Hidden Legacy (21 page)

“We widen the circle.” Lucas turned, then headed across the street.

Chapter 11

The farmhouse across from Cindy Marchand’s house looked ancient. Bare wood showed through the white paint in spots. Long, weedy grass crept over the brick walkway. Beyond the house lay the remnants of a barn, stacks of logs waiting to be cut and split, and a herd of rusty farm implements. The place had an air of having fallen behind and not quite being able to catch up.

An old man sat in a rocker on the porch. One leg, encased by a cast from hip to ankle, rested on a plush pillow that sat atop a milking stool. A gray wool sock with a red toe and heel, covered the foot. A red-and-black plaid blanket draped his lap. He creaked a counterpoint to the soft jingle of a pipe wind chime hanging on the corner of the wrap-around porch. A radio blared a weather update.

“You another one of them flickers?” the old man asked as Lucas and Juliana reached the bottom of the stairs. His voice was harsh, his manner brusque. He reminded Lucas of a weasel with his tiny eyes, grizzled hair and beard, and sharp features. A hostile witness to be won over. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Juliana shrinking back from the force of the old man’s antagonism.

“I’m with the FBI,” Lucas said, showing him his credentials. “Lucas Vassilovich.”

“Don’t you people talk to each other?” The old man didn’t break the rhythm of his creaking.

Lucas smiled, undaunted by the man’s rudeness—part of the job. His manner remained friendly and relaxed. “Obviously not as well as we should. You know Cindy Marchand and her friend?”

“I already told the other guy I don’t know nothing. I keep to my business. She keeps to hers.”

“She’s not the friendly sort then?”

As the old man’s studied Lucas, his gaze narrowed. “She’s decent folk.”

Lucas gestured toward the radio. “Can I turn that down for you?”

“There’s a storm coming.” The old man lowered the volume, then turned his head toward the front door. “Stella!”

The wife? As a battle-ax protector or corroborating witness? He nearly chuckled out loud. Still, he kept on guard. A shotgun, even in the hands of an old lady, was definitely an equalizer.

“What happened?” Lucas pointed his chin toward the man’s leg.

“Tractor rolled over and busted my leg.”

“Sounds painful.”

“Coulda been worse.” The old man glanced at his watch. Why? Time for what? Pain pill?

“How long has the cast been on?”

“A month or so. Doctor says my bones aren’t healing as well as they should.”

A month. Long enough to see the ins and outs of the Phantom in Cindy’s house.
Patience
.

“Must make it hard to run your farm.”

“You got that right. Whole place is goin’ to hell. Can’t get no reliable help either.”

Juliana leaned her backside on the rail, rested her head against the column, exposing her neck, heightening his ready hunger for her. His tongue wanted to run the length of that creamy skin, taste its richness. He swallowed, and focused on the old man.

“How long till it comes off?” Lucas asked.

“Another month or so.” The old man shifted in his seat and twisted his body toward the door. “Stella!”

Lucas half-turned to look at what the old man could see from his chair and was treated to a unimpeded view of Cindy’s house and garage. Juliana did the same, and realization showed plainly on her expressive face. A good poker player she would never make.

“You sit here a lot?” Lucas asked.

“Better than watching soaps all day. The wife, she likes ‘em, but me, I can’t stand all that melodrama.”

“Yeah, you’re right there,” he agreed, man to man, and nearly blew his attempt at rapport with a chuckle when Juliana raised her eyes to the sky and shook her head slightly at the overt male chauvinism. He’d have to show her later that he had the utmost respect for her gender. “You see everything that goes on in the neighborhood.”

“I do all right.” The old man glanced at his watch again, scowled. “Eleven o’clock.
Sunset Beach
. She’ll never hear me now. Stella!”

“Anything wrong?” he asked.

“It’s the wife. She’s probably glued to that TV of hers by now.”

“Do you need anything?” Juliana asked, sliding her hip off the rail. “I’ll be glad to get it for you.”

He hesitated, then shook his head. “No, thank ye.”

“What’s he like, the boyfriend?” Lucas asked, getting the conversation back on track.

The old man snorted. “Well, I ain’t one to pass judgment, but it seems to me a pretty thing like her could do better than an old coot like him.”

“He’s old.” The fact the Phantom had a girlfriend at all went against profile and instinct. Both had indicated he’d be a loner.

“I said that already, didn’t I?” The old man tapped the glass on the face of his watch, put the dial close to his ear, and jiggled his arm. Some of the color was draining from his face. Was he all right?

“Yes, you did. Forty? Fifty? Sixty?”

The old man scrunched his face. “You know that’s the odd thing about that one, now that I think about it. He looks like sixty, but walks like forty.”

A zing of interest flashed through him. Juliana reacted with a jerk, as if she’d felt the almost electric jolt that had gone through his body. “What makes you say that?”

The old man shrugged. He scrunched his eyes to mere slits. “You asked for my opinion, I give it to you straight. Stella!”

“Did he ever give you a name?” The mailbox had been empty, but somehow Lucas doubted Willy had received any correspondence here.

“Nope, never talked to the feller.”

“Did he go out every day?”

“Takes that little dog of his out a coupla times a day, he does.”

“Does he come and go regularly?”

