Flashback Read online

  “Really?”

  “You sound surprised.”

  “I didn’t know my aunt, but aside from some beautiful antiques, some of the décor in her house is quite old-fashioned, and not necessarily in a tasteful way.” Laura felt her cheeks warm. I can’t believe I just told a total stranger that I think my aunt had bad taste.

  Julie leaned on the counter. “I’ve been hoping that they—you—would have an estate sale. I wouldn’t mind getting a peek inside the place.

  “Oh, you’ll have to come out and let me show you.” Now she was inviting someone she’d just met to come to her house.

  Julie’s eye’s widened. “Really? I’d love it.”

  Laura hesitated, then realized she felt at ease around Julie—a rare thing for Laura unless she knew someone well. “I won’t be having an auction until the estate is settled, but I think there’s a lot we could get rid of.”

  “Well, that maid must have felt the same way.”

  Laura placed her hand on the counter. “Maid?”

  “You know, that Hayes woman.”

  “Oh, Agnes.”

  “Is she still there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you going to keep her?”

  “Well, I don’t know. I mean, I guess so. She’s probably worked there forever.” Oh, I said too much again! Laura thought, mentally kicking herself.

  Julie’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll bet she has. I think the woman’s creepy myself. She reminds me of the maid in that movie Rebecca—you know, the Hitchcock movie about the new wife haunted by the constant reminders of the dead wife. She thinks her new husband killed his first wife . . . do you know it?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Laura said. “I’ve seen that movie. I like suspense.”

  Julie pushed herself up from the counter. “Really? Me too.”

  “Do you like Agatha Christie?” Laura asked, wondering even as she said it why she had mentioned Christie out of all the novelists she’d read. She suspected that her mind was probably churning up anything that had to do with suspense so she could prove she was being truthful. I’m not that desperate for a friend, she thought. Then again, maybe I am.

  “I’ve seen all the movies based on her books.”

  Laura smiled. “Have you ever seen Wait until Dark?”

  “At least six times, and every time it’s as suspenseful as the first,” Julie responded. Then she asked excitedly, “What about Midnight Lace with Doris Day?”

  “Yes,” Laura answered. “I’ve seen that one, too.”

  Julie leaned forward on the counter again. “There’s an old movie theater in town that’s showing old suspense movies through Halloween. It’s called the Movie House. The Spiral Staircase is playing this week. Would you like to go?”

  “I would love to,” Laura exclaimed, surprising herself at how quickly she answered.

  “Do you want to see that box now?” Julie queried.

  “What box?”

  “The box of old things the maid sold me after Miss Buford’s death. Weren’t we talking about it?”

  “You didn’t mention a box,” Laura stated.

  “Oh. Well, I thought it.” Julie hurried to the back of the store and returned with an old wooden crate.

  Laura dredged through the clothes at the top of the box: a well-worn cardigan sweater, a white blouse with a stained lace collar, a polyester dress that had pilled, and several other items. Finally, she remarked, “I didn’t really know my aunt, but I don’t think she would wear things like this—they look like they should be used for rags.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Julie said. “In fact, I thought it strange when the maid showed up with a box of old things after the old wom—I mean your aunt—died. So I looked at the store’s old accounting records and found that Agnes Hayes used to come here a lot back before I bought the place. She sold odds and ends—old silver and knickknacks.”

  Underneath the clothing lay an old jewelry box, and Laura removed it from the crate and set it on the counter. As she carefully lifted the lid, the rusty hinges creaked and a haunting melody began to play. Laura shut the box and turned it over, noticing a tarnished brass plaque on the bottom. It read To Laura from Ruby. A wave of nausea shot through Laura like wind, and she dropped the music box back into the crate.

  “What’s wrong?” Julie asked. “Is there a spider in there or something?”

  “I—I’m sorry,” Laura stammered. “I should go. Can I buy that box?”

  “Of course,” Julie said. “I feel guilty selling it to you since that maid probably swiped it from you.”

  “Well, we don’t know for sure,” Laura replied quickly. “How much?”

  “Ten dollars?”

  “Are you sure? That’s not much.”

