it’s somewhere around five thousand square feet.”
“How large are the others?” Greer asked. In her opinion five thousand square feet was definitely not a little house.
“Anywhere from ten to fifteen thousand.”
She scrunched up her nose. “Unless you have a tribe of children, what would you need with fifteen thousand square feet of living space?”
“I wouldn’t know. When Stella and I bought our house, we’d planned to have at least two kids, but I suppose the good Lord knew what He was doing when He didn’t give us any with both of us working around the clock.”
Reaching across the table, Greer patted his forearm. “He did give you kids, even if it was only part-time. You have me and Cooper.”
Bobby grasped her hand, pressing a kiss on her knuckles. “That He did.” A wry grin twisted his mouth. “I loved taking you and your brother camping in the woods, teaching you guys how to fly-fish and shoot. Cooper was always pissed off because you were a better shot.”
“He eventually got over it after he joined the bureau.”
Greer’s thoughts drifted back to Jason. She wanted to ask her uncle, if Jason was really a nice guy, then what was his connection to Chase? She found it odd that Chase never shared his table, and only on a rare occasion did he sit and talk with anyone for any appreciable length of time.
“I’m going to call it a night. After I soak my feet, I’m going straight to bed,” Greer said.
Standing up, she kissed Bobby’s cheek, and then walked on sock-covered feet to the kitchen, leaving the mug in the stainless-steel sink for Danny to put in the dishwasher.
Returning to the table to put her shoes back on with a groan, she exited the building and headed to Bobby’s vehicle, on loan to her for as long as she was here.
All thoughts, of Chase, Jason and why she was working in Stella’s, faded as she started up the ancient truck. The engine to Johnny B. Goode II roared to life, shattering the quiet of the night. The year she had turned fifteen, Bobby had taught her to drive. He’d bought the 1956 Ford F-100 from a farmer and named it after his favorite Chuck Berry song. Greer had stalled out a number of times until learning to ease off the clutch slowly while depressing the gas pedal. The classic truck had a rebuilt engine and was fitted with power disc brakes. It sported a new coat of red paint, and black leather seats had replaced the tattered cloth ones.
She preferred a standard shift car to an automatic because it forced her to concentrate on the narrow road winding around the lake. Several times each year a motorist would speed, fall asleep or miss a sharp turn and end up in the lake. Fortunately there were few that drowned. She passed the sign leading to Bear Ridge Estates, noting the gatehouse and towering massive iron gates protecting the residents living in the exclusive community with multimillion-dollar homes.
She still couldn’t shake her nagging suspicion that Charles “Chase” Bromleigh was more than a ne’er-do-well that didn’t have to concern himself working as a nine-to-fiver. He wouldn’t be the first wealthy psychopath that embarked on a life of crime, and if her instincts were right, then Greer knew—in order to get close to Chase—she would have to befriend Jason. And she had the perfect secret that was certain to get Jason’s attention.
Maneuvering into the driveway of the house that had become her temporary home, Greer punched a button on the visor of the pickup and the automatic door to the two-car garage slid up. She parked beside an outboard motor boat resting on a trailer. The boat, also named Johnny B. Goode, was several years older than the pickup, and she had lost track of the number of times she and Cooper would take the boat across the lake to Stella’s before either of them had driver’s licenses. Bobby had issued a firm mandate that they wear life vests when riding in the boat although they’d become proficient swimmers.
She unlocked the door leading from the garage into a mudroom, disarmed the security system, then activated it again before slipping out of her running shoes and leaving them on a thick straw mat. It was time she traded the running shoes for a pair of shoes that gave her legs the support needed for her to be on her feet for hours at a time.
The moment Greer climbed the staircase to the second floor, she knew why her uncle had decided not to continue to live at the house with awesome views of the lake and valley. It was too quiet. Even now that her aunt was gone, her presence lingered along with the scent of her favorite perfume.
Greer had programmed the lights in the house to come on and go off at different intervals, giving the appearance that it wasn’t unoccupied. The crime rate in Mission Grove wasn’t what it would be in a more densely populated area, but there was enough criminal activity to warrant having a four-man police force. There had been a time when the small town was patrolled by the county sheriff, but that had changed once the residents of Bear Ridge demanded more of a police presence and were willing to underwrite the cost of having around-the-clock police protection beyond what they paid for private security. Anyone, other than residents, entering or leaving was subject to go through a security checkpoint.
Greer turned on the water in the bathroom, added a generous amount of scented bath salts and stripped off her clothes, leaving them in a large wicker hamper. By the time she’d brushed her teeth and washed her face, the water had reached the level she needed for a leisurely soak. Removing the elastic band holding her hair in a ponytail, she combed it out and secured the chemically relaxed strands in a topknot.
All thoughts of why she was in a small Oregon town faded when she stepped into the warm water, sat down and closed her eyes. The water cooled and Greer still did not stir. It was when she found herself falling asleep that she picked up a sponge and a bottle of bath gel and soaped her neck and shoulders.
Her movements were slow, mechanical, when she finished bathing. Wrapping a thick bath sheet around her body, she returned to her bedroom and fell across the bed. Within minutes she’d fallen into a deep, dreamless slumber.
Chapter 4
Jason woke at three the following morning, but forced himself to remain in bed. He fell asleep once more and didn’t wake again until daylight came in through the bedroom skylights. He knew his first day would be spent settling into Serenity West. He had to be up and dressed by nine. He’d contacted a cleaning service before leaving Florida to send a team to dust and air out the entire house.
His to-do list also included shopping for groceries to stock the refrigerator/freezer and pantry. Jason was as deficient when it came to housecleaning as he was proficient in writing music. He’d continued the tradition of Cole men whose mothers had taught them to cook so they wouldn’t have to rely on a woman to feed them. He knew it would take another day before he’d get into the routine of rising and going into the studio.
Going up on an elbow, he glanced around the bedroom. He’d lingered long enough the night before to remove dustcovers from tables, chairs, the armoire, triple dresser and highboy. Jason had worked closely with the architect that his interior decorator aunt had recommended, and it’d taken more than three months before he had finally approved the house’s design.
He wanted a house that would fit into the forest setting. It was to be constructed from a log-timber frame, with a broad sheltering roof and using lots of natural materials. The design brought the upper and lower decks close to a forested area, and the generous overhangs kept rain off the windows while protecting the siding and foundation. The lower level was an open gallery of rooms, the media center separate from the primary family living space and the recording studio accessible by a stairway leading
