The Cottage on the Corner (10 page)

“Idiot,” he admonished, nudging her shoulder with a little more force. “Charlotte! Wake up. I'm home.”

She screamed. Not a little delicate squeak of surprise, either. A full-fledged, I'm scared out of my mind, scream of terror that made the hair stand up on the back of Max's neck.

“Charlotte?!” He touched her cheek, and her eyes flew open, her cheeks pink from sleep. God, she was beautiful.

“What's going on?” She jumped up, nearly ran him down trying to put some distance between them.

“You screamed.”

“I did?” She frowned, snatched the book from the floor, and shoved it in her purse.

“Loudly. I'm surprised it didn't wake Zuzu.”

“For your sake, I'm glad it didn't.” She shoved her feet into shoes. “What time is it?”

“A little after one.”

“Your shift ran late.”

“I had to book a couple of teenage vandals. They spray painted the side of the school.”

“They're in jail?” She took a plastic-covered plate out of the fridge. There was food on it. The kind that didn't come from a box or a fast-food joint. His stomach growled, and she smiled. “Hungry?”

“Just a little.”

“Then I'm glad I brought you dinner.” She put the plate into the microwave oven.

“What is it?”

“Meatloaf. Mashed potatoes. Peas. Zim wanted carrots, but I thought Zuzu might like to chase little green balls around her plate for a while.”

“Did she?”

“Yes. She managed to get them all over my floor, in her hair, and on the ceiling while she was at it.”

“The ceiling?”

“She has a good pitching arm.”

He laughed, relaxing for the first time in what seemed like hours. He'd made a mess for himself, taken on a responsibility that he wasn't ready for, but Charlotte's easygoing attitude made him think that things might just work out okay. “I'm sure Morgan will be happy to hear it. Although, knowing her, she'd probably prefer it if someone told her that her daughter had model potential.”

“Zuzu might. She's an awfully cute little girl.”

“Morgan doesn't believe in cute. She believes in beauty. In her world, it gets people what they want.”

“Interesting philosophy of life,” Charlotte said on a yawn. “Speaking of Morgan. Zuzu gave me this.” She walked into the living room and returned with a business card in hand. “I wasn't sure it belonged to your Morgan, but Zuzu insisted on speaking to her mother, so we called the number.”

“She's not
my
anything, but that is her name.” He studied the card. “She must have decided to try her hand at something new while she was in Miami. Did she answer when you called?”

“No, but Zuzu heard her voice on voicemail and thought that she did.”

“That's something then.” He tucked the card into his wallet. He'd call in the morning, in the afternoon, at night. He planned on calling incessantly until Morgan answered. He wanted to know when she was coming back for Zuzu, and he wanted to know it yesterday.

The microwave beeped, and Charlotte took out the plate. “Go ahead and sit down. You want a soda or anything?”

“I'm fine.” And the food smelled great. His stomach growled again, and Charlotte smiled again.

“You'd better eat, and I'd better head home.”

He grabbed her hand before she could go. “There's plenty here for two. Let's share.”

“I don't think—”

“Scared?” he asked, his fingers sliding along her wrist, resting on the warm skin at the base of her palm.

“Of what? You?” She laughed, but the sound was shaky and uncertain.

“Maybe.” He tugged her so close their knees touched. “You didn't tell me why you screamed.”

She brushed invisible lint from her jeans, refusing to meet his eyes. “I was asleep. You woke me up. I screamed. Seems pretty straightforward to me.”

“I've woken up plenty of people, and none of them screamed like Freddy Krueger was after them.”

“Probably because most of them hadn't spent fifteen hours with a three-year-old and a crotchety old man,” she said dryly, tugging away from his hand.

“That scary, huh?” he asked, even though he knew that wasn't the real reason she'd screamed. If he pushed too hard, she'd leave, and he wasn't ready for that.

There was something . . . nice about having Charlotte around. Pleasant. Easy.

And just a little exhilarating, too.

“Scary enough to give me nightmares, I guess.” She shrugged as if it didn't matter, but he had a feeling that it did.

“Where are you from, Charlotte?” he asked, because suddenly he wanted to know where she'd come from, what she'd left behind.

“Apple Valley. Same as you.”

