her weak leg, and she wished she had accepted Shirley’s offer of a ride.

Limping onward, she eyed a "Do not trespass" sign nailed prominently to a post. A shortcut across the pasture would save several minutes of walking, and besides, she rationalized, such signs were a mere formality. After all, it wasn’t as if she wouldn’t be harming anything, and the cow she had seen earlier was grazing peacefully in the far corner.

She slipped through the barbed wire and had nearly reached the other side when she noticed the cow ambling in her direction. The animal was bigger than she had realized. So were its horns. And it was picking up its pace.

As the animal began to trot toward her with surprising speed, she gave up any attempt at dignity and broke into a sprint, forgetting her weak leg. She made it only a few feet, however, before she tripped, the grocery bag flying out of her grasp, scattering a loaf of whole wheat bread, bagged lettuce, apples, a chocolate bar in the grass. It was too late to flee: the animal was on top of her, its flanks solid as the sides of a warship. Curling up in a ball, she waited for the sharp horns to carve into her side.

"Miss Lizzie! Get out of there! Shoo!"

A dirt clod bounced off the cow's massive flank, and the beast bellowed in protest. "Hey, lady, are you all right?" The voice was panting, as if its owner had been running.

Paisley opened a cautious eye. The cow was gone. A not-too-clean hand was reaching down to offer help. Gratefully she clasped it and allowed its possessor to haul her to her unsteady feet. A boy about seventeen years old looked down at her from a face crowned by a spiky thatch of midnight-black hair. He wore jeans and checkered Vans sneakers and had a pair of a tiny silver hoops through his lower lip. Although she had never seen him before, something struck her as vaguely familiar, and without realizing it, she found herself staring at him.

His coffee-brown eyes narrowed under thick straight eyebrows. "You okay? Don't worry. Miss Lizzie's not going to hurt you."

She looked behind her. The cow was plodding away. At a distance, it paused to crop the grass again.

She looked down at where her left leg emerged from her shorts, hospital-pale, still bearing the long red scar from the implanted titanium rod. A few beads of blood welled out of a faint network of new scratches, and suddenly everything seemed very far away.
Blood all over the dashboard. Broken glass everywhere. And next to her, Jonathan's limp body, slumped over the steering wheel....

"Hey! You'd better lean on me. You don't look so good." The teenager grabbed her arm, and she gratefully clung to him. "Come on, we've got some Band-aids in the house."

When he was satisfied she could stand on her own, the boy released her and bent to scoop the scattered groceries back into the bag. "You weren't scared of Miss Lizzie, were you?" he asked as they started toward the house, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. There was a hint of humor in his voice.

"Miss Lizz—oh, the cow? Of course not. I was just—"

"—Worried about trespassing?"

The boy's tone was carefully bland, but she felt herself blush. "Sorry. I should have known better."

"It's okay. I don't know why my step-dad put the sign up anyway. You can cross any time you want, as long as you don't mind confronting Miss Lizzie again." Although his face was deadpan, humor glinted in the dark-brown eyes. "You want to watch out for the pasture next door, though," he added, as a line appeared between his brows. "There's a bull over there. That one could be dangerous."

"Then I'm glad I chose this field to trespass on. Thanks for rescuing me." She stuck out her hand. "My name's Paisley Perleman. I believe we're neighbors."

His smile disappeared as if she had suddenly transformed into a monster with three heads and slobbering jowls. After a moment she lowered her hand.
What had she said wrong?

"You're a Perleman? I thought you were just one of the weekend tourists. Sometimes they stop by thinking our winery is open for visits."

"I’m just related to the family by marriage," she told him. For some reason, her voice sounded apologetic. "Esther Perleman was my late husband's great-aunt."

"That's the old lady who used to live in the house next door, right?"

"Yes. And what is your name?"

“Kevin Johnson.” Without elaborating, he turned and crossed the last few yards to his house without waiting for her. She hesitated, then hurried after him, puzzled at his change of mood from friendly to cool.

Kevin’s house was another Queen Anne, bigger and in better condition than hers. The gray-painted boards of the wide, inviting porch were spotless, and the windows sparkled like freshly washed wine glasses. Either her neighbor Steve Lopez was a neat freak or he employed one heck of a cleaning woman. Two cars were parked side-by-side in the long driveway: a red pick-up truck and a gleaming low-slung black Audi R8 that looked like something Jonathan would have driven. The sleek sports car seemed out of place in the semi-rural setting, and she eyed it curiously.

The teenager opened the front door for her, and she preceded him into what had once been a traditional parlor. It had been transformed into an ultra-modern man cave, with a slouchy distressed-leather sofa, a pool table squeezed into a corner, a small wet bar, and an enormous plasma television hanging over the fireplace.

A pair of brightly colored abstract paintings covered two of the other walls, all slashing streaks of red and orange, while an odd-shaped, long-handled metal object leaned against a corner like an abstract sculpture. A farm tool of some type, she wondered, or an implement for some hobby?

