Beauty in Hiding Page 3

  “We cleaned them up,” Jack said. “The microwave was…well, it’s clean now.”

  Gramps added, “It looked like someone had nuked a rat in there.”

  “Nice visual.” She couldn’t help smiling.

  “Smelled like it, too,” Gramps added. “But we got it clean.”

  “You helped?”

  “Not like you were gonna do it,” the old man said, “snoring and drooling on the sofa out there.”

  “I was not!”

  She glared at Gramps, whose eyes crinkled with his smile. Proud of himself, the old codger.

  Jack opened the cabinet, though not before she saw the corners of his lips twitch in an almost grin.

  She was stifling her amusement when she caught sight of what was in the cabinet. Plates, bowls, cups.

  “What did you…? Where did all that stuff come from?”

  “Oh,” Jack said. “I had some extras. Didn’t have much silverware, but I grabbed a box of plastic ware at the store. Should hold you over ’til you go shopping. There’s a little convenience store in Nutfield for essentials, but you’d be better off starting at the Walmart in Epping. Cheaper than our local store.”

  Cheap was good. Cheap was necessary.

  She spied a sack on the floor beside Gramps. Snatching it up, she asked, “How long was I asleep?”

  “Couple hours, if you drifted right off,” Jack said.

  “Hours? I can’t have!” That would mean it was nearly nine o’clock. She sat at the table and looked around for a clock, but there was none. Her phone…she’d tossed it somewhere earlier.

  “Girl, you haven’t slept in days,” Gramps said. “I’m just glad you got us here without snoozing at the wheel and killing us both.”

  “I would never…” She glanced at Jack, who’d gone back to stirring the concoction on the stove. “I was wide awake when I was driving. Just… I guess…”

  Jack grabbed bowls from the cabinet. “Tired, obviously.”

  “She works too hard,” Gramps said.

  “Works?” Jack ladled some soup into a bowl, shooting her a glance over his shoulder. “All I’ve seen her do is sleep.”

  “Trust me, son. She works like a dog. Doesn’t get enough rest.”

  She cleared her throat. “I’d prefer you didn’t talk about me as if I weren’t in the room.”

  “Well, go on, then. Get out.” Gramps waved his hand toward the hallway, then laughed at his joke. “It sure was easier when you were sleeping.”

  She ignored the remark and looked in the grocery sack. She found a box of plastic forks, spoons, and knives.

  Jack slid a bowl of soup in front of her. “Red had only nice things to say about you.”

  There was that kindness again. What was she supposed to do with that?

  But what had Red…Gramps said? The man was more lucid tonight than he normally was at this hour, amazing considering the day they’d had. It figured that the one night she needed his dementia to flare up, he’d be clear-thinking.

  Had he exposed her? She glanced at the old man, who winked at her. When she turned toward Jack, he was setting another bowl of soup on the table, and he seemed content, guileless, and utterly without suspicion. How long could that last?

  She opened the package of plastic ware and handed a spoon to Gramps.

  He grunted his thanks.

  Jack slid into the chair beside them.

  “No soup?” she asked.

  “I ate chili earlier. Go ahead.”

  She lifted her spoon, then set it down when she caught Gramps’s pointed look. Apparently, even though Jack was there, even though this was the most surreal experience in the world, Gramps would still pray.

  He set both of his old, wrinkled hands on the table. She took one. After a moment’s pause, Jack took his other. Gramps eyed them both until she and Jack closed the circle with their joined hands.

  While Gramps prayed, she tried not to think about the warmth and strength of Jack’s grip.

  Men often seemed that way at first, didn’t they? But they always had a reason behind their kindness.

  Considering all Jack had done for them already, she had little doubt about what he was after.

  Chapter Five

  Derrick’s phone alarm woke him at five a.m. It took him a minute to remember… He’d spent the night at Gramps’s house. He figured he’d hear them when they got home from wherever they’d been, and he’d left his door open to be sure.

  But nothing had awakened him all night long.

