The Orchard at the Edge of Town (26 page)

“What I'm talking about,” Adeline responded, enunciating every word, “is someone being in Granddad's apartment. I walked into the living room and heard a door slam.”

“A vacuum effect from you opening the front door. There's no one in there.” Janelle's gaze slid to Sinclair and she offered an apologetic smile. “This is a very safe town, Sinclair. Just like it was when you were a child.”

“I'm sure it is,” he responded, because, as far as he could tell, nothing much had changed in Benevolence since he'd left sixteen years ago. The streets were still clean, the houses and properties neat and tidy. Except for his brother's property. The one they'd both inherited from their grandfather.
It
was still a mess—old cars and trucks rotting on acres of riverfront property, weathered farmhouse filled to the brim with decades of junk.

Sinclair had come to town to take care of that. To turn the place into a home that his sister-in-law would be proud of. Gavin was supposed to be helping. Maybe if he could stop whining about missing his wife long enough, he'd be able to.

“It's why so many people prefer Benevolence to the big city,” Janelle said with a beatific smile. “Come on. Let's see if Byron's place will work for you. If not, I've got another in mind. On the opposite side of town as your brother's place, but it's quiet. Just like you want.”

She started up the exterior staircase, and he followed, metal clanking under his feet. He wasn't all that concerned about the interior of the apartment. As long as it was cleaner than the last one they'd seen, quieter than the third and didn't smell like wet dog and cigarette smoke like the first, he'd take it. He had too much work to do to waste time looking for an apartment. Unfortunately, the closest hotel was thirty miles away. He could have continued staying with his brother Gavin, but Gavin had spent the last five days whining and moaning about the fact that his pregnant wife had walked out of their single-wide trailer and gone to live with her family.

Seeing as how the single-wide trailer was stuffed to the gills with stuff, Sinclair couldn't blame Lauren for walking out. He'd have done the same. He
was
doing the same. No way did he plan to spend another night in that hellhole. He'd sleep in his truck first.

“Here we are,” Janelle called cheerfully as she stepped over what looked like jeans and a T-shirt and walked into the apartment. “Built in 1887 for railroad magnate Lincoln Bernard. His family lived here for nearly twenty years before they built that beautiful home on River Bluff. Grandview Manor?”

He nodded because he knew the place and because he thought that Janelle expected a response.

“My senior prom was there,” he offered, stepping over the clothes and walking into the apartment behind her.

“My daughter Willow's, too. You graduated together,” she reminded him. As if he could have forgotten. There'd been thirty-five kids in his graduating class. He'd known every one of them by name. They'd known him too.

That was the way things had been in Benevolence. Unless he missed his guess, it was the way things still were.

“I really don't think we should be in here,” Adeline interrupted from the doorway.

“Of course we should,” Janelle responded, flicking on a light in a small galley kitchen and motioning to the dinette set that sat in an alcove created by a window dormer. “What do you think, Sinclair? Perfect for a bachelor, yes?”

“Sure.” He moved past the kitchen, peered down a dark hall. There was a window at the far end, moonlight filtering in through the glass and speckling the floor with gold.

“I'm telling you, someone is in here.” Adeline pressed in beside him, the jeans and T-shirt Sinclair had stepped over clutched to her chest. “He's probably waiting in one of the rooms, hoping for a chance to attack.”

“You've been watching too many horror movies, Adeline,” Janelle said with a forced smile.

“I hate horror movies,” Adeline replied.

“I hate standing around when I could be getting something done,” Sinclair murmured, running his hand along the wall until he found a light switch. He flicked it on. Nothing. Not a footprint on the dusty floor. Two doors flanked each wall and a small cushioned bench sat under the window.

He opened the closest door, peered into a tiny office. No one there, but the room was clean and didn't smell like dog.

His opinion of the place was definitely going up.

He opened the next door and the next. A bathroom. A nice-sized bedroom. No one in either. The last door opened into the largest room. The master bedroom, he'd guess, the furniture heavy nineteenth century. There were two doors on the far wall. One opened into a small closet filled with suits, dress shirts and polished shoes. The other door was locked. He turned the knob twice. Just to be sure.

“That goes into the building next door,” Janelle said as she swiped her hand over the antique dresser and frowned at the layer of dust on her palm. “May Reynolds had a fabric store there up until a month ago. I'm sure you remember that.”

Maybe. He hadn't spent much time in town when he was a kid. He'd been too busy trying to keep the farmhouse from falling down around his ears.

“Is it locked on the other side?” Not that it mattered. He'd done two tours in Iraq and one in Afghanistan. He'd slept in dugouts and under the stars. This place, locked door or not, was way safer than those had been.

“Of course. Byron made sure of that when he moved in. If I remember correctly, he installed a new metal door. We can go over and take a look at it if you want. The property is for sale, and I'm the Realtor.”

“
I'd
like to take a look. If it's not, maybe that's the door I heard slamming,” Adeline said, reaching past him to turn the door handle. She smelled like chocolate and berries, and something that reminded him of home.

Or what he'd always imagined home should be like.

Home growing up had been a house filled with junk, a grandfather who drank himself into a stupor every night and cold soup served in chipped white mugs. Home now was his high-rise apartment overlooking Puget Sound. Clean lines. Modern. Dinner out most nights because he didn't like to cook.

“Adeline, really,” Janelle sighed. “Let it go. No one is in the apartment. No one
was
in the apartment. The door on this side and the other both need keys. Byron and May are the only people who have them.”

“I know that, and I also know what I heard.” Adeline's hands settled on her hips, the clothes she'd picked up hanging limply, the gap in her dress revealing that sliver of creamy flesh again. His gaze dropped to the spot. How could it not? The woman had curves. Nice ones. And the kind of smooth, silky skin that begged to be touched.

