Haunted Hearts, page 2
She ripped her gaze away from the mirror once she realized what she was doing. Forcing herself, she stared straight out the front window.
“Tight butt, mean man.”
Really, would it be so hard for him to let her go with a warning? It wasn’t as if she’d been speeding intentionally. Sometimes her foot tended to get a little heavy. She’d had a long drive, and she was excited about seeing the town. Did that warrant a ticket?
Her mood deteriorated as he let her sit there. And sit and sit and sit. She was stewing by the time he deigned to walk back to her car.
“Sign here,” he said.
She snatched the electronic doohickey, scribbled her name, and passed it back to him.
“That’s quite a list of infractions you’ve gathered,” he said. He lifted his head, and she felt the force of his gaze. “I’m warning you right now that Shadow Valley isn’t Boston. You won’t be doing that here.”
Callie felt her blood pressure rise. Was that a threat or a warning? “I’m sure I won’t have to. The town’s not about to have the traffic problems Boston does.”
“That’s not the only difference you’ll find.” He looked over her muscle car. “There’s very little entertainment here.”
She mentally counted to ten. Her friends had told her the same thing. Now, this Podunk police chief was trying to chase her off using the same logic? She’d had just about enough of people telling her how she should live her life.
“I’m looking forward to some peace and quiet.”
“Well, we have plenty of that.” He handed her the ticket, along with her license. “Welcome to Shadow Valley, Ms. Thompson. Try to keep it under the speed limit.”
“Welcome, indeed,” she snapped when he was far enough away not to hear.
She glanced down at her ticket, and her eyes rounded when she saw just how fast she’d been going. And he’d fined her for not having her boxes tied down! With a growl, she dropped everything into her purse. “Jerk.”
She was from the big city so he had to let her know who was the boss around these parts. She glanced up to her rearview mirror and saw that he was waiting for her to pull out first. Of course. He wanted to make sure she’d gotten the message. She scrunched her nose in annoyance.
And she’d been in such a good mood.
She hit her turn signal and pulled back onto the road. The police chief followed two car lengths behind. Callie fought to ignore the tingle at the back of her neck. If he wanted her to be aware of him, the strategy was working. He followed her to the edge of town, but before she could pull over and ask him to just lead her to her new home, he turned and was gone.
“Some civil servant you are,” she muttered.
Being unwelcoming to new residents... Prying into their personal lives... Setting fines when a warning would do... It was a downright shame that all that ruggedness was wasted on such a bullheaded man.
Well, she refused to let him spoil this day for her. Reaching into her pocket, she found the directions that the real estate agent had given her. She held them in front of her, got her bearings, and headed out to find her house on her own.
The old Calhoun place, huh? She’d see about that. “The Thompson place” had a much better ring to it.
Determinedly, she pushed her irritation with the police chief to the back of her mind. As she drove into town, it became easier and easier. Shadow Valley was too pretty for her to stay upset. With each block, her excitement returned.
The town looked as inviting up close as it had from afar. Little houses with pretty lawns dotted the main road into town. Overhead, fall decorations hung from the light posts. A little red-haired girl raced her bike down the sidewalk with the streamers flapping, and Callie had to grin. It was like a postcard.
Eager to explore, she continued down the road straight into the so-called business district. There was a hardware store, a post office, a library, a beauty salon, and a diner. She looked at the sign. Mamie’s. Perfect.
“Highland Street,” she said when she finally saw the street sign.
Really, would this have been so far out of Chief Hardass’s way?
Taking a right, she headed back up into the hills. Anxiously, she began looking at the house numbers. It couldn’t be much farther... 1023, 1101, 1215... It turned out to be as far as she could go.
“Twelve fifty-five.” She pulled into the long driveway at the end of the cul-de-sac, killed the engine, and, for a moment, just sat there.
A mixture of happiness and dismay collected in her chest as she looked at the place. No wonder the police chief had been surprised that she was moving here. The property didn’t look like the picture the executor of the will had given her.
At all.
She let out a calming breath. On the one hand, the house was gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous. The old Victorian sat far off the road, making it seem aloof, but somehow regal. It was painted white, and picturesque blue shutters surrounded every window. A porch led up to the front door. She could just imagine a swing and potted plants hanging from the rafters.
“Ah.” A glare flashed off the porthole window of the attic. Automatically, she lifted her hand to shield her eyes. She squinted at the house again, this time without her rose-colored glasses.
The real view of the house was much less impressive. The realtor had warned her that the house had been vacant for years, but she hadn’t expected to find it in such disrepair. Half the shutters were hanging cockeyed. The paint was peeling, the lawn had grown wild, and the garage looked lopsided. In a word, the old Calhoun place was a dump.
But it was her dump now.
Callie sat a little straighter in the bucket seat of the Mustang. Forget Hardass and his condescending attitude. She’d never been afraid of a little work—although this was definitely going to take more than a little work. She could make this place into something; she knew it.
She grabbed her purse and the box from the passenger seat. It was time to see what the inside looked like.
