Beyond the Quiet: Romantic Thriller (4 page)

“I’m on my way to the office.”

“Tell you what. You come on over after you get loose and we’ll barbecue. Maggie’s about to have a conniption fit worrying about you.”

“
Conniption fit?
You’re sounding more and more like Maggie all the time.”

“I know.
It was supposed to work the other way. Jesus, can’t you just see me in court, about to go for the jugular and something like that pops out? Kind of spoils the effect, doesn’t it?”

We laughed. I was going to ask about the postal notice, but decided to wait until I saw him later. If it were anything to worry about, he’d know. As Mac had said countless times, there was no one better.

***

When I pulled in front of the office, I scanned the cars to see who was working. I’d intended to stash the signs and beat a hasty retreat, but since there was only Ed Munson’s old Chevy sitting in the lot, I decided
to check next week’s listings.

I still avoided certain friends and work associates. It was always so stilted and awkward with them trying to express their sympathy and me trying to be brave and accepting when all I wanted to do was scream my rage that my
husband had been taken from me.

Even before Mac became ill, I’d avoided this place like the plague, showing up only for the required Monday morning meetings and an occasional shift of floor duty. My boss and broker, Ben Romero, made a rotating schedule for all the associates and the only excuse was death—yours, preferably—or showing a house to a client. I considered it a waste of time and got out of it as often as I could.

It was worse now. Picking up the signs yesterday had been the pits. With so many people expressing sympathy, I was a wreck.

Nina's reception desk was empty, but a half-filled coffee mug sat in the middle. Beyond a small waiting area, Ed sat at one of the eight s
ales desks talking on the phone.

Funny, even when it felt as if a hundred years had passed and your entire life was altered, the rest of the world continued as if the cataclysm you had survived were nothing but a passing observance. Somehow, it didn’t seem right.

Ed saw me and
hung up the phone, grinning so broadly that I couldn't help grinning back. Everything about that guy was dull, from his sandy-colored hair to the tan rumpled suits he always wore. But when he smiled, he sparkled with genuine warmth and good will.

“
Well, hello again. You coming back full-time?”

“
No way.” I set my briefcase on the desk behind his. “Just waiting for things to be...settled, before moving to Minneapolis.”

“What's in Minnesota?”

“A whole new life.” When he looked puzzled, I added, “My daughter and grandson.”

“Hmm.” He raised his eyebrows. “
You're not going to turn into a
mother-in-law
, are you?”

“
God, I hope not. Mac and I had discussed moving out there before he...before the cancer...”

“I don't blame you,” Ed broke in. He had a wife and four children and was always showing pictures. Everyone tried to scatter or look busy when he came into the office with that look in his eye.

When his phone rang and he turned around to answer, I grabbed the current listings notebook from Nina’s desk and made a copy of the Yucaipa and Calimesa area as well as Redlands and the surrounding suburbs. Back at my desk, I marked the homes to preview and select for another open house.

The front door opened and Rick Lanyi sauntered in. I’d hoped he would have drifted to another agency long ago, or better yet, skipped town. About thirty, he was a smooth talker who acted as if the key to success lay
in his handsome Italian looks. He was also the cause of many sleepless nights for me while I reviewed conversations with him in which I wished I’d made a witty, cutting answer to one of his snide remarks. Unfortunately, I was never able to spout them when it came time to say something brilliant. Instead, I usually humiliated myself by coming up with nothing but polite banalities.

“Well. The lady whiz at work again. What a sight to behold.” He dropped his sharkskin briefcase on his chair and perched on the edge of my desk. “I heard you were back.”

“Hello, Rick.”

He smoothed the sooty black hair at his temples, more to reassure himself, I'm sure, that every pe
rfectly cut hair was in place. “So, you doing your homework like a good little girl?”

I bristled. What was wrong with this guy? He’d hired on just about the time Mac
became critically ill, when we’d been faced with catastrophic medical bills. I had worked all the time trying to make as much money as I could before I had to quit and take care of him. Most of the women in the office simpered at Rick like overgrown teenagers, but I’d been too preoccupied to pay him any attention.

