Copper Lake Confidential Read online

Spending months in a psychiatric hospital tended to make people think that of a person.

  Resolve smoothed Louise’s features as she stood. “Of course you need time to think about it. That’s understandable. Keep the papers. Read over them. Consider the welfare of the community along with that of your daughter. I’m sure, given time, you’ll agree that this is the best solution to the problem. When you’re ready to sign, you can let me know. You have my contact information, of course.”

  Macy supposed there was a homeowners’ directory somewhere in Mark’s office, but it would be a cold day in hell before she called Louise. If she decided to donate Fair Winds, it would be to the state, the local historical society—anyone besides Louise.

  “I can show myself out.” Louise made it to the hall before turning back. “Oh, and welcome back. Starting off new will be easier once you’ve cleaned up old business.”

  A moment later the door closed, and Macy sank down into the chair exactly like the spineless creature she was. Her gaze settled on the contract again, and she shook her head numbly. The nerve of the old hags, trying to manipulate her into such a decision on her second day back.

  And she was considered the crazy one.

  * * *

  Stephen had had a productive afternoon, leaving his computer shortly after five with more than three thousand words added to his manuscript. It had taken him a while to get into the book after lunch. Hell, it’d taken him a good while to leave the porch after Macy had walked away. He’d watched until she was out of sight, and then a few minutes longer. Research, he’d told himself. A need to get all the descriptions right when he wrote about Ma’ahcee.

  He was standing in the kitchen, bent to examine the contents of the refrigerator, with Scooter hanging hopefully at his side, when the cell phone rang. The only people who called him who merited their own ringtone were the ones at the clinic—yes, it was “Who Let the Dogs Out.” He’d been too lazy to assign tunes, so everyone else had a regular old-fashioned ring-ring.

  Flipping the phone open, he reached for the milk and a bag of deli turkey. “Hello.”

  “Hey. It’s Macy.”

  Ah, speak of the Warrior Woman. He tossed a bite of turkey to Scooter and was rewarded with a snap of teeth and drool slung on his bare shin. “Hey, Macy. What’s up?”

  Hesitance, then... “I thought you probably wouldn’t answer the phone if you were working, but if I’m disturbing you...”

  Only if distraction and curiosity count as disturbances. “No, I’m done for the day. Scooter and I were just debating what to do about supper. What do you need?”

  “I’ve got to check on some property outside town, and I was wondering...I’d rather not go out there alone in the evening, and...it won’t take very long. I can buy you guys dinner afterward.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “You’re sure you don’t mind?”

  “I’m sure. We’d just be watching TV, and I get tired of watching Animal Planet.”

  Faint amusement entered her voice. “You do get other channels.”

  “Yeah, but Scooter doesn’t like them.”

  This time she rewarded him with a chuckle. “You know he’s spoiled.”

  “Dogs are like kids. What’s the point of having them if you don’t spoil them at least a little?”

  “I agree. What time is good for you guys?”

  He tossed Scooter another piece of turkey before sticking one in his mouth and talking around it. “Any time.”

  “Ten minutes?”

  “That’ll do. Do you really want Scooter to come?”

  “Sure. See you.”

  He set the phone down then dragged his hand through his hair. “Hey, Scooter, Warrior Woman is taking us to dinner. Actually, I think she wants you for security, and I’m just part of the deal.” He wouldn’t hide behind her if anything was out of place at the property, but he wouldn’t be charging heroically ahead, either. He was a writer. He observed, and he was great with speed-dialing a phone. He didn’t derring-do.

  The dog’s attention was still on the turkey. Stephen gave him one last piece, took another for himself, then headed to the bedroom at the front of the house, stripping off his T-shirt on the way.

  He’d known he was fashion-challenged since he was in middle school. Colors were just colors. As far as he could tell, they didn’t particularly go together or clash. He did draw the line at ones like pink and light purple. Even he had always understood those were girly colors.

