Blue Clouds (3 page)

Her hometown police force—the same police who had let Billy out on bond—hadn't arrested Billy for the damage to her house. They'd looked at the mess and blamed vandals, advised her to buy stronger locks or move to a better neighborhood.

For a while, she'd contemplated buying a gun and shooting Billy herself. Fortunately, her temper cooled quickly. The terror engendered by the viciousness of Clio's injuries did not. She'd hung around only long enough to see if Clio would live and to find her kitty a home.

She didn't linger to see what would happen once Billy came looking for her again. She knew better than to expect a restraining order to stop him. She'd seen enough abuse victims in the emergency room on a Friday night, seen some of them sent to the morgue. Half of them had restraining orders.

Locking the stall and stripping off her blouse to reach the padding, Pippa sighed in relief as her own trim figure emerged. She probably shouldn't have panicked and run, but what she'd told Abigail hadn't been entirely wrong. She needed this escape. She needed new scenery so she could put her head together again. And she needed a job.

Wryly contemplating her nearly empty savings account, Pippa left the stall, washed off the theater makeup, applied cover-up to the bruises, and examined the results in the mirror. Cosmetics barely hid the green and purple over her cheekbones, but she liked the effect of the henna on her mousy brown hair, and the way the reddish glint enhanced the green of her eyes. And she definitely approved of the sassy short cut. Running her fingers through the layered thickness, she plumped it out nicely without need of a comb. Even if she had lost everything, knowing she looked better than she ever had cheered her considerably.

To make her escape without Billy knowing where she'd gone, she'd left everything behind, all her clothes, her house, everything. She'd left keys with friends, but they didn't dare go near the house or Billy would know she'd talked to them.

She'd arranged for a friend at the clothes drive to take a box of her clothes before she'd left so no one would report to Billy that she was packing up and moving out. The box would arrive at the Greyhound station eventually. She hadn't wanted to give anyone Mary Margaret's address—not until she was sure she was safe.

Until she had an address, she had only what she carried in her shoulder bag. Her wallet was severely depleted after buying the bus and plane tickets. She'd used cash, not credit cards, in hopes of curtailing any trace Billy might put on her. Right now, the only positive thought she could summon was her improved appearance.

Taking a deep breath, Pippa plunged into the heavy people traffic on the concourse. She'd told Mary Margaret to meet her at baggage claim. She had no baggage, but she needed the brief walk to become herself again. Billy wasn't that good a detective. He couldn't find her once she walked out of the airport in California. No one would connect the plump older woman on the plane with the slim young woman walking out now. She was free.

She had thought about running to Mitchell or Barbara, but Billy would have checked with her brother and sister first thing. So she'd called and told them she was taking an extended vacation and that she would keep in touch.

Then Pippa had taken out Mary Margaret's last letter and carried it like an Olympic torch to the airport, where she'd made her phone calls so Billy couldn't trace them. Despite all of Mary Margaret's problems, she'd sounded excited about Pippa's visit. The other calls left her a trifle uncertain, but she could face only one ordeal at a time.

Meg's beaming face finally appeared through the crowd, and Pippa shouted in the genuine relief of homecoming.

“Pippa Cochran! I can't believe it! I just can't believe it! Look at you! My word, you're stunning. You look like a fashion model. And look at me, a frumpy old housewife. Oh, my, it's so good to see you. Where are your bags? George has the car parked outside and security will run him off any minute.”

Meg's maternal plumpness enveloped Pippa in a welcoming hug. Tears of joy sprang to Pippa's eyes as she returned the hug. Except for a few extra pounds, Meg hadn't changed from the exuberant, loving teenager Pippa remembered.

“When was the last time you saw a five-foot-five fashion model with chipmunk cheeks?” Pippa scoffed. “You've been reading too many romances again.” Stepping back, she held Meg by the shoulders and surveyed the changes made in the last twelve years. “Having kids agrees with you. You don't look a day older than when I saw you last.”

Meg blushed and grinned. “Thank you for the lie. You're going to be good for me, kid. Things have been a little dismal at home of late. We need a Pollyanna to remind us of how much we have.”

Shifting her bulging shoulder bag, Pippa marched toward the door. “Then let's not keep George waiting. Is he still as handsome as ever?”

Meg hurried to catch up, glancing over her shoulder at the baggage carousel. “Your suitcase, Pippa? You are staying awhile, aren't you?”

“My bags will follow,” Pippa replied airily, suddenly desperate to escape the airport and enter the real world again. She hadn't just run from Billy. She'd run toward a whole new life. She couldn't wait to get started.

Without questioning, Meg led her outside to the battered minivan.

“I figured they'd tow me off and make me strand you here,” George admonished as they climbed in. “Hi, Pippa, how's tricks?”

It was an old joke between them, and Pippa grinned in appreciation of the memory. “Well, your mind hasn't changed any, George, even if it does have more room to grow than before.”

Starting the engine, George ruefully rubbed the bald spot at the back of his head. “All those hair roots get in the way. There's just that much less for the kids to turn gray.”

They laughed and joked and caught up on old acquaintances as George navigated L.A.'s freeways. Pippa exclaimed over the multilaned bumper-to-bumper traffic, and her hosts laughed at her Kentucky naiveté.

The space-age highways gradually reduced to four lanes along the scenic coastline. Pippa gasped at the views, at the flowers—in April, roses! She opened the windows and breathed in the sunshine, shutting out all memory of Kentucky sleet and terror.

Pippa exclaimed again as they turned from Highway 101 into the charming town of San Luis Obispo. She wanted to explore the sun-drenched mission, the art galleries, the cafes—everything.

Meg laughed. “If you stay here any length of time, you'll have your fill of tourists soon enough. You'll like Garden Grove. It's much quieter.”