  He pulled on the pants he’d worn the day before and walked down the hallway. Gramps’s door was open, and the bed was empty. He looked in Harper’s room and found the same thing.

  They hadn’t come home, and they hadn’t called.

  Where were they? Where would she go?

  He would stay to confront her when she got back, but he had to work. So he left a note on the kitchen table—Where are you guys? I’m worried. Please call as soon as you see this. And he left for the long drive back to Baltimore. He’d be lucky to get home and showered and to work on time.

  Another thing he could blame on Harper Cloud.

  Despite her pretty face and gorgeous body, she was more trouble than she was worth. After all he’d done for her, she’d betrayed him again and again.

  Because if Gramps were in the hospital, Harper would have called. If he were sick, she would have called. She hadn’t called, and she wasn’t home.

  When he found her, she’d be sorry she ever crossed him.

  Chapter Six

  The deluge that began on Saturday continued into Tuesday morning. The leaves had changed and fallen weeks before, and the snow wouldn’t start for another month. The tourists stayed home in November, giving Jack more time than usual to work on his real estate business.

  The house he lived in and the one next door had come as a package deal, a great deal, but they both needed a lot of work. He’d decided to live in this one while he fixed it up and rent the other to offset some of the costs.

  Which was how he’d come to meet Harper and Red.

  How had their night gone? With no phone, they had to feel cut off from civilization. He’d tried to help, which had earned gratitude from Red and suspicion from Harper.

  In his experience, people who didn’t trust others often couldn’t be trusted themselves. What was Harper hiding behind that pretty face?

  So much of what he’d seen the night before had felt incongruous. The old man’s suitcase was high-dollar, but hers had been falling apart. Her jeans had looked several steps above what a person could find on a Target clearance rack, not that he was any kind of expert on fashion. Even soaking wet, they’d sure looked good on her. The Volkswagen was beat up, but both Red’s jacket and hers were good brands. He might not know jeans, but he knew L.L. Bean.

  And then there was the address she’d put on the rental application. Call him paranoid, but renting to someone he’d never met before had made him nervous, especially when it all happened in a matter of days. He’d put the house up for rent on Friday, she’d contacted him on Saturday, and they’d arrived on Monday. Who relocates to another state that fast? Of course he’d done a credit check. Harper Cloud didn’t have much in the way of credit history, but there was nothing that struck him as unusual.

  He’d also checked out her current residence. The address she listed was located in Maryland and worth over a million dollars. The property in Maryland was owned by Harold Burns. Red.

  Why were they living in a dumpy rental when he owned a million-dollar home?

  Incongruous.

  Jack finished sanding the baseboards and stood to admire his work. Dust hovered in the air and landed on his plastic-covered furniture and TV, which he’d pushed to the middle of the room before starting the project. After he painted the baseboards in the entire house, he’d refinish the hardwood floors until they gleamed. He’d already replaced all the windows and painted all the walls. Next, he’d tackle the bathrooms and the kitchen.

>   He stared out the new bay window at the front yard. The rain was tapering off, the sun trying to peek through the thick clouds and trees that surrounded his property. As usual, the street out front was quiet. There was only a handful of houses on this narrow side road.

  He showered, dressed, and debated what to do. He couldn’t stop thinking about his new neighbors. Finally, he walked the hundred yards or so between their houses before he could talk himself out of it.

  The Jetta was in the same spot where she’d parked it the night before.

  At the front porch, he stopped. Of course they hadn’t left. Red couldn’t navigate the steps.

  Jack quickly calculated the cost of adding a ramp and groaned. He had to do it, little though he wanted to.

  He made it to the front door and was about to knock when he heard a crash inside.

  Then a roar of anger. “Why are you doing this to me?” Red screamed.

  “Gramps, stop—”

  “Stop calling me that.” His voice rumbled and shook. “I don’t know you.”

  Jack knocked on the door. “Everything okay?”

  Harper said, “Now’s not a good—”

  “Help!” Red’s shout sounded terrified. “Help me!”

  Jack tried the knob, but the door was locked. “Harper, open the door.”

