Hidden Hills

Jannette Spann

Published by Astraea Press

www.astraeapress.com

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.

HIDDEN HILLS

Copyright © 2013 JANNETTE SPANN

ISBN 978-1-62135-198-6

Cover Art Designed by AM Design Studios

****

Tiredness engulfed Charlotte on the trip home from picking up her girls at the sitter. Driving eighteen miles to Reader every day was bad enough, but the roundtrips had given her threadbare tires and the need for a quart of oil with every other fill-up. It was just a matter of time before the motor would need overhauling, providing the transmission didn't go first. Either way, it was money she didn't have.

“Mama.” Becky's clear voice called from the back seat. “Julie Brown's having a skating party Saturday. Can I go? Huh, Mama, can I?”

“We'll see.” Julie was Becky's best friend and Charlotte hated to tell her no, but she wasn't sure if they had rent money for a pair of skates.

“I want to go, too, Mama,” Maggie said. “Can I? Huh? Please?”

“You're too little,” replied the older girl. “I'm seven and you're only five. It's just for big kids.”

Charlotte ignored the argument between the girls, focusing instead on whether there were enough leftovers in the refrigerator for supper. Thankfully, she didn't have picky eaters. Casserole surprise made mostly from leftovers tasted different each time she made it.

Easing off the gas pedal, she made the last turn before the road changed from pavement to loose gravel. Up ahead were the impressive iron gates of Hidden Hills, standing watch over the house as they'd done since shortly after the Civil War. There'd been a time when the gates welcomed her home, but not anymore. Without Mitch, they were a reminder of the loneliness awaiting her. It had started when he'd passed away, and it wasn't getting any easier.

Her closest neighbor lived two miles away as the crow flies — five if she traveled the road — and some days the isolation became unbearable. The winter months when darkness came early were the worst. She'd managed with Uncle Eli, the caretaker, living with them, but he'd moved in with his daughter because of poor health. Now every night was an ordeal.

Charlotte stomped the brake, her car skidding to a halt on the loose gravel. She remembered locking the gate before leaving for work — now it stood open. Her gaze darted back and forth along both sides of the drive. The thick undergrowth beneath the large oak trees made good hiding places for would-be attackers. Fear made her palms sweat, and she glanced over her shoulder to make sure the back doors were locked before driving on.

Mitch's parents hadn't set foot on the place in weeks, not since she'd removed the girls from their private school at Wills' Junction and enrolled them in Reader Elementary. They were the only ones with access to the key, and it wasn't like them to drop by unannounced.

The car gained speed after crossing the bridge, but her eyes continued darting back and forth, taking in the familiar scene of poison ivy and wild flowers lining the dirt road. Everything appeared the same. Her heart pounded in her chest when she rounded the last curve and glimpsed the silver convertible parked at the front door.

“Look, Mama. It's Grandfather.”

Judge Tom McGregor, Mitch's dad, was hard to take any time. The dread she'd felt in recognizing the car multiplied. He was the last person she wanted to see.

Thinking back on her day, she tried to work herself in a better frame of mind before facing him. She recalled the man walking off without his milk and his expression when he'd come back, like he'd been embarrassed for being preoccupied. There'd been an instant connection the moment their eyes met. His were a dark, royal blue framed by thick, black lashes. Although she'd sensed him watching her while waiting to be checked out, he hadn't tried a come-on like some guys passing through her line. It was a relief, since a few seemed to think of her as fair game.

“It's about time you showed up.” Judge McGregor's voice grated on her nerves. He rose from the porch swing, glaring down his nose at her jeans and tee-shirt. As usual, he was impeccable — hair combed, shirt crisp, trousers creased — like he'd just dressed instead of having spent the day in court. “I have no idea why you waste the entire day getting home.”

Charlotte's jaw clinched. “Afternoon to you too, Judge.”

“We need to talk.”

She locked the car before opening her front door. Becky and Maggie stopped long enough to speak to their grandfather, but when he showed no interest in spending time with them, they went inside to get started on homework. “It must be important to make you drive all the way out here.”

“It is. You've got till the end of the month to come up with my thirty thousand. If you don't, I'm filing a claim against the estate.”

