Without a Past (7 page)

But the prospect of action prevailed.

“Cool,” she told him. “When do we start?”

He swallowed nervously. “When's a good time for you?”

“The store is closed on Mondays, and Jenny is taking Ida Jane shopping in Fresno for a dress to wear to the wedding. Knowing Auntie, that will take all day. Do you want to do an initial scope of terrain tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” he repeated. The look in his eyes read: OhmygodwhathaveIdone? But Andi ignored it—along with all the reasons she should stay at her desk crunching numbers and comparing bids for the many assorted repairs on the bordello. She was going on a scavenger hunt. With Harley.

Under her breath she murmured a familiar marine cry of triumph. “Hoowah.”

A
T SOME LEVEL
, Andi heard the familiar early-morning sounds—the meadowlark's repetitive trill, the clock in the tower of the courthouse announcing the hour, her great-aunt's voice on the telephone. But at another level, frustration—and fear—twisted every ounce of pleasure out of her.

I can't believe I just spent twenty minutes arguing with Ida over whether or not today is Monday,
she thought, running a hand through her short, time-saving hairdo.

Ida Jane replaced the phone's receiver on its cradle with a telling
thwack.
She gave Andi a petulant look. “Beulah agrees with you. It
is
Monday.” Under her breath she added something that sounded like, “But it feels like Tuesday.”

Andi's first inclination was to cry. A feeling alien to her nature. Her sisters would both vouch for the fact that the only time Andi Sullivan cried was in animal movies. Reading the young-adult novel
Julie of the Wolves
had reduced her to a blubbering idiot. Fortunately, she'd been in her sleeping bag with a flashlight at the time, so no one knew.

But this crisis with her aunt was having the same effect. As a see-a-problem-then-fix-it kind of person, Andi couldn't sit back and watch the only mother she'd ever known slowly deteriorate. Unfortunately, she didn't seem to have a choice.

“I'm sorry I upset you, Auntie,” Andi said, trying for a conciliatory tone. Surely, she could muster enough patience to avoid arguing with a person who didn't know what day of the week it was.

Jenny would have cajoled Ida into dropping the subject; Kristin would have helped Ida work through her confusion. Unfortunately, neither of her sisters was handy. But Jenny was coming. Soon.

Hurry, Jen. Before Bart gets here.
The roofer was scheduled to meet Andi at seven-fifteen to sign the contract for the new roof.

“I thought you'd be pleased to go shopping with Jenny, Ida Jane. Last night you said you couldn't wait to pick out a dress for the wedding.”

Ida took a slice of toast from the plate and smeared it with peanut butter. “What wedding?” she asked suspiciously.

The queasy feeling so common in Andi's belly lately returned.
Is this how an ulcer starts?
“Jenny and Sam's wedding,” she said slowly and succinctly. She watched her aunt's face to see if they were on the same page.

Ida seemed to think a minute. “Oh, for heaven's sake,” she exclaimed, dropping the toast untouched to the table. “Of course. Where is my brain? I think I'm losing my marbles.”

The relief that washed over Andi was almost equal to the dismay that hit when she heard a knock on the screen door and spotted Bart McCloskey, clipboard in hand.

“Oh, there's Bart. Auntie, maybe you should go change. Jenny will be—”

Ida Jane let out a delighted squeal. “Bartie.”

Andi wasn't the only one who cringed.

Unable to avoid the inevitable, Andi opened the door.

“Hi, Bart. I'll be with you in a minute.”

“Bartrum. Look how you've grown,” Ida Jane exclaimed, hugging him with relish. “Your mother must be so proud.”

Andi put the last of the breakfast dishes in the dishwasher,
then walked to where her aunt had waylaid the contractor. “Ida, Jenny will be here any minute. If you go get ready, you can talk to Bart before you leave. He and I have a few things to discuss.”

“Yep, we're finally going to get that roof of yours replaced,” Bart said with enthusiasm.

Big mistake.
Ida gave Andi a reproving look. “What's wrong with my roof?”

Bart seemed oblivious to the undertones in Ida's voice. “Just about everything,” he said, consulting his clipboard. “Those shingles are ready to disintegrate. They won't even make good firewood they're so rotten. You're really lucky you haven't had more water damage, Ida Jane. Of course, the steep pitch helps, but it can only do so much.”

“Well, what's this new roof going to cost me?” Ida asked, her eyes narrowing.

