Holly Grove Homecoming (4 page)

“No problem. Besides, I’m already partial to Watson Bakery’s pastries.”

“Partial to?” Carly asked with raised brows and a slight smile.

Trooper felt his face warming. “Guess I’m slipping back into the Holly Grove lingo already. And I’ve only been back for a couple of days.”

“So do you plan to stay for a while?” Carly asked the question, then glanced down at her plate as though she was afraid of what Trooper might read in her eyes. Strange. He tried to keep his tone merely curious rather than suspicious. “Why do you ask?”

She looked up and met his gaze squarely. “Plain old nosiness. I’m aware of what happened in April. And I noticed this morning when you were stretching that you favored your left shoulder. Does the wound still bother you?”

“Some.” Trooper could feel the muscles in his face tensing but he couldn’t force them to relax.

Carly continued to look directly into his eyes. “We don’t have to talk about it. I just wanted you to know that I know.”

“Why?”

“So you won’t feel that you have to avoid mentioning the incident. On the other hand, we certainly don’t need to talk about it.”

Trooper nodded. He was glad she’d brought it up and equally glad that she didn’t want to talk about it. The shrinks had said he probably should, but only when it felt right to him, and he was a long way from that point.

In the meantime, there were some questions he wanted to ask his aunt’s new neighbor. “So, Carly, I understand from Myrna that you’ve only lived here for a couple of years. What brought you to Holly Grove?”

Trooper was pretty good at judging when someone was lying to him but he had to admit that Carly wasn’t that easy to read. At first he was fairly certain she planned to lie. Her gaze flickered down to her plate and then back up. She looked him in the eye for too long and took a second too long to respond. But then he decided she was telling at least a partial truth when she heaved a sigh and, biting her lip, said bluntly. “I came to Holly Grove because I was running from a stalker.”

“A stalker?” She’d surprised him with that answer. He wondered if her case was one he’d heard about. Maybe he’d seen her picture and that was why her face seemed familiar. “Are you still being stalked?”

She shook her head. “He’s in prison now, thank goodness.”

“Why was he stalking you?”

“Apparently he saw me on television and decided we were soul mates. He sent poems he’d written about me to the station, then starting sending lilies to my home. From time to time he’d send me emails letting me know he’d followed me the evening before, whether I’d been out on a date or on an assignment. The police had a heck of a time catching him, and the media dubbed him the Callie Lily Stalker.”

Those memory cells in Trooper’s brain woke and immediately unearthed one of the facts about this woman he’d been trying to resurrect. “You’re Callie Morris,” he said flatly. “I remember now. You were an anchor for a while on the evening news in Philadelphia.”

Carly pulled in a deep breath. “True. Callie Morris was my ‘stage’ name, so to speak. Once I’d been going by that name for a few years, I was widely identified as Callie. No one outside my family called me Carly. When I moved to Holly Grove, although my stalker still hadn’t been caught, I felt safe going by my real name since he wouldn’t have known what it was. By the time he was apprehended and put in prison, I had settled in here as Carly Morrison. I’d tried to erase my TV persona, which of course included dropping my identity as Callie Morris.”

“That was smart of you.”

“It’s worked out well for me.”

“Does your Callie Morris background have anything to do with why you wanted me to help check around your house this morning?”

“No, not really. The guy’s still in prison and so far as I know, he was a loner. But I suppose in a way I’m a bit more skittish than I would have been otherwise.”

“Makes sense.” Trooper gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “And if you feel skittish again, feel free to call me, day or night.”

“Thanks. Speaking of which, did you ever figure out what you heard that woke you?”

“It must have been a branch rubbing against the roof. You know how many shade trees Aunt Myrna has. But I’m going to take a look today and see if there’s anything that needs to be trimmed back.”

“I’d appreciate it if you’d let me know what you find.”

“Sure will.” Trooper stood. “Aunt Myrna’s probably wondering where I am. I’ll be going now.”

Carly stood too. “Thanks again for the Danish. Tell your aunt I said Hi.”

“Will do. And thanks for the coffee.”

