Page 174

11

“THE FULL SOUL LOATHETH AN HONEYCOMB; BUT TO THE HUNGRY SOUL EVERY BITTER THING IS SWEET.” —PROVERBS 27:7

S ydney maneuvered her jeep up the steep mountain. Her stay in Stoney Creek was definitely improving her driving skills. She was growing more comfortable and even starting to enjoy the way the jeep hugged the narrow windy roads. She glanced at the clock on her dash, a quarter to six. Hopefully, she would catch Walter at home. The motorcycle ride had been relaxing. It was after three o’clock when she got home. She’d then changed clothes and gone for a quick run.

It’s funny how far away Walter’s place seemed when she was a kid. Now she realized it was only a thirty-five minute drive from town. She felt the familiar loneliness sweep over her. She would always jump at the chance to drive up to Walter’s house with Avery.

She pulled into the circular drive and sat for a few minutes, admiring the two-story gray house with its large windows. Her eyes followed the sharp angles of the steep pitched roof that afforded the house a sense of grandeur. The exterior, a mixture of stone and wood, was in keeping with the woodsy surroundings. The view was the crowning pinnacle. It was just as magnificent as she remembered. Walter’s house was situated so close to the edge of the bluff that it looked like it was digging its heels into the solid rock to keep from being toppled over the side by the sheer weight of itself. The back of the house was made up almost entirely of glass, providing a panoramic view of the glittering lake below.

She got out of her jeep and followed the stepping-stones leading to the front of the house. A white Cadillac caught her eye. Sydney smiled. She remembered Avery talking about how much Walter liked his toys. From the looks of things, not much had changed. In Judith’s circle of friends, Sydney had seen her share of expensive homes, but she had to admit that Walter’s set-up rivaled some of the best.

Walter had worked at the sawmill with Avery. She knew that Walter could have never afforded a place like this on a general manager’s salary and wondered if he’d come into an inheritance. Or maybe he was a savvy investor.

The bittersweet memories that seeped into her blood were as tantalizing and unsatisfying as dry water. Memories of running wild and free without a care in the world. Memories of being swept up in the comfort of Avery’s safe arms. It was all so close. So close she could almost close her eyes and touch him. The water, sparkling in the distance looked so wet and inviting, but she could never get to it. She was here where it was dry, thirsting for something that could never be quenched.

She willed her mind to be quiet, pushed once on the doorbell, and waited.

Maurene opened the door and looked Sydney up and down. Sydney could tell that there was no trace of recognition in her cool eyes. “May I help you?”

Sydney smiled politely and extended her hand. “Hi, I’m Sydney Lassiter, the new safety coordinator at the sawmill. I’m here to see Walter.” Rather than shaking Sydney’s hand, Maurene took a step back. Sydney’s hand hung in mid-air for a second until she dropped it to her side.

“Come on in and have a seat. I’ll get Walter.”

Sydney nodded and stepped into the foyer. She tried to remember if Maurene had always been this unfriendly. Her hair was still bleached blonde, or rather white. Maurene had always been fastidious about getting her hair set at the beauty shop every three days. She never washed and styled it herself. From the looks of her, Sydney figured that was still the case. She was an inch shorter than Sydney with a trim figure except for a slight round belly. She was wearing white pleated shorts and a sleeveless red button-up shirt with a collar. Even though Maurene was thin, she was out of shape. Her legs jiggled like jelly when she walked. Her white open-toed sandals revealed blood-red toenails that matched her fingernails. Maurene had aged tremendously. Her face was bloated, and the lines around her eyes and mouth were deep. Then again, it had been ten years since Sydney had seen her. She remembered Avery saying that Maurene was a lot shrewder than she acted. From the looks of things, she wasn’t so sure.

The great room had natural heart pine floors that might have looked bare were it not for the plush colorful rugs scattered throughout the room. She walked over and sat down in an overstuffed brown leather chair that was situated near the stone fireplace. Her eyes went to the open ceiling and exposed rafters. One of the pictures hanging on the wall caught her attention. A Ben Hampton print titled Rambling Rose . It had been years since she’d seen one of those prints. This picture was one of two in a series. One print had pink roses and the other had blue.

Avery always said that Walter had two loves: football and hunting, in that order. She was reminded of the latter when she saw the mounted head of an eight-point buck on one of the walls. It was surrounded by prints of mallard ducks. A balcony wound around three sides of the room. The living room was a good size to begin with, but the open ceiling gave the illusion of never- ending space. The sitting area was arranged to face the glass wall so that the panoramic view of the lake took center stage.

Maurene entered the room and walked to the bar in the corner. “Walter’ll be down in a jiffy.”