“
I just want to make a living like everyone else.”

“
Yeah, I heard about your husband. Too bad...”

“Yeah,”
I answered in the same flat tone, “it is too bad.”

“
Guess I'll have to work a little harder now. I liked riding at the top of the board and having a little extra in my pocket.”

Once a month, Ben posted the names of the top two salesmen on the bulletin board, and whoever outsold the other was rewarded with an increase in their commission. I had been the top salesperson every month of the last year I'd worked.

“Everyone likes extra money,” I said. “Most of us need it.”

“I’m sure you’ll put us all to shame.” He lowered his voice and gave me a sly smile. “Just remember one thing: if you get overworked, I have a great remedy for stress.”

I’d hoped Rick, knowing I’d been recently widowed, would act like a gentleman. I was wrong. “I’ll find my own remedy, thank you. I certainly wouldn’t go for anything
you
have to offer.”

Two points of color reddened his cheeks and he glanced at Ed still on the phone. Placing both his hands on my desk, he leaned down until his face was inches from mine.

“Maybe you’d better take a look before you turn it down,” he whispered, flashing that stupid little grin. “Bet you never had anything this good.”

Everything in me itched to slap the smirk off his face. “What makes you think for one moment,” I whispered, carefully enunciating every word, “that I’d ever be satisfied with a boy after I’ve had a man?”

Rick stiffened. His eyes narrowed and his hands balled into fists.

I’d done it! Finally, I said something I wanted to say when I wanted to say it.

He stared at me, his jaw muscles working frantically.

Had I gone too far? Probably. But I felt so damn prou
d of myself that I didn’t care.

“
You think you’re such hot shit—”

“Back off, Rick. Haven’t you heard of harassment?”

“That doesn’t apply here. I’m not your boss.”

“Want to fight it out in court?”

He studied me as if trying to determine if I’d carry out my threat. I had always been quiet in the office, never feeling at ease around so many people. But I held his gaze, telling myself this was just like the times Shanna questioned my authority over something she’d wanted. I just hoped Rick wouldn’t put it to the test.

Finally he drew a deep breath and glanced around the room. When he looked back at me he wore that ridiculous grin. I felt a chill. Behind that smile was pure venom.

“Hey,” he said, throwing up his arms in mock surrender. “I didn’t mean any harm. Just trying to be friendly.” Flipping me a cocky little salute, he sauntered back to his desk.

No matter how proud I felt, my body still reacted to confrontations the same old way—my hands were shaking and bile rose in my throat. I wanted out of there but didn't want
him to know he had rattled me.

Ben walked into the office and held the door open for Nina and a tall, slim woman, whose elegant gray pantsuit was the exact shade as her hair.

No matter the times, Ben remained the courtly gentleman, perhaps because he’d been raised in a different era. In his seventies, slightly rotund with a full head of white hair and freshly pressed suits, he presented an imposing, yet fatherly appearance. Few people realized that behind that benevolent face lurked the mind of a shrewd businessman. But he had always been fair with his employees and honest with his clients. I liked and respected him as a man, employer, and, as a friend.

“That’
s Andrea Prettenger, the new associate,” Ed whispered, indicated the tall woman. “Ben’s showing her around.”

I’
d had enough for today. I grabbed the week's listing, stuffed it into my briefcase and headed for the door. Although I’d seen Nina yesterday, she hugged me.

“You leaving?”
she asked, her chubby face pink from the sun.

“
I have things to do, but we’ll talk later.”

Ben talked a few moments about Mac. I tried to escape
before I started bawling. Nina’s eyes teared.

“Well, got to go.”
I edged toward the door.

“Sorry you missed Friday,” Ben said, “but I hope to see you tomorrow.”
Both he and Nina regularly teased me about missed meetings, but it was never an issue—as long as my sales record was good.

