Trouble Restored Read online

  Tommie nodded. This was exactly what she wanted, but she couldn’t stop the butterflies in her stomach at the thought. “Just tell me if I can do anything to help.” She stepped back and the workers filed past her, following Hank toward the kitchen. At the tail end of the procession, Harley came up to her, a worried expression on his face.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “Of the five game cameras, three have disappeared. The other two hadn’t been activated.”

  “They’re just gone?”

  He nodded. “Someone was here last night, and they took them. That’s the only explanation.”

  He was right about that, and it was an explanation Tommie didn’t like at all.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Tommie accepted the refill of her coffee as she sat on Harley’s porch. The demolition in the kitchen of the manor had driven her, Harley, and even Trouble down to the cottage. The October sunshine was warm, and the day incredibly beautiful with the leaves of the hardwoods showing gold, red, and orange and the sky a crystal cerulean blue.

  “It’s so beautiful here,” she said as Harley put the coffee pot on a trivet and sat down beside her.

  “It’s been a good five years for me, living here.” Harley cleared his throat. “I miss Samuel.”

  “I’ll bet you do. I miss him and I never met him,” Tommie said. “Last night, as I was reading his book, I swear it was just like he was telling me the story.” Her laugh sounded strained, even to her. “I still feel caught in a dream, or maybe at times a nightmare. A month ago I was scrabbling for clients and applying to set up a booth at craft festivals. Now, I’m renovating a historic home for the biggest gamble of my life.”

  “To that end,” Harley said, “you need to call the state medical examiner’s office. We need to find out what was on the original death certificate.”

  “I will.” She wanted to finish the coffee, grab just another moment of peace before she stepped into the mayhem of her day. “And we need to visit that fashion model friend of yours to check on the cloak and also check up on the Reverend Crystal Child.”

  “Yes, and find out what that key goes to. I could swear it’s a safety deposit box. While we’re out and about we can check with Hank and see if he needs anything from town,” Harley said. “We can get supplies if he needs any.”

  “Thank you, Harley.” Tommie had a sudden visceral memory of clinging to Harley as she came out of her night terror. He’d been so solid, so safe, so there for her. “Thank you for everything.”

  “No problem—”

  His comment was cut short by the ringing of her phone. It wasn’t a number she knew, but it was local so she answered.

  “Ms. Sykes, this is Nancy Smith in the coroner’s office.” The young woman was whispering.

  “Yes,” she said, putting the phone on speaker so Harley could hear.

  “I was just in the tax assessor’s office running an errand for the sheriff and Paul Rider was in there. He was talking to the tax assessor about the value of your property. I don’t know what he has up his sleeve, but I wanted you to know he’s plotting something.”

  “Thank you, Nancy.”

  “Please tell Harley that I called you,” she said. “I want him to know I’m helping.”

  “I’ll make sure of that,” Tommie said, working hard not to give Harley the “I told you so” look she wanted to throw at him. “And thank you for the heads up.” She hung up the phone and looked at Harley. “I told you she had a crush on you.”

  He only shook his head and laughed. “Let’s head into town. We have things to accomplish and one of them is a visit with Paul Rider.”

  * * *

  The real estate developer’s office was just as Tommie had expected—all chrome and polished blond wood. The place was devoid of any family photos or personal touches. Abstract art adorned the walls. Bookcases, empty of books, contained real estate awards and a series of African masks.

  “You must be psychic. I was planning to drive out to talk to you this afternoon,” Rider said as he ushered Tommie and Harley into seats in front of his desk. He went to the door. “Beth, a tray of coffee and some cake, please. And don’t dawdle.” He closed the door. “So, have you come to put that old money pit on the market?”

  “Loftus Manor isn’t for sale,” Tommie said bluntly. “There’s no need to visit. In fact, there’s no need to ask questions anywhere about Loftus Manor or me. I have plans for the property and I’ll honor my uncle’s wishes. The property isn’t for sale.”

