Last Chance for Justice Page 3

  “Seat yourself,” a voice called from behind the counter. “I’ll be with you in a minute.”

  Rachel saw her mother nod, though she didn’t glance toward the owner of the voice as they made their way to the back booth. No doubt Lynn knew exactly who had called out to them and had chosen not to respond.

  “That’s Jolene Trump,” Lynn whispered as they settled across from one another in the booth. Rachel couldn’t help but notice that her mother had chosen the side that would allow her to keep her back turned toward the rest of the room. “That woman must be a hundred if she’s a day,” Lynn continued in her hushed tone, leaning across the table so Rachel could hear. “She was working here when I was a kid, and she was no spring chicken then.”

  In moments the woman zeroed in on their table, bearing two glasses of water and two menus. Rachel smiled in welcome, noticing the white waitress uniform, covered by a frilly yellow apron that looked like it had been around nearly as long as Jolene. Hands covered with age spots and blue veins, yet surprisingly steady, placed the water and menus on the table. Lynn’s head was bent, as if fascinated with the menu in front of her.

  “I’d tell you our specials if we had any,” said the woman, chuckling as she spoke, “but we don’t. We just fix the same thing every day, take it or leave it. Most people take it. And they like it too. Been here before? You don’t look familiar.”

  Rachel glanced at her mother once again, waiting for a response. At last Lynn raised her head and looked into the wrinkled face of the woman who Rachel had heard was famous for declaring that she couldn’t quit working at Bert’s or both she and the eatery would die. A lot of people in Bloomfield, including Rachel’s grandfather, had speculated over the years that she might be right.

  Lynn’s smile appeared forced. “Jolene, it’s good to see you again. It’s been a long time.”

  The old woman’s faded blue eyes widened, and her forehead wrinkled a bit more. Rachel realized their waitress was probably trying to raise her eyebrows, but she didn’t have any—didn’t even make an effort to draw them on as so many older women seemed to do. The thought brought a curious question to Rachel’s mind as she noticed that her mother’s eyebrows had grown thinner and lighter recently. Would she soon have to resort to those awful penciled-on brows that left women looking as if they were perpetually surprised? Rachel certainly hoped not.

  “Lynn Cofield? Is that you? Why, I haven’t seen you since . . .” Jolene paused, frowning as if trying to focus on a long-ago time. Her face softened as the memory obviously returned. “It was when your mama died, wasn’t it? Oh my, that’s been awhile now. What—five, ten years? Maybe more.”

  Lynn blinked, and Rachel wondered if she was fighting tears.

  “Nearly ten years,” Lynn answered, her voice surprisingly calm. “Yes. And it’s Lynn Myers now.” She smiled, no doubt in an effort to temper the correction, Rachel mused. “I haven’t been a Cofield since I got married more than thirty-five years ago.”

  Jolene lifted her head and nodded slowly, her short, blue-gray perm bobbing with her. “Ah yes, I remember now. You up and married that stranger that came into town, didn’t you? Nearly broke your poor mama’s heart, moving out of Bloomfield the way you did. And so far! Why would you want to move so far away? Always seemed to me you two could have settled down here. Nothing wrong with living in Bloomfield, you know. I’ve been here all my life, and I can tell you, it’s a fine place to live.”

  Lynn bit her lip, and Rachel could only imagine the effort it took to restrain her words. After all, her mother hadn’t exactly moved to the ends of the earth; four hundred miles wasn’t far at all. Besides, she had to go where her husband worked, didn’t she? Rachel was proud of the way her mother held her smile as she spoke.

  “Yes, Bloomfield is a fine place to live. And now my daughter, Rachel, and I are here for a few days—maybe longer—to get things settled with my brother’s estate.”

  The woman’s eyes widened even farther. “Your brother’s estate? Of course! Myron Cofield. He did pass away recently, didn’t he?” She leaned down slightly and lowered her voice to a near whisper. “I even heard some scuttlebutt that you might be coming back for that reason, but then I forgot all about it, especially since I didn’t hear anything about a funeral. Strange, don’t you think? But then, Myron was a strange one—no offense intended.” She grinned and raised herself upright again. “Well, so here you are, you and your daughter. You gonna stay up at Myron’s old place?”

