A Soft Place to Fall (8 page)

"There's a good four months of eight-hour
days left on this baby," he said. "I think that works out to
sixteen blueberry pies."

Nancy's narrow face broke apart with her
smile. If the way to a man's heart was his stomach, the way to a
cook's heart was through her blueberry pies.

"I have half a pie on the counter right now,"
she said, bending down to scratch Max behind the ear. "You look
like you could use a little sustenance."

"I'd better push on to the cottage, Nance.
I've been on the road since the crack of dawn and I'm ready to
crash."

The old woman linked her arm through his and
walked him to the truck. "You're sure you can find the place on
your own now? It gets wicked dark around here at night."

"I remember how dark it gets." The difference
between Shelter Rock Cove and Bayside, Queens could have been
measured in light years instead of miles. The teenaged Sam had been
pretty sure he'd landed on another planet. "I have the map Warren
faxed me," he said and they both laughed.

"A map won't do you much good in the dark.
Maybe I should drive you down there. Wouldn't want you rolling into
the water now, would we?"

It took another five minutes to convince her
that he was capable of finding his way to his new home. She wanted
him to call her when he got in and only the fact that his phone
service wasn't turned on yet made her back down. His mother had
been the same way, watching over each member of her brood as if
nobody else on earth mattered. He had the feeling she would have
been every bit as zealous today over her adult children.

"Been one hell of a day, Max," he said as
they made their way along the twisting road that led to the beach.
"Too bad you had to take off after that squirrel."

He had wanted to square things with the woman
with the sad blue eyes and, if he was being completely honest,
square things with himself as well. It seemed he had been leaving
nothing but loose ends behind these last few months. Something
about her had reached deep into his soul, far deeper than a casual
encounter in a parking lot would justify. He had felt a connection,
a sense of rightness, that he'd never known before.

Who are you kidding, Butler? She's married.
You saw the guy. You saw the married way they talked to each
other.

That still didn't change the way he'd felt
when she turned around and looked up at him. There was something in
her eyes, something in the sound of her voice, that seemed
familiar. As if he'd waited his whole life to meet her.

"I take it all back, Max," he said as he
rounded a tight curve. "You did me a favor back there." Max's
squirrel-chasing stunt had broken the spell long enough for Sam to
regain some perspective. He was pretty sure he would see her again.
Shelter Rock Cove was a small town and sooner or later their paths
were bound to cross. Maybe then he could undo some of the damage
Max caused and prove to himself that the churned-up feeling inside
his chest was nothing more than a blip on his radar screen..

A thick, hubcap-level fog was rolling right
across the narrow, twisting road and he focused his concentration
on keeping the Trooper from a close encounter with the run-off
ditch that ran parallel. Winter driving must be a bitch. Good thing
he was free to head south when the New Year rolled around.

Next to him Max whimpered twice and nudged
Sam's arm, the dog's signal that a quick stop might not be a bad
idea.

"Not here, buddy," Sam said as he switched on
his high beams. "Just wait. We'll be home before you know it."

#

By eight o'clock the last of Annie's helpers
had left and she was alone in her new home for the first time.
"Make sure you eat something," Claudia cautioned her. "You haven't
had a bite since breakfast."

Annie promised her mother-in-law she would
heat up a slice or two of leftover pizza before she went to bed
then locked the door behind her. She had been starving a few hours
ago but now she was too tired to think much beyond a warm bath and
sleep.

The boxes were all unpacked and neatly broken
down and stacked out back for recycling. Her dishes and glassware
were washed, dried, and put away in the cupboards. Her books lined
the living room shelves and her television was hooked up and
working. Most of her clothes were still draped across the sleigh
bed, mainly because nobody wanted to walk across her mattress to
reach the closet by the window, but that was okay. She wasn't in
any rush.

"I think I love it," she said to George and
Gracie who were crouched in the bedroom doorway. They looked up at
her as if she'd lost her mind. "I think we're going to be very
happy here."

