The Memory House. Линда Гуднайт
“I’m Trey Riley, Honey Ridge Police Department. Don’t think I’ve seen you around before.”
“Eli Donovan. I’m down from Nashville. Visiting family.” That much was true. He had a son in Honey Ridge. Poor kid.
“Is that your Dodge?”
Eli offered a wry expression. “Such as it is. I had a little car trouble this morning.”
“Yeah?” Officer Riley turned to look at the old clunker. “Anything I can help with?”
“Bad battery. It’s running now.” He chuffed. “Or it was when I stopped. A man at the inn gave me a jump.”
“Peach Orchard Inn?”
“Yes.”
“Nice place. Julia and Valery have done a great job restoring it. When I was a kid we thought the house was haunted.” Trey Riley chuckled, a nice easy sound as though he laughed often. “Mostly wild stories about Civil War ghosts to keep kids out, I think, but I’m glad to see the place inhabited by the living for a change.”
Eli didn’t know what to say. His conversation skills had taken a hit in the past seven years. “She makes good coffee.”
He remembered then, with guilt, that he still had her cup.
“You should taste her peach tea. Man alive!” Riley drew out the last word with a grin and a head shake. “Great stuff. I’ve been known to show up on her doorstep in the afternoons—official business, of course—” he laughed again “—to beg an ice-cold glass of pure Southern heaven. Julia puts up with me. My mom buys peaches from her.”
Eli couldn’t quite take in the fact that he was having a friendly, man-to-man conversation with a police officer who seemed to be a decent guy.
“I noticed the orchard.”
“I guess it’s blooming.”
“Real pretty.” Like pink, fluffy clouds.
“Spring’s the best in Honey Ridge. Lots of things blooming.” Officer Riley tugged at a well-creased pant leg and propped his gleaming black service shoe on the cement bench. “Gorgeous morning to stop here.”
“Nice park.”
“It is, isn’t it? Honey Ridge is a nice town. I lived away for a while but when this job opened up, I was happy to come home again.”
“You have family here?” There. That wasn’t so hard.
“All of them. Mother, Dad, three sisters.”
“Three?”
“Yeah, go ahead. Pity me.” Officer Riley laughed again. “They’re great. Really. They drive me crazy, too. Always trying to marry me off to one of their girlfriends.”
Eli smiled. Family. He wished he could go home to a loving bunch that would drive him crazy and care about his single status. Instead, he was alone. No, not completely. He had a child. A son who needed him. And he had nothing to offer but himself.
The thought depressed him. A kid deserved better. There was no way he could care for a child.
But if he didn’t, who would? The boy would be as alone as he was. He knew how that felt. He knew about having no one to turn to. He’d been thirteen when life had begun to unravel. His son was only six, a year older than Jessica had been, and already the boy’s life was in shreds.
Before he could operate the smarter side of his brain, Eli said, “You wouldn’t know of any job openings around here, would you?”
“Are you looking to stay on in Honey Ridge?”
“I might if I can find work.”
Officer Riley squinted up into the leafy oak where the woodpecker was having a heyday. “Let’s see. If you’re not picky, food places like Jose’s Pizza and Miss Molly’s Diner are always shorthanded. And you can check with the quick-stops, the horse ranches and Big Wave.”
When Eli tilted his head at the last, Riley explained. “Big Wave builds custom boats. They’re located west of town. I don’t know if they’re hiring, but it’s worth a shot. Ask for Jan. She’s the big boss.”
“Okay.”
“Oh, and Julia out at Peach Orchard wants to renovate the old carriage house into guest rooms. I don’t know if she’s ready to start or if she has the money yet, but you could ask.”
A little thrill zipped through Eli at the thought of seeing Julia again. He tamped back the emotion, feeling foolish for even thinking about a good woman. Yet, he’d much prefer working on a remodel than being trapped inside a building all day.
“Thanks for the ideas.”
“I hope you find something. Honey Ridge is a good place for law-abiding citizens to call home.” He dropped his foot to the ground. “If you need any help with that Dodge, give me a shout.”
As the man strode back to his cruiser, Eli stared, bemused. His wallet still lay on the table but the officer hadn’t asked for identification. Other than the remark about law-abiding citizens, he hadn’t even seemed suspicious. Trey Riley was either a poor police officer or a very good guy.
Eli pushed to a stand and pocketed his wallet. He didn’t know how or why but, in the past ten minutes, he’d made a decision that would alter his future and that of one little boy.
He was going to find employment in the pleasant, family town of Honey Ridge. And he was going to be a daddy.
Julia dialed the police department by memory. After six years of regular calls, she was put straight through to the detective.
“Hello, Julia.” Detective Burrows’s voice was tired but kind.
He was a busy man. She’d get right to the point.
“Today is Mikey’s birthday. I just wondered if…” Her voice trailed away.
“Nothing new, Julia.”
“Nothing at all?”
“Not since the false sighting two years ago in Huntsville, but Michael’s file remains active. I talked with the FBI last week.”
She swallowed, disappointed but not surprised. The police did their best. She understood that. For a full year after Mikey disappeared, either Detective Burrows or the FBI unit had called her every day with an update. Slowly, as the case grew colder and more frustrating, the calls dwindled.
“You’ll call me immediately if there’s anything at all.” The desperation and pain she heard in her own voice never lessened. It wouldn’t until her son was found.
“Of course. I wish I had better news.”
“So do I.”
Julia hung up and, heavyhearted, had started up the stairs toward the Blueberry Room when someone knocked at the front door. Deciding to leave the cleaning to Valery, she hurried down to answer, hoping for a drive-up guest. The inn had been slow this month and occasionally someone in town sent a customer her way.
She opened the door to find two older ladies standing on her wraparound veranda. Her mood lifted. No one could be around the twin Sweat sisters without smiling at the two old characters. Dressed in identical pink flowered shirtwaists, shiny pink pumps and jaunty white sunhats with matching gloves, Vida Jean and Willa Dean Sweat were throwbacks to the fifties when Southern ladies dressed and behaved with a certain uniform gentility. The octogenarian Sweat twins, however, were anything but conventional. With their painted-on eyebrows, startling red lipstick and hair dyed a specific shade of lemon yellow, they were entertaining icons of Honey Ridge.
“Ladies,