“Before you go, I’d like you to meet our new associate.” Ben made the introductions and then told Andrea, “Pay attention to this little lady.” He slid his arm possessively around my waist. “You can learn a lot from her. She’s the best. Should be, I trained her myself.”

Normally I basked in Ben’s praises, but I preferred them in private. Now I wanted to sink right through the floor.

Rick slammed his book shut, his s
cowling face indicating that he’d like to personally cut that hole in the floor for me, then cover it up and stomp on it.

I made my excuses and almost ran to my car. When I glanced back at the office window,
I saw Rick gazing out with a cold hard stare.

I quickly slid into the seat, but I could feel his eyes burning a spot in the back of my head.

Chapter Four

Driving to Stan and Maggie’s, I felt edgy and irritated and wanted some time alone before facing them. They had nursed me through some terrible times, and I wanted them to think I was okay, that I wouldn’t fall apart at the least little thing. My independent soul struggled to be heard. Or perhaps it was my pride.

It had always been difficult for me to rely on other people. I didn’t know why, exactly, but I assumed it had som
ething to do with my childhood.

As an only child, it had seemed I was always alone. Mom was either working or resting to go back to her physically demanding job as a nurse’s aide, and my step-father seldom stayed home. I’d been a loner in school as I never had much to say, so my social life with friends had been almost non-existent. Once I’d had a best friend, and when I’d been invited to her home, I’d watch how she interacted with her siblings, laughing and teasing, sharing secrets and even indulging in an occasional fight. Even when they exchanged heated words, their affection for each other had been obvious and I’d felt so envious of their lives. How I longed to be part of a loving family, wishing I had someone to talk to, someone who wouldn’t judge and critici
ze every expression on my face.

But something within me kept me isolated, as if I existed in a world separate from
everyone else.

When Mac and I first met, he’d wisely avoided pushing Stan and Maggie on me until we’d been dating for several months. Instead, he’d drop hints about Maggie and her Earth Mother ways. Curiosity finally got me. I agreed to dinner and had loved them both on sight. It took a while, but over the years I gradually relaxed and trusted them completely, finally feeling part of a family.

I drove around their neighborhood, finally winding up in front of my old house. I hadn’t been back since Mac became so ill, and I was glad to see that Mr. and Mrs. Woods were taking good care of the place. The shutters and front door gleamed with new white paint and the rock garden still featured the cactus I’d brought home from our trip to Tombstone. Slowly I cruised by, the longing pulling so strongly at me that I finally stopped.

Our home, Mac’s and mine, over twenty years of memories. I’d conceived Shanna there, raised her, seen her off on her first date, and then held her wedding in the back yard. No sickness th
ere, no death in that house.

Just seeing it brought back so many memories. If I had worked late, Mac would
welcome me home with a big hug.

“How was your day?” he’
d ask, and I’d tell him all about my latest client. The times I told him about Rick, he’d offer to rearrange his face. He’d hold me, tell me everything was all right, that nothing bad could happen to me while he was there.

But soon I’d squirm out of his arms. I always had supper to fix, cloth
es to wash, something to scrub.

Now I wondered why I had thought a pol
ished kitchen was so important.

***

When I got out of the car at Stan and Maggie’s, I stood listening to the soothing sounds of bubbling water from their fish pond.

After their two children left home, Stan installed a pond in the front and surrounded it by dwarf palms and a rock garden. I’d loved it so much that I went out and bought a huge aquarium, stocked it with fish, pretty rocks and plants. It was great—until time to clean it. I broke down and did it once, then kept putting it off until the fish, and even the plants, died. I finally paw
ned it off on a neighbor’s kid.

Maggie opened the door. Dressed in a white cotton pants outfit, she stood about five-ten, her figure matronly as a result of her love of cooking and new recipes. She had an open, friendly face and was so non-judgmental that you wanted to tell her all your secrets. Calm and caring, she was a per
fect match for boisterous Stan.

“Hi,” s
he said, smiling. “Come on in.”

