Coming to Rosemont (3 page)

Revisiting these horribly hurtful
revelations—so frustrating because Paul was not there to question,
cross-examine, rage at—was like watching a tornado relentlessly
obliterate her lovingly crafted life. The pain, loss, and desolation were
constant companions. But tonight, sunk into this massive chair within the
perfect stillness, Maggie removed herself from the starring role and felt like
she was watching someone else’s tragedy. She let her mind go blank and watched
the snow slanting down across the trees outside her window. And she surrendered
to a deep and dreamless sleep.

***

Having his office above his liquor
store had its advantages; Chuck Delgado was well into the bottle of Jameson he
grabbed from be-hind the counter as he waited for Frank Haynes to arrive on
this Godforsaken night. Shortly after two in the morning, someone tapped
quietly on the back door below. Delgado checked the security camera and buzzed
him up.

Haynes firmly climbed the steps into Delgado’s
lair and found him slumped in his chair just outside the pool of light supplied
by the green-shaded lamp on his desk. Haynes scanned the room, allowing his
eyes to adjust to the dimness. The rest of the room was in shadow, and Haynes
was glad of it. He didn’t care to be accosted by Delgado’s collection of crude,
pornographic trinkets and toys.

Delgado shoved the open bottle and a highball
glass in his direction. Haynes firmly declined. He didn’t need to get
lightheaded now, and God knows when that glass had last been washed. He cast a
dubious glance at the two chairs across the desk from Delgado, and moved a
stack of newspapers and a hamburger wrapper onto the floor.
At least he’s
eating at one of my restaurants,
he thought.

They regarded each other intently. Haynes remained
silent.

Delgado nursed his drink and Haynes sat, brooding
and impassive. Delgado finally sucked in a deep breath and began. “Okay, Frank,
here’s the thing. We ran into an unexpected situation.”

Haynes raised an eyebrow.

“Not with anything here. Operations in Westbury
are fine. In Florida. It’s hard to keep your finger on things from a distance.
I sent Wheeler down to check on things, but the bastard spent all his time with
the whores in the condos. I understand a guy’s gotta have fun, but he didn’t do
jack shit down there. Bastard lied to me when he got back. If this all goes
down, he deserves to take the fall.” Delgado gave a satisfied nod and sank back
into his chair.

Haynes leaned rigidly forward, resting his elbows
on his knees, and locked Delgado with his glare. He waited until Delgado, hand
shaking, set his drink down.

“We aren’t going to let this ‘all go down,’
Charles, now are we? We aren’t going to let that happen. We had plenty of
cushion built in to survive even the Recession. If you hadn’t dipped your hand
in the till, we wouldn’t be having this unfortunate conversation.”

“I had stuff to take care of. Those cops down
there are expensive and—”

Haynes slammed a fist on the desk and roared,
“Silence! I don’t care what situation you got your sorry ass into. You know
that you were not to bring your sordid business interests into our arrangement.
Those condos were supposed to be legitimate investments, not whore houses or
meth labs or whatever other Godforsaken activities you’ve got going in them.”

Delgado held up a hand in a gesture of surrender.
“You’re right, Frank, I know you are. But stuff happens. I’ll get this figured
out. I may have buyers for a couple of the condos. And I’m expecting money from
another associate next week. Enough to fund the shortfall in the next pension
payments. Don’t go gettin’ yourself into an uproar. We’ll get things
straightened out. I’m on it,” he slurred.

“You’ve got ten days to get this handled,” Haynes
growled. “I’m going to watch your every move from here on in. You won’t want to
disappoint me.” His tone sent a wave of fear and dread through Delgado.

Haynes rose slowly, turned on his heel, and walked
down the stairs, allowing the echo of his steps to recede before he opened the
back door and was swallowed by the night.

Delgado held his breath until he could no longer
hear Haynes’ car retreating. “That guy is seriously unhinged.” He reached for
the bottle and didn’t bother with a glass.