  Lynn hesitated. “I’m . . . not sure yet. As soon as we eat, we thought we’d head over there and see if it’s livable. If not, we’ll get a room at the bed and breakfast here in town.”

  Jolene nodded. “That’s what I’d do, for sure. The bed and breakfast is a fine establishment—good food and nice, clean rooms. But Myron’s place?” She shivered. “You couldn’t pay me to stay there, not even for one night. The house is bad enough, but that groundskeeper, old Jason? A lot of people say he’s harmless, and I’m sure that’s true. But he loves hanging out at that old cemetery just way too much, and that’s not normal if you ask me.”

  Rachel wanted to say that indeed no one had asked her, but she figured if her mother could restrain her words, so could she.

  “So,” Jolene said, pulling her pencil and order pad from the yellow apron’s front pocket, “you two ready to order or do you want to study the menu for a while?”

  Rachel breathed a sigh of relief, sensing her mother was glad for the change in subject. “I’ll have a pulled pork sandwich,” she said, buying her mother a little time, “with cole slaw and fries and a root beer. I’m starved.”

  Jolene scribbled the order and then looked at Lynn.

  “I’ll have the same,” she said, smiling in what Rachel imagined was an attempt at levity, “but hold the fries and make it a diet soda. I’m trying to get rid of these extra fifteen pounds I’ve been carrying around for a while now.”

  Jolene smirked as she wrote down the order. “Just like nearly everybody else around here, trying to lose weight. Doesn’t do much good though, does it? Everybody I see keeps carrying around those extra fifteen or twenty pounds, no matter how many diet sodas they drink.” She shrugged. “Me? I don’t worry about it. At my age, who cares?”

  She cackled as she walked away, and Lynn leaned forward, whispering once again. “How fair is it that she can say something like that? Jolene’s never worried about her weight a day in her life; she’s always been as skinny as a rail. She doesn’t understand that some of us are calorically challenged.”

  Rachel smiled, knowing her mom wasn’t being mean or catty, though “calorically challenged” had become her way of referring to herself lately. Reaching across the table to pat her mom’s hand, Rachel changed the subject. “The news of our arrival should be all over town by the end of the day, don’t you think?”

  Lynn appeared surprised for a moment. Then she nodded. “I’m sure you’re right. Now that Jolene knows we’re here, everyone from one end of Main Street to the other should know by sunset.”

  By the time Lynn and Rachel returned to the car, complaining all the way that they were so full they never wanted to eat again, Beasley greeted them with enthusiasm. His ears were on high alert when they opened the doors, and he looked at them anxiously, as if waiting for the all-clear to jump out of the car.

  “Just a few more minutes, Beasley,” Lynn said, reaching back to ruffle the soft golden fur on top of the dog’s head. “As soon as we get to Myron’s place, I’ll let you out to run, I promise.”

  The dog seemed to accept her at her word and lay back down on the seat as Rachel pulled out of the parking lot and headed in the direction of Cemetery Drive, which would take them to their destination.

  Couldn’t they have named the street something else? Lynn wondered. Who on earth names a road Cemetery Drive? She sighed. People in Bloomfield, of course. There’s a cemetery at the end of the drive, so . . .

  She shook her head. Only her brother would have wanted to live in that ugly mausoleum next to a cemetery. And now the place belonged to her. She still hadn’t decided if that would turn out to be a blessing or a curse.

  It took less than five minutes to reach their destination. Rachel pulled the Corolla into the long, weed-infested gravel driveway and parked while Lynn found herself wondering just what this so-called caretaker named Jason actually did around there. Apparently, his caretaking didn’t extend to Myron’s place—correction, her place—as the driveway showed signs of neglect; although the adjoining cemetery looked fairly decent by comparison. And surprisingly, though the house could use a coat or two of paint, she had to admit that it didn’t look as bad as she’d expected.