  “Everything is for sale, Ms. Sykes,” Rider said. “Everything. The only question is the price.”

  “You heard her. Loftus Manor isn’t for sale.” Harley stood up to make his point. “Tommie, it’s time we leave. We’ve delivered the message we came to give.”

  “Sit back down.” Rider waved him into his seat. “Don’t get emotional. I know you’ve lived there as a guest of Samuel for a while now and selling the estate would mean you’d be out on your ear, but this young lady has no ties to the property, and I can make her a very wealthy woman. Think about it, Ms. Sykes. You can take your profit and go anywhere in the world, lead any life you choose. No one your age wants to be stuck in this backwater. Hell, there may be four eligible men in the entire county for you to date.” He laughed. “And that’s counting you, Harley, assuming you still have all your teeth.” Rider smirked and he spoke to Tommie in an aside, “Most women wouldn’t view Harley as much of a catch anyway. Way too much emotional baggage and too little ambition.”

  Before Harley could even frame a response, Tommie was on her feet. “I don’t know who you think you are or what you hope to accomplish with this behavior, but I can tell you this right now. We came here as a courtesy. I wanted to make it clear to you that Loftus Manor isn’t for sale. But let me assure you, should it become necessary for me to sell my family property, I’ll find another real estate firm to use. You are a smug, arrogant ass.”

  “Now calm down,” Rider said. “You can use another firm, but I’m the company with the bid from an out of the country interest. A bid that is in my hand right now. A very nice bid, if I say so myself. And I can tell you it’s the best offer you’re going to get.” He picked up a piece of paper from his desk and whistled tunelessly as he studied the paper. He lowered it, slowly revealing his face. “How does three million sound?”

  Harley watched Tommie’s shock at the figure. It was a huge sum of money, and he realized what it might mean for Tommie if she simply took it and ran. He felt his stomach knot. Tommie would be justified in taking the money and leaving Alabama to build a new life almost anywhere else in the world. She was a California girl, used to a great climate and a state with a billion options for entertainment. That kind of money could buy her a storefront jewelry business in a district where folks paid top dollar for creativity and imagination.

  “Mr. Rider, I have plans for a long future at Loftus Manor,” Tommie said. “It’s going to be my home, the place I eventually raise my family. It isn’t for sale. Not now. Not next week. Please don’t contact me with any additional offers or negotiations. This discussion is over.”

  She picked up Trouble and her purse and started for the door. Harley beat her there and opened it, unable to hide the big grin. “You served it to him hot and hard,” he whispered as they walked out together, passing the receptionist who held a tray of coffee and cake.

  “I’m so sorry,” Tommie told her, but she kept walking.

  When they were outside the building Harley couldn’t help but laugh as he remembered the expression on Paul Rider’s face. He had certainly underestimated Tommie Sykes. “You’re a tiger when you’re angry.”

  “He’s lucky. I wanted to slap his face so hard his ears got whiplash.” Tommie was frowning and Harley put a hand on her shoulder. He’d meant to say something, to compliment her on her courage and spirit. Instead, he kissed her without thought or planning. It was intense and brief as Tommie yielded completely to the kiss, but quickly broke it of
f.

  “I apologize,” Harley said. “I, uh, I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

  Tommie smiled. “I’m glad it did.”

  At their feet, Trouble meowed as if he too was casting a vote of approval. Then he snagged her pants leg with a claw and pulled her toward the parking lot.

  “Trouble says we have work to do,” Harley said.

  “And he would be right.” Tommie’s big smile was the only answer Harley needed.

  * * *

  “Are you sure Ms. Murphy won’t mind if I tag along?” Tommie asked Harley when they were parked in front of Patricia Murphy’s beautiful home. The house was all glass and beautiful angles and it seemed to hang off part of the meteorite crater that was such a big part of Wetumpka’s history.

  “Patricia will be delighted to meet you,” Harley assured her. “Come on.” He held out his hand and she took it as they walked to the front door.

  “This place is incredible,” Tommie whispered.

