The Battered Heiress Blues - By Laurie Van Dermark Page 0,25
to find Hector Costelano and prosecute him for his crimes.
Julia Grace Spencer
I folded the pages and slid them into an envelope. Acknowledging my part in Connor’s death made me feel sad. If I had only stayed at the mission, my son would be alive. One poor decision had robbed me from experiencing life though the eyes of my child. After placing the envelope against the picture of my mom, I pushed the chair away from the antique desk, and decided to leave my troubles behind for a walk on the beach. The crisp air always helped to clear my mind. Perhaps, Kate would be up by the time I returned.
Reaching for the flip-flops that rested by the front door, the wood creaked as I opened it, startling Sheriff Martin who was dropping an envelope onto the monogrammed welcome mat.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you,” he nervously offered.
“You didn’t,” I said puzzled. “I haven’t done anything else wrong today, have I?”
He chuckled, “No. I’m just here for the donuts.”
“Right.” I felt a smile break the tension that paralyzed my somber face.
“I’m just leaving the rent check.”
“Rent check?” I was confused.
He pointed in the direction of the cottage, down the path, beyond the chapel.
It all came together now. He was with the boy on the beach. I was his landlord. Kate would be sorry to have missed this.
“You were flying the kite?”
“Yes, me and my son Mattie.”
“The cottage holds many special memories for me. I haven’t been inside it for several years.” Thoughts of long afternoons, lying in bed with Henry, listening to the surf crash against the sand, made me wish I could turn back time to my college days. Life was simpler then.
“Are you heading out? I won’t keep you.” He started to move back toward the steps as I followed him.
“I was just going for a walk.”
“Would you like to see it…the cottage?”
“Really, I wouldn’t be intruding?” I could use some distant happy memories to replace the recent images engrained in my mind.
“No, not at all. We don’t get a lot of visitors. I’m new here.”
“Let me leave Kate a note. I’ll be right back.”
I scribbled my whereabouts on a pad resting on the foyer table, intentionally closing the door loudly to awaken her as we left.
“It’s just the two of you?” I asked.
“Two against the world.” He grinned nervously as we made our way down the path.
“I know exactly how that feels. My brother and I practically raised ourselves.”
“Did you live here?’ He motioned back toward the main house and seemed intrigued to get to the bottom of my past.
“I wish. This was my mom’s house. Cancer took her not long after my brother was born. My father kept us in New York after my nana died. I was forced to leave my Southern roots behind and live the life of a chameleon. We spent some wonderful summers here though. I counted the months, each year, until the last day of school. Tommy and I would have our bags packed and ready to go at the sound of the afternoon bell. I would get butterflies in my stomach as the car approached the tall gates. Driving under the canopy of trees to the main house felt like being transported to a new world- a happy one. We’d go room to room, taking the white sheets off the furniture. We had our silly rituals.”
“That sounds nice.”
I was lost in the past as we walked in comfortable silence. He inquired about the history of the house and the construction of the chapel, as we passed by the cemetery. I couldn’t look to my left, knowing that Connor was just over the tall cypress hedges.
Within a few minutes, we turned down the walk toward the cottage. Henry and I used to ride bikes from the main house to claim some hours of privacy, away from the visitors who had accompanied us from Harvard. We’d race. Somehow, I always seemed to win. The fix was in and I always claimed my prize.
“Does it look the same?” he asked.
The cottage stood in all its old glory; the keeper of many secrets. The white paint was peeling off the roughened corners, but it was still magnificent. The black hurricane shutters were still framing the windows, with the exception of the one at the end that had fallen and taken rest against the house.