  She climbed out of the car and opened the back door to let Beasley out. She stood next to the Toyota and looked up at the somewhat eerie two-story home, once again wondering what had possessed her brother to want to live here alone for those many years. Had his heart really been so broken by his fiancée’s rejection that this had become his hideaway from the world, or had his mind been broken too?

  She shuddered as she once again forced her eyes to the right, toward the sprawling cemetery that seemed to spew forth from the side of the big old house and spread out in waves across the adjoining countryside. At the far corner, just beyond the oldest headstones, sat a small building—more of a shack than anything else—and Lynn recognized it as the place where Jason lived. Myron always assured her that the strange man was harmless and that the two otherwise male recluses enjoyed one another’s limited company. When Lynn saw the tattered curtain on the building’s one window move, she realized they were being watched.

  “Let’s go inside,” she said, reaching for Rachel’s hand. “We may as well see what we’re up against here. If it’s as bad as I think it is, we’ll climb right back into the car and get that room at the bed and breakfast, I promise.”

  Rachel laughed as they approached the expansive porch graced by three old rockers that appeared to wait for them. “Don’t worry about it on my account, Mom. You know I love a good adventure. Staying in this old place tonight would be fun.”

  Fun? Lynn raised her eyebrows and glanced at her only child. Most definitely Daniel’s daughter. I love her dearly, but I sometimes wonder if she didn’t just skip my genes entirely.

  Opening her purse, she fished around for the key that had been mailed to them with the letter informing her of Myron’s death and her inheritance. After she’d assessed the inside, she and Rachel would go out to locate Myron’s grave and pay their final respects. But for now, she had to face the inside of a house that had given her chills even when Myron still lived in it. However would she deal with it now that he was gone and the house belonged to her?

  Taking a deep breath, she placed the key in the lock, fought to turn it, and finally succeeded, pushing the door open with a creak that would have wakened the dead . . . who were unnervingly close by, she reminded herself.

  She tightened her grip on Rachel’s hand, and the two of them stepped inside.

  Chapter 3

  “Eeeew,” Rachel complained as the closed-up building unleashed its musty odors on the intruders. “This place stinks! It smells like somebody died in here.”

  “Somebody did,” Lynn reminded her, “though I don’t think that’s what you smell. I understand the groundskeeper found Myron nearly right away after he died, so it’s not like he was lying here dead for long.”

  “You’re right. Sorry, Mom.” Rachel squeezed Lynn’s hand before letting it go. “I guess it’s just the smell of an old house that hasn’t had any windows open since before Uncle Myron died.”

  “And probably not many before. I can remember this place being closed up and stuffy no matter what time of day or season we came to visit. It was part of Myron’s eccentric recluse persona, I suppose.”

  “Ya think?” Rachel’s laugh had a nervous edge to it as the two took a couple of tentative steps farther into the entryway. “Eccentric is putting it mildly.”

  Lynn smiled. Her confident, daring daughter seldom showed any misgivings, but Lynn sensed them now. Not that she could blame her. Lynn was having her own confidence crisis at the moment.

  “Where are the lights around here?” Rachel asked, running her hands along the walls. “You don’t think the power’s been turned off, do you?”

  Before Lynn could answer, an overhead light flipped on, and the two women jumped as they turned back toward the door. Framed by the outside sunlight, a man who appeared to be in his mid- to late sixties stood in the open doorway, staring at them, a gleam in his dark eyes that did nothing to calm Lynn’s already fragile nerves. She’d met Jason before, so it wasn’t as if she didn’t recognize him, but knowing his identity did not attest to his character. The man was so genuinely strange that he made her late brother look normal by comparison.

  Lynn swallowed. “Jason,” she said, trying to steady her voice, “it’s nice to see you again. I’m Lynn Myers, Myron’s sister, and this is my daughter, Rachel. We’ve met before. Do you remember?”

  The old man squinted his eyes as if studying them while searching his memory banks. “Sure,” he said at last. “I remember. I don’t forget nothin’. Got a memory like a steel trap, I do.”

  Rachel offered her hand, though Lynn sensed her daughter’s hesitancy. “Hello, Mr. . . . ?”

