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“The man who dropped me here said you owned a development company.”
He nodded. “I do, in partnership with a friend. I used to sell real estate, too, but gave that up when this turned out to be more fun. There’s one more doughnut, and you can have a refill on the coffee.”
“No doughnut, thank you. But the coffee would be nice.”
“This mill is our first project,” he explained as he poured her another cup. “We both work for a business called Whitcomb’s Wonders. It’s a sort of temp agency, but for craftsmen who can’t work full-time because they have other things going in their lives. My friend’s a plumber and getting an MBA from Amherst in his spare time. I paint and wallpaper.”
“And what do you do in your spare time?”
“I’m getting my life together.”
She wondered what that meant. Why wouldn’t a man who appeared to be in his late thirties have his life together? A broken marriage? A financial loss?
As a rule, she found people endlessly fascinating, but she didn’t have time right now for anything more than her own pressing problems.
She flipped open the book and found the E’s. Eaton, Eckert, Egan, Emanuel, Evans… Her heart gave one eager thump, then she read, “Evans, Millie—221 Lake Front Road.”
She closed the book in exasperation. Evan topped up his own cup, then sat on the edge of his desk. “You said someone dropped you here?” he asked.
With a sigh she sank into a corner of the couch and took a sip of the fresh brew. He did make good coffee. “I got a ride on a bakery truck in Springfield,” she explained. “I told the driver I was looking for someone named Evans in Maple Hill.” She smiled wryly. “Apparently, he doesn’t know Millie. He drove me here on his way into town.”
“And why do you want this Evans?”
“I have something for him.” Still uncertain of everyone and everything, she thought it best to keep the tape she’d hidden in her bra a secret.
He looked her over from head to toe. “What would that be?” he asked. “You don’t even have a purse.”
“It’s…a message.”
There’d been something about the once-over he’d given her that was…professional. She didn’t know how else to express it. The same thought had struck her earlier when she’d watched him move around the small office with a curious tension about him, a sharpness in his eyes, a quickness in his tall, powerful body that suggested formal training.
Just so he wouldn’t have the upper hand in this odd encounter, she had to let him know that she had powers of perception, too. Putting down the phone book on the seat beside her, she looked up and met his eyes. She remembered gazing into their soft brown depths as she was passing out.
“Before you were a housepainter,” she said, “you were a soldier.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Close. I was a cop.”
She might have felt apprehensive over that. Gordon had warned her away from the police. But this Braga wasn’t a cop now.
He must have noted her wary expression.
“You asked me not to call the police,” he said. “Are you afraid of them for some reason? Had a bad experience?”
“Gordon told me not to trust them,” she replied. “I can only guess it’s because there’s one involved in his murder.”
“Well, you can relax,” he said. “It wasn’t me.”
She might be naive to believe him, but there was something solid and comforting about him, despite those watchful eyes.
As she studied them now, she thought she saw a sadness behind the vigilance. She was good at reading people. What, she wondered idly, could happen to a cop to make him give up the work for house painting? And had Gordon said Evan, not Evans?
It might take a little time to determine whether this really was the man Gordon meant. And how could she do so, with no place to stay and no money to find one?
“Were you a cop in Maple Hill?” she asked.
He shook his head. “You broke into my place,” he reminded her. “I’m the one with the right to ask questions.”
She had to give him that. “I’m sorry.” But there was a limit to what she could tell him, when she wasn’t sure he was the Evans she was looking for, and she wasn’t entirely sure what had happened herself. Or, at least, what it all meant.
“Someone’s chasing you,” he prodded, when she took a moment to organize her thoughts.
“Yes,” she admitted.
“The person who killed your boss.”
She didn’t quite remember having told him that. She remembered the spots and the way the room had undulated when she wielded her bat at him. “Yes.”
“You know who it is? I mean, by name?”
She shook her head. “There was more than one. I can identify faces, but I don’t know their names.”
“And this happened in Boston.”
“Yes.”
He frowned over that. “How’d you get away?”
She touched briefly on her escape from her apartment and the long, cold night in the back of the moving van.
