Rachel Dahlrumple. Shea McMaster

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СКАЧАТЬ movie became available on tape. Because of Mom, I knew the movie inside out and backward. In fact, it had been some years since I’d seen it because it always reminded me of her and made me miss her even more.

      By the time I finished for the night, I had precious little energy left and spent only a few moments on the dark porch, listening to the hot San Joaquin Valley night. Right alongside the crickets, the hum of air conditioning units filled the night air. I debated taking a swim, but even the thought took too much effort.

      Entirely too ready for bed, I was upstairs and in the middle of my nightly regimen of allergy medications–those with hay fever have always found summer in the valley brutal–when I heard an odd noise from the front of the house.

      Raccoons, coyotes, or even one of the neighbor’s dogs commonly wandered by to sniff around. Because of the coyote possibility, I decided to take a look. The last thing I needed was them getting into the coolers. I considered the possibility of kids from the street getting into the beer, but not seriously. The parents in our little neighborhood would make the punishment more excruciating than the hangover they might have the next day, and the kids knew it.

      Besides, it never hurt to double check the security, a habit drilled into me by Burt from our days of living near San Jose, and one he’d not let slip one bit since moving to my tiny hometown. In our first years, he’d reminded me nightly, especially when he was away, until I had the habit deeply ingrained in my bones.

      Not particularly happy to deal with strange noises on my own–that’s what husbands were for–I pulled a robe on over the t-shirt I slept in when Burt traveled. He preferred something a bit more revealing, or nothing at all, when he was home. I found it bemusing since he hadn’t turned to me in true love in months, possibly a few years. Not counting the lukewarm sex on our anniversaries. That hadn’t been lovemaking in the slightest.

      I debated grabbing my smaller handgun, but the double barrel shotgun made a better choice. I kept the cartridges filled with rock salt, which would hurt enough but not cause serious injury. Thank you, James Bond. The shotgun had the advantage of being more visible and could be used as a club if a dose or two of salt didn’t deter the pest. I pulled it from under the bed and padded down the hardwood stairs on bare feet.

      Being afraid wasn’t an option because I just couldn’t work up the emotion. Small town life bred it out of a person. I knew these people as well as I knew myself. I’d grown up in the house built by an ancestor less than a generation after the Civil War. Most of my neighbors had moved onto our street when the original homes were built in the late 1970s, after my parents subdivided the land. In the small, tight-knit community of twenty-one homes, we always looked out for each other because that’s what neighbors do. Still, caution was all to the good, thus the security system had been installed shortly after we’d moved into the house.

      I peered out a sidelight, flipped on the porch light and detected no sudden movements or creepy sounds. Reasonably confident I’d find nothing more than the hot night, I deactivated the house alarm and opened the front door. Nothing unusual beyond the screened security door greeted me.

      Well, except for a long white box sitting at the edge of the porch. An item so out of the ordinary, I didn’t know if I should be intrigued or alarmed.

      First of all, Burt never sent cut flowers. His gifts tended toward jewelry I’d rarely wear, and live plants I knew he’d picked out from an anniversary gift guide. Not a bad trait in a husband, really. Better than his taste in lingerie.

      Second of all, the florist never delivered after six o’clock in the evening, any day of the week. Certainly not at ten o’clock, when the sidewalks all around us were already rolled up for the night. And if she had, she would have rung the doorbell and not run off. As I said, small town.

      Sometimes the younger kids who came into my library brought me a handful of daisies, or those “really pretty yellow flowers” also known as wild mustard. Because of my allergies, I’d let the mustard wilt and tell the kids the plant was too delicate for a vase and was best left in the fields. I liked the daisies and kept a vase especially for them. But kids only brought me flowers at work. Never at home.

      Trapped by indecision, I heard a car start up next door, to the east. My left. Ah, right. Deputy Dan. I recognized the growl of the sports car. It occurred to me that the last month or two he’d been a regular weekend visitor, unless he had patrol duty, and then he’d still swing by. Things slow on the dating scene? Surprising. If I’d gone for dinner, I would have caught the news from someone about his dating habits. Not that his habits mattered to me, but it did seem odd, him not having a date on Friday night.

      Seeing as how he was the law, and had to drive past my house, that tipped the scales. I leaned the shotgun against the wall and swung open the screen door.

      Sure enough, Dan’s Corvette backed down the drive and into the circle where our street ended. My house stood like a grand old queen, dead center, at the back of the curve, a hundred years older than the other homes on the street. As I watched from the corner of my eye, in part because his headlights blinded me and in part because I didn’t want to openly acknowledge his presence–very mature, right?–he hesitated before shifting the car into first gear while I approached the box. A box designed to hold a dozen red roses.

      If they were roses from my husband…well, he’d better be behind a bush ready to jump out and make up for being a selfish prick the last couple of years. One heartfelt apology, one meaningful session of making love, and I’d probably forgive him anything. After all, while our life might not be perfect, I couldn’t imagine life without him. All that time together had to stand for something.

      Rumbling with a sexy, throaty purr only a high powered car could produce and mean it, the ’Vette crept forward, coming even with the path from the street as I crouched and realized just how short my sleeping outfit was, coupled with the fact I wore no panties. I could only pray darkness and the hem of my robe hid that detail. Despite my potential for exposure of the embarrassing kind, curiosity got the best of me and I lifted the lid of the box. Tissue mostly hid what seemed to be an arrangement of greenery with a few blooms inside, and I could see a card tucked into the leaves under the tissue.

      As rumbly as his car, the deputy’s voice reached me without being too loud. “Everything okay, Mrs. Bruckmeister?”

      Oh, I’d become Mrs. Bruckmeister, had I? I’d been Rachel earlier. Okay, fine. I could play it that way.

      Mildly surprised he’d actually spoken to me–for the second time in one day, no less–I looked up to see him leaning toward the open passenger window. When the hell had he grown so damn cute? I’d really tried not to notice over the past year, but since my husband wasn’t looking at me anymore, well, my eyes had done some wandering, and my mind some wondering.

      Even more so when I’d been blown off one time too many. Hours later, it still stung. If I had an affair, or gave the impression of having one, would Burt spend more time at home? I dropped that thought in a heartbeat. I just wanted Burt around when I needed him, like for party preparation. I didn’t want him underfoot all the time. Having him hanging around tended to interfere with my reading.

      “I think so… But I’m not sure. Did you see anyone drive by? Someone dropped off this box.” Though my face heated at a few words of attention from the deputy, I still didn’t know what to think about the flower box.

      Not Burt, then who? A secret admirer–my first, unless the admirer were under ten and they tended to be not so secret–or a prank? And in either case, why? Why there, why then? I couldn’t help but wonder at the coincidence of Dan and the box showing up at the same time. Had Dan put it there, then waited for me to come out and find it? And there СКАЧАТЬ