  “In her day, Patricia was the top fashion designer for Donatella Versace and a number of European labels.”

  “Why did she come back to live here in Wetumpka? Not that I wouldn’t, but it must seem very tame after her days in the fashion business.”

  “I think maybe the stress of those runway days really made her unhappy. Here,” he waved a hand, “she’s surrounded by woods and nature and the wild creatures. I think it’s peaceful.”

  Tommie didn’t have time to say anything else because the door opened and a stunning woman in a flowing caftan took one look at Harley and raced into his arms. She gave him a bear hug and laughed. “It must be a Martian invasion to blast you out of Loftus Manor, but I’m damn glad to see you.” She turned to Tommie. “And this, I’ll bet, is the new heiress who is the talk of the town. She’s every bit as pretty as the gossips say.”

  Tommie instantly liked Patricia and shook her hand with enthusiasm. “Harley said you were a fashion designer. He didn’t say you were also beautiful.” The woman in front of her was tall, slender, fit, and striking with her thick russet hair and pale complexion.

  “Harley, take notes, darling. This is how you flatter a woman. If you can learn a few grace notes you won’t have to spend your days alone.”

  Tommie couldn’t help the laughter that swelled up and spilled out.

  Harley laughed out loud. “I can see you’re both going to double-team me. I expected nothing else. So abuse me as much as you want as long as you can help us.”

  Patricia finally took note of the black cat who stood perfectly still at Tommie’s leg. “And who is your handsome familiar, Tommie? He bears an uncanny resemblance to the bookstore cat that solves mysteries.”

  “Because that’s who he is,” Harley said. “You don’t miss a thing, Patricia. Well, are you going to ask us in or shall we conduct our business standing on the stoop?”

  Patricia shooed everyone into the house and settled them in a den with a view of the meteorite crater that made Tommie feel as if she was in the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains. The fall trees swirled red, yellow, and varying shades of brown and green as if vibrant paint had been spilled down the steep incline.

  “What can I do for you?” Patricia asked after they’d declined refreshments.

  Harley brought the unusual button from his pocket. “We’re trying to identify a cloak,” he said. He watched as Patricia turned it over and over in her hand.

  “This is an old, old button,” Patricia said. “It’s a star sapphire stone glued or forged into a bone button with a back shank. It belongs on an outer garment, likely feminine. The person who wore the garment would have been upper class, because a button like this would have been expensive.”

  Tommie brought the sketch of the cloaked woman from her purse. “This is what it looks like, with the three buttons. Have you ever seen anything like it?”

  Patricia studied the button and the cloak. “It’s a beautiful garment. I wish I could help you, but I can’t. The design is striking, and the way the cloak hangs indicates it was made by someone who knows their business.” She picked up the button. “Let me photograph this and see if any of my associates has better information. I have friends who’ve made a study of buttons.”

  “Thank you,” Tommie said.

  They chatted for a bit more before Harley and Tommie took their leave, Trouble following obediently out the door. When they were headed back to town, Harley suggested that they stop for some lunch. “You can’t eat at the manor with the workmen in the kitchen,” he pointed out.

  “Meow!”

  They both laughed. “Trouble takes his grub seriously,” Harley said.

  The black cat climbed up to the back of his seat and put a paw on Harley’s cheek.

  “He’s warning you not to make fun of his appetite,” Tommie said. “After all, he might eat a lot but he’s still very svelte.”

  “Point taken, Trouble,” Harley said. “Point taken.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  They’d finished their lunch and were parked outside the local hardware store getting ready to pick up a few things for Hank and Katie when Harley’s phone rang. He arched his eyebrows. “It’s Patricia.” He put the call on speaker.

  “Harley, darling, that button has created a stir with my designer friends.”

  “Oh, really,” Harley said as he winked at Tommie.

  She felt a rush of warmth. They hadn’t said a word about the kiss he’d planted on her, but she hadn’t forgotten. It was impromptu and had caught them both by surprise. A fact she found she liked. They were both a little awkward dealing with the feelings that had developed between them.