“The estate?”

“You heard me. Charles should have left this house to Ellen. She's his daughter — his only child. It makes her the rightful heir, but the old cuss skipped her like she didn't even matter.”

“Oh, she mattered, all right. It's you Grandpa kept it from.”

“Well, I'll see about that. The skinflint's gone. He'll not dictate to this family from the grave — not anymore!”

“You know the terms of the will, or you should — you've tried hard enough to break it.”

His chin shot up. “Next month, Charlotte. You owe the money, and I'll see to it you pay every dime!”

She held her tongue while Tom McGregor stomped off the porch. He stopped long enough to gaze up at the house before opening the door to the luxury car. “Next month, girl!”

****

“It wasn't me!”

Jake had heard it before. As always, it was his middle son, Bruce, pleading his innocence. The boy should put it on a CD and save his breath.

“Mr. Hamner's window didn't break itself.”

“But, Dad,” replied the boy. “It wasn't my fault. The mower's got a bent blade.”

“You're telling me the mower slung a baseball through his kitchen window?”

Bruce beamed. “Exactly.”

“You're eight,” Jake pointed out, giving the boy another chance to get his story straight. “You aren't supposed to use the mower until you're eleven.”

“I didn't.”

“So now it's Jeremy's fault? And remember he's bigger than you.”

“Well…” The boy cut his eyes toward his older brother and back again. “It wasn't me.”

There'd been a steady stream of heated complaints over the summer from the neighbors: switched garbage cans, broken windows, and patches of dog poop on the neighborhood porches. The people of Robins Lane were fed up, with all fingers pointing toward his boys. He knew a short trip to the woodshed, like he'd gotten as a boy, would do wonders, but he'd promised Betty he'd spare the rod and spoil the child as much as possible.

“I want the truth about the window.”

The older boy downed his juice. “What? Why you looking at me?”

“What happened to the lawnmower blade?”

Jeremy emptied the jug and left it on the counter by the sink, even though the garbage can was closer. “You said I could use the mower. Besides, Mrs. Wilson paid forty bucks for the job.”

“The blade?”

“I hit a steel pipe somebody shoved into the ground next door. It didn't used to be there.”

“It's a land marker. The surveyors left it, so spray it with red paint before you mow again,” he said, trying to remember where the extra blades were hung. “Now, tell me about the window.”

Jeremy shrugged. “It's the first I've heard about it.”

That didn't surprise him at all. “You know the routine, four bucks on the table and go apologize.”

Bruce groaned. “Aw, Dad. We didn't do nothin'.”

The boys weren't guilty of all the problems of Robins Lane, but he was fed up with their nonsense. School starting should have helped, but it hadn't. “Mrs. Brown called again last night. There's graffiti on her garage door.”

“It wasn't me!”

“I know.”

“Her old garage has been peeling for years. She probably trashed it herself so you'd make us paint it.”

“Now why would she do that?”

“Don't you get it, Dad?”

“Get what?”

“It's a conspiracy! She blames us — you pay for the paint, and we work for free. The same goes for those windows. They break them and blame us. We pay for 'em and you put in new ones.”

“He's right, Dad.” Jeremy slid his arm around Jake's shoulder. “These old folks are running a scam, and you're their victim. It's got to stop.”

Bruce nodded in agreement. “I know it hurts to hear it, but we thought you should know.”

There was a scam running, all right, but it wasn't the old folks. He was raising a couple of con men. Their thoughts meshed together to create ingenious plots, making it almost impossible to pick out the mastermind. As for the new scenario they'd just laid out, he would admit it was possible, just not probable. Elsa Brown was seldom seen outside of her home without a cane. It was hard to picture her spraying obscenities on anything. The boys did have a point though. It wasn't fair for them to have to work for free, if, and it was a big if, they happened to be innocent.

“It's worth ten bucks to each of you. Take the bucket of white paint from our shed and paint her entire garage. You should have enough, but if not, see if she has some.”

“What about Andy?”

Jake sighed. “Give me a break, he's only three.”