Gracie chose that moment to hack up a
hairball the size of a wonton.

"Tell me how you really feel," Annie muttered
as she cleaned up after the feline.

Unlike Gracie, it had been hard for Annie to
know how she felt with the place crammed with people and noise and
more opinions than you could shake a stick at. But now that she was
alone, she knew she had made the right decision. This was her home.
This was where she belonged. She loved the bleached wood floors,
the whitewashed walls, the tiny stone fireplace, the double-hung
windows, the old-fashioned clawfoot tub so deep you could almost
float in it. Sure it would take a while to buy things like chairs
and a sofa and a kitchen table but those were small considerations.
She had paid off all of Kevin's gambling debts and she owned the
roof over her own head and, knowing Warren Bancroft, that roof
probably came with a lifetime guarantee. She couldn't prove it, but
she was reasonably sure Warren had made a few improvements on the
place since she had last seen it. The kitchen seemed brighter and
that pedestal sink in the bathroom didn't look like original
equipment. She would have to take him to task on Tuesday when she
dropped off the latest batch of freshly typed memoir pages.

"I'd be happy to hold a mortgage for you,
Annie," he had said a few days before closing. "No need for you to
be cash-poor just because you bought a house."

Annie had been adamant in her refusal and the
deal had gone down in cash. No mortgage. No bank. No strangers at
the door or phone calls in the middle of the night. Nobody could
take it away from her. If that wasn't cause for celebration, she
didn't know what was.

Maybe a celebration was just what she needed.
A housewarming party for one. She'd splurged on a bottle of
domestic champagne the day the Flemings closed on her old house
with the intention of popping the cork when she moved into her new
place. Well, she'd moved into her new place and the cork was still
in the bottle and that struck her as a terrible waste of occasion,
not to mention champagne.

Ten minutes later she stripped off her
clothes and sank into the warm, fragrant claw-foot tub. Chunky
white candles scented with freesia glowed from the windowsill, the
counter, and along the baseboard. Good thing candles didn't come
with an expiration date or she would have passed it five years ago.
The door was closed against an onslaught of cats but the gentle
sounds of Mozart found her just the same. A stack of new towels, a
housewarming gift from Susan, were piled high on the shelf next to
the window and her favorite silky green robe was tossed over the
towel rod by the door. The belt, a beautiful braid of green and
gold cord, swayed gently to the music a few inches above the floor
like a charmed snake. She'd indulged in a glass of champagne while
the bathtub was filling and she felt relaxed in a lovely boneless
way that was unfamiliar to her. She reached for the beautiful
crystal flute of golden liquid balanced on the edge of the sink
then sank back down into the warm and welcoming water.

"To me!" she said, lifting the glass high.
She took a sip. "To the future!"

For the first time since Kevin's death she
actually believed she had one. She decided that deserved another
sip of bubbly.

Champagne?
She could hear Claudia's
voice clear as a bell.
Champagne will give you a terrible
headache, honey, especially on an empty stomach.

"Shut up, Claudia," she said out loud.
"Champagne is the elixir of the gods."

You really should eat something, Anne. A
slice of pizza or a nice sandwich. Pour yourself a glass of
milk.

"I don't want milk, Claudia. I want
champagne. And if you don't keep your thoughts out of my head, I
just might drink the entire bottle."

#

The house was at the end of the road, as far
east as Sam could drive without plunging into the Atlantic. It was
larger than he had expected and a hell of a lot older.

He pulled into the driveway, turned off the
engine, then opened the door. Max, eager to respond to nature's
call, was the first one out.

"Stay close," he warned the dog. "You might
be a Lab but I'm not convinced you know how to swim."

Max, giddy with freedom, took off down the
road at a surprising clip.

"We're getting you a leash tomorrow," Sam
grumbled as he headed after the dog.