“Thank you.”

Maurene’s hands shook when she poured herself a drink. She looked back at Sydney. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“No, thank you.” There was something not quite right about Maurene.

Both Maurene and Sydney watched Walter descend the stairs.

He smiled affectionately and took both of Sydney’s hands in his. “Hello, dear. You are a beautiful woman,” he said, kissing her on the cheek.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything. I probably should’ve called first.”

Walter brushed aside her apology. “Nonsense. You’re welcome here anytime. It’s good to see you,” he said in that low comforting voice that Sydney remembered.

She studied Walter, trying to reconcile this living flesh-and-blood person with the memory from her childhood. He’d been a distant figure then, a friend of her dad’s. Nothing more. He was a little heavier than she remembered and walked with a slower gait. Gray sprinkled his once jet-black hair. And except for a slight receding line, it was still thick. She searched his brown eyes. What did she remember about them? They were kind. That was it. She was relieved to see they still held the same compassion.

“It’s good to see you too,” she said. Walter ushered her to the sofa and sat down beside her. All doubts about coming to see him fled.

Maurene walked to the sitting area and stood with one hand resting on the loveseat. Walter looked at Maurene, and Sydney thought she detected a look of disapproval on his face when his eyes got to the glass of whiskey. She wondered how such a distinguished man could have ended up with her.

“Maurene, this is Sydney Lassiter. She’s the new safety coordinator down at the mill.”

“So I’ve heard.” Maurene took a big gulp from her glass.

Walter cleared his throat. “Dear, Miss Lassiter and I are going to be discussing the sawmill.” He motioned to the empty loveseat. “You’re welcome to join us.”

“No, I have some other things to attend to. If you’ll excuse me …” Maurene sauntered from the room.

Sydney couldn’t help but smile inwardly. Walter didn’t want Maurene to hear their conversation any more than she did. He knew just what to say to get rid of her.

Walter leaned back into the comfort of the plush sofa and crossed his legs. He reached in his shirt pocket and retrieved a cigar. “Now, shall I call you Cindy or Sydney?” He struck a match on his shoe and cupped it in his hands, lighting his cigar.

His candor caught her off-guard. “Um, Sydney’s fine.”

“How’s your job?”

“It’s working out just fine. I’ve got my work cut out for me. That’s for sure, but I’m adjusting.” She cleared her throat. She wanted to set things straight from the beginning. “Walter, I just want to thank you for putting in a good word for me. You’re the reason I got the job.”

Walter didn’t make any pretense of denying what they both knew was the truth. “It was the least I could do.” He looked away from her and out the window. “Avery was like a brother to me.”

Sydney swallowed. “He felt the same way about you.”

Walter nodded, and Sydney could tell from the faraway look in his eye that he was remembering. Finally he shook his head. “Look at you. The last time I saw you, you were a lanky teenager. Where in the world have you been all this time? I could’ve sworn you’d dropped off the face of the earth. The last I heard, you’d gone out of the country with your aunt.”

Sydney nodded. Judith had taken her to Paris a month after she’d been released from the hospital. “It’s to celebrate the beginning of our new life together,” Judith said. Now Sydney wondered if the trip abroad had been Judith’s way of protecting her. Sydney looked at Walter and realized that he was still speaking.

“I talked to your grandmother. She’d lost touch with you. We tried to find out how badly you were injured. And now after all these years, you can imagine how shocked I was when you called me about working at the mill.”

“It’s a long story. I’ll tell you all about it some day.” His silence let her know that he wasn’t going to press her. She was grateful for that. “Does Maurene know about me?”

“No, I haven’t told her. When you called, you mentioned that you were using another name. I assumed that you wished to preserve your anonymity.” He looked her in the eye. “I suppose you have your reasons.”

“Yes, thank you.” She chose her next words with care. “I want to find out what really happened to my dad.”

Walter frowned.

Sydney didn’t wait for a reply. She wanted him to understand where she was coming from first. “That’s why it was so important for me to come back here and work at the mill.”

“Sydney, Avery’s death was an accident.”

“Was there an investigation?”

“Yes, there was. It was determined that the explosion was caused from gasoline in the bilge. You see, Avery went to the gasoline station and filled his tank. There was a leak. If it weren’t for the fact that the fumes were so dense at the dock, the boat would’ve exploded right there at the fuel pump. When he got out in the water, he must’ve opened some windows. When he started the engine again, a spark caused the explosion.”

Sydney’s face was hot and she could not meet his eyes. “Accidents of a similar nature happen all the time,” she heard him say.