After putting his toddler down for a nap, he went outside to enjoy the clean, warm smell of late summer. This had been Betty's favorite time of the year; now it was the worst for him. She'd been gone three years, two months, and five days, but the ache in his heart felt as though it could have been yesterday. Sometimes all he had to do was close his eyes to smell her perfume. Shoving his hands through his thinning hair, he exhaled in an attempt to clear the cobwebs from his mind. There was work to be done. Lollygagging wouldn't fix anything, and it sure couldn't bring her back.

He was on his knees replacing the bent blade when he heard gravel crunch behind him. Since the older boys hadn't had enough time to paint the garage, he figured Andy had finished his nap. Busy with the job at hand, he didn't bother looking up until he saw tiny pink toenails poking out from a pair of white sandals. His eyes traveled upward over skinny legs and knobby knees to striped shorts with a matching Minnie Mouse shirt. A little higher and he was nose to nose with freckles, green eyes, and red curls, glowing in the sun like new copper pennies. The child was adorable. Her flawless skin reminded him of a pale peach.

“Whatcha‘ doing?”

“Working on my mower,” he replied, breathing in the fresh scent of soap and cherry lollypop. Their foreheads were inches apart, and the child hadn't so much as blinked an eye.

“It tore up?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Can you fix it?”

“Well,” he said, blinking when her face began to blur. “I can if I'm not interrupted.”

“I won't let nobody in'upt you.”

“Okay,” he said, trying not to grin. “That's real nice of you, but don't you have some place you should be? I'll bet your mother's looking for you.”

Copper curls swung in all directions. “Nope. Mama said I can look around.”

Jake knew most of the kids in the area, but he'd never seen this one. “But did she say you could come over here?”

“She didn't say I couldn't.”

Glancing over her head, he expected to see a frantic mother, but there was only the old hedge row. He studied the girl's demeanor. Cute kid. She didn't appear to be neglected, just momentarily unsupervised.

“Can I watch?” She shoved his wrenches from the work stool, and before he could disagree, her little bottom wiggled onto the greasy seat.

“I… suppose so. My name's Jake. What's yours?”

“Maggie.”

“Nice to meet you, Maggie. Do you live around here?”

“Over there.” She pointed to the house next door.

“That's the Parker house,” Jake said, concerned she might have slipped away from her family. “It's been empty for a while. Want to try again?”

One swift move and she flew off the stool, catching his face with her greasy hands and twisting his head around as far as it would go. “Over there. See?”

The row of overgrown hedges separating the yards blocked most of his view, but he could see enough to know someone was walking around in the adjoining property.

“Your family's buying the house?”

Her head bobbed. “Uh-huh.”

He could see the top of the realtor's head, and her hands pointing to the features of the house. “Is your mom with Mrs. Wilson?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Where's your dad?”

“In heaven. Mama said God needed a lawyer, so he took my daddy.”

He was dumbfounded for a moment. Since when had heaven started having legal problems? “Has he been there long?”

“For ever and ever,” she sighed. “I sure do miss my daddy. I wish God hadda took Grandfather instead. Mama wouldn't cry so much if he was gone.”

Judging from her size, Jake figured Maggie to be maybe a year older than Andy. The right words were hard to come by in a situation like this. He wasn't usually soft- hearted, but the girl's pain was similar to his boys. “Maybe God needed a special kind of lawyer.”

The girl leaned in closer, her warm breath tickling his ear. “Mama said it's 'cause Grandfather's going to hell! Where's that, Mr. Jake?”

“Your mom said it?”

“Uh-huh.” She nodded, her clear green eyes searching his, willing him to believe. “Mama told Grandfather to go there. I heard her.”

His first instinct was to condemn the unknown mother. How could she say such a thing in front of the girl? But then her trusting face reminded him of things he'd said that his boys shouldn't have heard. At a loss for words, he used the same lame excuse he'd used with the boys countless times. “Maybe your mama was just mad.”

Wiggling closer to his side, the girl pulled a wrench from under her leg. The greasy smear left on her shorts grew larger when she tried to wipe it away. “Mama cries when me and Becky are bad, so we're good, but sometimes Becky makes me mad, and then I'm not so good.”

