retained its rural atmosphere, the traffic lighter than in town.
About a mile farther, past a nursery, a produce stand and a ballpark, Elvin made another left turn into a wooded property.
Bay had been browsing through the contents of the envelope and had already read that the land consisted of one-point-three acres, narrow but long, meaning limited highway frontage. As far as she was concerned, any frontage made the gift a gold mine.
Her first glimpse of the tin building that was to be her shop had her agreeing with Madeleine’s appraisal—the decrepit shack needed work, new doors to start and sturdy locks, particularly once she started buying equipment and material stock. In contrast, the house was a haven, adorable as a dollhouse, freshly painted a cheery yellow with white trim and adorned with lacy iron supports that held up the white awning. Parked under the connecting carport weighed by an opulent trumpet vine was a black Chevy truck.
“That was mine,” Elvin said. “Mrs. R. gave me one of the newer estate trucks in trade for getting the place in shape on time. But there’s plenty more miles in that sweet thing.”
Elvin’s tone warned that he still saw his slightly worn baby as a Cadillac among trucks. “I see. Well, I’ll take good care of her, thank you.” Forewarned, Bay would be prepared for impromptu under-the-hood checks and see that the ashtray and floorboard stayed as tidy as her profession allowed.
“All righty…so the phone and lights are working in there and you’ve got water. You’ll have to transfer things over in your name, of course.”
“I’ll get to it right away.”
“Mrs. R. had me stock the kitchen and whatnot. Do you need me to come in with you and show you around?”
Preoccupied with shoving papers back into the envelope, Bay belatedly met his gaze in the rearview mirror. Maybe it was the play of light or her over-taxed nerves, but in that instant she saw something in Elvin Capps’s face that had the hairs on her arms lifting.
“Earth to blondie…? Hey, you having an out-of-body experience or something? I asked—”
“No.”
“Criminy. Sue me for doing my job.”
As she felt her face heat, Bay ducked her head, wishing for once that she had long hair to hide behind. “What I mean is, you’ve done so much already. I think I can manage from here.” She scrambled out of the car convinced he must think her certifiable. It would serve her right if he rushed back to his employer to report what a bad decision she’d made.
Elvin lowered the front passenger window and leaned over to peer up at her. “You’ve got my number in that stuff. Use it. It’s my job.”
He cut a sharp three-point turn, and Bay finally relaxed as he broke into yet another song. Butler, Butler, she thought. If the harmless, starstruck Elvin Capps could spook her, how did she hope to function around everyone else?
The Town Car eased out into the road and rolled out of sight. Exhaling, Bay rubbed at the house key she’d all but imprinted into her palm and headed inside. She took her time unlocking the front door, savoring the solid feel of the dead bolt. She was less pleased with all the glass. What was the point of locks if all you had to do was chuck a rock to get in?
Her paranoia passed as she checked out the inside. True to his word, Elvin had been working hard. Though small and probably a good forty years old, the place was spotless and as appealing as it looked from the outside. The cloud nine, listen-for-angel-harps white color scheme might be too perky for her, but she could overlook that for the time being. It was a hundred times better than where she’d been.
So much room…
Wandering from the kitchen-dinette area through the rest of the house, she opened cabinets and closets, finding that while the majority of the house remained unfurnished, Elvin had made sure she had the essentials—a broom here, an extra set of sheets and a few towels there. The closet in the bedroom with the queen-size bed that took up most of the room had her staring outright. Clothes, too?
On impulse Bay reached for the top drawer on the chest beside the closet and found everything from underwear to cotton socks, unnerving even though none of it was what anyone would call provocative. Seeing it was the correct size—she checked the A-cup bras and panty hose—she told herself this had to be Madeleine’s handiwork.
She returned to the closet and noted more details—size six jeans, small T-shirts, the jogging shoes were a size seven…the powder-blue silk shift with matching three-inch pumps had her staring. Could she make it out of the house without breaking her neck, let alone navigate a church parking lot?
Although disconcerted that someone knew her body so well, the urge to rid herself of any physical link to Gatesville prompted Bay into stripping. Leaving her things where they fell, she went straight into the bathroom and took her first private shower since her arrest. The water smelled of chlorine, but the luscious peach-scented shower gel offset that. She used a quarter bottle of the fragrant goop repeatedly scrubbing her entire body until her blood hummed and her pale skin glistened.
The fluffy, white towel she wrapped herself in afterward was another first. Best not to get too fond of such luxury, she told herself. As soon as she was back to wrestling with stubborn engines and equally greasy metal, these towels would be relegated to the back of the closet and she’d be drying off in cheapo navy blue or black towels that would become shop rags soon enough.
Dry, she slipped into new panties, skipped the bra, and dragged on a bright-red T-shirt and jeans, then stood barefoot before the dresser mirror to stare at the skinny, spike-haired stranger before her. Was this what thirty-two looked like out there in the free world? Her gaze dropped to the mascara and lipstick set out on the dresser and she made a face. So she’d never been what her father and the good ol’ boy-types called “a show pony”; she couldn’t let that worry her now. Of all the things on her agenda, men and romance ranked last and off the list.
Scooping up her release clothes, Bay returned to the kitchen and dropped everything, including the loafers, into the plastic trash container by the door. Wasteful as that was, she needed to be physically separated from things that reminded her of prison. Then, to get her mind off what she had done, she started a serious inspection of cabinets and drawers, the pantry. The small four-pack of wine in the refrigerator startled her. Chardonnay.
“Your idea, Elvin?”
It would seem the church’s position on drinking was more lenient than the Baptists’ but in this instance bad judgment regardless. It would be too easy for her to fall into bad habits while in this early, vulnerable stage. About to close the door, she changed her mind, took out the carton and deposited it on top of the rejected clothing. Retracing her steps, she took a bottle of chilled vegetable juice out of the fridge and poured herself a glass.
Settling at the butcher-block dinette table, she tucked her legs into a lotus position and looked around the room and finally beyond the slats of the miniblinds, out to where the lush woods bordered the narrow yard.
Mine.
She still couldn’t believe it. As her eyes began to burn and her throat ached, she raised her glass. “Glenn…I don’t understand any of this, but if you can hear me, I haven’t forgotten, not you or the promise I made.”
The heavens didn’t smile with a rainbow of light, no chair fell over from some invisible hand. About to take a sip of her juice, the phone rang. Wincing