  “Ten dollars,” Julie repeated.

  Laura pulled a ten-dollar bill from her wallet and placed it on the counter, then grabbed the music box and started for the door.

  “What about the movie?” Julie asked.

  Laura stopped and turned, willing a pleasant smile onto her face. “How about Friday night?”

  Julie smiled broadly. “Great. I’ll meet you outside the theater just before seven.”

  The cowbell clanged as Laura pulled the door open and left the store. Stepping onto the sidewalk, she spotted a bench nearby, so she walked over and sat down. She wasn’t sure why the music box had upset her so much, but the fresh, cool air calmed her nerves a little.

  “Laura! Laura McClain!”

  She glanced up to see Hattie O’Donnell wobbling towards her from across the street. Another woman Laura recognized from the bus station struggled to keep up with Hattie.

  “Laura McClain, this is my sister, Lettie.”

  “It’s nice to meet you,” Laura said, taking the frail woman’s hand. Lettie was terribly thin, and she looked almost like she’d blow away with the next big gust of wind. She didn’t smile back at Laura, who wondered if the old woman was seriously ill.

  Hattie began immediately. “Oh, my. I’ve been hoping to run into you, Laura. I have so much to tell you!”

  Lettie tugged at Hattie’s sweater. “Hattie O’Donnell, we must go. I have an appointment with Dr. Preston.”

  “I know, dear. This will only take a minute.” Hattie squeezed Laura’s arm. “Laura, dear, I must tell you something about Buford’s Bluff.”

  “Hattie, will you shut your mouth and come with me?” As Lettie pulled on Hattie’s arm, Laura decided maybe Lettie wasn’t so frail after all.

  “Oh, all right, Lettie. Laura, I’ll talk to you later.”

  “But Hattie, what did you want to tell me?” Laura prodded.

  “Not now, dear. I have to get Lettie to the doctor. I’m sorry, honey!” Hattie and Lettie walked away, leaving Laura to wonder what on earth Hattie could tell her about Buford’s Bluff that Lettie didn’t want her to repeat.

  Laura glanced at the drugstore window and noticed the old man she’d talked with earlier staring out the window. She looked back at the antique store only to see Julie gazing out the window there. Laura glanced at the music box and then at Hattie and Lettie hobbling down the street. Bufordville is just as creepy as Buford’s Bluff, she thought.

  Laura shook her head and tried to focus on her next task. Opening her purse, she took out a slip of paper. Bishop Miller’s handwriting was messy, but she could still make out what he’d written: Aaron Farr, attorney-at-law, The Law Offices of Leonard Davis and Associates, 45 Birch Street, Bufordville, Virginia.

  “I called the bishop of the Lakeside Ward, near Bufordville,” Bishop Miller had informed her. “I wanted to let him know you were coming. His name is Bishop Roberts, and he said they’ll take good care of you. When I told him your situation, he mentioned there’s a lawyer in the ward.” He’d handed her the piece of paper. “You may need someone to look after your legal interests.”

  The more Laura thought about it, the more sense it made. Roger Ballister was executor of her aunt’s estate, but Laura didn’t really know him, a
nd while she assumed she could trust him to act in her best interests, there was no way she could be sure. Retaining her own attorney would be the smart thing to do.

  8

  It took some thirty minutes for Laura to find Birch Street, a side street not far from the courthouse. After walking around the block a few times without locating the law offices, she got back in her car and drove around. Finally, she saw the number 45 on a modest colonial building that sat beneath the oak trees.

  The receptionist smiled when Laura entered the law offices. “May I help you?”

  Laura glanced at the name plate on the desk: Emily Smith. The woman looked about fifty years old and had bleached blond hair. Laura swallowed hard and forced herself to speak. “Yes, Miss Smith, I would like to see Aaron Farr, please.” She spoke rapidly, and her mouth felt dry.

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  “No, but I would just like to see him for a few minutes if that’s possible.”

  “Well, I’m afraid Mr. Farr is in court right now. Would you like to make an appointment with him?”

  “Yes, I suppose so,” Laura answered, attempting to conceal her disappointment. She had hoped to get this over with.