He turned and made his way to the front door, leaving Carly behind in the kitchen. He still liked Carly Morrison, he decided, and he could certainly understand why she might be easily unnerved after what she’d gone through with that crazy stalker a few years ago.

But none of that blinded him to the fact that she never had said why she picked Holly Grove as a place to hide out.

T
he man ended the call
, then slammed his cell phone onto the kitchen counter. “Damn,” he muttered. He often talked to himself simply because he liked the sound of his own voice, and considering that he lived alone, there was no one to accuse him of being a nut case.

He pulled in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. He couldn’t believe Nelson Myers had returned to Holly Grove. Fury, combined with hatred and no small degree of fear, pulsed through his system. Adrenaline pumped into his bloodstream and set his heart to pounding so fast that he feared he’d suffer a heart attack if he didn’t calm down.

He hurried into the hallway and lowered the thermostat by five degrees.

It wasn’t fair. Nelson wasn’t supposed to come back. There was nothing for him here, not after twenty damn years. Nothing but Myrna Johnson and a few other relatives, but after he’d ignored them all this time, there was simply no reason for him to come back.

Just because he’d been wounded and forced to take a leave of absence was no reason to change his habits.

But change them he had. He was back now and that meant he had to be watched.

But he’d have to be watched very, very carefully. After all, he was no adolescent distraught with grief and confusion now.

He was a hardened FBI agent, and if what they said about him was true, he was damn good at what he did.

Now that he was a trained investigator, maybe he was back to try to clear his mother’s name. Some of the townspeople had said when he left that he’d sworn to do just that someday. Clear his mother’s name.

“Well, Mr. FBI agent,” the man muttered. “You can try all you want, but the evidence was buried long ago, and if you aren’t careful, you’ll be buried along with it.

A
fter Trooper left
, Carly wandered through the house, unable to settle. She knew she’d never be able to concentrate enough to write, so she decided to go outside and water her flowers before the day heated up too much.

Despite what she’d told Myrna about her impatiens, she wasn’t entirely ready to give up on them. Mr. Starr had suggested she try fertilizing them and had even sold her a container that held fertilizer and could be fastened to the end of her water hose. That way, he had said, she could water and fertilize at the same time.

She went out her back door and to the small shed where she stored her lawn supplies. After measuring out six tablespoons of fertilizer, she spooned it into the container, screwed the container onto the end of her hose, and dragged it to the front yard.

Water hose in hand, she approached her rather pathetic plot of impatiens in the circular flowerbed near the street. It was then she spotted Myrna Johnson watering her lush impatiens with an old-fashioned watering can.

Myrna noticed her and immediately waved. Deciding this was as good a time as any to pick Myrna’s brain, Carly laid down her hose and walked across the street.

“Good morning,” Myrna called when Carly stepped into her yard. “I see Arlis Starr sold you one of them fancy fertilizer gadgets.”

Carly’s face warmed. “Why? Is it not any good?”

“Lord, child, I couldn’t tell you, never having used one. Arlis says they’re good and I expect he would know. Now myself, I just use a time-released fertilizer when I put the plants in the ground. But seeing as it’s too late for you to do that, I’d say Arlis’s gadget is as good as anything.”

“So you think I need to fertilize my impatiens?”

“Can’t hurt.” Myrna cocked her head to one side. “Nelson said you was up early this morning. He said you told him you couldn’t sleep. I’ll bet it was those new air conditioners you bought. You were used to the night noises and when you shut your windows and it was quiet inside, your subconscious noticed the difference. Pretty soon you’ll adjust though.”

Carly wasn’t particularly impressed with Myrna’s assessment of the problem, but she smiled and nodded. “Thanks again for inviting me for dinner last night. I’d love to get your recipe for chicken salad. If you share your recipes, that is.”

“Of course I share my recipes. I can’t abide a person who won’t, because that’s pure selfishness if you ask me. I’ll copy it off for you and send Nelson over with it later today.”

“Oh, I don’t want to put him to the trouble. Just call me and I’ll step over and pick it up.”

“Nelson won’t mind. He needs something to keep him occupied anyway. He told me that you know what happened to him.”