“You know that's not what I mean.”

“Do I?” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and frowned.

“You're a smart woman, so yeah. I think you do.” He took a bite of meatloaf and nearly groaned. It was
that
good. “Damn, you can cook!” he muttered, shoveling another bite into his mouth.

“That's what Brett said the first time I cooked for him,” she said, and then pressed her lips together as if she'd said too much.

“Who's Brett?”

“He was my husband. He died a couple of years ago.”

She was young to be a widow, but he'd known a few women who'd lost husbands at younger ages. “I'm sorry for your loss.”

“Thanks,” she responded with absolutely no emotion in her voice. “He was a Marine. Then a truck driver. He died of kidney cancer.”

“Where'd you guys meet?”

“Why do you want to know?” she asked.

“Curiosity?”

“It's kind of late for an attack of curiosity, isn't it?” She hitched her purse up on her shoulder. “And I think we're both tired. I'd better head out.”

“I'll walk you down.” He stood, but she shook her head.

“And leave Zuzu up here by herself?”

“I'm offering to walk you down to your car, Charlotte. Not drive you home.”

“I know, but trust me, that little girl can get into trouble in about five seconds flat. You'll both be better off if you stay up here.” She smiled and walked out of the kitchen.

He didn't follow.

She had a point. Zuzu was a little kid, and kids knew how to get into big trouble. He'd been called out plenty of times to find a missing child or to help one who'd been hurt doing some stupid stunt or another. Sometimes things ended well. Sometimes they didn't. Knowing that was enough to keep him in the kitchen as the front door opened and closed.

He listened for her car engine, heard it rumble to life.

She'd be home in a few minutes and would probably be thrilled to have her house to herself again.

He settled into the chair again, dropping a piece of meatloaf on the floor as Pete slunk into the room. The cat batted it around for a minute before gobbling it up. Fun times!

After a double shift, he was just tired enough to appreciate being home alone.

Not alone. Zuzu was there.

And Pete.

He tossed the cat another piece of meatloaf.

The rest he was going to eat. After all, it wasn't often that he got a good home-cooked meal from a pretty young woman. He'd gotten his share from the older citizens of Apple Valley after Morgan had left him. Pity feeding. That's what Ida had called it. Max called it trolling. Every one of the ladies had brought a tidbit of information about a daughter, sister, granddaughter, or niece along with the meal.

A few were fair cooks. None of them had cooked like Charlotte. Even the peas tasted special, and in Max's estimation that was a damn hard thing to do.

He scooped up potatoes, walked to the fridge, and surveyed the nearly empty shelves. He needed to go to the grocery store. He might be able to live off fast food and coffee, but Zuzu couldn't.

He filled a glass with water, sat back down at the table.

He'd make a list of everything he needed. Make sure he took it with him when he went shopping. That was the only way that he'd remember that shopping for Zuzu was different than shopping for himself. Little kids needed good nutrition, right? Vegetables. Fruit. Whole grain bread. At least, that's what he thought a little girl like Zuzu should be eating.

He could call Charlotte. She seemed like the kind of person who would know. She'd probably babysat hundreds of times during her life. He opened his wallet and almost took out the business card he'd tucked in behind his driver's license.

Charlotte had already done enough for him, though.

For them.

He and Zuzu were going to have to find a way to make things work without calling in help.

Besides, he had other reasons for wanting to call Charlotte, reasons that he doubted very much she'd appreciate.

He frowned.

He liked Charlotte. He had from the first day he'd met her. Quiet, hardworking, focused on her goals, she had no use for drama and she stayed far away from people who did. She went about her business and let everyone else go about theirs. In the time she'd been in town, there'd been plenty of speculation about her past but no gossip about her life in Apple Valley. No secret trysts that had been discovered. No stealing someone else's boyfriend or pilfering apples at the farmer's market. Nothing to talk about but how delicious her baked goods were and how hard she was working to make a go of her business. She'd made and maintained a reputation that was above reproach.

That was something in a small town, and he'd noticed it.

She had secrets, though. Max was sure of that. He wanted to know what they were. Wanted to know about the husband who must have been a decade older than Charlotte. A truck driver, she'd said. A Marine. A tyrant? It seemed like a good possibility. Charlotte had scars. The one on her temple was the most obvious, but he'd seen one on her arm, too, just peeking out from beneath her long-sleeved shirt.

