Heather told her phone to call Jack and waited until the recorded sound of his voice gave instructions to leave a message. The apology she’d rehearsed needed to be said to him, not a machine, so she told her phone to call his office. As expected, his mother, the office manager and receptionist, answered.
“I’m sorry, Heather. Jack’s not in the office this week. I thought you knew.”
“Uh… no. Things have been so busy, we forgot to sync our calendars.”
“He’ll be back in on Thursday.”
Heather’s stomach made a gurgling sound, a sure sign of how regret affected her. She covered a burp. “I tried to get him on his cell phone, but it went to a recording. I’ll try later.”
“You won’t have any luck. He’s on a five-day Caribbean cruise.”
Stomach gasses worked overtime. “Oh. Well. I won’t bother you any longer. I’ll catch him when he returns.”
It wasn’t the most awkward conversation she’d ever had, but it ranked in the top five. Now, her imagination took off like a banshee. Had Jack dumped her completely? She manipulated her phone to the calendar and checked to see if she’d posted anything about him taking a cruise. Nothing. The thought of him going by himself made little sense. Her mind considered a likely scenario. “He’s frolicking in the blue waters of the Caribbean with some chesty blond. It serves me right.”
She noticed her left hand had a death grip on the steering wheel. Releasing it, she grabbed the latch and threw open the door. Metal screeched and groaned as the door reached its full extension and kept going. Beside her, a rust-dappled Pontiac Sunbird almost stopped in time. The brakes may not have been the best on the car, but the horn worked fine.
After backing up and moving to the next parking spot over, a burley man wearing a stained white T-shirt climbed out. He wasn’t smiling.
“I’m so sorry. I’ll be glad to pay for any damages.”
He examined the front of his car. “Ain’t that bad. A salvage headlight lens will cost less than a hundred dollars. They’re easy to replace.” He looked at the door of her Mercedes. “I’d hate to see the repair bill on this. You’re talking about multiple thousands. The hinges are bent and sprung and there’s damage to the front quarter-panel. At least the glass didn’t break. Let’s see if the door will close.”
It wouldn’t, but he said, “I can get it closed, if you want me to. It won’t be pretty and you’ll have wind noise, but it’ll get you where you need to go.”
Heather threw up her hands. “Do whatever you need to make it where I can drive.”
She followed him to the trunk of his car. Inside, it looked like an over-sized pack rat had cleaned out an abandoned shed. After shifting through the debris, he came out with two small wooden blocks cut from a two-by-four. He took them to her car, placed them in the door jamb near the sprung hinges and put his considerable weight against the door. Metal groaned. He opened the door fully, and the blocks fell to the ground. He again closed the door and this time, it latched.
“That’s amazing. You’re a lifesaver.”
The man smiled. “Just a county boy who had a similar experience as a teen. I was in a hurry, backing through the woods. A tree was in my blind spot. Bent my door back worse than this one. My pa fixed it the same way. That old truck wasn’t worth fixin’ proper.”
Heather opened the door and grabbed her purse. She took out three one-hundred-dollar bills and handed them to the man. He shook his head and held out his palm as a stop sign. “That’s way too much, Ma’am. All I’d feel right takin’ would be a hundred for my headlight.”
“I insist. One hundred for your headlight and two hundred for labor.”
“I’ll meet you in the middle. Two hundred for everything.”
“And twenty for the meal I’ve kept you from ordering.”
The man gave a toothy smile. “You drive a hard bargain.”
By the time Heather came inside, Steve had finished his mid-afternoon treat. She sat down without ordering.
“I sure hope the rest of this trip is better than how it’s started out.”
“What’s wrong? No Jack?”
“I managed to get into a fender-bender while sitting in a parking lot.”
Steve’s eyebrows rose. “That’s a good trick. How did you manage that?”
Heather related the incident to him. “Goes to show I need to get my head in the game.”
Steve tilted his head. “Have some ice cream. It helps everything.”
“Not today. My stomach went into acid overdrive.”
Steve pushed his empty cup into the middle of the table. “Nothing like a fender-bender to ruin your day.”
Heather sighed. “If only that was all. I tried to call Jack. He’s on a five-day cruise that I knew nothing about. I’m having visions of him snorkeling with someone who looks like the cover girl on the Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition.”