“Yes, I saw it on TV and I read about it online. I noticed him favoring his shoulder this morning, but other than that, he seems in pretty good shape.”

Myrna nodded, then sighed. “He’s about over the gunshot wound but the other stuff is weighing on his mind. I can tell that it is, and I guess them doctors for the FBI could tell it too because they don’t want him to come back to work for a while yet.”

“I see.” Carly wasn’t sure what to say beyond a noncommittal comment. After all, she and Myrna were still, for all intents and purposes, strangers even though they were neighbors.

Myrna’s brow pulled into a deep frown. “I swear,” she muttered.

“Excuse me?” Carly wondered if she’d said something wrong.

“Don’t look now, but Marge Abbott is peeking out her living room window again. Poor thing. She must know that Nelson is back in town, and she seems to spend the live-long day staring out her window.”

Carly resisted turning around to look at the house beside hers, although it wasn’t easy. She’d never seen, let alone met, the Abbott woman who was her neighbor. She’d seen the husband, Ralph, from time to time when he left in the mornings to drive to his barbershop or in the afternoons on his way home. Occasionally, if she was outside and close enough to the property line, he’d throw up his hand, and on one occasion when a storm had blown one of his trees onto her backyard fence, he’d stopped to tell her he planned to have it removed as soon as he could get someone lined up to do the job.

He seemed a pleasant enough man, considering what had happened twenty years before. Carly wasn’t sure she was supposed to know about that, but she’d determined when she moved to Holly Grove that she wouldn’t try to hide her knowledge about the incident, even if she did hide her intent to write a book about it.

“I know what happened to Mrs. Abbott’s son all those years ago,” Carly said. “But surely she can’t object to Trooper coming back to visit you.”

“Well now, I’m not sure about that. You know the Abbott boy left a note claiming him and Trooper’s momma had an affair. Nowadays, that’s not so much out of the ordinary. Seems like every month or two, you see on the news where some female teacher has been sleeping with an underage student. But back in those days, it was unheard of.” She sighed and blinked rather rapidly for a few seconds before continuing.

“Trooper’s momma, Mary, was my sister, you know. And I have to swear, God as my witness, I never believed for one minute what that Abbott boy wrote about her.”

“What do you think happened then?”

Myrna shook her head. “Lord child, I don’t know. I’ve thought and thought until my mind just seems to shut down sometimes, but I surely don’t know. I know Mary loved Jimmy, Trooper’s daddy. His name was James, of course, but everybody had called him Jimmy since he was a boy. Him and Mary married right out of college, and both of them started teaching here in Holly Grove, Mary in high school and Jimmy in the middle school. He’d trained to be an administrator, and he was named principal of the school three years after he started teaching. They made a decent living, and they were happy in their marriage. Mary would have told me if she hadn’t been happy.”

“So you and Mary were close?”

Myrna leaned over and pulled a weed out of the soft ground near a purple impatiens. When she straightened, Carly could see that the smile lifting the corners of her mouth was one of sad remembrance.

“Lord yes, child, we were close. I was the youngest of eighteen children, but Mary was the sister nearest to me in age. There was twin boys between us, and they was close to each other, like twins usually are, but Mary always said I was special to her. I don’t reckon I’ll ever get over losing her.”

“I’m so sorry,” Carly said. The words felt inadequate and so she added, “I can’t begin to imagine your pain. I never had a sister, but I wish I had.”

Myrna blinked twice and gave her head a quick shake, as though banishing her unhappy recollections. “Do you not have a brother either?”

“No, I’m an only child. Fortunately, I have lots of cousins, and we’ve always been close.”

“I saw a couple of young women visiting you last summer. Were they your cousins?”

“Yes. Suzie and Marcia are sisters. They’re my dad’s sister’s children. We’re pretty close to each other age wise, and we’ve always been good friends.”

“It’s good to have relatives who are your friends too. I’ve been blessed that way.” Myrna cut her gaze again to look past Carly’s shoulder. “Marge is still watching us. I wish I knew what was going on in her head.”

“Why don’t we turn and wave to her, motion for her to come join us?” Carly asked. It took all her will power not to glance over her shoulder at her neighbor’s house.