For the first time, she noticed the condition of her clothes, and could only imagine what her face and hair looked like. She sagged a little into her corner. Things would certainly be simplified for her if he was the Evans she was looking for. Then she could turn over the tape and go back to Boston.
No, she couldn’t go back. Gordon had owned the insurance franchise. A sickening thought struck her. She had been a witness to Gordon’s murder. Until his killers were behind bars, it wouldn’t be safe to return home.
“Now that I’ve answered your questions,” she said, leaning slightly toward him, “can I ask again where you served as a policeman?”
He considered her, evidently as suspicious of her as she was of him. “Boston,” he replied.
She straightened. Could there be some connection between him and Gordon? “Did you know…Gordon Hathaway?”
He frowned again. “I ran across a lot of people, perps and victims, in twelve years. But that name doesn’t mean anything special.”
She sagged against the couch again, suddenly very aware of her exhaustion. But where could she go? All she could think to ask was, “Is there a homeless shelter in town?”
“There’s a new one opening December twenty-third,” he said, putting his cup aside.
A familiar bleak despair threatened to overwhelm her. That always happened when something reminded her of how absolutely alone she was in this world. “But…none now?”
“There are some homeless families staying on cots in the basement of the Catholic church.”
She angled her chin and asked, “Would you take me there?”
He studied her, those eyes roving her completely disreputable appearance, then lingering on her face. It was impossible to tell what he thought, until he leaned forward to take her cup from her and drop it with a bang on his desk.
“No,” he said simply.
EVAN LOOKED into a pair of blue eyes rimmed with exhaustion, and suspected he would hate himself later, but he couldn’t take her to the basement of the church and still live with himself.
He knew many homeless people had once lived productive lives and were victims of fate and circumstance, but there were always those few among them who preyed upon each other and anyone else small or weak enough to be vulnerable.
“I live in a cottage on the other side of town.” He reached toward a wooden coat rack in the corner and grabbed an old down jacket he wore when working outside. It was smeared with paint, but warm. “It has a spare bedroom and a reliable furnace.” He held the jacket out to her. “You can stay with me until you find this Evans guy.”
She stared at him, evaluating the offer. She was desperate for shelter, but not sure she could trust him.
“I have no money,” she said finally, and took the jacket.
“The offer doesn’t require money.”
There was a moment’s silence. Then she asked quietly, carefully, “What does it require?”
He understood her reluctance, but gave her a scolding look, anyway. “Trust,” he replied. “And I can use another hand on a paint roller.”
Her eyes widened slightly, and he guessed he’d surprised her. “Never painted anything?” he asked.
She smiled for the first time since he’d opened the door and found her wielding a bat at him. “My bedroom, a couple of times when I was a teenager, and my friend Horie’s first apartment. Does that count?”
He ignored her question. “Horie?”
She smiled again. It made her even prettier, despite her disheveled appearance. Her teeth were square and very white, the top right one overlapping the front tooth slightly.
“Horatia Metcalf. Her father teaches Greek in a divinity school, hence her name. She’s a little off-the-wall herself. We painted every room a different bright color.”
“Did you do a good job?”
“We thought so. Her landlord wasn’t quite as pleased.”
“Then, you’re hired,” he said. “But I’ll take you home. You can have a couple of days to catch up on your sleep before I put you to work. I, however, have to get with it.”
The suggestion that she was holding up his working day galvanized her into action. She got to her feet and let him help her into the jacket.
As she snapped it closed, he remembered the watch cap in the side pocket and reached in to hand it to her. She pulled it on and stuffed her hair into it.
He looked down worriedly at her holey stockings and low-heeled dress shoes. “Wish I had a spare pair of socks, but I’ll get you some at home.”
“I’ll be fine,” she said, then wrapped her arms around herself and closed her eyes. “I can’t tell you how nice it is to be warm.”
He stood the collar up for her. “The lesson to be learned here is, never run away in December without your coat.”
She nodded wryly. “Or your purse.” She smiled again as he pulled the door open for her. “Of course, that lesson doesn’t apply to you, does it?”