Chapter 2

An insistent crying woke Maggie.
She was shocked to see it was fully light out. She checked her watch and was
amazed to see it was almost nine o’clock. She hadn’t slept this late in months.
She hoisted herself out of the chair and turned toward the French doors. On the
other side, in the shelter of a tree, was a snow-covered dog, whimpering
miserably.
You poor thing,
Maggie thought. She wrangled with the lock
and opened the door. The dog raced into the house like it had been shot from a
gun, skidded to a halt in the middle of the library and vigorously shook
itself, sending snow around the room like shrapnel.

Maggie dropped to one knee, held out a hand, and
coaxed the animal to her. “Well, who are you?” Maggie spoke softly to the dog.
“No collar, no tags. Do you belong to somebody?” The small female terrier mix,
white with brown markings, sidled over to her and firmly planted her muzzle in
Maggie’s lap. “You are a soppy mess,” she said. “Let’s get you dried off. Are
you hungry?”

Maggie scavenged a towel from the closet off of
the laundry room. “Okay—let’s get you fed. I don’t have any dog food, and
we are snowed in at the moment, so you’re going to get people food. Don’t get
used to it.” As the dog practically inhaled the remainder of last night’s
chicken, Maggie decided that unless she belonged to someone, she was going to
keep her. Paul always threw cold water on Maggie’s desire to have a
dog—they traveled too much, worked too many hours, it wouldn’t be fair to
the animal, on and on. In truth, he wasn’t a dog person. And she always suspected
that she was. Maggie now had a new companion for her new life. She named her
Eve.

Maggie dusted off the coffee maker and filled a
solid stoneware mug with a large cup of strong black coffee. She summoned Eve
and they headed upstairs to choose the bedroom and bathroom that she would
settle into.

After narrowing her favorites down to the two
bedrooms at either end of the house, she selected the large room that ran the
width of the house along the east side, with shuttered windows on three sides,
a cozy fireplace, and a generous marble bath. The morning sun sought every
corner and painted the space into an Impressionistic prettiness.
What a
pleasure to make a decision based solely on what I want, without considering
anybody else,
she realized. Removing the sheets from the furniture and
cleaning would have to wait. Right now she wanted to grab a quick shower and
change out of the clothes she had slept in. The hot water was plentiful. She
stood in the steamy shower and allowed the water to wash away the recent gloom
that pervaded her.

As she was pulling on an old pair of jeans and a
sweater, she heard a snowplow laboring up the drive. She grabbed her shoes and
raced down the stairs, with Eve keeping pace.

Maggie threw on her coat, wound her scarf around
her neck, and stepped out the front door as the plow finished clearing the
turn-around in front of the house. The driver didn’t see her signaling him to
stop and proceeded back down the driveway. She was looking forlornly in the
direction of the retreating plow when an old pickup truck slowly made its way
up the drive. Maggie recognized the driver. Sam had come to check on her. She
smiled and waved as he pulled up.

“How’d you get along last night?” he called as he
stepped out of his truck. By his tone, she knew he had been worried about her.
“Did the furnace hold up?”

She assured him that all had been just fine, with
lots of warm air and hot water. “I’ve already had a visitor this morning. Come
inside and meet Eve” she said, and told him about waking up to find the dog
outside in the snow.

“Well ... how ’bout that. It’s a wonder she
survived,” he noted as he scratched Eve behind the ears. “I’ve never seen her
before. I don’t think she belongs to anyone around here.”

“Good, because I’d like to keep her. Will you watch
for any lost-dog notices? I’ll contact a local vet and check online to see if
any dogs have been reported missing, and if not, she’s my new roommate.”

“This place is seeing more life than it has in
years,” Sam declared. “Here’s some banana bread, yogurt, and fruit from my wife
for you. We don’t want to impose, but we’d like you to join us for dinner tonight.
She says you have a lot of cleaning to do in your kitchen before you can use
it.”

Maggie acknowledged that his wife was right about
that. “This is all very kind of you,” she said, gesturing to the goodies she
was holding. “But you don’t need to have me over for dinner. I’ve got
groceries.”

“Joan would really like to meet you. Once word
gets out about you staying on at Rosemont, you’ll be the talk of the town. And
we’ll be able to say that we know you,” he said with a wink.