As she led me through their airy living room to the kitchen in back, I caught the ta
ngy aroma of barbecued chicken.

“Hope you're hungry,” she said, “Stan wanted to have everything you like. He worries about you, you know. We have chicken, potato salad, corn on the cob. I even put on a pot of
black-eyed peas, and cornbread.”

“Good God, how many people have you invited?”

“Just you. He wants to make sure you eat. Don’t worry, you don’t have to eat it all in one sitting. You can take some home. And, there's chocolate cake and ice cream.”

“I think I’ll escape now.”

“Oh no you don’t. I have strict orders to keep you here even if I have to hog-tie you to the floor. I warn you right now, if you don’t eat, he’ll be on you quicker than a bass on a June bug.”

“Where is the big ogre?”

“At the market,” she replied with a grin. “We ran out of milk. He can’t have chocolate cake without milk, you know.”

We laughed. God, I loved that man. If he weren’t already married, I’d
have already dragged him home.

“
Come on, gotta check dinner,” Maggie said. “I'll lose my happy home if I let it burn.”

“I'm sure. You have him wrapped up so tight he can’t even roll over.”

“Yeah.” She smiled dreamily as we stepped through the sliding doors to the patio in back.

How I loved their back yard. Stan said the sound of the wind rustling through the leaves helped him relax, so he’d planted two more willows close to the patio. Little flower and
rock gardens sat between them.

Maggie lifted the lid on the grill, on
e of those black, domed things.

“Can I help?” I asked, hoping she'd say no.

“Just relax and tell me about your admirer.”

“Admirer?”

“Yeah. That guy at the open house.” With a pair of tongs, Maggie turned each piece of chicken.

“For heaven’s sake, it’s nothing,”
I sputtered. Of all things...

“Oh, don't look that way, I was just teasing. So tell me about it.”

Recounting what had happened, I mentioned the strange woman with the boy.

“You know,” I said, “thinking back on it, I don’t think she was interested in the house or even talking about another one. I got the impression she was only making conversation. Wonder why.”

Maggie flushed and kept busy with the chicken. “Never can tell about people.”

“Hey, there’s my girls!” Stan burst though the sliding doors, gave his wife a sloppy kiss and grabbed me in a bear hug, lifting me right out of the chair.

“Put me down, you big gorilla,” I demanded, laughing.

“So, how’
re things?” he asked, mixing drinks from the portable bar and pouring ice into the crusher. The buzz drowned out conversation, so I waited while he speared chunks of kiwi, pineapple, and lime with cocktail toothpicks, poured the drinks in tall, frosted glasses and arranged the fruit at the top. When he offered a glass to me, I automatically thought to pass it up in favor of my iced tea.

Mac used to say I was a cheap date because one sip of booze and I was woozy. But today I thought, why the hell not? After all, I was with family. I took the cold glass and sipped.
It was delicious—cold, frosty, and with just enough lime to give it a refreshing tartness.

We talked about the kids, theirs and mine, while I took a few more sips and mellowed out. I couldn’t remember when I’d had such a relaxing, pleasant time.

After setting my drink on the table, I dug in my handbag. “I have something to show you.” I handed the notice to Stan, and after he scanned it, he placed it on the table next to his drink.

“What do you make of it?”

“You pay the fee for another year,” he said, “or close it. I’ll take care of it.”

“But we didn’t have a post office box. We didn’t need one.”

He shrugged. “Well, in that case, it’s the wrong Montgomery. End of story.”

“But Stan, it’s addressed to
Mac
Montgomery. You know the only time anything had Mac’s nickname on it was when he’d used it himself.”

“You know all this computer marketing crap going around now. Who knows where businesses get their lists of names.”

True, I thought, but still...

“Ah, don’t spoil your dinner on some screw-up.
Maggie’s been cooking all day.”

“Stan,” I began, then found myself unable to say the rest. I didn’t even want to acknowledge the thoughts that crept into the darker part of my subconscious, didn’t want to give my fea
rs power by acknowledging them.