  “What are your friends saying?” Tommie asked, eager to hear the news.

  “It seems that the star sapphire is a stone with a bit of a legend attached to it.”

  “This sounds intriguing,” Harley said. “A good legend or a bad legend?”

  “A bit of both,” Patricia said. “I posted the photo in a group of designer friends and Angela Tessier Van, who is a costume designer in Hollywood, said she’d spent months hunting for star sapphire buttons for a movie she was working on. The script writer insisted that the star sapphires had magical properties.”

  “Oh, come on,” Harley said, skepticism in his voice. “And you believe that?”

  “What I believe doesn’t matter,” Patricia said. “I’m just telling you the lore. It’s said that the glow of the buttons is a trapped soul in each stone.”

  “Like a ghost?” Tommie realized she sounded a tad unnerved.

  “Exactly like a ghost,” Patricia said. “It’s said that the person who wears the buttons controls the ghost collected in each stone. She or he can set them free to do her bidding. I say she or he, but it’s most always a woman in the lore. Usually women who practiced witchcraft. And the bone backing of such a button is always made of whale bone.”

  “I don’t know what kind of bone this is,” Tommie confessed.

  “Run it over to Tuscaloosa,” Patricia suggested. “I’m sure someone in either anthropology or one of the sciences can identify the bone.”

  “Great idea,” Harley said to his friend then glanced at Tommie, saying, “I can do that when we get a chance.”

  “Any clue about the cloak?” Tommie asked Patricia.

  “The style is what my friend called a wanderer’s cloak, which goes along with the possibility of witchcraft or magical lore.” Patricia’s voice over the phone sounded very excited. “I’d give a lot to see the cloak.”

  “Thanks for the information,” Harley said. “If you hear anything else, please let us know.”

  “Absolutely,” Patricia said. “And Tommie, take care of yourself.”

  “I intend to.”

  “Me-ow!” Trouble cried out and everyone laughed.

  “He always gets the last word,” Tommie said. “It’s one of his charms.”

  * * *

  They think I’m trying to have the last word, but I’m trying to let them know we’re being
watched. There’s a woman behind the black pickup who’s watching us closely. And I believe I’ve seen her before. Indeed, now that I’ve caught a full gander of her, it’s Nancy Smith, the receptionist with the county coroner. She’s the young lady with a crush on Harley. And thank heaven, here she comes. For a minute I thought Harley had a serious stalker—but since she’s coming over to say hi, I have to drop the stalker part.

  It is clear she has eyes for Harley, and he is oblivious because he doesn’t have any feelings for her. She’s a nice-looking woman, but Harley can see only one woman right now, and that’s the Loftus Lass. I can’t complain about that either. My match-making intuition tells me they’re perfect for each other. Both have been hurt in the past and felt betrayed. They’ve allowed that betrayal to fester and scar without real healing. If they’re honest with each other—something it appears is very hard for the bipeds to do—they can help each other heal and thereby clear the hurdles to real commitment and deep feelings. My mission, and I do choose to embrace it, is to make them see what I see.

  Ah, Nancy Smith is here. She’s talking to Tommie, but cutting glances at Harley. She’s trying not to be obvious, but Tommie sees what’s going on and is being extra considerate to Nancy. Kindness is a choice, and I’m glad to see the Loftus Lass has a heart that allows her to choose it.

  I’d better tune in to the conversation. I don’t want to miss any clues, and Nancy Smith seems about to pop with information.

  * * *

  “I’m so glad I saw you here,” Nancy said as she raced toward Tommie and Harley across the hardware store parking lot. “I have something important to share with you both.”

  “Thank you, Nancy. You’ve truly been a good friend to both of us.”

  “I don’t like to see the big wigs in town try to bully the newcomer. And Paul Rider hates Harley for whatever reason. Paul is used to being the man every woman wants because he has money. The truth is, most women would prefer a man like Harley.”