She pawed through her purse for the key to the house as she followed the sidewalk up to the front door. The long grass along both sides swayed with the wind, lashing around her calves and grabbing at her feet. Her excitement grew as she found the envelope stuffed near the bottom of her bag. The lock was stubborn from disuse, but it finally turned with a squeal.
Butterflies swirled through her stomach as she pushed open the door. She found herself in an open entryway. The only word that came close to describing it was majestic. In awe, she took a deep breath—and immediately started coughing.
“Air,” she said on a hack.
She set her box down in front of the door to keep it open and began searching for windows. Staircases curved up both sides of the entryway walls, and she wandered through the open arch underneath them. A large living room spanned the width of the house. There, she found the boxes of belongings that she’d shipped over the week before. The room had a ton of windows, three on each side, and she opened them all as wide as they would go. Which for some, wasn’t far...
Wiping her hands, she turned and surveyed the room. “Oh, boy.”
The inside of the house was in just as bad a shape as the outside. Dust and cobwebs coated everything. The fireplace was a disaster area with about half a foot of soot. A thick coating of gunk hid what was surely a gorgeous hardwood floor. And the windows... Yes, she was going to have to do windows.
Somehow, though, just being here made her happy.
She had a house with hardwood floors!
Her creative juices began to flow. The place just needed a good cleaning. The wood itself was in good shape. She didn’t notice any decay, although that would take somebody with more expertise than her to decide. The floor plan was wonderful. Her furniture was placed haphazardly around the room and boxes were stacked two, sometimes three deep. Still, her entire apartment full of belongings didn’t fill the room.
Her smile returned, even brighter than before. Space. Opening her arms wide, she spun in a circle. She had space to move. Space to breathe.
On cue, she started coughing again.
So she’d clean and then she’d breathe... She could deal.
She started off to explore the kitchen, but stopped when she stepped on something that crinkled. It was a curled-up piece of packing tape. She peeled it off the heel of her boot, but hadn’t taken two more steps before she stepped on another. Her brow furrowed. With as sticky as that stuff was, it shouldn’t have come off her boxes like this.
Confused, she looked around the room. She’d been so interested in the house that she hadn’t paid much attention to anything else. Now that she actually looked, she could see that boxes had been opened. The tape she’d so carefully applied was curled on the floor like snakes.
“What in the world?”
Had somebody gone through her things?
Slowly, she stepped to the side so she could see into the kitchen. Her box of kitchenware had been ripped open, and dishes were strewn about on the counter. Feeling more than a little unnerved, she walked over to one of the open plastic storage bins. It looked like somebody had gone through her linens, too.
Could the movers have done this? No, something like this would surely get them sued. The neighbors, maybe? How snoopy did small-town people get?
Not this snoopy.
The invasion of privacy made Callie’s skin crawl. Something was wrong here. Uncertain what to do, she reached for her phone.
Her purse wasn’t at her side. Darn it. Where had she left it this time?
She spotted it perched on a window ledge. She hurried to get it, but came to a standstill when she saw the bedroom door standing open down the hallway. She took a step back to look inside. The bed had been made... or someone had tried to make the bed. It looked like a six-year-old had taken on the job—or a man.
A long, drawn-out squeak sounded overhead. Her head snapped up, but the sound didn’t stop. It echoed down through the walls and reverberated in the air. Forgetting the purse, she spun for the front door instead.
And promptly ran into a stack of boxes. A piece of paper flew off the top and right into her face. Sputtering, she fought it off, but then she saw it was a note.
Ms. Thompson,
I hope your drive was enjoyable. I’ve left a bottle of champagne and some food in the refrigerator to welcome you to your new house. Please feel free to call me if you have any questions.
Sincerely,
Tom Henderson
The realtor.
Callie skidded to a stop. The realtor?
She looked around the room again. Boxes had been opened, but she couldn’t say if anything was missing. Had Henderson tried to make the big, run-down house homier by putting a few of her things away? She shook off a shudder. He’d volunteered to open the house for the movers when she’d been trying to figure out logistics, but she’d never given him permission to go that far. But he had fawned all over her ever since their first phone discussion... Knowing him, he’d think he was being thoughtful.
Thoughtful. Creepy. There was such a fine line between the two.
She chewed her lower lip. What kind of a burglar made up a bed?
“None, you goofball.” She tried to think rationally. The place had been locked up solid as Fort Knox. The deadbolt hadn’t even wanted to turn to let her in.
Just to be safe, she went outside to double-check. All the windows, even those on the second floor, were shut tight—yet a shutter way up high was moving back and forth in the wind. She stared at it. A squeaky shutter. Of course the house was going to have creaks and groans. It was over a century and a half old. Her knees should sound so good.
She let herself in through the back door and evaluated the kitchen. Boxes had been opened, but it seemed as if her things were still here. She opened a drawer and saw that her cooking utensils had already been stowed, although they were in the drawer furthest away from the stove. Another sure sign of a man.
She was going to have to have a stern talk with her over-friendly realtor. Maybe his boss, too. She tilted her head when she heard the humming of the refrigerator. Although, what was that he’d said about bubbly?