He'd wanted to push the sleeve up and take a closer look, but he'd barely known her at the time. Had just been asking her out to dinner, because she was quieter than the women he usually dated, more subdued and introverted. He'd kind of liked that. Kind of wanted to know what it would be like to go out with someone who thought before she spoke, gave more than she demanded, wanted nothing more than a nice dinner out.

When she'd said no, he'd moved on to someone else. Just the way he always did.

Maybe he'd made a mistake in not trying to convince her. She was a stellar woman
and
she could cook. That was an impressive combination.

That didn't mean he had to pursue her, though. It just meant he could appreciate what she had to offer. He put away his wallet, found a pen and notebook, and started making his list.

She'd almost stayed, and she didn't know why.

Or maybe she did.

Max was a good-looking man and Charlotte was a woman who could appreciate that. It wasn't a crime to notice, but she wasn't fool enough to think that sticking around his house was a safe or good idea.

She'd heard all about Max and his many conquests. He'd dated just about every woman in Apple Valley, and if rumors were true, he'd started trolling downtown Spokane for fresher blood.

Not that any of the women who'd dated him complained. They'd all seemed to know the score before they'd gone on the first date. Good for Max letting them know how things were going to be.

Not that Charlotte cared one way or another.

If she hadn't been so tired, she probably wouldn't have been tempted at all to sit across the table from Max for a while. Tomorrow she'd probably think she'd been crazy. Right now, though, she had to admit her heart beat just a little faster when she thought about what it would have been like to spend a little more time with him.

“Idiot,” she muttered as she pulled into her driveway.

Usually she left the porch light on when she was going to be out at night. She hated coming home to a dark house.

She got out of the station wagon, the wind chasing dead leaves across the pavement, the sound like dry bones rattling together. Not a good image after having the nightmare. Max had been right; most people didn't wake from a sound sleep screaming.

Charlotte did.

Not often, but every once in a while the distant past came for a visit. She shuddered. Compared to her father, Brett had been a saint. If there was a silver lining in the debacle that she'd called a marriage, that was it.

She made her way up the porch stairs, the cold biting at her cheeks. If it weren't so late, she'd make a pot of coffee.

Not late.

Early.

She unlocked the front door and walked into the house, expecting to be enveloped in warmth. It felt chillier than it should have, the air crisp and wintery. She exhaled, saw her breath hanging in the air.

“Great! A busted furnace.” She flicked on the light, put her hand near the old radiator. Warmth seeped into her icy fingers.

Not a broken furnace. Good, because she didn't want to have to spend the money to replace the old one. Of course, the house was still cold, so the problem wasn't solved. She glanced around the living room. Everything looked just the way she'd left it. Windows closed tight. Zuzu's blanket lying on the floor. She'd have to bring it by Max's place.

The wind whistled in the eaves, icy rain splattered on the roof, and a door slammed, the sound so startling, Charlotte nearly jumped out of her skin.

She scurried back across the room, ran out of the house, and jumped into the station wagon. She didn't know where she was headed, but she knew for sure that she wasn't going back in the house. Not alone, anyway.

She grabbed her cell phone and dialed 911, her gaze glued to the front door of the house, her heart pounding so loudly in her ears that she almost didn't hear the operator's voice. At any moment the door might fly open and a specter might appear. A madman. A serial killer. Someone or something horrifying. Charlotte was sure of it.

She shoved the keys in the ignition, starting the engine and backing out onto the street. She didn't want to leave before the police arrived, but she didn't want to sit in the driveway waiting for whatever horror was in the house to appear, either.

A retreat seemed prudent and necessary, but she only retreated as far as the driveway for This-N-That Antiques. The shop was closed, of course, the lower level dark. Faint light shone from one of the upper-level windows. Maybe a light in the hallway outside of Alex's room. From what Tessa had said about her nephew, he didn't like the dark any more than Charlotte did.

She hunched over the steering wheel, her muscles tense and taut, her stomach churning with fear. Icy rain splattered on the pavement and yard, coating everything with a blanket of white. Christmas lights shone from the windows and doors of every house on the street. It should have been cheerful and comforting, but Charlotte was too busy being terrified to find any comfort in the charming scene.

