Nora Roberts - Tribute

“What?” She jerked straight again. “When?”

“A couple days after Brian brought the card over. Yes, taking that on myself without telling or consulting you was… rash. We’ll call it even.”

“God, Ford, if the press gets ahold of this-”

“They won’t. Why would they? I found a guy in New York, one who doesn’t know Andrew Morrow from Bruce Wayne. And the copy of the page of one of the letters I sent him had nothing in it that referred to Janet or the location, even the time frame. I was careful.”

“Okay. Okay.” He would have been, she admitted.

“The conclusion was, not the same hand. Guy wouldn’t stake his reputation on it because they were copies, and because I told him they were written about four years apart. But he wouldn’t document them as the same hand. He did say they were of similar style, and both might have been taught to write by the same person.”

“Like a teacher?”

“Possibly.”

A whole new avenue, Cilla realized. “So it might have been someone who went to school with Andrew. A friend. A close friend. Or someone who went to the same school, with the same teacher later. And that really narrows the field.”

“I could look into that, or try. Talk to my grandfather. He and Andrew would be about the same age. He might remember something.”

Cilla studied her four flat tires. “I think that’s a good idea. If you want answers, you have to ask questions. I have to go to work. And you have to go to the bank.” She bumped his shoulder with hers. “Have we made up?”

“Not until we have sex.”

“I’ll put it on my list.”

FORD PULLED UP in front of the little suburban house. He heard the purr of a lawn mower as he stepped out of the car, so with Spock he walked around to the side of the house and through the gate of the chain-link fence.

His grandfather, dressed in a polo shirt, Bermuda shorts and Hush Puppies, pushed the power mower across the short square of lawn between and around the hydrangeas, the rosebushes and the maple tree.

From the gate, Ford could see the sweat trickling down his grandfather’s temples under his Washington Redskins cap. Ford shouted, made wide arm signals as he started over, and saw the smile spread on his grandfather’s sweaty face when Ford caught his eye.

Charlie shut off the lawn mower. “Well, hi there. Hi there, Spock,” he added, patting his thigh in invitation for the dog to plant his hind legs for a head rub. “What’re you doing out this way today?”

“Mowing the rest of your lawn. Granddad, it’s too hot out here for you to be doing this.”

“Meant to get to it earlier.”

“I thought you hired a neighborhood kid to do this. That’s what you told me when I said I’d come by and do it.”

“I was going to.” Charlie’s face moved into what Ford thought of as Quint stubborn. “I like cutting my own grass. Not on my last legs yet.”

“You’ve got plenty of legs left, but you don’t have to use them working out here when it’s already ninety and humid enough to drown in your own breath. I’ll finish it up. Maybe you could get us a couple of cold drinks. And Spock could use some water,” Ford added, knowing that would do the trick.

“All right then, all right. But you be sure you put the mower back in the shed when you’re done. And don’t bump into those rosebushes. Come on, Spock.”

It took less than twenty minutes to finish it off-with his grandfather watching him like a hawk through the back screen door. Which meant, Ford thought, they didn’t have the AC turned on inside.

By the time Ford stowed the mower, crossed over the tiny cement patio and walked through the screen door, he was dripping. “It’s August, Granddad.”

“I know what month it is. Think I’m senile?”

“No, just crazy. Let me assure you, air-conditioning is not a tool of Satan.”

“Not hot enough for air-conditioning.”

“It’s hot enough to boil internal organs.”

“We got a nice cross breeze coming through.”

“Yeah, from hell.” Ford dropped down at the kitchen table and gulped the iced tea Charlie set out while Spock lay snoring. Probably in a heat-induced coma, Ford thought. “Where’s Grandma?”

“Your aunt Ceecee picked her up, for the book club gab session at your mother’s bookstore.”

“Oh. If she was here, she’d give me cookies. I know damn well you gave Spock some before he passed out.”

Charlie snorted out a laugh, but rose to get a box of thin lemon snaps off the counter where he’d left them after treating Spock. He shook some onto a plate, set it in front of Ford.

“Thanks. I bought a house.”

“You’ve got a house already.”

“Yeah, but this one’s an investment. Cilla’s going to fix it up, perform major miracles, then I’ll sell it and be a rich man. Or I’ll lose my shirt and have to move in with you and Grandma, and suffer from heat prostration. I’m banking on the miracle after seeing what she’s done with her place.”

“I hear she’s done some fancy work over there. Changed a lot.”

“For the better, I think.”

“Guess I’ll see for myself at the Labor Day shindig she’s having. Your grandmother’s already been out shopping for a new outfit. It’ll be strange going to a party there, after all these years.”

“I guess a lot of people who’ll go would have been to parties there when Janet Hardy was alive.” Perfect opening, Ford thought. “Mom and Dad, Brian’s parents. You knew Bri’s grandfather, right?”

“Everybody around here knew Andrew Morrow.”

“Were you friendly?”

“With Drew Morrow?” Charlie shook his head. “Wasn’t unfriendly, but I can’t say we ran in the same circles. He was older, maybe six, eight years.”

“So you didn’t go to school with him?”

“We went to the same school. Back then, there was only the one. Andrew Morrow, he had the golden touch. Golden tongue, too,” Charlie said and wet his throat. “He sure could talk anybody into fronting him money, but by God, he lined the pockets of the ones who did. Buying up land, putting up houses, buying up more, putting up the stores, the office buildings. Built the whole damn village, served as mayor. Talk was he’d be governor of Virginia. Never did run though. Talk was maybe he had some dealings that weren’t up-and-up.”

“Who did he hang with, when you were boys?”

“Oh, let’s see.” Charlie rattled off some names that meant nothing to Ford. “Some of them didn’t come back from the war. He ran some with Hennessy, the one’s in the loony bin now.”

“Really?”

“Went around with Hennessy’s sister Margie for a time, then broke it off when he met Jane Drake, the one he married. She came from money.” With a smirk, Charlie rubbed his thumb and fingers together. “Old money. Man needs money to buy up land and build houses. She was a looker, too. Snooty with it.”

“I remember her. She always looked pissed off. I guess money can’t buy happiness if you shop in the wrong places. Maybe Morrow looked for more pleasant companionship.”

“Might could’ve done.”

“And that might be why he didn’t run for governor,” Ford speculated. “Sticky affair, threat of exposure, bad press. Wouldn’t be the first or last time a woman killed a political career.”

Charlie flicked the back of his fingers up the side of his neck. “Politicians, ” he said in a tone that expressed contempt for the entire breed. “Still, he was a popular man around here, with most. He gave Buddy’s daddy a leg up in the plumbing business. Brought a lot of work to the valley. Buddy’s doing the work over there at the farm, isn’t he?”

“That’s right.”

“He did some back in Janet’s day, he and his daddy. Buddy had more hair and less gut in those days, and about ran the business by then, I guess. Been about your age, a little more, maybe.”