He didn't have far to go. Max came to a
screeching halt in front of the only other house on the block, a
small shingled cottage half-hidden in the trees. Max barked once,
then twice more at increasing volume.

This wasn't the right way to meet the
neighbors. Sam made to grab the dog by the collar but Max ran
closer to the house. He barked again. Nancy said a widow had just
moved into the house. He could imagine the poor old woman cowering
behind the door while a strange man and his crazed dog lurked
outside. For all he knew she was dialing 911 right now.

He grabbed for Max again and managed to make
contact but the dog ran straight up the porch steps and began
scratching at the door.

What the hell was going on? The dog bounded
off the porch then ran to the side of the house where his frantic
barks brought Sam running. The dog's full attention was directed to
the single small window where a faint yellow and red light
flickered crazily behind the shade.

#

Annie was floating naked on a raft in the
middle of a turquoise lagoon while tropical sun kissed every part
of her body. Her right hand clutched a pina colada while her left
hand trailed lazily through the balmy waters. Somewhere on shore a
campfire burned merrily. If only the crazy man would stop yelling
in her ear –

"Fire!"

She opened her eyes and saw the man from the
Yankee Shopper parking lot advancing toward her, brandishing a
flaming bathrobe.

She sighed deeply and closed her eyes again.
Empty stomach. Lots of champagne. Terrible combination. She was
quite happily drunk and he was a figment of her grape-sodden
imagination.

"Out of the tub, now!"

Since when did gorgeous figments of the
imagination yell at you? They were supposed to be obedient and
cheerful, no matter what you told them to do. She grumbled to
herself and wished she had the energy, not to mention the
dexterity, to add some more water to the bath. She heard water
running some place close by and even imagined she felt droplets of
cold water splashing against her exposed skin. Caribbean rain,
that's what it was. Everyone knew it rained a lot in the Caribbean.
She tried to will it away but the droplets flew at her faster and
colder and the whole thing was becoming quite annoying.

And what happened to the sweet smell of
flowers? Instead of scented candles, she smelled burnt fabric. She
forced her eyes open again. She wasn't focusing very well but there
he was, holding her poor bathrobe under running water. Had she let
him in? She couldn't remember but it was clear somebody had because
there he was.

Or then again maybe he wasn't. Why would he
be washing a silk bathrobe in her sink? Surely she could think of
something more interesting for him to do.

Of course he wasn't really there. Good thing
he was the by-product of three glasses of extremely cheap champagne
because otherwise the fact that she was lying there naked in the
bath tub while a strange man ruined her favorite robe might
actually be something to worry about.

#

Sam was no detective but it wasn't hard to
figure out what was going on there. The empty bottle of cheap
champagne, the drained glass on the rim of the tub, candles burning
everywhere, and a tipsy naked woman who was starting to add up the
clues.

"My robe . . . " She sounded fuzzy, like she
had a mouthful of cotton candy. "Water ruins silk."

"Yeah?" He tried not to glance her way but he
was, after all, a man and she was naked. "Fire does a better
job."

"Fire?"

Talking to someone who'd made short work of a
bottle of bubbly was never easy, not even when the someone in
question was a woman with a body he'd be seeing in his dreams for
the next twenty years. "Not too hard to figure, is it? You have
enough candlepower going here to light the way to Bangor." As far
as he could tell, the belt on her robe had touched the open flame
of a candle and things went from there.

"And you --?"

"You're not going to remember a word of this
later, are you?" he asked, wringing out the sopping wet robe over
the sink. "For the record, you have Max to thank. He knew something
was wrong. I'm just the guy with the prehensile thumbs who did the
breaking and entering."

She gave him a loopy, dreamy smile. "Kiss Max
for me."

Looking at her was dangerous business. He
redirected his attention to the robe. The left side of the robe was
badly scorched. Another two or three minutes and the entire garment
would have been in flames, followed by the house. Maybe Max did
deserve a kiss.

He held up the robe to show her. "Not much
point to saving this."