Rachel Lee – Stalked In Conard County (страница 3)

When they went to the store to buy more tea, young Haley had stared in fascination at all the boxes announcing different names and tried to imagine the old times when tea had to cross perilous mountain routes to reach the rest of the world.

She could understand, even at a young age, why tea had been so important to so many. Like spices, she thought. The harder it was to get them, the more valued they became.

The tea tasted a bit on the old side, and she promised herself she’d get a fresh box in the morning. Grandma must not have been drinking it often toward the end. But then, she’d never let anyone in the family know she was failing until the day before she died.

The trip down memory lane was relaxing her, as was the comforting tea and thoughts of her grandmother. Then, rising from the mists of childhood, she remembered Roger McLeod. He’d been a few years older than her, but it hadn’t seemed to trouble him. He spent some of his free time with her, playing games or regaling her with local history. “Even grandmothers need a break,” he’d joked once.

She wondered if he still lived down the street. When she’d met him, he’d been his father’s apprentice, making custom saddles for the horse owners hereabouts. Once she’d been allowed into the workshop and had been amazed how many layers of leather were used, each one treated and stretched and cut to fit some part of the saddle precisely.

“It has to be comfortable,” he’d explained once. “People who spend long hours riding can’t afford to get sore because the saddle just doesn’t fit right. And there’s the horse, of course. It needs customization as much as the rider.”

She smiled now, remembering that day so long ago. She’d been what, thirteen? And he’d been graduating from high school. Hadn’t Grandma mentioned him occasionally in her letters?

He must still be around here. Maybe still in his father’s house two doors down. She smiled at last and decided she’d overreacted to a Peeping Tom. She’d tell the cops in the morning, and they’d check it out. That alone would probably be enough to keep the guy from coming near here again.

She glanced at the clock on the wall over the freestanding stove and saw that it was shortly past four. She should try to get some more sleep, if she could.

She climbed back into her grandmother’s bed, feeling its familiarity surround her like a hug. She didn’t crack the window, though, or open the curtains.

That creep might still be out there.

Haley was making a breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast when she heard the knock at the door. It wasn’t that early, but eight o’clock still seemed like an early hour to be knocking. She made the person wait while she scraped the eggs onto a plate so they wouldn’t burn. Then, grabbing a kitchen towel, she wiped her hands as she went to answer the door.

For an instant, just an instant, she didn’t recognize Roger McLeod. He’d filled out and grown quite a powerful set of shoulders in the intervening years.

“Remember me? Roger McLeod? Sorry to bother you, Haley, but I got concerned when I saw all the curtains drawn. Your grandmother never did that.”

“I know she didn’t.” She stepped back, tacitly inviting him inside. “And I do remember you. How’s life treating you, Roger?”

He smiled, a warm expression that she remembered from years ago. She liked the way his smile reached his green eyes, crinkling them a bit in the corners. “It’s going well. I’m busy, which I guess is the thing. I’m really sorry about Flora, though. She never mentioned she was getting sick.”

“She never mentioned it to the family, either, until the day before she died. Come on, I just made fresh coffee if you’d like some.”

Again that smile that seemed to send warmth running all the way to her toes. Was she losing her mind? He hadn’t affected her that way years ago.

“I never say no to a morning cup of joe,” he answered. Once in the kitchen, he sat at the table as if he had a regular place there.

She poured his coffee. “Cream? Sugar?”

“Straight, thanks. We haven’t seen much of you over the last few years.”

“No.” She brought her plate of eggs and toast to the table. “Want me to make you some?”

“I’m fine.” His eyes smiled at her over the rim of the cup.

“I feel bad that I couldn’t come visit more often, but I’m a nurse. Grandma must have mentioned it.”

“She did.” He nodded.

“Well, my hours stink and my vacations are short and scattered. Instead of me coming out here, she used to fly back East to visit.”

“That’s right. I remember. It’s been a while, though.”

A while. Sorrow shadowed Haley’s heart. Grandma had been in the habit of flying out to visit every year, staying with Haley for a week or so. A comfortable pattern. Then Grandma had missed a summer, made some excuse Haley couldn’t even remember now, and she felt guilty for not having realized that something was wrong.

