Secrets, Lies & Love Read online

  Not much had changed in ten years. Nope, Littleton would never change. People might come and go, though most stayed or came back, but Littleton wouldn't change. Even the new buildings looked old, like they'd been there forever. Some kind of code the town council insisted on. No progress for Littleton. At least no progress that was visible to the eye. They did have the newest technology, computers and such and cable TV. Although, she hadn't noticed any satellite dishes either. Probably another code.

  Even the park looked the same. She guided her car through the narrow, winding streets. No fancy wood play sets for Littleton's kids. Same old-fashioned metal swings, slides and monkey bars. Looked like they added that new cork stuff on the ground though. At least they took some safety precautions.

  Meghan smiled as she passed Rich's Meat Market. No big grocery stores in Littleton, either. Nope, small shops still flourished here. Sam's Hardware Store, Mattie's Fabrics and Miller's Bakery lined up along Main Street, just like they had ten years earlier. In fact, like they had for generations. You had to drive twenty-five or thirty miles for a mall. Not that she cared. She liked the personal little shops. Shopping wasn't her favorite past time, and thirty miles wasn't all that far once you got on the highway.

  What prompted her parents to move away? How many times had her mother said what a great place Littleton was to raise kids, yet they moved when she was a senior in high school? No matter how many times she asked, they evaded her question. What happened? Now she'd never know. Even Aunt Beth couldn't tell her.

  Pulling into the parking lot of Aunt Clara's, she looked up at the old house. Really looked at it this time. Still the same old place, other than it had a fresh coat of paint, maybe a few new flowers out front. She always loved this house. Loved the floor to ceiling windows and the wraparound porch, not to mention the gingerbread and rounded tower room. Not all that different than Grandma and Aunt Beth's house. Her house now. Even the rose garden out back. Aunt Clara's pride and joy – her rose garden.

  Meghan sat for a minute and stared at the old house. How many times had she sat on that porch with Clara Blackwell, Aunt Clara to everyone in town? Aunt Clara wasn't really her aunt. Wasn't anyone's aunt that Meghan knew of, yet all the kids and half the adults called her that. Meghan never did know why. Gosh, back then Aunt Clara seemed old. Funny how everyone in their forties seemed old. Aunt Clara started the boarding house shortly after her parents died in the early 90s. Had to do something to earn an income, she said. Poor woman never held a job. Quit high school and cared for her sick parents all her life. To hear Clara tell it, it was a privilege. Poor thing never even dated. Only friends she had were the people who stopped to chat. Of course, there were plenty of them. Aunt Clara was a friendly, warm hearted person.

  Meghan always liked the woman and enjoyed talking to her. Aunt Clara had a kind word for everyone and used to sit on the porch and give homemade cookies or candy to the kids on their way home from school.

  All the kids made a point of walking past the house, even if they lived in the opposite direction. Meghan chuckled. Aunt Clara didn't care. Said she loved having children around.

  Meghan opened the car door, stopped and took a breath, inhaling the fresh clean air. Someone must have just finished cutting their grass. Nothing like this in the city. Nope, nothing like a small town to make you feel safe, secure. Not that she didn't feel safe at home with her parents. But living in that big house alone scared her. The neighborhood was safe enough, but all those news stories she heard on TV about break-ins made her nervous. Things like that didn't happen in small towns. Heck, if she remembered correctly, her parents never even locked their doors.

  Walking around the back of the house, Meghan decided to sit on the bench in the garden. Fragrances from all the different flowers mingled and comforted her. Roses, lily of the valley, lavender, four o'clocks and some she couldn't identify. One thing was sure – Aunt Clara still took pride in her garden.

  Leaning back on the bench, Meghan closed her eyes and thought about her childhood. She'd spent almost as much time with her grandparents and Aunt Beth as she did at home. Funny, it never occurred to her to look for their old house. Gram's house was home. Maybe, because her parents' house was tiny and never had the good smells coming from it. Gram always had something baking – pies, cookies, homemade bread. She canned a lot too. Every fall, Gram brought out the old apple peeler and jars. The old blue canner became a fixture on the stove for weeks. The scent of cinnamon and other spices took over the house. You couldn't walk in without the aroma of something delicious filling the air. Gram made the best apple and pumpkin pies. Her chicken soup was to die for.