  “Help!” The man’s cries continued. “Help, help, help! She’s gonna kill me. Help!”

  Jack pounded on the door. “Open up, or I’ll break it down.”

  He barely heard Harper over the old man’s screams. “I’m coming. Hold—”

  Another crash sounded through the door.

  Jack yanked his keys from his pocket and fished for the right one.

  The door opened.

  Harper stood on the other side, tears streaming down her cheeks, an angry gash on her forehead near her hairline. A small drop of blood was making its way into her eyebrow. Before he had time to react, she turned and crossed to Red, who was standing in front of the recliner.

  “Help me!” He looked like a different person from the one Jack had met the night before. His skin was mottled and red, his eyes were wild. His hands were fisted, trembling.

  “Gramps, sit down.” Harper stood in front of him, reached for his arms, but he slapped her hands away.

  “Get away from me!”

  “Please. I know it’s—”

  “Don’t touch me!” Red looked past her at Jack. “You’ve got to help me. She kidnapped me!”

  Jack focused on Harper again. “What happened?”

  “He didn’t sleep well, and he doesn’t remember—”

  “She’s a liar, a liar. I have no idea who that woman is. You have to get me out of here.”

  “Okay, okay.” Jack didn’t know what else to say as he crossed the room. He glanced at Harper. “Why don’t you go in the other room?”

  “You don’t know how to handle him.”

  Gramps screamed. “I want to go home! Somebody take me home!”

  “All right.” Jack ignored Harper and focused on Red. “You need to sit down and tell me about your home, okay? Can you do that?”

  “I have to go.” But the old man seemed to be losing steam.

  “You will,” Jack said. “Soon. But first, I need to get my truck. And I need to know where we’re going. Just…” He gently took the man’s upper arms in his hands. “Let’s just sit and make a plan, okay?”

  He could feel Harper behind him but didn’t chance a glance. He’d heard of this, dementia patients getting angry and aggressive. He’d never witnessed it and had no idea how to handle it. By the looks of things, Harper hadn’t done such a bang-up job on her own.

  Red settled into the chair with a harrumph. “Take me home.”

  “Where is your home, Red?”

  The man blinked at the use of his name. “Do I know you?”

  “I’m Jack. We met last night.”

  The man seemed to accept that without question. “My house is in Maryland. Maryland.”

  “I bet it’s nice.”

  “Yes. In Maryland. This isn’t Maryland.” The man nodded, his lower lip trembling. The fight was gone. Red’s voice was high-pitched, nearly a sob. “I want to go home.”

  “I know.”

  Behind Jack, the TV came on. A game show, by the sound of it. The volume went up, and Red focused on the screen.

  Jack sat back on his heels and turned to see Harper. She settled on the arm of the couch and watched Red. They stayed like that for a few minutes—her watching Red, Jack watching them both. He didn’t know if the tirade was over or if Red would start again. Tears streamed down Harper’s cheeks. The wound on her forehead was dripping, and she dabbed at it with the sleeve of her sweatshirt.

  Red seemed to have forgotten the whole incident.

  Jack stood and faced Harper. “Can we talk in the kitchen, please?”

  Her gaze flicked to Red, to the TV, to him. She stepped into the adjacent room, where she settled into a chair, propped her elbows on the table, and dropped her face into her hands.

  “What happened?”

  She sighed, didn’t look up. “He’s done this before. Never that bad, though.”

  “He’s under a doctor’s care?”

  Her head jerked up. Her glare was filled with malice. Or was that defensiveness? “Of course he is.”

  Jack started to speak, stopped at the sight of the blood dripping into her eyebrow. He scanned the counter, found the roll of paper towels he’d left the day before, and snagged one. He moistened it in the sink and kneeled in front of her chair. “That looks like it hurts.”

  She touched the cut with her ring finger and winced. “He didn’t mean to do it.”

  Jack dabbed at the cut with the paper towel. It was bleeding badly. He pressed the towel against it, assessed her face for other wounds.

  She met his gaze and leaned away. “I can hold it.”