She opened the door and found a nice bottle of champagne as well as a meat and cheese platter. “Henderson, for the moment, you are forgiven.”
She let out a self-conscious laugh. She’d almost been ready to call 911. Wouldn’t that have just been wonderful? Making a false emergency call on the same day she’d gotten a speeding ticket? Chief Hardass would have loved that. The thought of him showing up on her doorstep was enough to make her scowl.
She grabbed the bottle of champagne and opened a cupboard. A coffee mug suited her needs. She laughed when the cork popped out of the bottle and white foam spilled over onto the dusty floor. The antiseptic wouldn’t hurt.
The rhythmic squeak from upstairs started again, and she raised her mug of champagne in salute. She didn’t care what the police chief or the rest of the town thought; she liked the old Calhoun place.
“To the two of us,” she said to the house. “What a pair we’ll make.”
CHAPTER TWO
The door to the stationhouse stuck as Carter walked in. It was yet another thing to add to the list of irritations he’d had to endure over the past two days. Putting his shoulder into it, he bulled his way inside. Steel scraped against linoleum, letting out a piercing shriek. Nancy Watkins, his trusty administrative assistant, jumped at the sound, and Bill Raikins came right out of his chair.
“Chief Landry!”
“You’re back.”
Bill glanced at the door. “I take it the task force meeting didn’t go so well.”
“No,” Carter said. “It didn’t.”
The door stuck again as it tried to swing shut. He gave it a shove, and the bottom corner left a darkened layer of smudge against the floor. “When are we going to get this thing fixed?”
Nancy already had a phone to her ear. “I’ll get Ernie over here right away.”
The owner of the hardware store doubled as Shadow Valley’s fix-it guy. Carter took off his sunglasses and ran a hand over his face. Too bad his other problems couldn’t be solved so easily. “Thanks, Nancy.”
She smiled. “You’ve had a long week, chief.”
Yes, he had.
He headed to the coffee pot. With a sigh, he slipped his sunglasses in his shirt pocket. It was tough to judge how long the sludge had been sitting there, but he reached for a cup anyway.
It felt good to be back. He’d spent the entire day yesterday in hell. Actually, it had been Concord, but who was counting?
He took a long drink of the bitter liquid and turned to his office. One glance at the far wall nearly changed his mind. The state map, dotted with colored pins, hadn’t changed since he’d left. And it probably wouldn’t at the rate things were going. Not even a swig of caffeine was going to help with that.
“So what happened with the task force?” Bill asked as he wove his way through the maze of desks.
The muscles at the back of Carter’s neck clenched. “Not much.”
“Really? What was the problem?”
“Too many people trying to play king of the hill.” He rolled his shoulders and tried to get the kink to pop. Just thinking about it got him riled up. “State officials were tangling with the local police and sheriff’s departments. Everybody’s trying to either cover their asses or take control. It was like side business that we still have two escaped convicts out there on the loose.”
Bill scowled. “Have they narrowed down the search area for Smith and Morton at all? Is Fleiss talking?”
Carter stared into his coffee and watched the swirls go around the cup. “Those are good questions. In fact, they’re better than most I heard all day. You’d think we would have talked about something like that.”
“You’re kidding me. You guys didn’t get anywhere?”
“I would have made more progress from here.”
“But the governor appointed you to that committee. Couldn’t you take over or something?”
Carter let out a harsh laugh. “Don’t even think about wishing that on me. Besides, I’m just a small-town police chief. What do I know?”
Bill looked poleaxed. “But we caught Fleiss. Why aren’t they listening to you?”
“Apparently, we just got lucky.”
Irritation flared in Carter’s gut, and it warred with the caffeine he’d just poured down his throat. Politics. He hated when they got in the way. Just because he and his staff weren’t dealing with major crimes on a daily basis didn’t mean that they were any less competent than the big-city cops. He’d put his people up against those clowns on the task force any day.
He looked at the map on his office wall. The color-coded pins marked the locations where the prison escapees had been spotted. The blue ones ended in Bernardston, a town close to the state’s western border, where they’d assisted in tracking down and arresting Jack Fleiss. Red pins followed Smith’s progress, but the green ones worried Carter the most. The green pins were Clive Morton’s.
“It’s been a week,” Bill said. “They could be anywhere by now.”
Carter eased his weight onto the edge of his desk. “You and I might be the only ones who realize that.”
“What about that retired FBI guy from Boston? The guy the governor appointed head of the task force?”
“Boston.” Carter grunted. He’d had it up to here with Boston. He’d spent more time than he could stand at a meeting run by that idiot, and then there’d been that reckless driver just outside the town limits. His tired mind did a stutter step. That smokin’-hot reckless driver... but a Bostonian nonetheless.
“The FBI guy is one of the biggest problems,” he said. “He should have stayed retired.”
“So what’s our plan? Do we need to be more proactive?” Bill asked.
Carter wiped the vision of the blonde from his mind. “No change. Everyone keeps an eye out for anything unusual. Pay particular attention to the back roads, and make sure anything even a little off is investigated. That’s as much as we can do. Like you say, they’re probably not even in the state anymore.”