“You don't say?”

“Uh-huh. Do you think my daddy misses me even when I'm not so good sometimes?”

A lump the size of an ostrich egg made it hard to answer. He wanted to take her in his arms and hug the hurt away, but he knew it wasn't possible. Only God can mend a broken heart. “I'm sure your daddy misses you, no matter how bad you are sometimes.”

Maggie's grin let him know he'd made a friend. The girl's inquisitive eyes watched while he reversed the socket wrench and braced his leg in an attempt to free a stuck bolt. He needed more leverage. “Hand me the board.”

She handed him the wood and without warning, grabbed his hand. “You're dirty. Mama says I'm not to get dirty 'cause ladies don't get dirty like boys, and I'm a lady.”

“Is that a fact?”

“Uh-huh. Do you like boys, Mr. Jake?” She didn't wait for an answer. “I like Cucumber, and he's a boy, but it don't count ‘cause he's a cat, and anyway, he got lost, and now I don't got a cat. Uncle Mark says I can have another cat if Cucumber's squashed on the road with his guts smashed out, but Mama says ladies don't say ‘guts', so I don't say ‘guts,' ‘cause I'm a lady.”

“You don't say?”

“Uh-huh.” She scrambled on her knees for a closer look under the mower. “Not everybody's a lady ‘cause they don't got red curls. Do you like red curls? Santa does, and I've got lots of them. Only Becky don't. I'm glad Santa likes red curls, since I got so many.”

Jake burst out laughing at the pint-sized chatterbox. Before he realized what she was up to, her greasy hands pushed his lips away from his teeth. Gagging, he jerked his head out of her reach and grabbed his handkerchief. “What are you doing?”

“Do you got false teeth?” she asked, fascinated with his mouth. “My granny does. She don't eat corn on the cob, but I do. Sometimes Mama won't cook it ‘cause she says I make a mess, and ladies don't suppose to make messes, and I'm a lady.”

Jake spit again and again, trying to get rid of the gritty motor oil. “I know, you told me.”

“Oh yuck!” she cried. “You spit — that's not nice!”

“Neither is sticking your fingers in someone's mouth,” he said, wiping his tongue. Quick as a wink, the girl plopped her bony rear-end onto his lap. Gone was the mowing deck. He was staring at Santa's beloved red curls.

“Why you stopping?”

“Because it's break time.” He leaned back on his hands to keep her hair out of his mouth.

The sharp bones dug deeper into his legs when she twisted around. Her hand pushed his face sideways.

“Why's your face all dirty? Mama don't like dirty faces.”

At the moment, Jake could care less what her mama liked. He planted her facing the hedge. “Go find your mama.”

Maggie rotated on the spot, her hands firmly on her hips. “You not got no kids, Mr. Jake?”

“As a matter of fact,” he replied, thinking this should get rid of her, “I've got three boys.”

Her face scrunched up as if he'd suddenly grown two heads and a horn. “You not got no girls?”

“No, just boys.”

“Poor Mr. Jake.” Disappointment drooped her shoulders when she walked toward the hedge. Then, as if remembering her manners, she stopped and waved. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Jake.”

His glimpsed her greasy rear end darting through the hedge.

The women came closer, and he listened to see if Maggie was with them. All he heard was Mrs. Wilson's soft voice, pointing out the property lines, but then—

“Maggie McGregor! Where have you been?”

He wondered if the kid's mother was as prissy as she sounded. What had Maggie said? “Ladies don't get dirty. Ladies don't make messes. Ladies don't say guts.” His boys would eat her alive.

The closing of the car doors had Jake craning his neck for a glimpse of the woman, but unfortunately the bushes were in the way. All he could see was the house, which had once been identical to his own. He listened to the car purr to life. Moments later, the sun disappeared behind the clouds, and they were gone along with the warmth of the afternoon.

The late August wind ruffled his hair as he continued to stare beyond the hedges. There were moments like this when his life seemed empty, like the old house. The peaceful afternoon began closing in, leaving him restless and out of sorts. As before, he took a couple of deep breaths, refusing to give in to the loneliness. He had his boys and it was enough. They were his sole reason for living.