“He probably is.” The words didn’t have a speck of sympathy in them.
Heather stared at him. “That’s not the most encouraging thing you’ve ever told me.”
Steve shrugged. “Considering our proximity to Galveston, he’s probably on one of the short cruises that leave from there. Have you ever been on one of those?”
“Can’t say that I have.”
“They go to Mexico, usually Cancun, Cozumel, Honduras, places like that. The cruise lines hook you into planning excursions. If Jack is snorkeling, he’s doing it alongside fifty other people from the ship.”
“All it takes is one.”
“You’re underestimating Jack again.”
“How do you know?”
Steve ignored the question.
Heather looked up as a young man in his late teens came through the door, took a step to his left, and stood staring out the window. Heather leaned over the table and lowered her voice. “Unless I’m mistaken, the youngest Mattherson brother just walked in. He acts like he’s waiting for someone to join him.”
“Let’s stay until he leaves. Think up a reason to talk to him.”
The young man Heather identified as Brian Mattherson came on point. His focus seemed to lock on the shiny red car pulling into a parking place. It soon became apparent his interest wasn’t on the auto, but on the driver.
Heather kept her voice low. “It appears Brian was waiting for a young woman. She’s about my height, with short hair the color of wet sand, and large glasses that hide her face. They’re both checking out the customers and staff.”
Steve kept his voice at the same volume as hers. “Are they holding hands or standing close?”
“No, but now his hand is on the small of her back as they’re walking to the counter to place their order.”
The young lady behind the counter had a voice that carried to where Steve and Heather sat and beyond. “Hey, Brian. Hey, Amanda. What brings you back from Houston to this dump of a town? If I could, I’d move to Houston in a heartbeat and stay there.”
Even with Steve’s exceptional hearing, he said he couldn’t make out Amanda’s reply, but the megaphone-voice of the employee projected loud and clear.
“Are you both still loving college? It’s a shame your parents won’t let you go to the same one. What would you like today?”
Heather watched as Amanda summoned the server to lean over the counter toward her.
“Don’t you worry about that. If either of your parents shows up asking about you, I’ll tell ’em I ain’t seen you. I guess you’ll be wanting your milkshakes to go.”
Both heads nodded.
Heather continued to whisper. “Do you still want me to talk to them?”
Steve shook his head. “I don’t think they’d appreciate us delaying their departure. It sounds like they’re fugitives from the parent-police.”
Amanda backed away from the counter several steps and gave a furtive stare toward the road running in front of the restaurant. Brian turned and spoke loud enough for Heather to hear. “You go on. I’ll meet you with our milkshakes.”
Quick steps took Amanda to her car, and she didn’t waste time leaving. The taillights of her car disappeared over a rise as a new Cadillac SUV wheeled into a parking spot. Out stepped a woman who appeared to be in her early forties. She walked with a stride that matched Amanda’s.
Once inside, she drew near to Brian, who took a half-step back.
“Hello, Mrs. Palmer,” said Brian.
She ignored the social graces and got right to the point. “Amanda’s father knows you’re in town. If you have any thoughts of seeing her this weekend, you’d better think again.”
Brian’s reply was weak in both volume and veracity. “Amanda’s in town?”
Mrs. Palmer gave him a hard stare. The server placed two cups on the counter. “Your order’s ready, Brian.”
“Oh, no,” whispered Heather to Steve. “Brian has two milkshakes. Amanda’s mother will want to know who the second one is for.”
Steve raised his voice, and not a second too soon. “Brian. Is my milkshake ready?”
Brian and Mrs. Palmer’s heads jerked around.
“I appreciate you saying you’d bring it to me. Don’t worry if it’s not ready. Ms. McBlythe can get it for me.”
Heather concluded Brian was a young man who could think fast on his feet. He stepped to the counter, grabbed both milkshakes, and walked to their booth. “Here you are.” He bent close to Steve as he placed the paper cup on the table in front of Steve and barely whispered. “Thanks, mister.”
Heather scooted out of the booth and approached Mrs. Palmer. “Excuse us for interrupting your conversation with Brian. I couldn’t help but hear him address you as Mrs. Palmer. Would you be Mindi Palmer?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Heather McBlythe and the man with me is a business associate, Steve Smiley. We have an appointment with you and your husband tomorrow afternoon.”