“Naw, he’s in and out all the time. Not like her. She’s reg’lar as clockwork. Makes it interesting. The wife and I, we try to figure him out. Spends a lot of time at the library, he does. The wife, she’s seen him there. I’ve seen him with a load of books more than once.” He twisted his body around even further, half-rose out of his chair, disturbing his casted leg, and promptly plopped back down. His face took on an ashen tint.

“What’s he look like?” Lucas continued, knowing he didn’t have much time before his opportunity to gather information shut off.

“He’s about her bigness,” he said looking at Juliana, squirming in his seat a bit, in a way Lucas recognized. “Maybe smaller. A little feller. Skinny. Gray hair. Blue eyes. Glasses.”

The short stature fit with the other descriptions they’d gathered. Short, and a bit of a chameleon, it seemed. A book lover. A storyteller.

The old man’s brow pleated. “You know, he don’t have many wrinkles. Maybe he ain’t as old as I thought. The gray hair. That’s what got me fooled.”

“What does he drive?” Lucas asked.

“A big boat of a car. Cadillac, I think. Silver. Never thought to look at the plates. She in trouble?”

“Maybe.” Give a little, get more.

He nodded, frowning. “He’s the one, then. I had a feeling about him the first time I seen him.”

“How come?”

He shrugged. “Because.”

Juliana hid a smile under one hand and attempted to cover her giggles with a cough. She would find that amusing. A measure of his own vague knowings? It was something he could accept.

“What does he usually wear?”

“Mostly dungarees, T-shirts, and tennies.”

That didn’t seem like the uniform of a sixty-year-old. Most of the people that age he knew tended toward a more conservative dress unless they worked the land, even then, T-shirts weren’t usually part of the garb.

“Stella!”

Distress etched more deeply on the old man’s features with every passing minute, and Lucas understood his misery.

“Do you want me to go find your wife?” Juliana volunteered.

The old man glanced at her, studying her up and down as if judging if she were up to the task, then shook his head. “Naw, the wife, she don’t take too kindly to strangers.”

“How long has he been living with Cindy?” Lucas asked, resuming his interrogation. A couple more questions, then he’d help him to the bathroom.

“A coupla months. His car stayed the night for the first time on Valentine’s Day. They’re gone now, the both of them.”

“When did they leave?”

Impatiently, Juliana shifted her weight from one foot to the other. He’d have to move fast—before she did.

“Day afore yesterday. Right after lunch time. He packed the car right quick, and she never came back from work. You know, I ain’t seen the dog for a few days afore that neither.”

“Are you feeling all right?” Juliana asked, moving forward to touch the old man’s hand.

“I-I,” he stammered. “Stella!”

“Can I do anything for you? Get you anything?”

He considered her offer, shook his head. “Thank ye kindly.” He squirmed in his seat.

“This needs a man’s touch, Juliana,” Lucas said.

He stepped forward and helped the old man up. Needing help to go to the bathroom was bad enough, but having a pretty woman like Juliana do the helping would be mortifying beyond words. A man had his pride.

“Through the kitchen.” The old man pointed toward the door on their left.

Juliana rushed forward to open the door. When he and the old man were through, she stepped inside and stood by the door like a good little soldier.

Adjusting to the gloom took a minute. From far down the corridor, came the blasting sounds of soap opera music. No wonder the invisible Stella hadn’t heard her husband call.

Stella didn’t seem like much of a housekeeper either. The smell of dust and grease filled the room. On the kitchen counters sat the congealed remnants of a breakfast. Crusted dishes lined the sink. A half-empty grocery sack stood on the table, along with a red-and-white striped prescription bag still stapled shut.

Lucas bumped the kitchen table with his hip, sending a small packet to the floor.

“I’ll get it,” Juliana said, just as he’d hoped she would. As she lifted the envelope, pictures slid out and cascaded to the floor.

* * *

Juliana stooped to pick up the pictures.

Before her, an Easter parade evolved. Three generations around a feast table, ham poised for slicimg by the old man. Youngsters frolicking in the park across the street, searching out colored eggs. Two gray-haired sisters, leaning shoulder to shoulder in their Sunday-best dresses.

Then everything in the picture faded, except for the background. Her heart sped. Adrenaline surged through her, zinged her just as Lucas’s almost imperceptible flash of interest had earlier. There, partially obscured by a basket held by one of the women, stood a silver Cadillac. The Phantom’s car. She scrunched closer and could make out part of the license plate. A, C, and what could be a three or an eight.

Yes! A clue. A direction. Something to exploit in their search for this evil specter. Was this thrill what Lucas felt when a piece of his case puzzle fell into place? The thought brought a frown, but she quickly dismissed it. She had found something. Lucas would be pleased.

She hastily stuffed the pictures back into the envelope, then headed back outside.

Both men came out talking about the weather and the coming storm—which seemed highly improbable given the clear blue of the sky.

“Thank ye,” he said as Lucas settled him back in his chair.

They chatted for a few more minutes, then took their leave. As they headed back towards Lucas’s Jeep, she leaned close and whispered, “I found something. The Phantom’s license plate. Part of it anyway. On a picture in the kitchen.”

He beamed at her. “Good going, Watson.”

She was enormously pleased at his approval. “So what’s next?”

“A stop at the library. Ken—”

“Ken?”

“The old man we’ve just been talking to. He told me the library has Sunday hours. I’ll get a copy of Willy’s employment file.”