Silver River Secrets. Linda Hope Lee

leave. Now.”

      Rory stood. “Of course. I didn’t mean to upset you, Mrs. Whitfield... I thought my offer would interest you.”

      “Enough.” Lacey grabbed the glass from his hand. “Leave the hand truck. I’ll take it back myself.”

      Rory strode to the truck, grasped the handle and wheeled it into the kitchen. “Goodbye, Mrs. Whitfield.”

      Lacey plunked the glass on the counter and all but pushed him out the door. Instead of letting him go, she followed him down the hall, seething inside.

      When they reached the entrance, he set the hand truck back in its cubbyhole. “I didn’t mean to upset her.”

      “Did you honestly think she’s changed her mind about selling the property?”

      “How should I know? I haven’t spoken to her for quite a while.” Rory went through the door and into the alley.

      His defensive tone fueled her anger. She followed him, not about to let him leave yet. Thankfully, no one else was around. “And you didn’t stop earlier to help me. You were using me to get to Gram.”

      Rory fished in his jeans pocket and pulled out his truck keys. “No, Lacey. I really did stop to help you.”

      “Okay, but while you were helping you got the idea that if you followed me here you could make your offer to Gram.”

      “Yeah, that’s probably the way it happened.”

      “Probably. Huh. And why do you want the property? You’ll just resell it to someone who wants to build mini-ranches or condos or a motel.”

      “I want to get rid of that house.”

      “The house is the main reason Gram hangs on to the farm.”

      Rory propped his hands on his hips. “Lacey, you can’t tell me you like having that house still standing.”

      Lacey winced and then steadied herself and lifted her chin. “It’s not for me to decide. Or you, either. The house—and the farm—have nothing to do with you.”

      Rory’s eyes blazed. “Nothing to do with me? My father was murdered there. Shot in the back by your father, while he was running to his car. And then, your father turned on your mother, and as she crawled from the bed trying to escape him, he pushed her, and she cracked her head on the fireplace hearth. Fell into a coma and died a week later. Isn’t that what the prosecutors proved in the trial that sent your father to prison?”

      Tears burned Lacey’s eyes. She slapped her hands over her ears. “Stop. Stop. You have no right to come here and talk to me like that.”

      “You want my sympathy?”

      “No, of course not!”

      She spoke the truth. Whatever she and Rory had together all those years ago—the fresh, bright new beginnings of love—was long gone now. As dead and buried as their parents.

      The rumble of a delivery truck in the driveway brought them both to attention.

      “Gotta go,” Rory mumbled and, without looking at her, flung open the door to his truck and climbed in.

      “My father was not a murderer, Rory Dalton. And I’m going to prove he wasn’t.”

      But between the delivery truck’s approach and the start of Rory’s truck engine, her words were lost.

      When Lacey returned to Gram’s apartment, she found Gram where she’d left her, sitting in her wheelchair by the open patio door, gazing outside. She went over, knelt in front of her and took her hands.

      “I’m so sorry. I tried to keep Rory out of the apartment, but he barged his way in. I had no idea what he was up to.”

      “That’s all right, honey. I’m fine. Just had a little lapse for a few minutes. Don’t blame Rory. He was doing his job.”

      “He wants to tear down the house. He told me so just now. I told him you’d never let that happen.”

      “No, I won’t.”

      “Let’s not talk about it anymore.” Lacey checked her wristwatch. “It’s time for lunch. Then we’ll play Scrabble or do something else fun this afternoon. The boxes can wait till tomorrow.”

      * * *

      RORY SPED AWAY from Riverview, twisting the wheel so hard on one curve he nearly careened off the road. He hadn’t intended to lose his cool with Lacey, but she’d been so angry with him, at what she considered a betrayal, that he couldn’t contain himself and had lashed back.

      Still, he wasn’t sorry he’d stopped to help her or that he’d gone to Riverview and seen Remy Whitfield. The one other regret was Remy’s discomfort. He hadn’t meant to upset her. But they all were upset, and had been all these years. That was why the situation needed to be dealt with. He firmly believed that once the house was no longer standing, they all could heal and move on. Somehow, he needed to convince Remy.

      Lacey would be leaving town soon. Once she was gone, he would contact Remy again. He hadn’t sensed she disliked or rejected him; in fact, she’d been downright friendly until he started talking about the Whitfield farm.

      Rory drove through town and across the bridge, catching the road leading up the hill to his shop. He parked in his spot in the back, under a maple tree.

      Inside the garage, he approached John, who was changing the oil in a Honda. “What’s happening?”

      John straightened and stepped away from the car. “Lots. Harry Selznick dropped off his Chevy.” He pointed to the car sitting in the adjacent bay. “Tire keeps going flat. I took a look. Needs a new rim. Subaru’s waiting.” He gestured to the SUV on the other side of the Chevy.

      Rory stroked his chin. “We’ll need to check the junkyards to see if they have a tire rim that’ll fit the Chevy. If not, we’ll go to the internet.”

      John nodded. “I’ll finish up with the Honda, and then I’m on it. Oh, there were a couple of calls, too. Messages on your desk.”

      “Thanks. I’ll check those and then get started on the Subaru’s transmission.”

      Rory went into the office, feeling much better now that he was back at the shop. Being on the job he loved allowed him to put aside all his other problems and frustrations—at least for a while.

      * * *

      LACEY CLOSED THE flaps on the box she’d finished unpacking and added it to the other empty boxes ready for the recycle bin. As she’d promised Gram, they’d waited until Sunday afternoon to tackle the boxes from her old apartment. This morning they’d attended the church service in the Riverview chapel and then enjoyed lunch in the dining room with the other residents.

      “We probably should quit now,” she told Gram. “But we did manage to weed out a few things to donate.” She pointed to several decorative plates, a few old cookbooks and some costume jewelry piled on the sofa.

      Gram reached out and ran her fingers over the embossed roses decorating one of the plates. “Giving away these things is like giving away pieces of my life.”

      “I know. But we’ve kept a lot, too.”

      Gram pointed to the one container that remained. “What happened to that one? I don’t remember all that blue tape.”

      “The box split apart in the parking lot when I was loading it into my car. That was when Rory came by, and he taped it. It’s full of Mother’s things.”

      Gram’s shoulders stiffened. “If you think I’m giving away any of her belongings, think again.”

      “No, I wouldn’t ask you to do that. But one of her trinket dishes broke.” She pulled off enough tape to remove the plastic bag enclosing the pieces. She laid the bag in Gram’s lap and opened it.

      Gram