Shoulda Been a Cowboy, page 9
“We’d better get out of his way,” Ethan said. “We can watch from the porch.”
Caroline followed him up the path he’d trampled through the high grass to the back porch. “Maybe the bones are American Indian,” she said. “From the looks of them, they could be hundreds of years old.”
“Maybe. But I found them close to the surface, almost as if the body had been left in a shallow trench by the barn and slowly covered with compost to hide its location.”
She gave a visible shudder and sank into the nearest chair on the porch. “Are you suggesting he, or she, was murdered?”
Ethan nodded toward Lucas. “Finding that out is his job.”
Caroline shook her head. “I can’t believe something like that could happen. Not here in the valley.”
“Bad things happen everywhere.” Ethan slammed his mind shut against horrible memories, recollections he couldn’t yet face, much less talk about. “You want some coffee?”
“No, thanks.” She kept her gaze focused on the cop who was tying crime tape to the gnarled trunk of an ancient apple tree and asked over her shoulder, “You settling in okay?”
He lowered himself into a chair and propped his feet on the porch balustrade. “It’s everything Eileen promised.”
Caroline pulled her attention from Lucas and flashed him a bone-melting smile. “I’m assuming she didn’t promise much. You don’t even have a phone.”
“No problem. Like I said, I have my cell.”
She continued to watch Lucas and shook her head. “I’m not sure I’m ready for the responsibilities of landowning.”
“I thought that’s what you wanted, your own place in Texas. Or was it Montana?”
“I’m leaning toward New Mexico, but that’s all temporarily on hold.” Her voice was heavy with disappointment, and he wished she wasn’t so anxious to leave.
“I don’t expect you to honor Eileen’s conditions about feeding me.” His response was reasonable, but not what he wanted to say. If he had his way, he’d share three meals a day with Caroline for the rest of his life. As well as his bed and as many waking hours as he could manage. Before meeting Caroline, he’d never been a believer in love at first sight, but now he considered himself a convert.
“Thanks, but you aren’t the holdup. I still have to find a home for Hannah. And I’m running out of time.”
“What’s the rush? I thought you were going to take your time to sell this place and scope out western locations?”
“I am. But I’m hoping to have a permanent place for Hannah before she arrives Monday. The poor kid’s been shifted around enough already. I’d like to spare her an additional move, if I can.”
He could read the conflict in her voice. As much as Caroline wanted to move away, she hadn’t been immune to the plight of little Hannah. He couldn’t have loved Caroline if she had. Any person who could look at the girl’s photograph and not be touched didn’t have a heart. And Caroline’s empathy was only one of the many things about her that attracted him.
“So what are your chances of finding someone by then?”
“I was making a list when you showed up. But so far, it only has one name, and not a very solid prospect at that.”
“So it looks like Hannah will be at Blackberry Farm for a while?”
She nodded.
He struggled to suppress his delight. “Need any help getting the kid’s room ready?”
She shook her head. “If I can’t find another foster family before she arrives, I thought I’d let Hannah pick a new bedspread and curtains for her room.”
He remembered Amber when she’d been Hannah’s age and how particular she’d been about her bedroom, insisting everything, from the walls to the bedspread, be lavender. “She’ll like that. Once she’s picked what colors she wants, I’ll help you paint.”
“Paint?”
“Didn’t you want your bedroom walls your own special color when you were a kid?”
Caroline’s eyes clouded with memory. “Blue. I had pale blue walls with billowy white draperies and a white bedspread with a ruffled skirt.”
“What, no cowboys?”
She shook her head. “That phase came later.”
Ethan glanced across the lawn to Lucas’s SUV where the cop had retreated after placing the crime tape to wait for the coroner. “What got you so interested in the Wild West? A vacation trip?”
Her blue eyes widened. “How did you know?”
“A lucky guess.”
“My parents took me to the Grand Canyon when I was fourteen. I didn’t want to go. At that age, all I wanted was to hang out with my friends. But one look at all those wide-open spaces and I was hooked. That and—”
She flushed and shook her head.
