Lighthouse Road (Cedar Cove #1)(87)
That distressed her, but she wasn’t sure what to do about it.
“I’d drive out and see him myself,” her friend Laura told her on the Monday following her birthday.
Charlotte was with her knitting friends at the Senior Center. A few weeks ago she’d casually mentioned talking to Tom’s grandson, but hadn’t told them everything involved. She wasn’t about to admit, even to her nearest and dearest friends, that she’d committed a felony.
“I would, too,” Evelyn added. “From what you said, it isn’t that far.”
“It’ll mean driving on the highway.” Any road with more than two lanes terrified Charlotte. Cars whizzed past, and no matter what lane she was in, she seemed to annoy the other drivers, especially if she followed the posted speed. What did these people think the speed limit was, anyway? A suggestion? Everyone seemed to be in such an all-fired hurry these days. She’d drive over to see him if she had to, but she wouldn’t like it and she’d make darn sure Cliff Harding heard about it.
“I don’t know what it is with young people today,” Helen muttered, jerking on her yarn with unnecessary force. “They don’t respect their elders the way we were taught to.”
“I couldn’t agree with you more.” This came from Bess, who nodded emphatically.
“You were his grandfather’s friend. One would think he’d welcome the opportunity to thank you.”
“It didn’t escape my notice,” Helen said, leaning toward Bess, “that he didn’t visit his grandfather, either.”
“I’m going to phone him again,” Charlotte said, decision made. “And I’ll let him know when he can expect me.” She’d put it off for nearly five weeks already. Cliff Harding always had an excuse. There had been that business trip, and last week there was a brief message on her answering machine—one of his horses was about to foal and he couldn’t leave. Charlotte could only imagine what his excuse would be this week. And the next. No, Laura was right, it was time to take matters into her own hands.
When Charlotte returned home, she tucked away her knitting, made a fuss over Harry, and then, filled with determination, headed toward her phone.
Tom’s grandson answered, sounding far more congenial than he ever had before.
“This is Charlotte Jefferson,” she announced.
“Yes, Mrs. Jefferson, I’ve been meaning to get in touch with you.”
Charlotte just bet he had. Probably with another of his lame excuses. “I’m sorry to trouble you again, but seeing that you’ve been unable to keep your appointment with me—”
“That was what I planned to discuss with you. Would this afternoon be convenient?”
The indignation that had been bolstered by her friends’ well-meaning advice was suddenly unnecessary. “This afternoon would be fine,” she muttered, feeling deflated and, truth to tell, a little disappointed. She’d been ready to blast him; she’d even worked out some very effective remarks about family duty on the drive home. Now she wouldn’t be able to use them.
“I imagine it’s a bit disconcerting to be sleeping with a gun under your bed.”
Charlotte heard the teasing in his voice and decided to ignore it. “Actually, I moved the gun to my underwear drawer.” She didn’t mention that she’d wrapped it in an old girdle.
“Your underwear drawer?” he repeated.
Again, she’d amused him, but this time she couldn’t fathom why. That was a clever hiding place in her opinion. No one breaking into the house, if they got past her overprotective cat, would think to search for anything of significance in a drawer of cotton panties. Anything that was the least bit important in Charlotte’s house invariably ended up there. Her savings passbook was tucked inside her support panty hose. No thief was going to catch her off guard.
“What time will you be here?” she wanted to know.
“Is around four okay?”
“That would be perfect.” Charlotte gave him directions to her home and they ended the conversation. Then, because she wanted to be hospitable, she baked cookies. The recipe had been given to her three years ago at a seniors’ potluck and it always went over well. Men, especially, seemed to like these cookies, which were thick with chocolate chips, coconut and pecans.
She’d just finished scraping the last of the batch from the cookie sheet when the doorbell rang. Charlotte hurried toward the front door, picking up Harry to keep him from escaping. Her cat purred in her ear as she turned open the three locks. The last one had been installed only recently. Charlotte wasn’t going to make a thief’s job easy for him, no sir. She couldn’t afford one of those fancy security systems, but she had her own safeguards.
The man who stood on the other side of the threshold was a good six feet tall with a small paunch. He wore a cowboy hat and boots, blue jeans with a brown jacket and a string tie.
“Mrs. Jefferson?”
“Yes. You must be Cliff Harding.” She unlocked the screen door and held it open for him. “Come in, please.”
He stepped into her modest home and sniffed appreciatively. “You been baking cookies?”
“I just wanted to be neighborly,” she said, inviting him to take a seat on her sofa. She was ready. The silver service was set up, the pot filled with fresh coffee. The service was used only on rare occasions, but she wanted to make a good impression on Tom’s grandson. The cookies were still warm from the oven.