  “Just Jason,” he said, scarcely touching her hand in response. “Don’t like bein’ called Mister.”

  Rachel nodded and withdrew her hand.

  “I knew you was comin’,” Jason said. “Myron told me if anything ever happened to him to watch out for you ’cause you’d be swoopin’ in to claim your inheritance.” He shrugged. “Don’t matter to me. Myron promised I could live in my little house out back as long as I wanted, whether he was here or not. Said he put it in his will.”

  His lined face grew hard then, as if daring the women to challenge him. Since Lynn hadn’t yet seen the will, she declined to do so. That would have to wait until she’d met with the estate lawyer and found out the details of the inheritance. Meanwhile, she’d have to put up with the odd caretaker and his cantankerous ways.

  Before she could answer, Beasley bounded in the door, nearly knocking Jason down in his enthusiasm. Waiting for a negative reaction from the groundskeeper, Lynn blinked in surprise when he instead leaned down and patted the dog on his head.

  “Hey there,” he said. “You must be Beasley. Myron told me about you. Said his sister mentioned you in a letter but he never did get to meet you. Don’t know why no one brought you here to visit us before.” He raised his head and shot an accusatory glance in Lynn’s direction before returning his attentions to the receptive animal. Beasley’s short tail wagged along with his entire rear end, and it was obvious the two had made an immediate connection.

  Great, Lynn thought, sending a silent scolding toward Beasley. A fine watchdog you are!

  Pushing away the temporary interruption caused by Beasley’s entrance, she forced a smile as she tried to pick up the conversation where they’d left off. “Yes, well, thank you for that information about Myron’s will, Jason. I . . . I’ll be meeting with Myron’s lawyer tomorrow. For now, we just wanted to check out the house and see if it will work for us to stay here for the few days we’ll be in town. If not, we’ll just go to the bed and breakfast and get a room there.”

  “Nope,” Jason said, shaking his head. “No need for you to do that. I cleaned up the kitchen and a bedroom and bathroom too, just ’cause I knew you’d be comin’. Course, I didn’t know there’d be two of you, so I didn’t clean but one room. I can clean another one if you’d like. There’s plenty of ’em.”

  “Oh, no, that won’t be necessary,” Lynn said, holding up her hand. “Rachel and I can share a room. That’s no problem at all. We appreciate all you’ve done already.”

  Jason paused before nodding. “Good. Follow me and I’ll show you which room you can use.”

  As the man stepped past them, headed for the stairway, Lynn caught a whiff of body odor that nearly knocked her over. She glanced at Rachel, whose eyes watered as she wrinkled her nose. Quite obviously, their host wasn’t big on baths or showers—or clean clothes either, for that matter. Of course, that didn’t matter a whit to Beasley, who scrambled up the stairs behind him.

  Keeping a safe distance, the two women followed. Lynn marveled at the solid condition of the handrail and the steps beneath her feet. Even the dark mahogany paneling that dominated the house seemed in mint condition, though it could no doubt benefit from a good scrubbing. The building was certainly old and musty, but at least it seemed to be in decent condition. Still, she couldn’t help but wonder at the cleanliness of the room that awaited them, considering who had done the so-called cleaning.

  Jason reached the top of the stairs and turned immediately to his left, stopping at the first room and pushing open the thick wooden door. The smell of lemon oil was a pleasant surprise, almost offsetting Jason’s presence as the two women stepped past him into a bright, spacious room. Two sets of heavy damask curtains were drawn back to reveal sparkling clean windows, and even the sunrays that shone through them seemed nearly devoid of dust particles.

  Lynn felt her eyes widen as she took in the king-sized four-poster bed in the middle of the room. The quilted comforter that covered it looked fresh-from-the-cleaners ready, giving her hope that the sheets and blankets were equally pristine. Spotting the door that opened into an adjoining bathroom, Lynn sidestepped toward it to peek inside. The porcelain, claw-footed tub sparkled as brightly as the toilet, sink, and small shower. Stunned . . . and grateful . . . Lynn smiled to herself.