  His mom had solved the problem for him in high school by stocking his closet with three items: jeans and shorts in either denim or khaki and T-shirts in black and white. Everything went together, and he didn’t risk getting teased about anything other than the predictability of his clothes. He could live with that.

  He pulled on a clean white shirt, brushed some dog hair from his khaki shorts and decided they were reasonably clean. After wiping his glasses on the discarded shirt, he was ready to go. With his cell in his pocket and keys in hand, he whistled for Scooter, still waiting hopefully by the refrigerator. The dog raced to the door, sliding into a sitting position an instant before hitting the wall, and Stephen attached his leash. “We’re going for a ride, buddy. Be on your best behavior.”

  The mutt gave him a whaddaya mean sort of look, and Stephen laughed as he opened the door. By the time he got the house locked up and walked Scooter to the gate, Macy’s fancy minivan was gliding to a stop in front of them.

  “You sure you want to let him in there?” he asked through the open window. “I don’t mind driving.”

  She glanced at the luxurious leather of the rear seat and wrinkled her nose. “I don’t mind dog hair.”

  “Or scratches from his claws?”

  “Don’t worry about it. Get in.”

  Stephen slid the back door open and Scooter hopped inside, immediately going into sniffing-new-territory mode before settling on his haunches in the seat behind Macy. The front passenger seat sank under Stephen’s weight, molding around him, reminding him that his car was old and well used and hadn’t been this nice to start.

  But it was reliable and paid for. That counted for a lot.

  “Where are we going?”

  Macy made a tight U-turn. “A few miles outside town. Mark— My husband’s grandmother owned a house out there. She died a month after he did, so it’s Clary’s now.”

  “Are you going to keep it, sell it, live in it?” He caught himself before she could answer. “No, you’re not planning to stay around here.”

  Her fingers tightened on the steering wheel as they passed through the gate into Villain country. “I’ve had a suggestion, but I don’t know what I want. I figured I should start by at least looking at it and making sure everything’s okay.” She flashed a smile his way at the precise moment they passed her own house. “I appreciate your going with me.”

  He didn’t say that he appreciated being asked. She’d lived in Copper Lake a long time before her absence, so she must have had other options—friends, neighbors, a lawyer. Hell, for someone who lived in Woodhaven, the sheriff’s department probably would have been happy to provide her with an escort.

  After they exited the subdivision at the other end, her grip on the steering wheel loosened and her shoulders relaxed. She clearly didn’t like the place any more than he did. His reasons were simple enough: he was into reverse snobbery, and the residents had deemed him, the sisters and their families as unworthy to even drive on their precious streets.

  But what was Macy’s reason? Still mourning her husband? Not likely, considering her comment last night. It would be tougher if I still loved him.

  Had she married up and been on the receiving end of the same scorn her fancy neighbors had shown him?

  Had her husband abused her in that house?

  He studied her while the idea rolled around in his head. After a moment, he let it go. He had a lot more experience with abused creatures than anyone should have, and she just didn’t present that way. She had a lot of sel
f-doubts, needed a boost in confidence and spooked easily, but she didn’t act like a woman who’d been abused.

  Maybe it was guilt because she didn’t love her dead husband.

  “You know, it’s impolite to stare.”

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to.” He blinked, realizing that she was glancing his way, that the van was slowing and the turn signal was clicking rhythmically. A look around showed that they were on River Road just north of the city limits, and a plaque set into a brick column on the left side of the road said they were turning into the private drive for Fair Winds.

  He blinked again. “Fair Winds? The property your three-year-old daughter owns is Fair Winds? The plantation?”

  Uneasiness fluttered through her. After a semi passed, its blast rocking them, she turned onto the wide dirt road. “Yes. Her father was one of those Howards.”

  Didn’t sound as if she thought much of her husband’s family. The rich are different, someone had once said, so the super-rich were probably super-different.