Well, she could kick herself over that later, she decided as she forked some scrambled egg into her mouth then followed it with a bite of rye toast. The voyeur seemed like a more immediate issue and she wondered if she should even bring it up to Roger. He’d stopped in to offer a friendly greeting, not necessarily to get dragged into any part of her life.

“Listen,” he said. “This is an old house and I used to do some work on it from time to time when Flora needed it. I was in the middle of a project to fix the ductwork in the basement when she…took ill.”

She looked up from her plate. Man, she’d forgotten this guy was so attractive. Maybe he hadn’t been years ago, when still a stripling. “What’s wrong with the ducts?”

He put his mug down. “A little of everything. Rust, age, shrinkage, loose joints. Anyway, it was rattling enough when the heat came on that Flora finally got irritated. I can’t say I blame her. She asked me to come over and listen to it. Clang, bang, rattle. And, of course, it came amplified right through the registers. Anyway, I was replacing it a bit at a time and, unless you have an objection, I’d like to finish the job. I hate to leave work undone.”

“I have no objection,” she answered promptly. It would be nice to have a chance to get to know him again. “They really make a racket, huh?”

He laughed briefly. “Let me put it this way. If it hadn’t happened slowly over time, I think Flora would have blown a gasket. I can’t believe how much she got used to before she decided she needed to do something.”

“Isn’t it funny how we can do that?”

“Oh, yeah. We adapt to an awful lot. Except saddle sores, heel blisters and…well, no need to make a whole list.”

It was her turn to laugh. “It’s so good to see you again, Roger. It’s been an age.”

“Yeah, and somewhere along the way we both grew up. I’m sorry you missed Flora’s memorial at the church.”

“Dad didn’t leave me much opportunity to get here. It’s okay. Flora didn’t want all that for herself.”

“That sounds like Flora, all right. Go on, finish your breakfast. I don’t know about you, but I hate cold eggs. Come to think of it, cold toast isn’t much better.”

Part of her wanted to journey down memory lane with him. Thinking back, she realized the two of them really hadn’t spent that much time together those few summers she had visited. He’d been apprenticing with his father and only occasionally had time off. As for her grandmother…well, it seemed likely he’d spent more time with her than Haley ever had. They’d been neighbors, after all.

But then he asked the question that directed her to more urgent matters.

“Why do you have all the curtains closed?” he asked. “Flora only did that during the winter.”

She laid her fork down on her empty plate. Had she imagined last night? It seemed so distant now, but she was still wrapped in her robe against a chill that didn’t exist except inside herself and she had turned the house into a cave.

“Last night…” She hesitated, hoping she didn’t sound fanciful or hysterical. “The moon was awfully bright. It woke me up and I was staring at it, thinking how beautiful it was when…” She sighed and pushed the words out. “Someone was looking in my window, Roger. It unnerved me.” Understatement.

He was already rising from his chair. “Flora’s room?”

“Yes.”

Before she could say any more, he’d gone out the front door.

She rose to her feet, wondering why her legs felt wobbly. Because she’d addressed what had happened last night, hadn’t just shoved it into the background to be forgotten with a million other bad things? She’d learned to do that in early childhood—a lesson she had believed was well-learned, a lesson she used often in her work.

She rinsed her dishes and put them in the dishwasher that her father had installed many years ago during one of her summer visits here. Darn thing was still working.

Then she leaned against the counter, resting her weight on the palms of her hands, and closed her eyes.

The image floated up in her mind, as clear as it had been last night. Her heart pounded once, hard, then settled again. A Peeping Tom. Probably no threat at all, just a guy who got his kicks by sneaking looks at sleeping women.

Nothing, she told herself. Nothing to fear.

When Roger returned, he entered the kitchen talking on his cell phone. “Yeah, Flora McKinsey’s house on Poplar—901. Her granddaughter’s staying here at the moment and last night she had a Peeping Tom. There are footprints under her bedroom window.” He paused. “Geez, Gage, how would I know? Probably scared the bejesus out of her. We don’t have any known peepers making the rounds, do we?”