Apple Valley was a beautiful little community, but that didn't mean bad things didn't happen there. Just last year Byron Sheffield shot out the window of Erma May Potts's brand-new Cadillac because she'd jilted him at the altar.

Thank God he hadn't proposed after eating one of Charlotte's double chocolate delights. He'd probably have come after her!

Sirens blared, police lights flashing on the ice-coated pavement as a cruiser sped into view. It turned into Charlotte's driveway and two police officers jumped out.

She climbed out of her station wagon, calling out to get their attention. “Over here!”

Both officers veered in her direction, their uniforms and jackets black against the darkness, their faces clearly visible in the streetlight. She recognized both of them. Elizabeth Duncan and Simon Baylor. They'd worked for Apple Valley Police Department for longer than Charlotte had been in town.

“What's going on, Charlotte?” Elizabeth asked. Tall and narrow with short-cropped blond hair, she worked part-time as a police officer and part-time as a high school teacher. The first job was probably a lot easier than the second.

“I walked into the house and heard a door slam.”

“Not the one you'd just walked through? It's a windy night. Those kinds of things can happen,” Simon commented. Coming from anyone else, it might have been an insult, but Simon oozed kindness. He was the sort of guy Charlotte had always wished she could be attracted to. Nice. Just . . . nice. He'd do anything for anyone anytime, and he wouldn't complain about it. He didn't gossip, didn't play the field, didn't kick dogs or steal candy from children. Apparently that was enough to keep the single and available women of Apple Valley far away from the guy. Which was strange, because he wasn't just nice, he was handsome, his ocean-green eyes and deeply tanned skin attractive enough to make most women take second and third looks. Plus he was a widower with twin daughters. A shoo-in for female attention in a place like Apple Valley.

“I'd already closed the front door. Another door closed. Maybe the back door. It was really cold in the house when I got home.”

“It's an old house,” Elizabeth pointed out. “We'll go check things out. See if there's anything to be worried about. Stay here. Come on, Si!”

Charlotte climbed back in the car and watched as Simon and Elizabeth crossed the street. She wasn't brave. She had no desire to pretend to be. As a matter of fact, if she'd had a choice, she'd be driving away from the house and whatever was inside of it.

Since Elizabeth had told her to wait, that's what she'd do.

Someone knocked on the back window of the car.

She turned, her heart jumping as she looked at the pale specter that stood near the car's bumper. Wild orange hair. Pallid skin. Bright red mouth with an unlit cigarette dangling from between thin lips.

She unrolled the window and stuck her head out. “Gertrude! What are you doing out there?”

“What are you doing in my driveway? That's what I want to know, Charlie.” Gertrude shuffled around the side of the car and bent so that they were eye to eye. “There I was, catching up on my beauty sleep, and suddenly I hear sirens and cars and doors slamming.” She touched her hair and sniffed.

“I'm sorry the noise woke you.”

“You should be. At my age, a lady needs all the help she can get.” She tucked the cigarette behind her ear and yanked the door open. “Scoot over. It's colder than a witch's tit out here.”

Her comment surprised a laugh out of Charlotte.

That was Gertrude. Completely unapologetic, uninhibited, and opinionated. Not someone that Charlotte would want to be on the wrong side of, but when Gertrude cared about someone, she'd do anything for that person.

“You have an interesting way of describing the world, Gertrude,” she said as she slid across the bucket seat.

“Yeah. Well, when you've lived as many years as me, you have a more mature way of looking at things.”

“More mature, huh?”

“What? You don't think I'm mature?” Gertrude sniffed, her nose in the air. “I'll have you know I'm the most mature person on our block.”

“I think Zim would argue with that.”

“What does he have to do with anything?” Gertrude demanded.

“He helped me out a lot today.”

“Probably wanted you to cook for him.”

“Maybe.”

“That man does love a good home-cooked meal. Guess that wife of his spoiled him. Cooked every night. That's what he says, at least. I'm not sure that he isn't misremembering.”

“You've been spending a lot of time with Zim lately, haven't you? Are you two dating?” She'd seen the two leaving This-N-That together, seen them at the diner, even noticed them sitting together at church on Easter Sunday.