“For God's sake, Adeline! Put your shirt on,” Janelle snapped. That got Adeline moving.

She pulled the clothes back over her stomach, her entire face the color of overripe tomatoes.

She had freckles.

He hadn't noticed that before.

And eyes that might have been violet.

She left the room too quickly for him to see.

“I'm sorry about that, Sinclair. Adeline has always been very imaginative.” Janelle ran a hand over her perfectly styled, perfectly highlighted hair. She had to be in her fifties. She looked a couple of decades younger.

He knew how much time and money it took to achieve that.

Kendra had been thirty and hell-bent on looking twenty-one. He'd put up with her obsession because she'd been smart and driven. They'd been a good match. Until they weren't.

Then they'd both walked away without a second glance.

Just the way he wanted it.

No months of back and forth sparring. No breaking up and getting back together. None of the overly emotional stuff Gavin was going through with his wife. Just—
this isn't working out anymore
.
It's time to move on
.

“How do you know she was imagining things?”

Janelle raised a razor-thin brow. “Sinclair, this is Benevolence, Washington. The crime rate is so low we barely need a sheriff's department.”

That wasn't quite true, and they both knew it. There'd been a murder when Sinclair was a kid. Quite a few petty crimes. Vandalism. Drug use. Domestic violence. Those things existed in every town. Even ones that seemed as perfect as Benevolence.

He didn't bother correcting her. He wanted to sign the lease and get on with things. He had an overnight bag in his truck, a six-pack of Pepsi and enough paperwork to catch up on to keep him busy until dawn. “I'm not concerned about the crime rate. As long as I can have the place for the next couple of weeks, we're good.”

“The lease is for a month,” she reminded him as if they hadn't spent the better part of the afternoon hashing out the terms of his rental agreement. He'd pay for a full month. He had no intention of being there that long.

“With the option of extending for a second month,” she continued. “You never know. You might decide Benevolence is the place for you. You won't believe how many people come here for a visit and end up staying.”

He'd believe it.

The place had plenty of small-town charm, lots of interesting architecture and enough appeal to attract people from all over the country.

What it didn't have was enough appeal to keep him there for any longer than necessary. He'd seen the beauty of Benevolence when he was a kid. He'd seen the ugliness too. The gossip, the whispers. The pointed fingers. His family had always been on the wrong side of those fingers. He and his brother had been the topic of one too many whispered conversations, the focus of too many sad shakes of the head.

They'd grown up in the shadow of the tragedy that had taken their parents. Sinclair had no intention of living there again.

He followed Janelle into the living room.

Adeline was there, a gray T-shirt pulled over the dress, her long braid tucked into its collar.

She had freckles.

A lot of them.

And eyes that were such a deep blue they looked purple.

“I'm going to get the rental agreement. Why don't you come with me, Adeline?” Janelle hooked her arm through her daughter's and tried to tug her to the door, but Adeline seemed as determined to stay as Janelle was to make her leave.

She pulled away, dropped down onto the plaid sofa. “I'll just look around. Make sure there's nothing here that Granddad might need.”

“I already packed up most of Byron's things.” Janelle frowned, glancing at her watch impatiently.

“All his old suits are hanging in the closet. His church clothes. Did you clean out the guest room? I bet there are a couple boxes' worth of stuff in there.”

“I'm not worried about the clothes or the stuff,” Sinclair cut in. He'd been in town nearly a week and hadn't completely unpacked his suitcase. That would feel too much like a long-term commitment. “I just need a place to sleep.”

“You won't like it here, then. I'm running the chocolate shop for my grandfather while he recovers, and I work pretty late. I also make a lot of noise,” Adeline said, pulling her braid out from the collar of her shirt and flicking it over her shoulder.

“Adeline!” Janelle nearly shouted. “Please, will you just leave well enough alone! Byron agreed that a short-term rental while he was recuperating was a good idea.”

“He's on morphine, Mom. He'd agree to anything.”

“For God sake! The man knows his own mind. No matter how much morphine he's been given. I'm getting the lease!” Janelle stalked from the apartment, her high-heeled boots clicking against the metal stairs.

“That went well,” Adeline said, standing and stretching, the shiny orange fabric shimmying up her thighs.

“What? Pissing your mother off?” he responded, and she met his eyes, offered a smile that had him smiling in return.

He didn't know why.

There wasn't all that much to smile about.

He was in a hometown he hated, working to restore a house that should have been condemned years ago. He'd spent five days listening to his brother complaining while
he
hauled debris from the home they'd once shared with their grandfather.

“I do that without any effort at all,” she replied. “What I was really trying to do was get her out of here so I could find some scissors and cut myself out of this,” She plucked at the dress. “Thing.”

“You don't want her to know you're stuck in it?” he asked, following her as she ran down the hall and into the office.

“I don't want her to know I'm taking scissors to it. If she finds out, she'll tell May. If she tells May, May could very well die of heart failure before the wedding.”

“May?”

“The bride. She's seventy-six. Seventy-two if you ask her fiancé.” She opened a drawer in a rolltop desk that sat against the wall, rifled through it and pulled out a pair of scissors. “Not that that will matter if she dies before her big day.”

She hurried from the room, the scent of chocolate and berries filling the air as she moved.

And he realized he was smiling again.

He didn't want to be amused by her.

He didn't want to be amused by anything in Benevolence.

He'd spent most of his childhood planning his escape.

He'd wanted to put it all behind him—every moment of living in
that
house on
that
property in a town where perfection was the chosen sport and people competed for the honor of having the best garden, the best Christmas decorations, the most well-kept yard.