  Miss Smith stood and opened an appointment book. Just then a man walked up behind them and brushed past Laura. Reaching over the desk, he picked up the appointment book. “Emily, what time’s my next appointment?”

  “Twelve thirty.”

  “Then I’ve got time to take a quick lunch.”

  As he turned to walk away, Miss Smith called after him, “Oh, Mr. Farr, you have a phone message.”

  He walked back to the desk.

  “You’re Aaron Farr?” Laura asked in surprise. She had expected someone older; this man appeared to be in his late twenties.

  Glancing at her and then back at the message, he replied, “Yes. Do I know you?”

  Laura smiled nervously, noticing his high cheekbones and the dimple in his chin. He was quite good looking. His dark brown hair was neatly trimmed, and his obviously expensive suit hung nicely on his tall frame.

  “She doesn’t have an appointment,” Miss Smith interjected, obviously annoyed.

  Aaron looked at Laura as if seeing her for the first time. His eyes met hers, and she felt herself blushing as she stared into his clear blue eyes. “I—uh—I’m a new member of the ward. I just moved here from St. Louis, and I need some legal advice.” She hoped she didn’t sound as pathetic to him as she did to herself.

  “Why don’t you join me for lunch? It will be quick, but you can tell me the basics of your situation.” Listening to him speak with a deep Southern drawl, Laura hardly noticed Miss Smith’s scowl.

  “Well, I don’t want to impose,” Laura responded nervously, suddenly wishing she could disappear. She would never make it through lunch with him—he was too good looking, and she was too nervous.

  He grinned. “Nonsense. I’d love the company, and I bet you’re hungry. After all, it’s almost noon.” There was something in the way he said it, something genuine and kind.

  Laura nodded her assent, so Aaron took her arm and escorted her from the law offices. As they walked briskly down the sidewalk, she stole a few glances at him. He had an intelligent look and a confident air, yet he didn’t strike her as someone who was too full of himself. Perhaps discussing things with a lawyer wouldn’t be as boring as she had imagined.

  The small diner was crowded. Taking her elbow again, Aaron pulled Laura through the crowd to an unoccupied table for two. Laura reached out to pull out her chair, but Aaron beat her to it. Then she stepped back onto his foot. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

  “Quite all right,” he said with a smile that lit up his face.

  They had just sat down and picked up their menus when a waitress approached the table. “Dora, I’ll have the usual,” Aaron declared. “I’m in a bit of a rush.”

  “I’ll have the usual too,” Laura added hesitantly. The waitress squinted her eyes and frowned, and Laura felt the blood rising in her face.

  “Sure, sugar, the usual.” The waitress wore a pink uniform with white trim and a cap, something out of the 1950s. She walked back toward the counter, and Laura noticed that it was crowded with customers sitting on small metal stools attached to the floor. Going behind the counter, Dora pinned the ticket to a wheel and turned it toward the cook. Laura could smell grease frying, and it felt as if she had stepped back in time. This is a real diner, she thought.

  “What do you do here in Bufordville?” Aaron inquired.

  “Well, recently I’ve inherited my Aunt L—I mean Laura Buford’s—estate.” She hoped she sounded more intelligent this time, hiding her trembling hands in her lap.

  The attorney gave a low whistle. “You’re the new owner of Buford’s Bluff?”

  “Well, I will be, I’m told, when the estate is settled.”

  He raised his eyebrows and smiled, which deepened the dimple on his chin. “You never know who you’ll end up having lunch with. When I woke this morning, I would have never thought I’d be having lunch with the richest woman in Bufordville.”

  Laura blushed and started to throw her hair over her shoulder but remembered it was tied back in a ponytail. Suddenly she noticed that several nearby customers were staring at them. “Well, like I said, I’m not yet . . . That is to say, I haven’t yet . . .”

  Aaron leaned forward and whispered, “Got your hands on all those millions?”

  Laura’s face turned even brighter red, and she wished she could hide under the table.“Mr. Farr—”

  “Aaron, please.”