There it was. That sick, gut-wrenching feeling she got whenever she thought about the bilge. “I don’t know,” she said. “I just think there has to be more to it than that. I can pay an investigator if I have to.” The words came tumbling out and a lone tear trickled down her cheek.

Walter laid down his cigar and touched her shoulder. “It’s okay, honey.” He paused. “You’re so much like your father. That same wild imagination, always thinking there was something sinister behind everything.”

“You really think his death was an accident?”

“Absolutely! Why would anyone want to kill him? Why would you think such a thing?” He looked into Sydney’s eyes. “Did he ever tell you that he was in any kind of danger?”

“No, not really, but I remember he seemed really troubled about something the day of the accident. He said he had to get to an appointment.”

“Sydney, that was ten years ago. A young girl’s imagination can play a lot of tricks, especially if she’s missing her father. ” His explanation reminded her of a psychiatrist she’d seen in Dallas.

“But what about the?—”

“Walter?”

Sydney and Walter looked up to see Maurene standing on the balcony. “Hank just called. He and Jo Ann are meeting us at the Riverton Catfish house in thirty minutes.”

Walter forced a smile. “Okay. Thanks dear. We’re almost done.”

Sydney stood and smiled thinly. Before Maurene had interrupted them, she was going to tell Walter about the journal and Avery’s letter to Judith. Walter would probably explain that away too. “I’m sorry. I’ve taken too much of your time as it is.”

Walter reached for her arm. “I loved Avery. I can’t even begin to imagine what you’ve gone through.”

Sydney stared at the floor.

“But I do know one thing. Avery would want you to put all this behind you and live your life.”

Sydney bit her lip to keep it from quivering. She nodded. “Thank you.”

“Walter!” Maurene called from the balcony. “You know how Jo Ann fusses when we’re late.”

He rolled his eyes. “I said I’ll be right up, dear.” He walked Sydney to the door and gave her a hug. “Remember, you’re family. If you need anything, all you have to do is ask. You’re welcome here anytime.”

“You were a good friend to Daddy.”

“No,” he corrected her, “Avery was a good friend to me. The best.”

She smiled. “Thanks.”

Walter watched Sydney leave. The layers of time pulled back, and the hurt was there again, festering like stagnant water. His conversation with Sydney had left him unsettled, giving him the uncanny impression that a trace of Avery’s ghost still lingered in the air. Even though Sydney bore no resemblance to Avery, there was something about her—the stubborn set of her jaw—that was just like Avery. Time was irrelevant where death was concerned. Avery had taught him that. Even though Avery’s death occurred ten years ago, it was always right there like bits of a kaleidoscope that shifted at random and displayed images across his mind. Usually he tried to crowd them out. This time he let them flow. He and Maurene coming back from eating dinner. Maurene fixing herself a drink. Maurene laughing, the high-pitched sound grating on his nerves. Looking out the window, the police car coming up the driveway. Maurene laughing, always drinking. Walter’s clutch of anxiety at the grave expression on the sheriff’s face. The sheriff speaking. “I’m afraid I have some bad news.” Maurene crying, glass shattering, Walter collapsing …

He shook his head. What good could come from dredging up the dead? He’d loved Avery—more than anybody! But that was all in the past. Stirring up a hornet’s nest wouldn’t bring him back. He thought of Sydney, so young and vibrant. She had so much to live for. He’d spoken truthfully when he told her that Avery would want her get on with her life. That’s exactly what Avery would want her to do. Somehow he’d just have to figure out a way to convince Sydney.

Getting ready for the OSHA inspection was slow going. Thanks to Sydney, safety regulations, which should have been established from the start, were now implemented. Now all she had to do was make sure the employees were following them, and that was no small feat. Last week she caught two workers not wearing their hard-hats and another without safety glasses. She sighed. Sometimes she felt like she was trying to accomplish the impossible.

At least she had the accident reports now. She looked down at the folders on her desk. Her conversation with Barb last week did little to speed the woman up. Maybe Barb had known that Sydney was bluffing when she threatened to write a letter to Sean and send a copy to Jake Roberts. Sean had been suspicious of her desire to dig back ten years to establish an accident trend, and she certainly didn’t want to send any red flags to Jake. So she’d played Barb’s little game. And now, a week later, she finally had the files. She could have jumped for joy when Barb barged into her office this morning and slammed the files on her desk.

