Chapter One
There was a fire in Lambert Falls. The smell in the air was unmistakable. Angie Kane paused in front of the diner door, keys in her hand. Someone definitely had a fire going. Normally, this would not be noteworthy. It was, after all, late January and, contrary to popular belief, it got chilly in winter even in North Carolina. Two things made Angie stop. First was the fact that it was 4:30 A.M. and usually there were no signs of life when she arrived to work. Second was the fact that, in looking around, she saw the smoke from the fire was rising from the chimney of the old Montgomery place.
You couldn''t actually see the old plantation. It was high enough on the hill and hidden by century-old trees. But above those trees rose three of many of the house''s chimneys. And smoke was rising from one of them. Angie had lived in Lambert Falls her entire life, all twenty-five years of it, and it had stood empty almost as long.
She was intrigued. No, she chastised herself. She wasn''t intrigued. That was too strong. Perhaps curious was better. Even mildly interested. But not intrigued. She would leave that emotion to the ladies of the town. Besides, she couldn''t help but smile to herself, she would get all the speculation and gossip from those same ladies as they came into the diner over the course of the next few days. So, without another glance up the hill, Angie opened the diner door and went to work.
The thirty minutes between the time she arrived at the diner and the time it opened were busy, if comfortably monotonous. She had been opening up Tuesday through Saturday for three years now and could do it in her sleep. Some mornings, she thought she might have done just that. The industrial dishwasher that Joey had started last night as he left needed unloading. The coffee, both regular and decaf for when the Jones sisters came in, was started. At 4:45 A.M., Alvin, the morning cook, arrived with his iPod headphones still in his ears over his skull cap in the winter. In the summer, the headphones would go over his Atlanta Braves baseball cap. Whatever the season, he would exchange his seasonal headgear and iPod for his white cap and cook''s apron and head back to the kitchen to set up the grill. He and Angie would chat amicably about nothing in particular over the first cup of coffee of the day until it was time for her to turn on the overhead fluorescent lights and flip the CLOSED sign on the door to OPEN. At 5:10 A.M., Bobby Granger, the sheriff, would come in to get his coffee (black with sugar) and two slices of wheat toast with butter and strawberry preserves.
Bobby''s wife had passed away several years ago, and breakfast at the diner was his way of getting company outside of the station and his deputies-and every single woman over the age of forty in town. When Bobby came in at 5:10 every morning, Angie''s day officially started.
Bobby was finishing up his last piece of toast when the Jones sisters came in. They made a point of studying the menu. Then Mary ordered her one soft-boiled egg with dry toast and Margaret her two fried eggs with biscuits.
"Angie, dear," Mary spoke, "did you see the smoke coming from the Montgomery place?"
"We noticed it as soon as we stepped out of the house," Margaret continued.
Angie figured people had probably once gotten the two women confused for each other. And strangers in town might still, but the locals knew them apart. "Was there a fire on the hill?" Angie asked innocently as she poured their decaf coffee.
"No, dear," Mary explained, "a house fire...."
"In the fireplace," Margaret continued for her.
"Someone living there," Mary said.
"After all these years," Margaret finished with a shake of her head.
The two women looked at Bobby simultaneously, and each lifted an eyebrow. Bobby swallowed the last of his coffee. "Can''t say I noticed either, Angie," he said. Angie knew he was lying and knew he was on to her, too. People tended to sell Bobby short because he was a small-town, Southern sheriff. He played the good ol''boy role when he needed to, but he was sharp and wouldn''t have missed anything so obvious. Just as he knew Angie wouldn''t have either.
He picked up his hat and dropped a tip on the counter. "I''m sure there''s no great mystery. Angie, thanks for the coffee. Ladies ..." He tipped his hat as he put it on. Three construction workers held the door for him as he left and Angie started pouring coffee.
Bobby headed to the station without another look at the old Montgomery place. He''d seen the smoke, of course, but would deal with that in a bit. For now, Jimmy had worked a double and probably needed sleep.
The deputy was behind the desk, on the phone, when Bobby walked in. Bobby nodded to him and crossed to the coffee maker. As he turned back, two steaming mugs in his hand, Jimmy hung up and stood.
"Hey Boss." Jimmy took the coffee Bobby offered him. "We''re getting calls about smoke on the hill."
Bobby nodded and sat down in the chair Jimmy had just vacated. "Figured we would be." He sipped at his coffee, thumbing through the pink slips of paper Jimmy always used for phone messages. There were indeed more than usual. "What else has been going on?"
"But Boss ..." Jimmy started.
Bobby interrupted him. "The chimney smoke''s taken care of Jimmy. Nothing you need to worry about. The sooner you fill me in on the rest, the sooner you can go home and get some sleep."
Jimmy shrugged. He was tired but more importantly, he trusted the sheriff. If the boss said it was nothing, it was nothing.
The exchange didn''t take long; Jimmy was good at his job and didn''t leave many loose ends for Bobby to handle. And the night had been a quiet one-at least until the early birds had woken up to a good reason to gossip. Bobby considered asking the other man to stay given the number of calls they were getting but couldn''t bring himself to do it. Hand to God, the kid looked dead on his feet. The answering service could manage the concerned citizens of Lambert Falls when the time came. Until then, he would.
He spent the time finishing up some paperwork and, as expected, fielding calls about the old Montgomery place. After a couple hours, he was actually grateful to be able to forward the phones for a little bit.
Clipping his radio to his belt, he stepped out into the weak morning sunlight and looked up the hill at the cause of concern. Normally, he would''ve told Jimmy what was going on but Jimmy would''ve wanted to stick around and Bobby needed him to get some sleep. Plus, there was the other man to consider. If he knew it or not, he was the cause of enough speculation already. Both of the town''s officers of the law showing up on his doorstep ... well, the man didn''t need that, too.