“What?” he asked, eager to know what made her tick. “A teenage crush on Kevin Costner or Tom Selleck?”
“It sounds silly.”
“Try me.”
“That summer I also started reading romances set in the West. Later I branched out into all kinds of books with settings in that part of the country.”
He nodded with understanding. “Good books have the power to transform lives.”
“You’re a reader, too?”
“Used to be.” The last few months his concentration had been so fractured, he’d found reading anything almost impossible. “I loved a good mystery.”
“And now you have a real one in your own backyard.”
He grinned, glad to change the subject. “Technically, it’s your backyard.”
“Maybe you can help me tonight.”
“Tonight?” He tamped down visions of Caroline in his arms, knowing that wasn’t what she had in mind.
“After supper.” Her expression held no guile, offering nothing more than her words had indicated. “We’ll go through Eileen’s old ledgers to look for names of everyone who’s lived at Orchard Cottage.”
He pushed to his feet. “Lucas has everything under control here, and, if there’s no ID on the body, the authorities will want those names as soon as possible. Maybe we should start now.”
He’d rather Caroline not watch the coroner’s removal of the remains. Such a sight could give her nightmares. As an authority on nightmares, he wouldn’t wish them on anyone.
He gazed south down the road toward Blackberry Farm. Only the roof of its barn was visible. No other neighbors could be seen from Orchard Cottage. If whoever was buried by the barn had been murdered, the killer had chosen his spot well, isolated and remote.
“A perfect spot to hide a body,” Caroline said, as if reading his mind.
“Maybe it was a natural death. If it occurred during the Depression, there would have been no money for a mortuary. Could be the family performed the funeral and the burial.”
Caroline shook her head. “Whoever’s buried there wasn’t loved.”
“How do you know?”
“Would you bury someone you care about under a compost heap?”
Talk of burials brought a cascade of memories that threatened to suffocate him. “Let’s get started on those ledgers.”
HOURS LATER, Caroline shoved a stack of old, yellowed ledgers to one corner of the table and went to the kitchen sink to wash her hands. She’d been enjoying the coziness of Ethan’s company far too much. Since they’d almost completed perusing Eileen’s tenant records, the sooner she fed him, the sooner he could leave. And the sooner she could stop thinking about him and return to her list of prospective foster parents for Hannah.
“It’s getting late,” she said. “I’ll fix us some lunch.”
Ethan scribbled another name on the pad beside him and closed the ledger he’d been reading. “We’ve gone all the way back to 1950 and only have a few names.”
Caroline dried her hands and hung the towel on a rack by the stove. “Both Orchard Cottage and Meadow Place have been vacant most of that time. Eileen told me that before World War II, Meadow Place, the other house on the property, was rented to a dairy farmer. Most of the young men in Pleasant Valley enlisted during the war. When Meadow Place’s tenant went into the navy, his wife sold their herd to Joe Mauney and left the valley to live with her mother. The family didn’t return after the war, and Joe still rents Eileen’s land.”
She rummaged in the refrigerator for sandwich meat, lettuce and condiments, placed them on the counter, and reached into the cabinet for a loaf of bread.
“Eileen’s husband was killed?” Ethan asked.
Caroline nodded. “Died in the Pacific right before the war ended. She has his Purple Heart and Bronze Star around here somewhere. According to my mother, Calvin Bickerstaff was a hometown hero.”
“And Eileen never remarried?”
“No.” Caroline began assembling sandwiches on Blue Willow plates. “Maybe while her husband was overseas, she discovered she liked her solitude.”
“Or she could have been a one-man woman,” he said. “Loved him so much no other man could measure up. That’s how my mom feels about my dad.”
Caroline pursed her mouth in thought, then shook her head. “I don’t think that’s why Eileen remained single. I don’t remember her ever talking about him.”
“Maybe his death hurt too much to talk about.”