  “I have to admit, I don’t know anything about the family, but I’ve seen the house from the river.” Stephen wasn’t much on fishing, but occasionally he borrowed Yancy’s boat and spent an entire afternoon kicked back with a cooler of drinks and a life vest for a pillow.

  “That’s probably the best way to see it,” she remarked as the road wound through stands of pines. Soon it paralleled a wrought-iron fence, then reached an elaborate gate. She stopped there, rolled down the window and pulled a slip of paper from the sun visor. Stephen watched her punch a code into the keypad, watch the gate swing open then draw a deep breath and drive inside.

  If a person appreciated architecture, Fair Winds was probably a prime example. It stood three stories tall, glowing white in the lowering sun, its brick columns straight, its grass mown, its flower beds bordering the porch blooming brightly. It was the sort of place that made the Lessers of the World stare in awe, imagining how good life must be in such a mansion.

  But Macy was right: seeing it from the river was better. With that stretch of yard, the wrought-iron fence and strips of riverbank and water adding distance. Up close, the place was...unsettling.

  She stopped in the driveway underneath a live oak that showed the wounds from a not-too-distant lightning strike and shut off the engine. She dried her palms on her shorts, took out a key from the console, then opened the car door. Pausing in the act of getting out, she asked in an everyday-normal tone, “Do you believe in ghosts?”

  “No, not really.”

  She smiled. “Good. Because they say this place is haunted. And I believe it.”

  * * *

  Macy had been raised with a fine appreciation for Southern historic sites and elegant old houses, but she’d disliked Fair Winds from her first visit. At the time she’d written it off to nerves at meeting Miss Willa and Mr. Arthur for the first time. She’d already been woefully aware of the differences between her and Mark, and Fair Winds had been a flashing-neon reminder.

  Later, she’d thought she’d just picked up on the less-than-warm vibes Mark’s grandparents had put out. They hadn’t been a particularly friendly couple. They’d oozed haughtiness, and affectionate hadn’t been in their natures.

  Now, as she stood beside the van and felt her gaze drawn, however reluctantly, to the front lawn, she wondered if the remnants of fear, anguish and loss permeating the place had been the cause for her dislike. So much ugliness had gone on within these grounds, from the slave labor that had built the place and multiplied the Howard fortunes to the sad people who’d lost their lives here.

  Mark had lost his life here, somewhere in the field of green in front of the house. Suicide, everyone had said. He’d been so self-important; she’d never imagined he could even contemplate suicide.

  She’d also never imagined he could lay a hand on another person in anger so, obviously, what did she know?

  “Do you want to go inside or just walk around the outside?”

  Stephen’s voice startled her, and she took a deep breath to hide it. Rumor said there were ghosts inside, too, but as far as she knew, none of them had died violently. Better than she could say of the poor souls for whom the front lawn had been their graves.

  “Just a quick walk-through.” Pleased that her voice hadn’t trembled, though it had come out a bit breathy, she started toward the front porch. The steps didn’t creak, and though rarely used, the key turned smoothly and the door swung silently inward.

  She flipped the switches beside the door, and lights came on down the broad corridor and up the stairs. Of course the electricity was still on, to provide climate control for the priceless antiques inside.

  Her footsteps echoed on the wood floor until she reached the faded runner that ran the length of the hallway. Realizing that Stephen wasn’t following, she turned back.

  “I should leave Scooter outside. One swipe of his tail, and I’d be in debt for the rest of my life.”

  She spared a glance for the living room, then the corridor and smiled. “I always worried when I came here that I would break one of the prizes that Miss Willa treasured far more than any living being. Thankfully, I never did, or I would have been banished from the place like Clary was.” She paused. “Bring him in.”

  “Was Clary really banished?” With Scooter’s leash wrapped three or four times around his large hand, Stephen crossed the threshold, keeping the dog at his side.

