three

Oh, he was smooth, Sara acknowledged. The word “charming” rolled off his tongue like warm honey. But just because the morning sun created silver glints in the deep blue depths of his expressive eyes didn’t make his words amount to a hill of beans in her estimation. He was still a dirty lying crook with a crowbar. Obviously a first-class con man.

His accomplices wore silly grins on their faces too, but at least they just glanced at each other occasionally and back again at the cops as if they hadn’t a clue what was happening. Playing it innocent, like the ringleader.

The officer turned his face toward Sara and spoke kindly. “Ma’am, do you live here?”

“No, Sir. I work here.” She dug in her purse. “Here’s my ID. My name’s Sara Honeycutt. I live in Green Valley. My dad’s a carpenter. You probably know him. Dudley Honeycutt.”

The officer smiled. “Ol’ Dud. Sure, known him for years. Your mom works up at the college, doesn’t she?”

Sara nodded, smiling triumphantly.

The policeman looked at her driver’s license. “I know your family. I believe my son went to school with one of your sisters. Mary Louise, I believe.”

“Mary Louise is the second. She was the cheerleader. The oldest is Patsy.”

He handed back the ID, smiling, while keeping an eye on the men. “We always remember those cheerleaders. How long you worked here, Sara?”

“This is my first day. Sheena Paridy hired me.”

“Sheena,” the dirty man said. “She’s my sister.”

Likely story seemed to be written all over the policeman’s face, reflecting Sara’s own doubts.

“Could I see your ID?” he asked the man.

The leader inhaled deeply and cast a disdainful glance at Sara. Then he stuck the crowbar out in front of him, making Sara jump back. He did that squinty-eyed thing again. She resented his grin. He lowered the crowbar to his side and nodded toward a spot off to her left, beyond the side of the house. “My ID’s in the glove compartment of my vehicle over there in the parking lot.”

Sara eyed the rusty red truck.

Piece of junk, she could have said. That’s what her sisters had called the used car they’d had to drive during the days when all three girls lived at home. But a Paridy wouldn’t drive something like that.

“Or,” he said, turning his head as the screen door squeaked and an elegant woman in brown slacks and beige silk blouse stepped out onto the porch, “you can ask my mom.”

He headed up the walkway, and the others followed.

Sara gazed at a mature, polished version of Sheena. While Sheena usually wore her rich auburn hair to her shoulders, this woman had hers pulled back from her face. Sheena could, at times, look like she stepped out of a fashion magazine. This woman looked like she owned one. She probably does, Sara added to herself.

The woman spoke in a cultured voice. “Is there a problem?”

The older officer stepped forward. “Ma’am, can you identify these men?”

She walked to the edge of the porch, putting one manicured hand on a column. “I’m sorry. I have so much going on the names slipped my mind. Forrest, could you tell me their names again?”

He glanced at Sara, his eyes brimming with mischief. “Yes, Mom,” he said, emphasizing the word “Mom.” He gestured toward his friends. “This is Skip, and that’s Hal.”

The younger cop spoke for the first time. “Seems like I’ve seen you fellows somewhere before.”

Skip and Hal opened their mouths for extra air and peered cautiously at Forrest.

“They’re from the halfway house over in Skyland.” Forrest said. “They’re helping me get these plants in for Mom. But first, we needed to change the oil in the truck and replace the tailpipe.”

Sara’s mind registered the fact that enough plants to stock an entire garden shop tabletop were still in pots near the side parking space. Several bags of fertilizer and potting soil were scattered about, some at the front steps.

“That’s all true.” Mrs. Paridy descended the steps like a queen from her castle. The way her voice and eyebrows lifted indicated to Sara that she wasn’t exactly pleased. Well, how could she be? Sara knew about the halfway house. So perhaps her first impression had been right and Forrest Paridy’s friends were crooks.

But Iʼm not, she reminded herself. She began to explain, looking only at Mrs. Paridy. “I had a little accident down at the gate.” She laid her shaky hand against her chest. “My heart’s racing so fast, it’s a wonder this policeman doesn’t give me a ticket.”

