Rosewood Lane (Cedar Cove #2)(7)
Charlotte had to be in her seventies, but she was a woman with plenty of spunk. She’d befriended his grandfather while doing volunteer work at the CedarCoveConvalescentCenter and had taken a liking to the old man. They were friends, Charlotte explained.
Old Tom had lost his ability to speak after a massive stroke, but apparently Charlotte was able to communicate with him just fine. She told Cliff that Tom had given her a key shortly before he died. Upon investigation, she’d found his personal effects in a storage unit and concluded that Tom was the onetime movie and television cowboy star. As Tom’s only surviving relative, Cliff was entitled to these mementos.
In the beginning, Cliff wanted nothing to do with the old man, but Charlotte wouldn’t hear of it. She’d made it her mission to make sure Tom’s things, which included posters, scripts and his six-shooter—were delivered to Cliff, whether he wanted them or not.
Once he met Charlotte, Cliff understood why his grandfather had felt so comfortable with the older woman, and over the course of the summer, they’d become quick friends.
He made a habit of stopping in to see her or giving her a call every couple of weeks. She appeared to enjoy these visits and bragged proudly about her two children and her grandchildren. Her son, William, lived somewhere in the south, if he remembered correctly, and a daughter, Olivia, was a family court judge right here in Cedar Cove. Cliff had yet to meet Olivia, although he did wonder if any woman could live up to everything her mother had said about her.
Now that Cliff had spent some time studying the items Charlotte had rescued from the storage unit, he’d come to appreciate what she’d done. He could think of no better way to thank her than by giving her one of the movie posters, which he’d had mounted and framed. Charlotte had genuinely loved Tom Harding and that was before she’d identified him as the Yodeling Cowboy.
Cliff parked his truck on the steep hill above the cove, angling his tires into the curb. Carrying the unwieldy poster, he walked up the few steps that led to the large family home. As usual, Harry, her “guard cat,” was curled up asleep in the living room window. Even before he had a chance to ring the bell, Cliff heard Charlotte turning the door locks.
He’d never had the opportunity to count how many locks Charlotte had, but he suspected Houdini couldn’t have gotten inside. He wasn’t sure what she had hidden that was so valuable; he did know that anything precious was likely to be buried underneath a pile of panty hose. He was also aware that at some point in their conversation Charlotte was likely to ask him about his bowels.
“Cliff,” she said happily, unlatching the screen door, first one and then a second lock. “This is a pleasant surprise. I wish you’d let me know you were planning to stop by. I would’ve baked you a batch of cookies.”
That was exactly the reason he hadn’t phoned ahead. The woman was intent on fattening him up. Cliff didn’t need any assistance in that area—he already had a paunch that had come with middle age and he was trying hard to lose it. So far he was down ten pounds from the first of the year, although he swore it would’ve been easier to chip away rock. Until retirement, he’d never had to worry about his weight.
“I brought you a little something,” he said as she swung open the screen door for him. Harry raised his head, stared at him and apparently decided Cliff was a friend. The cat closed his eyes and resumed his nap.
“Sit down and I’ll make us a cup of tea,” Charlotte said. “And I’ve got some pound cake.”
“Don’t go to any bother.” He knew it wouldn’t do much good to protest, but he tried anyway. He was only going to stay for a few minutes. After leaving Charlotte’s, he’d drop off Grace Sherman’s credit card at the PancakePalace. He might ask Charlotte if she knew Grace, since the older woman seemed acquainted with nearly everyone in Cedar Cove.
“You must be hungry,” Charlotte said, sounding hurt that he’d refused her offer.
“Charlotte,” he insisted, “open your gift.” It wasn’t wrapped, but the frame shop had slipped it inside a cardboard container.
Charlotte looked up at him quizzically. “This is for me?”
He grinned and nodded, enjoying her flustered reaction. Charlotte was the kind of person who was constantly giving to others but felt uncomfortable receiving anything herself.
She opened the cardboard, and Cliff helped her remove the frame. He held up the poster and heard the soft gasp when she realized what it was. She covered her mouth with one hand as her soft gray eyes flooded with tears.
“Oh, Cliff, you shouldn’t have,” she said, blinking furiously. “This is far too valuable to give me.”
“Nonsense. I’m sure my grandfather would’ve wanted you to have it. If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t even have any of these things.” Nor would Cliff have known anything about his grandfather, other than what his father had told him. He now saw Tom as more than a selfish, fame-obsessed bastard; he saw a regretful old man who would’ve liked to turn back the years and make different choices.
“You were a difficult nut to crack,” Charlotte reminded him, frowning.
He had to agree. She’d been persistent in calling and writing. If he hadn’t arrived on her doorstep when he did, Cliff figured she would’ve brought everything to him herself, venturing onto the freeway in a car he was sure had never been driven over forty miles an hour.