“Oh my no, child, that would just upset her. We tried—all of us on Sugar Maple Drive and lots of other people in Holly Grove—we all tried to befriend her after the incident. But she was having none of that. She stopped answering her door and her phone. So far as I know, she hasn’t been out of that house since the day they buried Larry.”

“That’s terrible.” Carly clamped down on herself to keep from turning and staring. “She must be miserable.”

“She can’t let Larry go, is what it is. He was an only child, and when he died the way he did, supposedly after killing two other people, well, I guess that just made everything worse for Marge. Of course she’d always doted on him. Thought the sun rose and set in the boy. He was a bit of a troublemaker, but not bad considering how spoilt he was. He’d drive a little too fast and sometimes drink a beer or two even though he was underage. But he wouldn’t be the first teenage boy to be a little bit on the wild side, and I don’t speak ill of him for that.”

Carly frowned. “So this isn’t unusual, for Mrs. Abbott to stare out of her window all day?”

“I think she’s been looking out more than usual the last couple of days. She may be upset because of Nelson being back.”

“But why would she care one way or the other?”

Myrna’s shoulders lifted and fell in a deep sigh. “You’d have no way of knowing, of course, but when Nelson left town all those years ago, he swore he wouldn’t come back until he was ready to try to clear his momma’s name.”

“I’m not sure I understand why Mrs. Abbott would object to that,” Carly admitted.

“Well, child, you see, if it was to turn out that my sister and Marge’s son weren’t having any illicit affair of any sort, that would mean that Larry had killed two innocent people before he turned the gun on himself, and I don’t know as Marge could live with that knowledge.”

“Ah, I see.” Carly at last gave in to temptation. Turning casually, as though merely taking her leave of Myrna and heading back home, she stole a quick glance toward the Abbott house, just in time to see an ugly green drapery twitch back into place.

* * *

M
arge jerked
her hand back from the edge of the drapery and snorted. “Some neighbor,” she muttered to herself. “The little hussy. First she traipses around all over her yard early this morning with Trooper. Then she lets him into her house after he jogs to town and picks up something at the bakery, and then she steps across the street and visits for half an hour with Myrna.”

Marge walked across the room and stared at her reflection in the mirror that hung above a small table next to the front door. “Do they think I couldn’t figure out they were talking about me? About me and about poor little Larry, who worshipped Trooper. Larry didn’t care anything about Trooper’s old momma, that I know for sure. But he fairly worshipped Trooper. And look where it got him. Dead and his name smeared forever in this town.

“But it’s not Larry’s name that should have been smeared because he didn’t do anything wrong. If he hung around the Myers house a lot, it wasn’t because he was having an affair with Mary. It was because he was hoping to get a little attention from the mighty Trooper Myers. Football hero. President of the senior class. Most popular boy.

“But Trooper didn’t have time for little Larry Abbott, now did he? No. He just let Larry hang around his house until…”

She paused. She could never say the words. Three dead and a letter from her son claiming it was by his hand. But that wasn’t true. The letter was typed and Larry hated typing. She’d tried to tell them Larry wasn’t guilty.

And now Trooper was back and probably wanted to dig it all up again, to try to prove Larry just imagined that he’d had an affair but had killed two people and himself anyway.

Well, Trooper had no right to bring it all back to the forefront again, and he certainly had no right to try to prove Larry was crazy.

Because she’d bet anything that’s what he planned to do. To prove Larry was crazy.

Well, Trooper was crazy if he thought she’d let him get away with that stunt. Yes indeed. Crazy as a bedbug.

* * *

T
rooper’s run
that morning had taken more out of him than he’d expected. Of course he’d known he was out of shape, considering that he’d been flat on his back in a hospital bed for seven days and then allowed only limited activity for the next five weeks.

But he still hadn’t expected his morning run to exhaust him so completely. After sharing a pot of coffee with his aunt, he’d excused himself to lie down a few minutes and had drifted off to sleep. When he awoke some time later, he lay still, staring up at the ceiling. The day had begun to heat up. Hot air was seeping through the window screens and into his bedroom. And voices, muted but familiar, drifted up from below.