Andi had seen this stance before—usually right before Ida Jane creamed whomever Ida suspected of cheating her.

Bart consulted his notes then stated a figure.

“Why, Bart McCloskey!” Ida Jane exclaimed. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself, trying to take advantage of an old lady. I'm going to tell your mother about this.”

Bart attempted to defend his bid—which Andi had found quite reasonable—but Ida would have nothing to do with it. “I suppose those big ugly trash bins outside my window belong to you, too, don't they?”

Bart nodded.

“Get rid of them. I want them out of my sight by this afternoon or I'll…sue you.” The last came out as an afterthought. As if she'd been groping for the right word.

Andi looked out the window just as a dust-colored minivan pulled into the parking lot. “Jenny's here, Auntie. You're not going to wear your nightgown to go shopping, are you?”

“Oh, dear,” Ida Jane said, moving with surprising agility, given her hip problems. “I don't want to miss my hair appointment.”

Hair appointment? That does it. I'm calling her doctor.

“Bart…”

“Andi…”

She let him speak first.

“I'm not gouging anybody, Andi,” Bart complained with justifiable frustration. “You walked this roof with me. You saw how bad it is. Roofs like this are difficult. I'm not even charging you for any of the underlayment that needs to be replaced.”

“I know, Bart. I'm sorry. I'd hoped to have the job done before Ida came home from the ranch, but…she came back sooner than expected. She's a little touchy right now. She flies off the handle at the drop of a hat.”

Or any time she talks to me.

“Do the job, Bart. Please. As quickly as possible. I'll make sure everything is squared away with Ida Jane.”

Bart nodded but he added, “Okay, but I can't afford to have her spreading the word among the Garden Club ladies that I'm overpriced. Word of mouth is my only advertisement and that would kill me.”

Andi doubted that. Bart was the only licensed roofer in Gold Creek. “Jenny will talk to her,” Andi assured him. “And one good thing is, Ida probably won't remember any of this.”

Again with the flippancy. What is wrong with me?

Bart was obviously wary when he left, but at least he'd promised to start ripping off the old roof in the morning. Andi had no idea how she was going to fix this with Ida Jane, but she'd have to try.

Andi finished straightening up the kitchen then went out
side to find her sister…and Harley. Jenny had called last night to tell Andi that she'd offered to give Harley a ride to town when he'd come to the office to ask for the day off.

“I can't believe you coerced him into looking for his motorcycle. Aren't you the sweet-talker,” Jenny had said, not giving Andi time to set the record straight. “I have a lullaby to sing. Gotta run. See you in the morning.”

Andi had tried calling back later, but the line had been busy. On those rare nights when Sam was out of town, the phone at the O'Neal house was occupied for hours at a stretch.

“Hey,” Jenny hollered, waving from the open door of the van. “I found a few more of Ida's things. Come help us.”

Andi draped her damp dish towel over the railing and trotted down the steps. She'd dressed for today's reconnaissance mission in broken-in battle dress uniform pants—the standard military wear known by its acronym, BDU—and a bright orange T-shirt. Her black lace-up boots, which reached the bottom of her calves, felt like old friends.

“Well, don't you look…armed and dangerous. You're not armed, are you?”

“Believe it or not, sis, the government wanted their weapons back when I left the service,” Andi replied.

Her lighthearted reply sounded inane the minute Harley appeared, two brown paper bags clasped in his arms. “Good morning,” he said politely. “Where do you want these, Jenny?”

“Just put them on the porch by the back door. Andi can decide what she wants to do with the stuff.”

“What exactly is in the bags?” Andi asked, unable to keep her gaze from following Harley as he walked away. His jeans appeared to be the same pair he had on yesterday,
but his shirt was different. A much-washed chambray that clung to his nicely contoured shoulders.

Jenny coughed with exaggerated effort.

Andi gave her a look any sister would understand.

Laughing, Jenny grabbed Andi's arm and led her off in the opposite direction—toward the bordello's front porch.

“Wait. I want—”

“He's not going anywhere. You've got the car, remember?” Jenny said softly. “I just need a minute.”

Andi relaxed. Her original timetable was shot to hell anyway, so what would a few minutes more matter? “Okay.”

“Ida called me on my cell phone a few minutes ago.”

Andi almost tripped over the curb. “You're kidding.”

Jenny frowned. “She was upset. She said you were trying to drive her to bankruptcy.”