  How odd that most of her childhood memories involved her grandmother.

  A squirrel running across the yard brought her back to the present. Thank goodness, she'd found a job. Living on her inheritance was fine for a while, but she wanted some security. Besides, after moving from town to town with her parents so many times, she wanted stability. The kind of stability she'd had for seventeen years before they left Littleton.

  From what Aunt Beth's lawyer, Mr. Blake, said, the house needed some work before she could move in. How Aunt Beth managed all these years alone, Meghan never knew. It had been several years since she'd seen her aunt. Gran and Aunt Beth visited them sometimes, but that had been at least five years ago, before Gran got sick.

  There was plenty of time to check the house out later. Right now she just wanted to get settled in and eat some dinner.

  * * *

  "So, how did your day go?" Aunt Clara handed her the plates to set the table.

  "Great, I got a job."

  "Good for you, where?"

  "At the school, I applied for the school secretary's position."

  Aunt Clara set the casserole on the table, pulled out a chair and sat down. "Good for you. When do you start?"

  "Can you believe tomorrow?"

  Aunt Clara laughed. "Don't surprise me none. School starts in three weeks. Bet Patrick's going crazy trying to get organized."

  "He did say he was busy." Meghan helped herself to a large portion of chicken and dumplings.

  "So, how's it going to feel working for your old boyfriend?"

  Meghan paused, her fork halfway to her mouth. How did Aunt Clara know? Not that Patrick was her boyfriend. He never gave her the time of day.

  Aunt Clara laughed. "I heard things back then. You kids thought you were so secretive. But I knew a lot more than anyone gave me credit for.

  Meghan set her fork down. She didn't like this kind of talk. In a small town like this, rumors spread quickly. She didn't need gossip about her. "You could hardly say he was my boyfriend. He never even knew I was alive."

  "Oh, he knew you, all right, and you sure had a crush on him." Aunt Clara patted Meghan's hand and smiled. "Don't worry, I don't gossip."

  "That was a long time ago, Aunt Clara. Besides, he's probably married by now."

  Aunt Clara shook her head. "Nope, not no more. Married and divorced."

  "Well, no matter." Meghan had to squelch the idea that she was still interested in Patrick. Married and divorced. She'd like to know more, but didn't dare ask. Didn't dare show interest. Not to Aunt Clara or anyone else. She pushed her food around on her plate, her appetite lost now that Aunt Clara brought up Patrick.

  "Eat," Aunt Clara said. "Going hungry isn't going to change your feelings about Patrick."

  "I have no feelings for Patrick. That was a long time ago. Heck, I was just a kid in school when Patrick went off to college. We didn't even have the same friends." Meghan forced a fork full of food into her mouth.

  "Can't fool me." Aunt Clara leaned back and chuckled. "I can see the way your eyes light up every time you say his name. It's all right, child. Patrick's been alone too long. Time he found someone else and settled down."

  Meghan forced herself to finish dinner. When Aunt Clara brought out an apple pie for dessert, Meghan groaned. "Just a small piece for me."

  At least, Aunt Clara had change
d the subject. Once Meghan relaxed, she actually enjoyed the meal. She swallowed her last bite full and carried her dish to the kitchen. Aunt Clara cooked almost as well as Gran.

  "No need to do that. Cleaning up comes with the meal. Go on now. Find something else to do. Go check out that new place in town, The Music Box."

  Not exactly what Meghan wanted to do, but she took advantage of an excuse to leave and hurried off. Time to check out her house. Fortunately, Mr. Blake had mailed her the keys.

  Chapter Four

  Meghan pulled into the driveway of her new home and gasped. Not quite what she expected. Certainly not what she remembered. Aunt Beth sure had let the place run down. Several of the shutters hung from only one screw. Amazing they didn't fall off. One good wind and they probably would. The wraparound porch looked like it might collapse if she stepped on it. Most of the balusters were missing or rotted. The gingerbread looked intact, but how rotten was that?