  “Uh, Aaron, I need legal representation. I need someone to help me understand where I stand with the estate.” She tried to sound sophisticated, but she couldn’t control the slight tremor in her voice.

  “I can recommend some good attorneys,” Aaron responded matter-of-factly.

  Just then the waitress appeared, placing a plate in front of Aaron and one in front of Laura. As Laura looked down at the plate to see a bowl of tomato soup and a toasted peanut butter sandwich, her face must have given her away, because Aaron grinned at her.

  “This is my ‘usual.’ Maybe I should’ve warned you.”

  “It’s a bit of an odd combination, but that’s okay. I like peanut butter.” Laura smiled back at him.

  Aaron chuckled. “But do you like tomato soup?”

  They ate in silence for a few minutes, then Laura sat up straighter and cleared her throat. “Mr. Farr, I want you to represent my interest—to be my lawyer.” Realizing how desperate she sounded, Laura slumped back in her seat.

  “Well, my specialty is criminal law, not estates.”

  “Oh.” Laura took a big bite of the peanut-butter sandwich, and the bread stuck to her teeth so she pulled hard on the sandwich. When she put the sandwich down, she knocked over her glass of water. Her mouth was full of peanut butter, and she felt like she might choke.

  Aaron jumped up, grabbed some napkins, and tried to contain the large puddle of water. Laura tried to wipe her mouth with a napkin, still trying to get the peanut butter down, then stood and noticed that she was soaked. The waitress arrived and handed Laura a dish towel to wipe her jeans. Several customers at the bar snickered.

  Finally, Laura swallowed the dense lump of peanut butter. “I need to go,” she managed, looking apologetically at Aaron. Then she bolted from the café and headed up the street toward her car. When she heard footsteps behind her, she didn’t turn around but knew Aaron was trying to catch up to her. She didn’t want to face him so she ran even faster, wondering how she’d gone from the perfect lunch invitation to this.

  When she reached her car, Laura found a yellow ticket on the windshield. She’d forgotten she’d parked in a twenty-minute parking spot. Snapping up the ticket, she rummaged in her purse for her car keys.

  “Laura!” Aaron called, running up to her. “Are you okay? Did I upset you? I’m sorry. I’ll try to help you until you can find a lawyer more experienced with property and estates.
”

  Laura dug deeper into her purse and didn’t look up. “I’ll make an appointment.”

  “Why don’t you give me that ticket?” he suggested. “I’ll take care of it. I have friends at the police station. I’ll explain that you’re new in town.”

  “Thanks.” Not feeling up to an argument, Laura handed him the slip of paper and watched as he walked away. Her heart was beating fast from her sprint to her car, and her face still felt warm with embarrassment.

  When Laura returned to Buford’s Bluff, she went straight to her room and took a long nap. As she awoke, it took her a few moments to remember where she was. Then she remembered the events of the day and wanted to go back to sleep, but instead she combed her hair, pinched her cheeks, and carried the newly acquired jewelry box down to the parlor.

  Sitting with the jewelry box on her lap beneath her aunt’s portrait, Laura stared at the beautiful woman’s image for a long while, then surveyed the huge parlor and tried to imagine her aunt sitting in the room. The heavy mahogany furniture was covered in mauve fabric, and the dark wood floor was covered with a tan area rug with corner sprays of pink, yellow, and blue blooms surrounded by lush greenery. The sofa featured a heavily carved medallion back with fruits and flowers carved on its wood frame, and the same pattern was carved in the chairs’ arms and legs. Laura scrutinized the arms of the chair in which she sat, noticing a carved snake slithering through the fruit and flowers.

  She lifted the jewelry box’s lid and listened to the music. It occurred to her that Aunt Laura had once listened to the same music, perhaps while sitting in this room. There was something eerie and surreal about the melody. Earlier in the week, Laura had sat in the comfort of her own apartment, and as she sat in a room almost as large as her entire apartment, it seemed like a daydream, a fantasy, an episode from a Barbara Michaels novel.

  Laura heard a rustling noise and glanced up. Agnes lurked at the door, her face pale, her mouth open. “Where did you get that?”

  Laura raised an eyebrow. “At an antique shop in Bufordville.”