Maggie laughed. “I’ve never been ‘the talk of the
town’ before. I assure you, I’m very boring. My time in the limelight will pass
quickly. But I’d like the opportunity to get to know you both and my new
hometown better. So thank you. I’d love to come to dinner.”

“Wonderful!” he exclaimed. “I’ll pick you up at
four o’clock, dinner is at five—if that’s okay. We like to eat supper
early on Sunday night.” He turned to go, stopped, and looked back at her. “I
have a fairly open schedule next week, so if you need any help or need a ride
anywhere, just let me know.” With that he stepped outside and headed back to
his truck.

“Okay, Eve,” Maggie said. “My first social
engagement is on the books. What shall we do until then?

Maggie took Joan’s care package to her new
bedroom, broke off a generous piece of the fragrant bread and shared it with
Eve. Eve selected a spot in the sun slanting onto the fireplace rug, circled
three times, and settled in for a morning nap.

Maggie set to work with a vengeance, uncovering
the furniture and dusting, scrubbing, and vacuuming every surface. She lost
herself in the task at hand—restoring order to her new environment was cathartic.
If her emotional life was in turmoil, at least her bedroom was clean. And for
now, that was enough.

It was three thirty when she finished—just
enough time to dig out something a bit more presentable to wear to dinner and
to dash off a text to Susan and Mike that she was fine, the house was great,
and she would call them later that night.

***

Sam arrived promptly at four and
insisted the invitation included Eve. Delighted to be in a car, Eve leapt onto
Maggie’s lap, and they set off through the bright, clear afternoon. The snow
had stopped and the landscape was iridescent.

The Torreses lived on the other side of the town
square. Westbury was the county seat and home to some forty thousand residents.
The square was dominated by the county courthouse, an imposing building of
indigenous limestone in the grand style popular in the late 1800s, with
sixty-foot columns flanking the entries at both the north and south sides and
ringed with carved figures along the top. The limestone was tarnished with soot
and the ravages of age, but the courthouse was still beautiful. It was
surrounded on all four sides by a generous lawn and a row of stately oak trees.
An old-fashioned bandstand stood on one corner of the lawn.

“How charming,” Maggie commented. “Does that
bandstand actually get used, or is it just for show?”

“We use it,” Sam told her with pride. “April
through December. We have band concerts, choral groups, Wednesday-night
cloggers. You name it.” He glanced at Maggie. She smiled in encouragement and
raised an eyebrow. Sam warmed to his topic. “If you don’t know, cloggers are
sort of like country western tap dancers. If you’ve never seen clogging, you’ll
be amazed. You might want to try it. It’s a lot of fun. And they hold big
country western dances on the square. Joan and I attend those. They have craft
fairs three or four times a year. And the courthouse is decorated with more
holiday lights than any other building in the state. We have a big lighting
ceremony every year on December first.”

“Sounds lovely. Homey and old-timey and congenial.
Very neighborly. I’ve always lived in a big city, and we just didn’t do that.
Something to look forward to.”

She turned her attention back to the area around
the square. Rows of intricate, architecturally interesting brick buildings
surrounded the square that originally must have housed wealthy residents and
more recently shops and businesses. Almost half of them were boarded and empty,
with “now available” signs posted above the entrances.

“Looks like the Recession’s hit Westbury like it’s
hit everywhere else,” Maggie observed.

“That and more ...” Sam answered cryptically as
they pulled into his driveway.

Joan Torres flung the front door open in welcome
before Maggie could get out of the truck. If she was surprised to see Eve, Joan
didn’t let on. She welcomed Maggie with a warm handshake and gave Eve a good
rub. Maggie presented Joan with a bottle of wine she had uncovered in her
pantry and followed her into the living room. “Something smells absolutely
delicious!” Maggie exclaimed. “And that banana bread was fabulous. You’re a
lifesaver.”

Maggie took a seat by the fireplace as Sam
uncorked the wine and handed each of them a glass. “Sam tells me that you’re
going to keep Rosemont. We’ll all be so happy to see that house occupied again.
Will you live here full time?” Joan asked. She was curious about this
sophisticated-looking widow who would now be part of their community.