  She got out of the car and walked around the outside of the house. Thank God, someone had kept the grass cut. Too bad they hadn't pulled some of the weeds in the flower beds. Not that there were any flowers left, the weeds had so overcome them. Great, two windows were broken. Definitely need to get those fixed immediately. Who knew what kind of varmints had gotten inside? Meghan shuddered at the thought.

  The back porch didn't look much better than the front. She shivered. Something about the house looked ominous. Oh, well, standing out here wasn't doing her any good. Time to go in and see how much damage was inside. Obviously, the place had been left for ruins. A lot had been destroyed in such a short time. Surely, Aunt Beth hadn't lived like this. Meghan looked up at the shutters again. Looked like they'd been that way for some time.

  At the back door, she stepped carefully over the loose floorboards. Before the key went all the way into the lock, the door swung open. Not good. Not good at all. Cautiously making her way inside, Meghan prayed nothing, or no one, jumped out at her. Her fingers found the light switch on the wall next to the door, and thankfully the electricity hadn't been turned off.

  Light flooded the kitchen, and Meghan almost gagged at the stench. Whatever was in here was definitely rotten. Rotten or dead. Another shudder ran up her spine. Maybe she should just lock up and come back with her aunt's lawyer or someone.

  Something about the house drew her, and instead of backing out, she left the door open and ventured farther inside. The sink held a few dirty dishes, but nothing to warrant that kind of smell. The stove, caked with grease, looked rancid, but that wasn't it either. Nope, something died in here, of that she was pretty sure. Rats? Maybe? She forced open the kitchen window to help rid the place of the foul odor.

  The refrigerator held a few items of food, mostly jars. A dozen eggs and a half empty gallon of milk. Meghan was pretty sure they were spoiled, but the refrigerator didn't smell, so it wasn't that.

  She froze as footsteps approached the back of the house. Who the hell could that be?

  Looking around for a weapon or something to protect herself, she pulled open the drawer next to the fridge and grabbed the first thing she touched. A wooden spoon. Lot of good that was going to do. No time to look for anything else. She pasted herself into the corner next to the cabinet and waited. What or who she expected to see, she had no idea. This was silly. Why didn't she just stand out in the open? Confront whoever it was?

  Because she was a scaredy-cat that's why. Someone stood silhouetted in the door frame, the setting sun behind him.

  "Meghan," a familiar voice said.

  Meghan let out the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding and almost sunk to the floor. Her hands and legs trembled so badly from fear, she could hardly stand. So much for feeling safe.

  "Patrick? What are you doing here?" She stepped out from the corner where she'd been hiding, still holding the wooden spoon above her head.

  "I was going home and saw the lights. Thought I'd stop in and see if you needed anything." Patrick's gaze rose to the wooden spoon in her hand. "Are you all right?"

  Meghan lowered her hand and caught her breath. When she saw Patrick looking at the wooden spoon, she laughed. "I heard you coming, and I had no idea who it was." She held up the spoon. "My weapon."

  "Who did you think it was?"

  "I had no idea. But since a couple of the windows are broken, and the back door was unlocked, I wasn't taking any chances." Meghan dropped the spoon back into the drawer. "What I thought I was going to do with that..." A giggle erupted from her throat. "But it's the first thing I grabbed."

  Patrick wiggled his nose. "What's that God awful smell?"

  "Just what I was trying to find out. Smells dead whatever it is." Thankfully, someone else was here to help her find out. What she'd do if she found a dead animal, she had no idea. She doubted she'd be able to touch it no matter how small.

  Patrick looked around the kitchen and finally nodded to the corner, next to the sink. "Maybe that's our culprit."

  Meghan grimaced at the rat caught in the trap. "I was afraid of rats. Not a very big one."

  "Probably means there's more." Patrick grabbed a plastic bag off the counter, wrapped the rat, trap and all, and carried it outside to the garbage, came back in and washed his hands.