“Me and that old fart? What a thought?!” Gertrude retorted, her eyes flashing with a little too much indignation.

“Yes. What a thought. You and a nice-looking older gentleman spending time together? Preposterous!”

“What do you know, Charlie? You're young and pretty. You could have any man in town. Instead of going after one, you lock yourself inside the house all day and bake cakes and cookies for other people.”

“So?”

“So . . . you're wasting time.” Gertrude crossed her arms over her scrawny chest, her eyes flashing.

“Trust me. My schedule is tight. I don't waste a second.”

“Don't be obtuse. You know what I'm saying. At your age you probably think you have all the time in the world to find the perfect guy. I'm here to tell you that time just skips along while we're busy. Next thing a girl knows, she's an old woman, lying alone in bed at night, wishing that she'd spent a little more time looking for love and a little less time looking for success.”

That sounded . . . horrible.

Sad.

Lonely.

But only if what a person wanted was to find someone to fill her life, heart, and bed.

“Is that what you do?” Charlotte asked. “Lie alone in bed at night wishing you'd spent more time looking for love?”

Gertrude laughed, the sound as rough and gritty as sandpaper. “Me? I'd rather sleep with an alligator than a man. Not that I'm opposed to a little hanky-panky. A long afternoon in the sack with—”

“How about we change the subject?” Charlotte cut in quickly. She did
not
want to know who Gertrude's lover was, and she really didn't want to hear about the two of them spending the afternoon together.

“Why? You think because I'm in my seventies I can't enjoy—”

“I
think
that if being single is good enough for you, it should be good enough for me.”

“You're young. You don't want to spend the rest of your life alone.”

Yes, she did.

Alone was a heck of a lot easier than together with someone who didn't love you.

“We'll see.” That seemed like the best response, the only one that wouldn't bring on more conversation about her past.

Knowing Gertrude, she wouldn't let it drop.

Headlights flashed on the icy pavement and a car eased down Main Street. It slowed as it neared This-N-That, pulling up to the curb and stopping there. She knew the car. There weren't many people in Apple Valley who didn't. Max's vintage Corvette was easy to identify,

“What's he doing here?” Gertrude asked, craning her neck as she stared over the dashboard.

“He's a police officer.”

“Not when he's driving that Corvette. He's off-duty, but he's here anyway, and if he's here, where's the kid everyone has been talking about?”

“Zuzu?”

“Who names her kid Zuzu? That's what I want to know,” Gertrude griped.

“I don't . . .” She lost her train of thought as Max got out of his car.

God, he looked good.

Even in the dark, even with icy rain and howling wind, even though she could barely see his face in the streetlight, he was the most gorgeous guy she'd ever seen.

It was the way he moved—long easy stride, confident carriage—and the way his clothes clung to broad firm muscles. He oozed masculinity, and that was a difficult thing to ignore.

Even for a die-hard bachelorette widow like Charlotte.

“You were saying?” Gertrude prodded.

“Just that Zuzu's mother must have liked the name, since she gave it to her daughter.”

“Humph. Liked it? She probably did it to be smart. Problem with that is she stuck her poor kid with a moniker that people are going to comment on for the rest of her life.”

“I think it's cute.”

“Cute when you're a child. What's going to happen when she's in high school? College? Has a career? Morgan wasn't thinking about that when she named her kid, I'll wager.”

“I guess not.”

“Guess? Of course not! Morgan Fairmont had a few screws loose. That's what I always thought, and naming her child Zuzu proves it,” Gertrude said with a quiet huff.

“You knew her?”

“There's not many people in town who didn't. She lived with Max for a couple of years. Not a good match for him, though. She wanted too much, and he tends to be the kind of guy who's content with what he has.”

“Is that why they broke up?”

“Don't know. Here he comes, though. Why don't we ask him?”

She was right. Max was heading straight for the car.

“I hope you're kidding?”

“Why should I be? I never really thought much about the breakup before, but now that you've asked, it's a curious thing. They moved here from Los Angeles together. Apparently Morgan grew up here. I can't say that I remember her. She was probably one of those preppy cheerleader types. Not the kind of girl Tessa would have hung out with.”