  Their fingers touched as she took the paper towel, and she flinched.

  Okay, then.

  He rocked back on his heels, stood, and peeked into the other room. Red was focused on the game show, eyes vacant.

  He turned back to Harper. “Why are you here?”

  “We live here.” Her voice was tired, as if she’d fought a war’s worth of battles since he’d seen her last. “I have the paperwork to prove it.”

  “That’s not what I mean.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “I came to see if you needed anything.”

  “We’re fine.”

  “Right. You had it well in hand when I arrived.”

  He waited for biting words, but her shoulders slumped. Her voice was barely a whisper when she said, “You have no idea.”

  When she said nothing else, Jack returned to the living room. Red was staring at the game show. Pieces of a broken coffee cup were scattered against the hearth beside his chair. Jack picked them up, saw blood on the jagged edge of what had been the cup’s handle.

  In the kitchen, he grabbed one of the plastic bags he’d brought in the night before and a couple of paper towels. He collected the broken shards of the cup, then wiped up the little bit of coffee that had spilled. Good thing the cup hadn’t been full of hot coffee.

  Once he had the mess cleaned, he returned to the kitchen and shoved the smaller plastic bag into the trash bag that lay crumpled on the floor beside the counter. He made a mental note to bring them a can—he was sure there was an extra in his garage—and sat at the table across from her. He kept his voice low and tried for kind. “I’m guessing he smashed the cup against the fireplace, then swung at you with the handle still in his hand.”

  “He wasn’t trying to hurt me.”

  “I’m not judging. Just trying to understand.”

  She met his gaze, her eyes narrowed, her lips closed tight.

  “That bruise on your arm. Did he—?”

  “No!” She yanked down the sleeve of her sweatshirt, then the other one. She’d been careful to keep it covered the night before.
He’d glimpsed it when she’d been sleeping. “Gramps didn’t… I just… It’s not important.”

  He studied her face. Was there a trace of a bruise on her cheek, too?

  She turned away. “Gramps would never hurt me.” She lifted the paper towel, looked at the red stain, and returned it to the wound. “It was an accident.”

  “The other bruises—”

  “How is it any of your business?”

  Good question. It didn’t take him long to find a good answer. “Neighbors have to look out for each other. It seems you two could use a friend.”

  Her eyes widened, filled, and she dropped her face into her hand.

  What was going on with these two? Where had her bruises come from? If that sweet old man was hurting her, what could Jack do about that?

  How was he supposed to navigate this minefield?

  And why couldn’t he just leave them alone?

  Chapter Seven

  Why wouldn’t Jack leave them alone? He was likable, handsome. Surely he had better things to do on a Tuesday than hang around her house. What was he after? Harper couldn’t get the question out of her mind as she drove home from the store that afternoon. She was grateful that Jack had offered to hang out with Gramps so she could shop without dragging him along. Considering how tired Gramps was, Harper was happy to leave him at the house. The question remained, though—why was Jack Rossi being so nice to them?

  She’d have to find a way to repay his kindness before he came up with his own plan.

  The problem was, she had nothing to offer. Hardly any skills, barely enough cash to get by—and less of that after the trip to Walmart. No job, no prospects, no plans. She had no friends, no influence, no talent. She couldn’t even afford to pick up a pizza to share for lunch.

  She hated owing people.

  One rash decision and her whole life was a big tangle of sticky threads she’d never straighten out. And that was okay. She’d known that going in, known she’d never be able to undo this decision, and she’d likely never recover from it. She could live with that after all Gramps had done for her. But the memory of their terrible morning, Gramps’s fear, then anger, then aggression. The dementia had never been this bad before. Sure, he’d been forgetful at times. When Derrick quit coming around, Gramps had fallen into a funk, which kept him from doing the activities he enjoyed—gardening, walks. He hadn’t even been attending church as regularly. And now, Harper had ripped him away from everything he knew, everything familiar. Away from the home where he’d spent most of his life, from the memories, from the photographs and souvenirs of a life well lived.