He concentrated on locking the door behind him, afraid of getting hooked on that smile. “No,” he said, pretending to be serious. “It’s hard to decide what color purse to wear with coveralls.”
She laughed as he pointed toward the Jeep. Her smile…with sound. Intriguing. “It’s easy. Just remember that they should match your shoes.”
By the time they reached his cottage on the other side of Maple Hill, he was grateful that he had to leave her for the day. It was as though something had turned her on and she’d acquired a sparkle he hadn’t noticed when they’d interrogated each other over coffee.
A long, tree-lined drive led to his cottage. Snow covered the trees and crunched under the tires as he drove up to the porch. He parked and came around to help her out, sure that the height of the van and dress shoes would make it difficult for her to get down onto the packed and slippery snow.
She’d swung her legs over the side and appeared to be considering how best to approach the leap, when he bracketed her waist and lifted her to the ground. He felt the smallness of her waist even under the thickness of his jacket, and wondered why that should impress itself upon him. He’d known small-waisted women before.
Of course, they weren’t coming to live with him.
“Thank you,” she said cheerfully. “What a pretty place. What grows on that arbor by the garden?” She pointed to a square-topped pergola at the side of the house.
“Clematis,” he replied.
“Pink?”
“Purple.”
“Ah.” She sighed, smiling as though she could envision it. “I love purple. We painted Horie’s kitchen a sort of pale grape color.”
He wondered what that did for guests’ digestion, as he led the way up the porch steps and unlocked the door.
THE FIRST THING Evan did was crank up the thermostat.
Beazie listened attentively as he showed her how to turn it up or down, explaining that he usually lowered it when he left for work.
“I don’t want to waste your oil,” she protested, trying to think about the numbers rather than the herbal fragrance of his cologne. “The thermostat says sixty-two, but that’s still warmer than the back of the moving truck.”
He ignored her and bumped it up to seventy.
“Kitchen’s in here.”
She followed as he led the way through the soft, coffee-with-cream color of the living room and its dark blue and red furniture to an old-fashioned kitchen painted yellow. The appliances were old, but new butcher-block counters had been installed, and a small nook that looked out onto the front of the house had yellow-and-blue curtains patterned with teapots and cups.
“I’ve been slowly buffing up the house,” he said with a disparaging wave at the curtains, “but I haven’t gotten to this room yet. I don’t eat at home that much, so I’ve left it to last.”
She nodded affably, but was secretly happy he hadn’t taken down the curtains. They reminded her of those cozy fifties commercials where women cooked in shirtwaists, high heels and jewelry, while an adoring family awaited mother’s masterpiece.
He opened the door of a very small refrigerator. “Not a lot in here, I’m afraid, unless you like cheese, cola or…” He opened the freezer to reveal one box of frozen Buffalo wings.
She took it from him. “I love these.”
“Good.” He pointed to cupboards across the room. “Crackers, cereal, a few other things in there. Help yourself to whatever you want. I’ll bring some things home tonight.”
“Please don’t go to any trouble. If you usually have dinner out, go ahead. I’ll probably sleep until Monday.” She put the wings back in the freezer, then hurried to follow him as he led the way upstairs.
A small corridor with ivy-patterned wallpaper led into a very large room on the left that was comfortably cluttered. A large blob of multicolored fur lay in the middle of a dark green bedspread.
“That’s Lucinda.”
At the sound of Evan’s voice, the blob rolled onto its back and put four feet up in the air, toes curled in contentment. It was a cat.
“Really.” Beazie took one step toward it, then thought better of walking into Evan’s room. She stayed where she was and commented simply, “Very elegant name.”
“She arrived named,” he said, walking over to ruffle the furry stomach. The cat took it as her due, made a small sound of approval, then curled up again. “She belonged to Millie Evans. She can’t have a cat at the care center, but I take Lucinda to visit every once in a while.”
Beazie entertained that image as he led her across the hall to another large room, this one pink, with a window seat in a bay window and an eclectic collection of furniture. The temperature was chilly, but the warm atmosphere drew her inside.