She looked up to see the pain in his voice reflected on his face, and her curiosity was aroused. Whom had Ethan lost to cause such misery? Was that loss the reason he’d withdrawn from his life in the busy city of Baltimore to the isolation of Orchard Cottage? Could his grief be the reason he’d expressed such empathy for little Hannah?
Before she could contemplate further, a knock sounded at the front door.
“I’ll be right back,” she said to Ethan and hurried down the hall to find Lucas, his uniform hat in hand, waiting on the porch.
“You can tell Ethan we’re through up at his place,” he said.
“They’ve taken the body?”
Lucas nodded. “The coroner will do an autopsy to see if he can determine cause of death.”
“He can tell that, even after all this time?”
“I don’t think he’ll have a problem.” Lucas paused as if reluctant to say more.
“You already suspect something?” Caroline prodded.
Ethan came up the hall and stood beside her. Lucas nodded to him. “Your place is all yours again.”
“I can finish moving the compost heap?”
“Have at it,” Lucas said. “The forensics techs have sifted all the surrounding dirt.”
“We’re going through Eileen’s records now,” Caroline said. “We’ll have a complete list of former tenants this afternoon. I’ll bring it in to the station.”
“Did the techs find any ID on the body?” Ethan asked.
“Some clothing fragments. That’s it.”
“Any idea how the person died?” Ethan asked.
Lucas hesitated.
“You might as well tell us,” Caroline said. “We’ll find out eventually.”
Lucas took in a deep breath and let it out. “Blunt force trauma. The skull was caved in.”
Chapter Eight
By the time Caroline and Ethan had eaten a late lunch and finished going through the ledgers, it was after three o’clock. Ethan headed back to Orchard Cottage, and Caroline grabbed her purse and car keys and climbed into her car for a trip into town.
Driving down the lane toward the highway, she noted that the blackberries growing wild along the meandering split-rail fence would be ripe next week. The sight of the plump berries generated a pang of loss at memories of summer days spent in Eileen’s big kitchen, helping her friend make jams and jellies that Eileen, wearing a big straw hat and a broader smile, sold at a roadside stand at the entrance to the farm.
At the highway, Caroline turned left toward town and drove along the road that followed the twists and turns of the Piedmont River on its rush through the valley over rock-strewn beds. Weeping willows lined the riverbanks, their delicate branches in full leaf dipping toward the water. On either side of the river, rolling hills, covered by pastures and corn crops, lifted toward the mountains that surrounded Pleasant Valley like the sides of a bowl. Black-eyed Susans filled the meadows, their cheerful yellow a pleasant contrast to the abundant green of the grasses, trees and distant ridges.
Caroline loved the valley. Leaving it would be hard. It held a special peace and beauty in every season. But as much as she loved the land, its people and the sense of belonging in a place her ancestors had settled three hundred years ago, something was missing. She hoped moving from the only locale she’d ever known would help her find the elusive pieces needed to make her life complete.
She sped past the entrance to Grant and Merrilee’s house on the left, then the drive to River Walk on the right. Around the next curve was the veterinary clinic where Grant and his father-in-law, Jim Stratton, cared for the valley’s farm animals and family pets.
The highway was so familiar, she could have driven it in her sleep—a good thing, since her concentration was fractured, divided between Ethan Garrison, who’d taken residence in her thoughts with all the persistence of an itch she couldn’t scratch, and her overriding concern of finding a family for Hannah.
By the time she reached downtown, Piedmont Avenue, the main thoroughfare, was almost deserted. Area farmers came to town early for their Saturday shopping. Now only a few cars remained in the parking lot at Blalock’s Grocery, and Tom Fulton had already placed the Closed sign in the front door of the department store.
She drove to the far end of Piedmont Avenue, dropped off the list of Eileen’s former tenants at the police department, and turned back toward town. The Hair Apparent, down the street from Jodie’s café, was closed, too, but Caroline knew where she’d find Amy Lou. She climbed the exterior staircase to the apartment above the beauty shop and knocked on the door.