While she was trying to identify the strange contraption, the boy called, "Hey, Steve! We have a visitor."

"Who is it?"

Paisley's head swiveled toward a slim-hipped man strolling into the room dressed all in black: black button-up shirt, tight-fitting black slacks. She raised her eyebrows. Who did he think he was, Johnny Cash? He stopped when he saw her, and she had an impression of high cheekbones, a narrow nose, a down-curving mouth. A lot better looking than Johnny Cash, she decided, but unfortunately he didn't look like the kind of man who smiled much.

"The lady fell down crossing the pasture." Kevin gestured at the thin line of blood running down Paisley’s calf.

Trying to salvage her dignity, she stuck out a hand and smiled. "Hello, I'm Paisley Perleman, your new neighbor."

A hand engulfed hers briefly, and she had the impression of banked strength behind it. "So you're Jonathan's widow,” her neighbor said, inspecting her as closely as his step-son had. “Get the Band-aids, Kevin."

Kevin disappeared like a gopher darting down a hole, while Steve gestured her to sit on the couch. "Ray told me you might be coming out here to look at the house, but he didn't say you were going to stay."

"I didn’t expect to. It was … an impulse."

"Well, welcome to River Bend. I hope you're not going to sue me for getting hurt on my property."

Paisley glanced at him sharply, unsure sure if he were joking. His face was impassive, making it difficult to tell. "It's just a scratch," she said. “And I was trespassing, after all.”

"
That
was definitely no scratch." His eyes shifted to the three-inch scar down her calf, not far from the freshly brimming scratches.

She fervently wished she had worn long pants today instead of shorts. Fortunately Kevin reappeared with a box of Band-aids. The boy vanished again and, moments later, she heard loud, discordant rock music blaring down the hall.

"Sorry about that noise," Steve said, a crease appearing between his eyebrows. There was a look of displeasure in his brown eyes, which were lighter than Kevin's, almost hazel. "I wish he’d play his guitar in the garage."

"Oh, is that Kevin playing? I thought it was the radio."

Steve grimaced. "At least he’s improved since he came to live here a few months ago. He’s spent all summer in his room practicing."

"So Kevin just moved here? Did you and his mother marry recently?" Too late, she realized the comment was overly personal.

Fortunately, he did not seem offended. "No, Sarah and I married a long time ago, when Kevin was a toddler. We divorced a couple of years later, when he was five." Then, as if sensing more explanation was needed, he added, "Unfortunately, Kevin's mother died of an aneurism last year. His grandmother was too old to care for him. Since I was the closest thing to a father that he had, she asked me to take him in."

"That was awfully nice of you."

Steve shrugged off the compliment. "The poor kid’s been through a lot. Losing his mother, and leaving his friends in a big city to live in a small, rural town hasn't been easy. It hasn’t been an easy transition for me, either, for that matter." He gestured at her bandaged leg. "Better?"

"Yes, thank you." She rose with him. The feel of his hand against her leg had felt odd. It had been a long time since she had felt the touch of anyone but Jonathan. Her husband hadn’t liked her to spend time around other men, and she had been flattered by Jonathan’s jealousy until she'd realized that he himself had....

The emotional pain stabbed through her again, as fresh as the first time. She hadn’t expected marriage to be easy, not with those twelve years that separated her and her husband, but nothing had prepared her for the shock she had felt that day when she had returned early from rehearsal and entered her hotel room to see that blonde coming out of the shower wrapped only in a towel.

Perhaps she had been naïve. A more experienced woman might have seen the signs earlier. But she was young, hurt, and devastated. She had confronted him later, while driving to his concert, and they had quarreled. Jonathan had been distracted, and hadn’t seen the truck coming, and the course of her life had changed forever.

Paisley realized Steve was watching her curiously, and she shoved back the painful memories. "I heard you want to buy my property," she said.

"And I heard you turned down my offer." His mouth tightened fractionally. "Any chance you'll change your mind?"

"No." That wasn't exactly true. She'd eventually put the place on the market, and Steve was the most likely buyer, but there would be plenty of time to make decisions later. No point raising his hopes now.

"Why are you holding onto the place, anyway?" he asked, leaning against the wall with his arms folded across his chest. "Ray had the impression you only intended to look around and leave."

She started to snap that Ray had a big mouth, but instead she held back her temper. "I can’t answer that, because I don't know myself. If I like it here, I may decide to stay for the summer."

"Then I hope you like it here a lot," Steve said, but she had the impression he was just being polite. His eyes still lingered on her face, as if searching for something.

"Thanks for the first aid," she said, feeling uncomfortable. Whatever he was looking for, she was pretty sure she didn't have it. She picked up her grocery bag. "I promise to be more careful next time."

"You do that. Cows can be dangerous if they're startled. I don't know why I keep the damned thing. A sentimental nod to the ranch my father ran when I was a kid, I guess, before he started the vineyard."

When he put his hand on the knob to open the door for her, he startled her with another observation. "By the way, I heard you hired Ian McMurtry to come out and work on the Perlemans' old house."