He went to a heating vent in the floor and kicked it open with his foot. “It’ll take a little while to warm up here. Maybe you want to fix yourself the Buffalo wings first.”
She fell onto the edge of the bed, seduced by the thick soft mattress and the wonderful ambience of the room. All tension and energy escaped her like water down a drain.
“I think I’ll just go right to bed,” she said, the words requiring effort.
He studied her curiously for one moment. She expected him to tell her he’d suddenly changed his mind, but instead he went to the closet, pulled out an extra blanket and dropped it at the foot of the bed. Then he crossed the hall to his room and returned with a pair of thick socks.
“Sleep well,” he said. “See you tonight.” He left the room in an apparent hurry to get to work.
“Evan!” she called.
He reappeared in the doorway. “Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
“Sure.”
He left again, and this time she toed off her shoes, pulled on the socks and got under the blankets, still wearing the coat and hat. She felt her muscles relax one by one as she drifted off to sleep, strangely secure in the unfamiliar surroundings.
CHAPTER THREE
EVAN HAD THE FIRST COAT of trim on the accounting office’s doors and windows and was sitting in the middle of the hardwood floor with a tepid cup of coffee, when Cameron Trent appeared in the doorway. He was carrying two cups from Perk Avenue.
“So, what’s going on?” Cam asked, walking in and handing Evan a cup, then doing a slow circuit of the room, inspecting his progress.
Evan suspected this was not just a friendly visit. Cam never checked on him.
“Letting the first coat of trim dry,” he replied, sipping at the contents of the cup. Double-shot mocha. Best high-energy boost in the whole world. “Mmm, thanks. Good stuff.”
Cam turned away from his inspection and faced him across the room, his expression amused. “Who’s the girl?” he asked.
Evan shook his head at him. “They’re not girls, they’re women. Someday the political-correctness cops are going to come and take you away.”
Cam ignored all that. “I understand she arrived naked.”
Evan rolled his eyes. “She did not arrive naked. God, is there no such thing as privacy?”
“No. If she didn’t arrive naked, why did you call Mariah and ask her if there was anything in her size in the clothes she’s collecting for the homeless?”
“Because Mariah’s the same size. I thought she’d be able to find something.”
“For the naked woman?”
“She wasn’t naked!” Evan said impatiently. “She just…doesn’t have a change of clothes.”
When Cam looked confused, Evan lied in an attempt to protect Beazie, and possibly Cam and his family. Until Evan understood completely what was involved here, it was better to keep the truth to himself. “She left home in a hurry. We used to have a thing for each other, and that’s all I’m going to tell you.”
Cam frowned and came to sit cross-legged on the floor, a small distance from him. “Why did she come to you?”
“She missed me. I told you. We used to be lovers.” The lie came so easily off his lips. He hoped he wasn’t going to hate himself for it later.
“She missed you so much that she came in search of you without packing a bag?”
When Evan ignored that, Cam regarded him with concern. “Where is she now?”
“I took her home to rest.” Then he added firmly, “Butt out, Cam.”
Cam raised his hands in a self-protective gesture. “I’m just looking out for you, Evan. You’d help anybody, anytime. I just wondered if she was the reason you came here with a dark burden. If so, I was going to warn you to be careful.”
Evan drew a deep breath for patience. “You know, if you hadn’t arrived with a double mocha, you’d be out on your keister by now. She’s not the reason I left Boston, but she wouldn’t come with me at the time, and now she’s decided she can’t live without me.”
“Really.”
“Really.”
“Yeah, well, if you’re happy, we’re happy. Just wanted to remind you to be careful.”
Evan had to appreciate the sincerity of Cam’s concern, if not his determination to protect him. “You know, I’m five years older than you are, and I was a cop. I think I’m equipped to handle whatever happens.”
“Just reminding you that nobody’s invincible.” As Evan grinned, Cam went on intrepidly. “I know you’ve got this lone warrior thing going and you don’t share much, and that’s okay. I used to be that way, too, until I let a woman and children and friends into my life. Now I don’t even have a thought to myself—”
Evan wasn’t sure where Cam was going with this, but it was entertaining to listen.