“If it would make you feel better,” Stan said, “I’ll check it out. I don’t have to be in court until ten-thirty tomorrow morning, so I could swing by the post office. For now, forget it. Your food will digest better that way.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I’ll handle it.” Stan didn't look worried so I dropped it. Surely he’d know if Mac had a secret box. The two were closer than twins.

We sat at the picnic table, the red-striped umbrella open against the sun. After I stuffed myself, I wiped my mouth with my napkin and sat back. Actually, I sprawled. And wished with all my might I could unbutton my slacks.

“Did good, little girl,” Stan said, working on a second piece of cake.

“I think I'm going to be sick,” I groaned.

“Don't you dare,” Maggie said. “If you throw it all up, he’d just bully you into eating more.”

“He needs his kids back so he can boss them.” I spotted the notice next to Stan’s plate. “Give it back,” I told him, indicating the slip of paper. “I’ll handle it.”

“That’s okay. Just part of my duty as executor.” He made no move to return it to me.

I held out my hand. “You have enough to do.”

Stan glanced at Maggie. She flushed and became very busy clearing the dishes.

I stared them down. “Okay, you two. What’s wrong? Give me the friggin’ notice!”

“Ouch. Do you always talk like that?”

“Quit screwing around. I’m well fed, too well fed. The daiquiri’s practically got me floating, and I’m in no mood to argue. So give it back. And I want to know what’s wrong.”

“Nothing, babe. Don’t worry about it” Stan handed the notice to me. “Just remember Mac never wanted to do anything to cause you harm.”

“Never wanted to cause me harm,” I echoed.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Aw, don’t take everything so seriously. You know Mac. He adored you.”

The next morning I called the post office about the notice and informed them of my husband’s death. They said I’d need identification and a copy of the death certificate to open the box.

When I swung into a space in front of the post office on California Street, a crawling unease clamped my stomach. I did not want to walk into that building.

I sat a few moments absently watching people enter and exit, some with smiles on this beautiful sunny day, others just ambling along.

My fingers began to tingle and I realized I was clutching the wheel.
I’d been parked twenty minutes.

Okay, this was just plain silly. I knew Mac, so what was I so afraid of? But no matter how I’d tried to avoid thinking the worst, some part of me wondered if the box held secret flowery, perfumed envelopes, addressed to my husband, perhaps even decorated with those cheesy lipstick kisses like some used to send in high school. The image was ridiculous, and I had absolutely no
reason for this sudden fright.

But I’d been uneasy ever since I received the notice. And no matter how I tried to believe it was addressed to the wrong Montgomery, I felt my husband had a secret mailing
address. I had to find out why.

Gathering my things and the folder with the papers I’d need, I strode into the post office.

Twenty-eight minutes later, I carried a bundle of junk mail to the car. Hoping for a breeze to cool my flushed cheeks, I rolled down the window and sat for a moment, waiting for my pounding heart to calm.

After all the worrying, all the anxiety over a secret box, the mail consisted of nothing more than some fliers wanting the occupant’s business and a couple of envelopes
from a popular California bank.

I felt like rejoicing, like shouting, I’m okay! My marriage is okay! Suddenly, the day appeared brighter. Relief fought with shame as I glanced at the envelope
s lying on the passenger seat.

“Oh, Mac,” I whispered, “I’m so sorry for doubting you.”

Having spotted a trash bin by the post office door, I decided to get rid of the junk mail now instead of taking it home. Gathering the small pile, I tossed everything but four business envelopes from the bank, which, since we didn’t have an account with them, I almost tossed as well. But seeing an official-looking account number listed under Mac’s name, I decided to check it out before throwing them away. Perhaps Mac had opened a small account, a place to stash a dollar here or there, something all his own for holidays and special occasions. Wanting to surprise me would be just like him. When he’d become so ill, I’d taken over the household responsibilities, including the banking and bill paying, so there had been no other way for him to save some money.