Home For Keeps

Carol’s voice jerked Grace around. “What?”

“Your coffee.” The receptionist indicated the coffeemaker.

“Right. Thanks.” She glanced back through the window as the man followed his customers inside. What in the world was he telling them about the development? And with all those people in the restaurant—potential residents—within hearing distance. “I think I need something to go with the coffee. If anyone asks for me, I’ll be back in...well, a while.”

Grace left the office and raced across the street. She opened The Busy Corner door. All the passengers on the tour had taken seats around tables, and a busboy was distributing menus and water. Grace glanced past them to the far wall where Caleb sat alone enjoying a piece of apple pie. She wanted to wave at him, but he didn’t seem to notice her. Or anyone for that matter. He was too busy reading his newspaper.

One of the people from the minibus said, “What I heard happened on that farm is even better than the Milwaukee beer baron story. C’mon, Vincent, don’t make us wait any longer. Tell us about the farmhouse murder!”

Grace clenched her jaw so she wouldn’t interrupt. She wanted to hear what this guy had to say, as well. Her father had told her there had been a murder on the Green Meadows property, but he hadn’t had the details.

The tour leader—Vincent, apparently—stood in the center of the room, bowler hat still firmly in place as he puffed out his chest and cleared his throat. “Right after the First World War, that farm was owned by a mean old couple with a crazy grown son. Really weird folks, the Whitmans, who made their neighbors uncomfortable, made friends with no one. They were farmers who should have had responsibility to their animals, but they got up whenever they wanted and made the cows wait to be milked.”

“Was that bad?” asked another member of the group.

Vincent said, “Yes, it was bad. They should have been milked at sunrise. Those poor cows suffered. And then they didn’t milk the cows again until after dark. The neighbors were horrified when they saw the lanterns lighting up the old barn late at night. Horrified, too, when the crazy son who served in World War I marched around the property carrying a shotgun and looking for Germans.”

“Plenty of Germans in these parts,” a local woman said. “Did he ever shoot anyone?”

“He did. One of their cows who wandered away from the herd. Shot it in the head and killed it dead.”

Several gasps made Grace realize everyone in the restaurant other than Caleb was captivated by the story. Finally looking up and spotting her, he shot both eyebrows up high and shook his head.

“What happened then?” came another question.

“Son got taken away to an asylum, where he stayed for the rest of his life.”

“That’s it?” a man groused. “A cow was murdered?”

People grumbled as if disappointed.

“No, no, that was just the beginning,” Vincent went on, embellishing. “Then the rumors started about a cow with blazing red eyes appearing. Soon after, the couple was found dead. Old Whitman sprawled across the kitchen floor, his head smashed in...blood on a rolling pin in the sink.”

“What about the woman?”

“Found facedown outside as if she’d been running from something fearsome and had a heart attack. Rumor had it the murdered cow’s ghost was possessed, and no one wanted to go near the property because it haunted the fields.”

“Oh, come on!” Appalled, Grace moved toward the tour guide. “Where did you get that information? What proof do you have that anything you said is true?”

Vincent puffed himself up but still had to tilt his head to look her in the eye. “Are you a ghost hunter?” he demanded.

As if his calling himself a ghost hunter gave him unique qualifications, Grace thought. “No. Green Meadows is my community, and I don’t appreciate your tall tales meant to scare people or make them uncomfortable.”

“I’m not doing anything illegal. And just because you don’t believe in ghosts doesn’t mean the story isn’t true.”

“A ghost cow?” she asked.

“With blazing red eyes. And it still wanders the area, sometimes on deserted country roads...”

Grace had had enough. She started to open her mouth again.

“Oh, come on, lady,” one of the group interrupted. “Don’t spoil our fun!”

Fun? Could this man really just make up a bunch of lies and people would pay to hear them? Distraught, she looked around and noted irritated expressions on several faces. Obviously these tourists were getting what they wanted and didn’t appreciate her interference.

“Fine,” she muttered.

Paying no attention to her, the tour leader started explaining how the cow chasing old Mrs. Whitman was reenacted on the Green Meadows property whenever there was moonlight.

Disgusted, Grace turned to leave and nearly ran into Caleb, who had his bill and some cash in hand.

“Don’t let him get to you,” he said softly as they reached the cashier and he set down his money, then went on without waiting for change. “It’s ridiculous, but it isn’t meant to hurt anyone.”

“Plus it brings in business,” added the cashier, nodding to the group, most of whom seemed to be ordering sandwiches or full meals.

“Come on.” Caleb held the door open for Grace.

Once outside, she said, “But what if it hurts the new community? People can be superstitious. If they believe him, they might not want to go anywhere near Green Meadows.”

“Yes, levelheaded people around here are going to believe there’s a ghost cow with blazing red eyes roaming the property.” His tone was serious but laugh lines crinkled around his eyes.

Despite her irritation with the tour leader, Caleb made her laugh. “Okay, okay.”

“If I know people around here, they’ll be snorting over that guy’s story for days to come. Until someone else comes up with a more outrageous tale.”

“Hopefully Green Meadows is safe then.” The idea of going back to her paperwork made Grace desperate enough to ask Caleb, “Have you thought about taking that tour of the green community with me?”

“You were serious?”

“I was.”

“Then I would love it. Are you busy now?”

Thinking about the paperwork waiting for her in the office, she said, “Now would be a perfect time.”

* * *

SINCE CALEB LIVED so close to the development, it made sense for them to drive separately and meet at the community center. Arriving at Green Meadows before Grace, he took a good look at the wall his daughter had defaced a few days ago. Already painted over. Part of him regretted Angela’s work being destroyed, especially since it had such emotional significance to her. What she had done was wrong, but maybe it was his fault. In the past, he’d avoided discussing Lily with his daughter. He’d had no idea that she’d thought he had somehow taken her mother away from her, the antithesis of the truth. When he’d fallen in love with Lily, he’d been young and naive and had thought they would be together forever.

“How is Angela doing?”

Caleb started. He’d been so deep in thought he hadn’t heard Grace’s car pull up. He turned to face her. The breeze caught her dark hair, creating a lovely cloud around her face. “She’s coping, I guess. She’s still avoiding me as much as she can.”

Grace nodded in what seemed like understanding. “Let’s walk this way.”

She indicated the sidewalk that would take them past one of the condo buildings, plus several duplexes. Caleb was glad to note that all the buildings sat on large pieces of land and backed onto a forested area. So while people did have neighbors, they also had enough room for gardens and outdoor activities and a wonderful backyard view of something other than more buildings. The solar panels that heated and cooled the dwellings were cleverly inserted into the roofs.

He asked, “How big is the development?”