“Well, a pretty little lady like you,” the older cop said, smiling. “Even if you were speeding on the highway, I’d probably just give you a warning.”

She smiled back.

Mrs. Paridy held out a graceful hand toward Sara.

“Come inside and sit down, Dear. You can tell me all about it.” She lifted her chin and looked at her son. “Take care of things here, will you, Forrest?”

Take care of things? Oh dear. After her actions toward Forrest Paridy, he’d probably insist the officers arrest her for knocking down the keypad and for raising false suspicions of him and his friends.

But she couldn’t deal with that right now. She had to get this over with before entering that house. Careful not to disturb the mattock lying against the left side of the steps, she followed Mrs. Paridy onto the porch, then stopped. She took a deep breath. “Mrs. Paridy. My Buggy-Boo’s in a ditch—”

“Your Buggy-Boo?”

Sara pushed her hand against her forehead. Oh, what a way to start a job. “My car. That’s its name. It’s down at the gate. I’m so sorry.”

A look of horror crossed the woman’s face. “Oh, Honey, are you hurt?”

“No, not at all. But—”

“Dear, insurance will take care of your car.” Relief flooded Mrs. Paridy’s face as if all had been settled. She took a step toward the door, but Sara’s feet remained planted. She had to tell the rest.

“My car’s down at the gate—”

Mrs. Paridy’s eyes filled with concern. “You walked all the way from the gate?

Sara nodded.

“You must be exhausted.” She opened the screen door. “Come on inside and sit down for a moment to calm your nerves. And, Dear, any friend of Sheena’s may call me Vivian or Viv.”

Sara said, “Thank you,” but wondered how quickly “Viv,” upon learning about the keypad, would put her hands on Sara’s shoulders, turn her around, and direct her back down the path to unemployment—that is, after she had her arrested.

❧

Anxious to get rid of the police, Forrest let them know that he would call a repair service for the keypad. He and his helpers would get the car out of the ditch or call a tow service if necessary.

The older cop stuck out his hand. “Sorry if we caused any inconvenience.”

Forrest switched the crowbar to his left hand, wiped his right hand on his jeans, then shook hands with the officers. He thanked them for their expeditious response to the alarm.

As they were leaving, Forrest walked toward the truck with the crowbar. He’d like to hear what that spunky girl might be saying to his mother. He laughed inwardly at the way she’d acted more protective toward this place than the mastiffs or the lab.

His mom had mentioned that someone who would be cleaning the house would come this morning. His mental image, drawn from previous housekeepers, in no way re-sembled Sara Honeycutt. None had been so attractive, nor so young.

Sara had identified herself as a friend of Sheena’s. But she was going to work here. He didn’t think Sheena knew the meaning of the word “work,” nor did any of her friends he’d ever met.

“I don’t think she likes us,” Hal said in a hushed tone.

Forrest knew better than to say, “Don’t sweat it.” Hal had a self-confidence problem, and with good reason. Forrest was trying to build some of that quality in the young man.

“It’s not just you,” Forrest said. “She didn’t like me either. Or trust me.” He looked over his shoulder toward the porch. He’d found Sara Honeycutt rather intriguing—one moment bold and beautiful, the next sweet and shy. She had a pretty face and expressive brown eyes, unusual in one with such light blond hair. They’d been filled with suspicion, and her voice had been tinged with accusation. Sweat had dampened the roots of her shiny locks falling along one side of her forehead and framing her face. Her smooth cheeks had been flushed, whether from the sun or her experiences, he didn’t know.

He did know she was brave. She’d faced the dogs, who wouldn’t hurt a flea. They’d had plenty of proof of that, considering the flea treatments done numerous times. And she’d faced him, Hal, and Skip, in spite of her apprehension. He liked that.

He chuckled. So she’d downed the keypad. Bravo for her! He’d wanted to do that since the family’d had it installed. Any self-respecting crook could get onto Paridy property. That gate only kept honest people out.

Turning to his friends, he asked, “You want to see what happens when Sara meets Mr. Crackers?”