  “Not formally, but Miss Willa always made sure we understood that dinner invitations meant getting a babysitter. She wasn’t a warm person. No embraces, no cuddling with babies, no tolerance for fussiness or sticky little fingers.” Macy looked around the formal room to the left again and sniffed. “She didn’t tolerate many adults, either. I believe she loved Mark the best she was able, but she was much better at showing disappointment and disapproval.”

  He stopped beside her, and a faint scent of something drifted into her space. Not dog or cologne or soap. No, he smelled like...turkey. Her stomach gave a quiet little growl, reminding her she hadn’t had even a bite since lunch. For someone who snacked routinely, that was a long time to go without food.

  “You said your husband had a cousin. Does she live around here?”

  “No, she’s in New Orleans.” Disgustingly happy, working in Jones’s historic garden restoration business and planning to start a family soon. Reece had worked hard to get where she was, but still Macy envied her. She didn’t think she could ever be that blissfully happy.

  Her stomach growled again, louder this time, and she moved on with the tour. Everything was clean and secure, and soon enough they were back outside.

  It wasn’t as much of a relief as it could have been, stepping through that door into the still evening, even though the damage done digging up unmarked graves had been repaired. Looking at the lawn, no one would guess it had suffered any disturbance greater than a mower. But she didn’t have to guess.

  With the sun on its downward slide, they walked quickly around the exterior of the house, circled the guesthouse out back, the former farm manager’s office and the storage barns. Contrary to Louise Wetherby’s claim, everything was in good shape, as Macy had known it would be.

  She practically hustled Stephen and Scooter back to the van, sighing inwardly when the doors were closed and the locks automatically secured. “Where would you like to go for dinner?”

  He fastened his seat belt, then she shifted into gear, backing up beneath the giant oak, heading toward the gate with relief.

  “Any place but A Cut Above.”

  “You don’t like steak?”

  “I don’t like Louise Wetherby.” Abruptly he stiffened. “Sorry. I know she’s one of your neighbors. Are you and she—”

  A snort sputtered out despite her best efforts to stop it. “I can’t stand the woman. She’s smug and mean-spirited and tries to be the boss of everyone.”

  “But her restaurant sure makes an incredible steak.” He said it regretfully, as if he were paying a real price for
not supporting a business owner he disliked.

  “So do I.” Warmth spread through Macy as she drove through the gate, energizing her, making her feel damn near normal. “Come over tomorrow night and I’ll show you.”

  Immediately upon hearing her invitation, she masked a wince. When had she decided she had first claim to all his free time? He could have plans for tomorrow night. He might want to watch Animal Planet with Scooter. He might just want a few hours away from her.

  But he gave no sign of any of that. Instead he asked, “What should I bring?”

  “Just yourself and Scooter.” At the end of the dirt road, she turned south onto the highway. “So where for dinner tonight?”

  “Dogs are welcome at Ellie’s Deli, at least outside. He behaves pretty well there.”

  “He behaves pretty well all the time.” She liked his choice. Ellie Maricci was one of the nicer people in Copper Lake, and the food at her restaurant was outstanding. Following the example set by their boss, the employees were friendly and professional, and eating outside with the day’s humidity literally hanging in the air, they weren’t likely to rouse much attention.

  She found a parking space across the square, on the next street over, and Scooter trotted toward the deli, head held high, compact body quivering. “He knows he’s in for a treat, huh?”

  “They always have cookies and water bowls, and I usually share with him,” Stephen admitted.

  “I hadn’t noticed,” she said drily.

  “I’m careful about what I give him,” he protested. “I am a vet, you know.” He reined in the dog as they passed through the gate, then they turned to the left, where tables—all empty—were scattered across the small lawn. “Do you mind letting the hostess know we’re here?”

  Macy’s smile faltered, but she quickly forced it back into place. She climbed the steps, crossed the porch and went inside, deliberately avoiding looking anywhere but the hostess station. The girl there was young, maybe sixteen, and didn’t appear to know Macy from the man on the moon. She greeted her politely, grabbed menus and rolled napkins and followed her back out to the table Stephen had chosen.