There were twenty-six files in all. Each arranged in alphabetical order, according to the name of the person who’d been involved in the accident. Her plan was simple. She would search through the files and find the ones that took place six months before Avery’s death. Then she would see if she could find some relationship between the accidents. With any luck, she might find some of the names in the journal. It was a long shot, but that’s all she had to go on. Her intuition told her that Avery’s death was connected with the mill. But how? Walter’s words about Avery played over and over like a broken record. “That same wild imagination, always thinking there was something sinister behind everything.” Was that what she was doing? Imagining things? Was it all just a wild goose chase? She shook her head at the thought of Stella. No, Stella suspected something too. Judith had also believed she was in danger. And Avery was solid as stone. If he believed he was in danger, then he had a valid reason. She looked at the stack of files. It would be like searching for a needle in a haystack.

“Well, hey there, Syd.”

She instantly recognized the masculine voice and looked up. Sean O’Conner walked in her office and planted himself on the edge of her desk. Most people would sit in one of the chairs in front of her desk, but not Sean. He came waltzing in like he owned the place, as if his irresistible charm would cause her to melt. He even shortened her name, insinuating intimacy between them.

“What can I do for you?” she asked.

He flashed a brilliant smile. “How are things going? Are you getting us all straightened out?”

“Trying to.”

“Are you settling into your new place? Making new friends?”

Her eyes narrowed. Where was he going with his little charade of friendliness? “I’m getting along just fine. Why?”

He shrugged and looked at her stack of files. “Just making sure Kendall’s treating you okay.”

Her eyes went wide. “How do you know about Kendall?”

“Word travels fast in Stoney Creek.”

She nodded. “Obviously.”

“So these are the famous accident reports that I’ve heard so much about from Barb.”

“Yeah, after a week of stalling, she finally gave them to me today.” She didn’t bother hiding the frustration from her voice.

He opened one and began reading aloud. “Matthew Grider lost the tip of his index finger when he got too close to an edger. Ouch.” He tossed it back on her desk and picked up another file and skimmed its contents. “This poor fella died.”

She fought the urge to grab the file from his hands and instead picked up a pencil and began tapping it on her desk. Maybe Sean would take a hint and leave. No such luck.

“Buford Phillips was killed by a flying log that split off while going through the band saw.” He pointed. “Look, it says he was drunk.” He shook his head. “See, you’re doing all this research, and you’re only finding out what I could’ve told you from the beginning.”

“Oh yeah, and what’s that?” She reached and took the file from him.

“That these people had the same problem we do.”

She raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“Stupidity.”

She looked down at the file she was holding and tried to keep a poker face when she recognized Avery’s handwriting. It was the same bold print that she’d seen in his journal. She couldn’t have known it then, but Sean had unknowingly reached in the haystack and pulled out the needle for her. She read the description about how Buford was killed and then frowned. The writing in the next sentence had changed.

Buford Phillips was drunk at the time of the accident. That sentence was not written by Avery. She skimmed to the end of the report and noted that it was signed by Avery. She looked at the date–only a couple of months before Avery’s death. Had the sentence been there all along? Or was it added after the fact?

“Hello?”

She looked up and realized that Sean was studying her.

“Earth to Sydney.”

“Did you have something you want to talk to me about or did you just come in to shoot the bull? Because if you did, I have too much work to do to listen?—”

His laugh cut her off. “It doesn’t take much to ruffle your feathers.”

She shook her head.

He picked up another file and started leafing through the pages. “Actually, I did come in here for a reason.”

“Oh, yeah. What?” Her mind was still on the accident report.

“I’ve been doing some thinking.” He paused just long enough to arouse her curiosity. “About you.”

Her eyes shot upward and met his. He looked smug, satisfied. His tone remained conversational. “I ask myself: Why would a beautiful young socialite come to a town like Stoney Creek? Especially a lady so wealthy?”

His comment clutched her stomach like a vice. Blood rushed to Sydney’s face, and her temples began to pound like the feathers of a caged bird. “What makes you think I’m wealthy? You don’t know anything about me.”

He shrugged. “You’re right of course.” His piercing eyes held hers. “How much do we really know about anybody? I just assumed.” He raised an eyebrow. “Maybe you inherited your wealth?”

He knows, her mind screamed. Somehow he discovered who she really was.

“Why are you here, Syd? What are you looking for?” He motioned at the files. “Ten years worth of accident reports just to establish a safety trend? Come on. What kind of a fool do you take me for?”

Somehow she found the nerve to speak. “Get out of my office.”

He stood. “Have it your way.” He made it to the door and then turned back. “One more question.”

She waited.

“Is the safety meeting still on for this afternoon?”

She fought the urge to laugh hysterically. “Why wouldn’t it be? I sent the e-mail out last week.”

He smiled. “Okay, see you there.”

Her hands were shaking. She looked down at the files. Did Sean really know who she was? She shook her head. No, that was impossible. He was bluffing. She’d underestimated Sean O’Connor. She wouldn’t make that same mistake twice.