“Anyway, we know something major happened to you because of that accident, and it makes life difficult for you. We don’t even want to know what it is, or if and how this girl—woman—relates to that, just that you’ll call us if you need us.”
There was something oddly touching and seriously annoying in the knowledge that his friends had read his situation so clearly. They didn’t have details, but they’d certainly grasped the basics.
“She has nothing to do with that.”
Cam said, “I’m talking in generalities.”
“You’re crazy.”
His friend toasted him with his empty cup and got to his feet. “Who else would go into partnership with you? See you.”
Evan followed him to the door. “You know anybody around here named Evans?”
“Yeah,” Cam replied. “Millie. The woman you bought your house—”
Evan shook his head. “Yeah. Thanks.”
“Why?”
“Never mind. Thanks. And thanks for the mocha.”
“Sure. See you Sunday. Bring the woman.”
Evan accepted that his friends were intent on providing backup, whether he needed it or not. He glanced at his watch. Almost five. He’d better get moving if he was going to stop for groceries on the way home. It was a little unsettling to think that someone was there waiting for him.
BEAZIE SLEPT until midafternoon and awoke feeling a little like she was in a sauna. The house had warmed up considerably, and she was still wearing the coat and hat Evan had lent her. She was also wearing Lucinda.
The cat opened big yellow eyes as Beazie stirred, then meowed a protest and dug into the front of the jacket when Beazie tried to sit up.
Beazie laughed and stroked the cat, then tried to lift her off. Lucinda meowed peevishly and leaped down, clearly affronted at being disturbed.
Sitting up in the middle of the bed, Beazie peeled off the coat and hat, then looked around her, captivated anew by the coziness of the simple room. The furniture was trendily mismatched—an oak highboy, a white wardrobe in the distressed cottage style, a small, square shelf that served as a bedside table, and a cut-shade lamp. The bed itself was brass and quite ornate.
And the pieces had the feel of things handed down, kept because they were loved or had precious memories attached.
As a child she’d had a room something like this. She’d felt loved and…attached. Then her father, a commercial airline’s pilot, had died in a crash, and her mother had remarried three times in quick succession, trying to recapture the love she’d lost. She had divorced as quickly, and died six years ago of complications from surgery. Beazie personally thought she’d simply given up on love and life.
Determined that wasn’t going to happen to her, Beazie pushed herself out of bed. She was going to find this Evans person, turn over the tape, then take off for parts unknown and start all over. It wasn’t as though she had loved ones in Boston. Well, there was Horie, but she could keep in touch with her no matter where she was.
She went to the window and looked out. All she could see were the tops of trees, the sawtoothlike arrangement of evergreens, and the lacy bareness of oak, maple and sycamore. She spotted the top of a church spire and the wrought-iron widow’s walk of what must be an old colonial home.
Or maybe, she thought with a wistful sigh, I’ll just stay here. She felt a little as though she were safely tucked in a tree house in the woods, as far removed from the threats that had plagued her last night as it was possible to be.
Then she came to her senses and realized that was a foolish thought. She wanted the life in that fifties commercial, and it didn’t exist. She wanted someone to give her back her childhood, and that wasn’t going to happen. The men in the red SUV had lost her trail but were certainly still chasing her. She had to focus on finding Evans and getting rid of the tape.
Her eyes lingered on the view and she expelled a little sigh of longing. Maybe she could just hold on to that dream and tuck it away. It would never come true, but she could still draw comfort from it in a small way.
She found the bathroom across the hall and a stack of dark blue towels on a wicker stand. Lucinda followed her in and curled up on the dark blue carpet.
Remembering that she’d need clothes or something to wear when she stepped out of the shower, Beazie stood uncertainly in the middle of the room, then, suddenly inspired, looked on the back of the bathroom door. A brown velour robe hung on the hook there.
Buoyed by that piece of good fortune, she peeled off her clothes and stepped into the shower.
Fifteen minutes later she was belting the robe, a towel wrapped around her hair, when she heard the faint sound of activity downstairs. She stood still, her heart lurching with fear that the red SUV had found her, after all.