  Meghan shuddered at the thought of more rats. "Guess I'll have to call an exterminator." A cleaning crew would work wonders too, but she couldn't afford that. The kitchen needed updating and a fresh coat of paint would work wonders, but it was a nice size. She had forgotten how big it was. The floor to ceiling oak cabinets and the ones over the sink with glass doors looked decent. Definitely had potential.

  "Guess I may as well check out the rest of the place." She walked to the doorway into the dining room. "You wouldn't happen to know a handyman, would you? This place needs more work than I'm capable of doing."

  "Uh," Patrick stopped and looked everywhere but at her. "Didn't Mr. Blake tell you? Some of the town council want to tear this place down?"

  Meghan stopped dead in her tracks and stared at him. "Tear it down, why?"

  "To make room for apartments."

  "Apartments? You're kidding, right?"

  "Afraid not." Patrick looked away.

  "I don't get it. Why would they want to tear it down? It's a century home. Can't the council see the value in keeping it? Heck, I'll apply to get it on the National Register of Historic places. They can't tear it down. Besides it's my home. The only one I own."

  Patrick smiled. "Good, I was hoping you'd say that. It's going to be a fight, but I'm in it with you. I'm one of the few who held my ground. After all, they have to give you a chance to fix the place up. Sure it needs a lot of work, but still. The house holds a lot of history. Several other town council members are on your side also."

  "You're on the town council?"

  "Yeah, why?"

  Heat burned her face, and she turned away so he couldn't see how red it turned. She shrugged. "I don't know. It just surprised me." What else did this man do? She hurried into the dining room before he had a chance to question her further. Already, her attraction to him made her uncomfortable. That wasn't good if she was going to work for him.

  She stopped next to the dining room banquet table and ran her hand across the rich walnut wood, loving the smooth feel. The table with the four leaves and the sides up was eleven feet long. Not that she'd ever seen it that big. Who knew if the leaves still existed?

  Even with the rundown condition of the house, the furniture looked well cared for. Aunt Beth had cleaned and polished it every day. Her grandmother used to laugh and tell her she was going to polish the finish right off of it. But that didn't stop Aunt Beth. From the looks of it, she had continued the practice. Though it held a layer of dust, it still gleamed where Meghan ran her hand through the dust.

  "It's part of our heritage," Aunt Beth used to say. "You can't take enough care of something this priceless."

  Heck, some of this stuff had been passed down from her great, great, great grandparents. It had been in t
he house since it was built in 1883. How could they even think about tearing down this house? Hadn't she heard stories about President McKinley visiting? If she recalled correctly, her great, great, great grandfather worked on his campaign. No way she'd let them tear it down. She'd fight them tooth and nail.

  Patrick followed her. "Since you're intent on fixing the place up, I know a guy, Harry Butler. Does odd jobs, that kind of thing. Reasonable too. I think he'd be interested in helping you. Remind me to give you his number tomorrow. And some of the kids from high school shop class do painting and small fix-ups. They work cheap, but do a good job."

  Meghan went into the living room. For some reason the foul odor smelled stronger in here. She could hardly breathe. She pulled open the front door and threw open the windows. "Smells a lot worse than rats."

  She flipped the light switch next to the door, and the room lit up like a church. Somehow all the lights were connected to that one switch. Meghan looked around the room. What a disaster. Pizza boxes, fast food wrappers, cups and half a bag of potato chips were strewn around the room.

  "Looks like someone set up camp here." Patrick kicked the pizza box and a roach scurried across the floor. "You have your work cut out for you. Are you sure you're going to be able to handle it?"

  Nausea gathered in Meghan's throat. Partly from the foul odor, partly from the mess in front of her. "Guess the first thing I need to do is get the locks and windows fixed." She took a big gulp of air and choked. "What the heck is that smell?"

  Patrick walked around the room. Meghan was half afraid to move. Afraid of what she'd find. Patrick pulled his handkerchief out of his pocket, covered his nose and backed up toward her.

  "Stay there." He pulled a cell phone from his jacket, flipped it open and punched in a number. "Sanders," he spoke into the phone. "You better get over to the old Rowlings' place quick. There's a dead body."