Amy Lou Baker, still dressed in her pink polyester pantsuit, her standard uniform, opened the door. Her feet, however, were bare. Caroline couldn’t remember ever seeing the beautician without her sensible white shoes. The woman still looked exactly as she had when Agnes first brought eight-year-old Caroline to the new shop to have her hair styled. Today, Amy Lou sported the same explosion of teased honey blond hair and a wide, welcoming smile. Only the additional lines in her face attested to the passing years.
“Caroline! I didn’t forget an appointment, did I, sugar?”
Caroline shook her head. “I need your help, Amy Lou.”
Amy Lou opened the door wide and motioned her inside. Caroline glanced around with interest. She’d never seen Amy Lou’s apartment. Like its owner, it was decked out in pink, from the thick shag carpet to the draperies and upholstery. And every surface was covered with knickknacks and hand-crafted items. Amy Lou lifted a crocheted afghan still under construction from the sofa and motioned for Caroline to sit. With a hobbling gait, as if her feet hurt, Amy Lou ambled to a nearby chair, lowered herself with a whoosh of relief, and propped her feet on a footstool.
“How can I help you, sugar? Your mama giving you a hard time about moving?”
“No more than I expected,” Caroline said with a rueful smile.
Amy Lou, true to form, was up on all the latest town news. The Hair Apparent served as communications central for Pleasant Valley. Every tidbit of gossip concerning the town and valley either originated or was disseminated within the shop’s pale pink walls. Caroline’s mother, during her weekly appointment, had probably bent Amy Lou’s ears about her ungrateful daughter.
Amy Lou crossed her swollen ankles and pursed her lips. “Then it must be that firefighter from Baltimore.”
Caroline shook her head. “He’s just a tenant and no problem.”
Maybe if she kept saying the words, she’d eventually come to believe them herself and get to a point where she could think of Ethan without the warm and wonderful sensations that slid from her heart to her toes. Between inheriting the farm and Hannah, the last thing she needed was a man to further complicate her life.
And where men were concerned, Caroline admitted she was gun-shy. In spite of the happy marriages of her friends, she was well aware that love carried risks and penalties. Look at her mother, so reliant on her husband for everything that her life had fallen apart when he died. As a result of her mother’s example, Caroline recognized her hunger for wide-open spaces for what it was: a yearning for independence, freedom and the ability to make her own choices. No man, no matter how perfect, no matter how kind or easy on the eyes, would deter her from those goals. She refused to yield her self-determination to any man, not even a man as attractive and endearing as Ethan Garrison.
“No problem?” Amy Lou was still raving about Ethan. “Sugar, that’s not how I heard it. I haven’t seen the man myself, but those who have claim he’s a problem for every living, breathing female who lays eyes on him. Flat out takes their breath away with those big sad eyes and all those luscious muscles. You’re a lucky girl, sharing two meals a day with Mr. Right.”
“I’m not looking for Mr. Right.”
“Don’t need to, do you,” she said with a grin, “with him living under your very nose.” Her expression sobered. “Where are my manners? Would you like a glass of tea?”
“No, thanks. I’m fine.”
Amy Lou sighed and leaned back in her chair. “Probably just as well. After being on my feet all day, I don’t know if these old dogs would make it to the kitchen and back. I’m not as young as I used to be.”
Amy Lou looked weary, and her usual effervescence had faded. The woman obviously worked too hard. How could Caroline ask her to take on the care of a nine-year-old? On the other hand, maybe Hannah would be a help and comfort to Amy Lou, who’d been widowed for years.
“How come you’re not looking for Mr. Right?” Caroline asked. “Harold’s been gone a long time. Don’t you get lonely?”
Amy Lou cocked her head, pursed her lips, and studied Caroline with an intensity that made her want to squirm. “What’s on your mind, sugar? I know you’re not here to fix me up with a date with your handsome firefighter. Those May-December relationships rarely work.”