As they reached the narrow rural road surrounded by flat fields and framed by mountains, Pippa finally calmed down and began to talk of the present and the future.

“Meg said in her letter that they closed down the printing plant. Is there any talk of reopening?”

Both faces in the front seat turned grim. George answered first. “Wyatt tore down the plant last month.”

“The town will die, and it's all Seth Wyatt's fault,” Meg finished bitterly. “The plant used to employ two hundred people. Now they're moving away, looking for work elsewhere, and business has already dropped off. The people left have no money. It's the beginning of the end.”

“My father and grandfather kept that pharmacy running, even through the Depression. I hate being the one who loses it,” George said mournfully. “I wish the damned man would come out of hiding long enough so we could talk to him.”

“Talk to the Grim Reaper?” Meg scoffed. “Since when can we reason with Death?”

Worriedly, Pippa listened to the exchange. “The Grim Reaper? Is that what they're calling this Seth Wyatt? Isn't he the man you said advertised for an assistant and a nurse's aide?”

Meg made an impolite noise. “Even starving, no one will take him up on the offer. The town has despised the Wyatts forever, but Seth has brought the name to new lows. He crippled his son with his recklessness, then sued his ex-wife with every big lawyer in the state until she finally let him have the boy. Now he's destroyed the industry that was the one good thing the Wyatts did for the town.”

“They say his wife walked away with a large chunk of his fortune,” George reminded her. “We don't know the whole story.”

“We can see our future plowed under by bulldozers,” Meg replied angrily. “What will happen to Mikey if you close the store and we move elsewhere?”

The mention of their youngest child, crippled by muscular dystrophy, brought the subject to an abrupt close. With a forced attempt at cheerfulness, Pippa inquired after all three Kelly children, diverting the conversation to happier topics.

The knowledge that her new employer held the sobriquet of Grim Reaper did nothing to reassure Pippa's sagging confidence.

***

“You don't really mean you took the job without an interview?” Horror written across her expressive face, Meg stared at Pippa over her cup of morning coffee.

Pippa shrugged with more nonchalance than she felt. “I have to support myself somehow. Your letter saying Wyatt couldn't hire anyone for a million dollars inspired me. I doubt if I'll make a million dollars, but just think about that little boy out there. I called Mr. Wyatt from the airport, faxed my resume, and he faxed his acceptance. We've not discussed all the terms and so forth, but I'll not be a burden to you, Meg. I can't put Candy out of her room forever. You have enough problems without taking on mine.”

“You're still afraid of that psycho boyfriend, aren't you?” Meg demanded, setting her cup down with a thump. Outside, a bird sang in the California version of lilacs.

Looking at the bright sunshine pouring in the double kitchen windows, Pippa decided Southern California weather was as predictable as Kentucky's was unpredictable. So far, she loved it. She was determined to stay here, one way or another.

“Billy is not my boyfriend,” she pronounced carefully. “He's a mistake I made when Mama was ill. A mistake I'll not make again. I can take care of myself. If this job doesn't work out, I'll find another. I just want to start someplace where I have friends.”

“You'll need friends if you work for Seth,” Meg warned. “He's lucky he still has his father's housekeeper. She's too old to go anywhere else. I don't know where he found his secretary, but it wasn't from around here. None of them come to town. They have their groceries shipped out to that mausoleum of a house. What will you use for transportation? That gothic horror is way out in the hills.”

“He's sending a car for me,” Pippa admitted. “Will everyone despise you for having a friend who works for him?”

Meg grinned. “No, they'll pump me for every detail. Stand up and let me have a look at you. If you insist on doing this, then let's do it right.”

Pippa stood and pirouetted in the dress she'd bought with some of her last few dollars. She didn't exactly look a fashion plate, but the soft green shirtwaist was businesslike and practical, and the wide belt made her feel feminine. She had contemplated continuing the disguise of a middle-aged woman, but the idea of wearing that stifling padding every day quenched the notion quickly enough. The only part of the disguise she kept was the hair. And the cover-up cream on the bruises.

“You look like a prim schoolteacher,” Meg informed her, avoiding any mention of the bruises. “I hope when your clothes arrive, they have a little more style, or I'll make you spend your first paycheck on something a little classier.”

Pippa grimaced. “Fashion critic. This is how we dress for work in Kentucky. What do you wear out here, halter tops?”

They launched into the old argument with zeal and laughter, until a car horn blew outside. The time had come and the insistent horn was an inauspicious beginning.

***

“Chad, I know you're not happy about this, but we have to allow Miss MacGregor out of the house once in a while. Unless you like sitting here by yourself or listening to Nana complain, you'll need someone else with you. I'm certain Miss Cochran will be fine. She'll just be here in case you need her. The rest of the time, she'll help me with my work.”

Six-year-old Chad Wyatt made a sour face and swung his wheelchair away from his father so he could look out the window. This room had one of the best views in the house, offering an untouched vista of towering evergreens and craggy rocks overlooking the valley below. From the other wall, a glimpse of distant purple mountains looked like a picture postcard. Chad scarcely acknowledged it. “She's just coming so she can smile at you and hope she'll get lucky,” he replied scornfully. “That's what Nana says. Why couldn't you hire a man?”

Seth looked at his son and bit back a growl. He'd spoiled the boy, but what other choice did he have? Chad could never lead a normal life—because of him. Cooped up inside all day with only a grouchy old woman for companion as the boy was, what else could Seth do but offer him all the time and attention he could provide?

“I would have hired a man if one had applied,” Seth soothed him. “But Miss Cochran is the only person who wants the job. Miss MacGregor wants to visit her family. Her father's ill. I need someone here to help. We'll try her out, and if you don't like her, we'll find someone else. How's that?”