The Carriage House

Seven

Harl showed up at Andrew’s back door with a baseball bat. It was after ten, dark outside. “You hear that?”

Andrew nodded. “It wasn’t the wind.”

“Nope.” Harl rolled the bat in his big, callused palm. “I know a scream when I hear one. You want to call 911?”

That had been Andrew’s first impulse, but he shook his head. “We don’t know enough. I’ll check next door. You stay here with Dolly. She’s asleep.”

“Watch yourself.”

“Our new neighbor probably just tripped in the dark. Let me see what’s up.”

The bloody-murder scream had drawn him to the back porch, where he’d already flipped a light. He had his flashlight from the kitchen, debated taking some sort of weapon. He dismissed the idea. That was Harl-thinking.

“I’ll stay out here,” Harl said. He wasn’t giving up his baseball bat. “You need help, yell.”

“Under no circumstances are you to leave Dolly here alone.”

Harl nodded. “Understood.”

Andrew set out across the lawn, the grass soft under his feet. He didn’t need his flashlight until he was at the lilac hedge at the far side of the yard. Dolly was small enough to find an opening she could fit through, but he followed his side of the hedge out to the street, then hooked around to the carriage house driveway.

He heard someone breathing, gulping in air in the dark.

“Tess?” He pointed his bright arc of light at her kitchen steps, moved it back toward the lilacs. “Tess, are you out here?”

His light caught her in the face as she stood in the overgrown grass at the other end of the driveway. She blinked rapidly, blinded, and he lowered the flashlight.

“Oh, it’s you.” She choked a little as she spoke, then rallied. “Thank God. I didn’t know who might be sneaking around out here. You heard me yell?”

He nodded, watching her closely. “Are you all right?”

“Yes. Yes, fine.”

She walked over to the steps, moving unsteadily, almost drunkenly, and sat, putting a hand on her upper chest, as if trying to still a wild heartbeat. She pushed her other hand through her short curls. She wasn’t looking at him, didn’t seem to be looking at anything.

Andrew switched off the flashlight, the light from the open kitchen door sufficient. “What’s going on?”

“I was startled, and I yelled. Screamed my head off, actually.” She cleared her throat and attempted a smile. “I found your cat.”

“Tippy Tail?” He took another step toward her, still watching. She had strong, attractive features, nothing delicate or tentative about her. But she’d had a scare. He could see that. “Dolly will be pleased.”

Tess nodded. “I hope my scream didn’t wake her up.”

He saw she was more pale than he’d thought, and her clothes were streaked with dirt and cobwebs. He noticed a scrape on her left wrist, another on her jaw-line. And more cobwebs in her hair.

He stood at the bottom of the steps and touched her jaw next to the scrape. She had soft, smooth skin. “The cat do this?”

She shook her head. “No, no,” she said, her voice hoarse. Whatever had happened, she was stemming a shock reaction. Chattering teeth, trembling, rapid heartbeat. She looked as if she had every muscle in her body tensed to keep herself from jumping out of her skin. “I just fell. It was stupid. I heard the cat down in the cellar and went to investigate.”

“At night? You’re braver than I am. Old Tippy Tail would have been on her own if I’d heard her.”

“I was afraid she was having her kittens, and I could hear her through the floorboards. She sounded awful.” Tess pushed her hand through her short curls again, and for no reason he could think of, Andrew noticed her long, slender fingers. An artist’s hands. “It’s an old house. I can hear everything.”

“I understand.”

Her eyes lifted, focusing on him for the first time. Her smile, although still tentative, seemed genuine, her nerves less rattled. “I know about the house’s history. I refuse to be scared, let myself get creeped out. When I heard the cat, I went around to the bulkhead.” She pointed to the back of the house, as if to remind herself what she’d done, how it had made sense at the time. “There’s a trapdoor inside, but I’m not sure it’s safe.”

“I’ve seen that trapdoor. I wouldn’t want to go that way either.” Andrew sat on the step next to her; she smelled as if she’d been rolling around in a hundred-year-old dirt cellar. “I don’t imagine the bulkhead’s much better.”

She almost managed a laugh. “So I discovered. Tippy Tail had lodged herself way back in the old dirt cellar. I tripped over some junk and fell.”

“That’s when you yelled?”

She averted her eyes, and they took on a faraway look, as if she were back down in the cellar, falling in the dark. She blinked a couple of times, focused again on him and forced a smile. “Yes. I kept thinking about snakes. It was ridiculous.”

Not so ridiculous in an old dirt cellar, but Andrew decided Tess didn’t need him to confirm her worst suspicions. “Hurt yourself?”

“Not really. I’m afraid I scared off your cat, though. I have no idea where she is.”

“She hadn’t had her kittens?”

Tess shook her head. “No. Just as well. Next time I’ll leave her alone.”

“Tippy Tail’s a survivor. She’ll be fine.”

“I hope so.”

She started to her feet, calmer now, but there was little improvement in her color. She was still pale, shaken from her encounter with Tippy Tail. Andrew followed her up. As she started to turn to go inside, she winced suddenly and grabbed his arm, steadying herself.

“Sorry.” She still held on tight. Andrew didn’t move, let her gain her balance. “I forgot—I took a pretty good hit on my side.” Her grip relaxed slightly, but she didn’t let go. “I’m okay.”

“Maybe you should come back to my house.” Andrew’s voice was quiet, and he tried to sound sensible, not dictatorial. Tess Haviland didn’t seem the type to want anyone to swoop in to the rescue. “I can make you a cup of tea, and you can see if you discover any more aches and pains.”

“I really did take a tumble.” She smiled, but he could see the pain in her eyes. But she shook her head. “Thanks, but I’ve got chamomile tea inside. I’ll make myself a cup.”

“Okay, but I wouldn’t be much of a neighbor if I left you before you’re steady on your feet. Come on, I’ll fix you that chamomile tea.”

She released her grip on his arm, managed a quick nod. She seemed appreciative, not as if she’d given in. “That’d be nice.”

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