“Yes. After I get myself set up here, I’ll go back
home long enough to pack and put my house on the market. My kids are grown and
I have my own consulting business. I’m a forensic accountant. My clients are
all over North America, and I do most of my work over the phone and Internet.”
Maybe it was the wine, on top of the sheer fatigue of the past months, coupled
with the soothing warmth of the fire, but Maggie found herself pouring out her
hurt and un-certainty. “Frankly, this was a snap decision on my part. I came
here out of curiosity to see the place. I never knew that Paul had inherited
Rosemont. I intended to sell it. But when the front door closed behind me, I
knew I was home. And that I need a fresh start. In this spot.” She glanced at
their anxious faces and saw that they didn’t know exactly how to respond. “Paul
was so prominent in our community that I can’t go anywhere without being reminded
of him,” she said, and her voice choked with emotion. “I’ve found out things
about him since he died that have been very hurtful.” She looked away from
them. “I can’t discuss this with anyone back home. My kids adore their father
and if even half of it gets out, his reputation will be ruined. I can’t bear
thinking about what that would do to my kids.” Maggie took a ragged breath and
turned back to her hosts. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t burden you with my
worries. This isn’t what you bargained for when you invited me to dinner.
Please, just forget I said anything,” she implored.

Joan leaned over and squeezed her hand. “We’re not
gossips. We won’t repeat anything you’ve told us. I know what it’s like to need
a friend you can count on. We’ve only just met, but I hope you’ll consider us
such friends.”

Maggie looked into the earnest eyes of this kindly
couple, so unlike the flashy and urbane people she and Paul considered friends,
and knew that they were genuine and trustworthy. How long had it been since she
had felt so comfortable—so unguarded—with supposed friends? Maggie
squeezed Joan’s hand in return. “I guess I felt that the minute I met you.” She
drew a deep breath and relaxed into her chair. “So, do you know the history of
Rosemont?”

“Oh, heavens yes,” Joan replied. “Everybody around
here knows about Rosemont. It was built in 1893 by Silas Martin. He made his
fortune from the local sawmill, which was turned into a hotel and restaurant in
the late 1920s. It’s still there. And he later invested in property all over
town, was instrumental in raising funds to build our courthouse. He was three
times a widower and had five children—all boys. Two died in childhood and
one was killed in World War I. Legend has it that Silas was unbearably
autocratic in his later years and drove away his son Joseph, who became a
successful attorney in Cleveland and had one son. The other son, Hector,
remained in Westbury and expanded his father’s business interests and fortune.
He never married. Hector inherited the property, when Silas died in 1937, and
left it to his brother Joseph’s grandson, when Hector died in 2000 at the age
of one hundred and six. Your husband was Joseph’s grandson, I believe?”

“Yes,” Maggie replied. “Paul’s father died the
year before we got married, and his mother died when he was in kindergarten. He
told me he had no living relatives. Paul never once mentioned Westbury or
Rosemont. Not even when he inherited it.” Maggie saw shock register on Joan’s
face. She continued, “Do you know if Paul ever spent time here growing up? Was
he close to Hector?” She inhaled deeply and her voice trembled. “Has Paul spent
any time here since he became the owner?”

Sam leaned over and looked her squarely in the
eyes. “I don’t think Paul spent any time here when he was growing up. I met him
once, briefly, three or four years ago when he came to town and hired me to
make repairs at Rosemont. He told me he wanted to fix the place up as a
surprise for his family.” He paused to let this sink in. “He put me on retainer
to keep the place in good repair, and he hired a crew to maintain the grounds.
We had very little contact. He always paid me on time. We were sorry to hear
about his death. And your loss,” he concluded gently.

Maggie let out a long, slow breath. “Thank you for
this. I’ve been so curious about Paul’s connection to Westbury and Rosemont,
but didn’t know anyone to ask.” She was tremendously relieved that Paul had not
been bringing the other woman and her children here.
Maybe Paul meant it to
be a surprise for the kids and me all along?
This thought was vaguely
comforting. Joan broke Maggie’s reverie by announcing that dinner was ready.