She interrupted. “Only with my husband, Craig. He mentioned in passing it had something to do with a high-speed train.”
While Heather talked, Brian took advantage of the opportunity to sneak behind Mindi and flee the scene.
With hand extended toward their booth, Heather asked, “Do you have time to join us for a chat?”
“Not now. My daughter isn’t answering her phone and my husband and I are concerned about her.”
“Then I won’t keep you.”
Steve sat leaned over, sucking the frozen delight through a straw. He raised his head. “Good job. Mark up a victory for love.”
“Don’t mention love with me in a Dairy Queen halfway between Houston and Dallas, while Jack’s swimming with mermaids.”
“Get some ice cream. It helps solve all kinds of problems.”
“I wonder if they sell it by the bucket?” She settled for a dipped cone and ate it so fast her forehead ached.
Steve rose from the booth. “It’s after three. Let’s get to the B&B. I’ll be coming down from the sugar rush pretty soon and a nap would be nice.”
The door to the Mercedes groaned in protest as Heather opened it. She told her onboard computer to chart the path to their destination. In the town of less than ten thousand, it took them eleven minutes to arrive, only because they got stuck behind a tractor. The computer showed the street they turned onto made a large hairpin turn. It sat on a bluff overlooking a small river, just past the city limits. They passed a massive art deco-style home with front and side yards measured in acres, not feet. It was beyond anything Heather expected to see here, and the sign over the front gate read PALMER.
At the top of the hairpin-shaped road, she slowed to a crawl as they passed a second massive Victorian home. It boasted intricate trim and manicured grounds.
“I never expected to see homes like this in Mattherson.” She did her best to describe it to Steve. He responded with a yawn.
On they went until the third and final home on the street appeared. A newer wooden sign announced they’d arrived at THE WELLS MANSION Bed and Breakfast. The antebellum home stood proud to be counted among the other two homes on the block, even though it appeared a little down-at-the heels. Cracks in the curved driveway allowed grass to poke through, as if nature mounted a counter-attack on the once-elegant property. All three deserved the title of mansion, but only this one suffered the indignity of being a place where guests had to pay to spend the night.
Heather reconsidered her choice of accommodations, but realized she was being a snob. “It’s just as beautiful in person as in the photos on the Internet.” She gave Steve a glowing thumbnail description of the three-story multi-thousand square foot home.
He replied with, “I hope the bed isn’t a left-over from when they built it.”
As Heather and Steve approached the front steps and raised porch, the door above them opened and a man dressed in jeans, work boots, and a chambray shirt came toward them. “Howdy. I’m Leon Wells. You must be Ms. McBlythe and Mr. Smiley. Come on in and make yourself comfortable. I’ll grab your bags and run them up to your rooms. My wife, Sara Jane, will be with you directly. Till then, have a seat in the front parlor. It’s off to your right as soon as you get inside.”
Heather immediately liked Leon. He had a broad smile, a workman’s hands, and looked to be the type that had a hard time standing still. After selecting a chair for Steve to sit in, Heather looked around the room. It was like entering a museum with a chronological pictorial timeline of the history of the Wells mansion and oil wells lining the walls.
Before long, a petite woman in her late thirties arrived. Like her husband, she wore simple clothes and had hands with no evidence of pampering. Heather guessed Sara Jane’s work involved little time on a keyboard. A friendly smile preceded a soft voice welcoming them. “It’s so nice to have you both. I’m supposed to give you a speech Leon wrote about how glad we are to have you stay here, but I’m more inclined to let people come to me, if you know what I mean. I’m not much on small talk to begin with, but I’ll rattle on with the best of ’em once I get going.”
Steve spoke before Heather could. “I can’t remember ever staying in a mansion. I’ve been looking forward to coming here and soaking in the home's history, the town, and the county. Have you lived here all your life?”
“Born and raised. Leon and I married right out of high school, and this is the only home he’s ever known.” She looked away from Steve even though he couldn’t see her retreat into shyness. “Of course, we only take up the top floor since his parents have passed on.”
While Steve carried on the conversation, Heather studied the room, and the photos in particular. She thought back to Steve’s comment about small towns holding secrets. It must have been her imagination running away with her again, but as she looked into the eyes of the men and women in old black and white photos, she wondered what secrets they wanted to tell her.