A flutter of panic ruffled through Andi's chest. “She was in the kitchen when Bart stopped to sign the contract to replace the roof. We'd agreed on a price. This was just a formality. But Ida freaked out. She said the roof was fine.”

Jenny looked upward. “It looks pretty bad to me.”

Andi nodded. “Believe me, I don't want to do it. It's coming out of my—” She stopped. She hadn't been completely honest with her sisters about Ida Jane's financial woes. Partly because by the time Andi arrived home, Josh had been so sick, she hadn't wanted to add to Jenny's burden. And Kristin was seldom around and seemed to have some problems of her own. Plus, their personal history hadn't included sharing each other's troubles for many years.

“I've got it covered,” Andi said. “But I don't seem to handle Ida Jane well. At all. In fact, I can't say anything without her acting like I'm trying to undermine everything she's worked so hard to accomplish. Maybe there's a gene missing in my makeup or something.”

Jenny, who'd pulled her long hair into a stylish twist, wrapped one arm around Andi's shoulders. They were nearly the same height, but built differently. Jenny was long-bodied, willowy, Andi more compact and solid. “Honey, don't say that. I used to envy your relationship with Ida. You both liked to do the same things. You loved puttering in the workshop and sprucing up the antiques.” She made a face. “I hated the dust, and the smell of tung oil made me retch.”

Andi relaxed slightly. That was true, but it didn't explain why she and Ida had been at odds almost since the day Andi returned from Virginia.

As if hearing her unasked question, Jenny said, “You're the new regime, Andi. She recognizes that, and it's hard to let go. Give her time to adjust. Whenever Ida and I talk about what's going on at the bordello, she always seems fine with your decisions.”

“With you, maybe. Not with me.”

“Whoo-hoo,” a thin voice called. “Girls, I'm ready.”

The sisters looked toward the rear porch. Ida was standing at Harley's side, looking as perky as a young woman on a date. And festive enough for a luau. She'd changed from her robe and slippers into a Hawaiian-print muumuu that probably hadn't been out of the closet in thirty years.

“Oh, my Lord,” Jenny murmured.

Andi bit down on a smile. “Suddenly, I don't feel so sorry for myself. I'm going for a stroll in the mountains, and you get to go shopping with Mrs. Don Ho.”

She flinched when her sister pinched her on the back of the arm, but even the pain didn't dampen her good mood.

 

“W
E'D BETTER PICK UP
the pace,” Andi said two hours later. The sun felt hotter than she'd expected—a fact that could be attributed to the elevation and the lack of shade.
Andi knew the dangers of both. She'd helped rescue her share of ill-prepared day hikers who wound up lost, disoriented and suffering from heatstroke.

It irked her that she'd lost some of her edge.

“Do we have to walk the whole road today?” Harley asked from a foot or two behind her.

Andi heard the breathless quality in his voice and mentally reprimanded herself. Even the fittest flatlander needed time to acclimate to the mountains.

“No. Of course not. I'd like to cover as much as possible,” she said, scanning the vista that stretched for miles. “But it's your dime.”

In the far distance, she saw the white-capped Sierras. She'd spent two incredible summers working in Yosemite's Tuolumne Meadows, but she hadn't found time for so much as a camping trip since her return.

Harley slowly trudged to her side. “Well, if that's all I'm paying you, then let's slow down.”

Andi chuckled. For a man who was obviously not used to this kind of hiking, he'd held his own. True, he hadn't shown any real enthusiasm for the task, but he hadn't complained either.

He'd removed his shirt and had stuffed it into the backpack he carried; his white undershirt bore the logo of a beer company and sported a small rip in one sleeve. A thrift-store purchase, she assumed. Unpretentious in both dress and manner, he resembled neither cowboy nor biker. He was an enigma, and Andi had to admit, he fascinated her in a way that didn't seem wise.

“What's poison oak look like?” he asked, absently scratching his forearm.

“‘Leaves of three, let them be,'” she quoted a poem she learned as a child. “I read somewhere that it would only
take a quarter ounce of the poison-oak toxin to infect everyone on earth.”

Harley scratched more vigorously. “I had a rash on my neck for a while after Lars picked me up. He thought it might be poison oak. Maybe we should call this search off.”

Andi took a deep breath. “We can. If that's what you want. But…” She wished she had more self-control. After all, it wasn't any of her business if he didn't want to find his bike.