The man the whole town was interested in was old Doc Montgomery''s grandson, Chris Montgomery. Chris had called Bobby a few days ago and asked Bobby to do a quick drive-by of the old house before he came to town. Bobby had done so and had found the outside of the house, at least, in remarkably good condition. Sure there had been a couple broken windows and the whole place was in desperate need of paint, but there were no holes or visible leaks. Considering how long the place had stood empty, it was amazing.
When Bobby had called the young Montgomery to give him the information, Chris had invited him up for a visit. According to Bobby''s watch, it was time to meet Christopher Montgomery in person. Bobby approached the plantation in his car. Normally, he would have made the visit on foot, make it look and feel less formal, but that driveway was a half mile long if it was a foot, and he wasn''t about to hike it without reason. The lawns were no longer manicured and well kept after so many years of the house being empty, but even that had a raw beauty to it. Short of torching the place, Bobby wasn''t sure this property could be anything but beautiful.
He rang the bell and waited. Looking at his watch again, he knew he was on time. He was just about to reach for the bell a second time when footsteps sounded behind the massive oak doors. Christopher Montgomery opened the door.
Bobby''s professional eye took over and he made a quick assessment of the man. He was medium height and lean. Green-brown eyes, slightly guarded, that would miss nothing. Brownish red hair still worn short from habit, Bobby assumed. White T-shirt that was comfortably worn, soft faded blue jeans, bare feet. This was a man who was comfortable with himself and his environment but always just a little wary, just a little "on." That was to be expected though, Bobby thought, given the nature of his past.
"Sheriff Granger?" Chris asked, extending his hand. "Chris Montgomery."
Bobby shook his hand. "Pleased to meet you in person, Chris. And it''s Bobby."
Bobby''s handshake was strong but not challenging. Chris appreciated that. So many men felt they had to try to prove something or play stupid games with him. He had been a little concerned about a small-town sheriff. And Bobby looked him in the eye. Again, not a challenge, just being comfortable and friendly. And smart. Smarter, Chris realized meeting the man in person, than Bobby had let on during their few phone conversations. Chris couldn''t help but laugh inwardly at himself. Here he had been concerned about the stereotyping that was going to follow him around and he had been guilty of it himself.
"Thanks, Bobby. Come on in." Chris stepped back from the door, allowing Bobby access to the large foyer. Bobby couldn''t help but look around. He hadn''t been in the house since he was a child. The wallpaper was faded and peeling in some places, but it looked very much like he remembered. Just a little dustier, a little older. But then, he was a little dustier and a little older himself.
"Excuse the place. I''ve got my work cut out for me, I think," Chris said as he led them deeper into the house toward the kitchen. "I''ve got coffee on if you''d like."
"Thank you," Bobby agreed. He sat on a bar stool at a large butcher-block island in the center of the room. "Sugar if you''ve got it." Chris poured the coffee and placed a box of sugar and a plastic spoon in front of Bobby.
"I haven''t had a chance to get unpacked and settled yet, but I managed to get the necessities at a 7-Eleven last night on the way in to town." Bobby watched as Chris poured an inordinate amount of sugar and creamer into his cup before stirring it vigorously with another spoon. He took a sip and added another teaspoon of sugar. Looking up, Chris saw Bobby watching him and laughed. "I could never stand coffee, but so often it was all we had that I had to make do. Now I''m addicted. Go figure."
"Chris, let me tell you how sorry the whole town was to hear about your granddad. Doc was a great guy," Bobby said, getting it out of the way.
Chris nodded. "Thanks. He was the best. I was a lucky kid."
"I remember when we were kids," Bobby spoke slowly. "Doc and Miz Montgomery would always scare the living hell out of us at Halloween on the driveway up to the house. Lights made to look like things watching us, scary noises, the works. We''d come into the foyer certain the devil himself was on our tails. The whole place would be bright with candles and creepy music and Doc telling us ghost stories. But Miz Montgomery would always hush him up and feed us candied apples and popcorn balls."
"My grandparents always loved the holidays," Chris said. "From Halloween through Easter was big shit."
Bobby nodded. "Well, know that everyone here loved both of them and you''ll be welcome here. I will warn you though," Bobby added with a chuckle, "you may be Doc Montgomery''s people, but you''re also new in town, so there''ll be lots of curiosity and no little amount of talk."
Chris laughed with him. "Thanks for the warning. Anything else I need to know?"
Bobby thought about it for a second or two. "The best cup of coffee in town is at the diner at the bottom of the hill, and don''t let Maddie over at the dry cleaners starch your pants or you can''t sit for a month. I''m sure there''re other things you need to know, but I''m not a great welcome wagon. Come to dinner tonight and my girls can help you out better."
Chris raised an eyebrow.
"My wife passed a while back and now I live with my nieces. They''re good girls and can help you with town better than I can. Plus, Carter Anne can cook you up something a damn sight better than what you can get at the 7-Eleven. Say about five-thirty?"
"Sounds good. Thanks, Bobby."
Bobby drained his cup and stood up. They headed through the house. "We''re the yellow house at the corner of Main and Peachtree. You can''t miss us. Just park in the driveway if you drive it."
"I''ll probably just walk," Chris said. Bobby nodded and Chris couldn''t help but feel as if he had just passed a test of some sort.
At the door, Bobby noticed a small pile of belongings. There were two duffel bags, a footlocker, and a framed picture leaning up against the wall. "You travel light," Bobby mentioned.
"Habit," Chris replied.
Bobby looked closer at the photograph. Two men, one in a light gray suit and fedora, the other in military fatigues tucked into jump boots and wearing a green beret, arm in arm at an airfield. The older man had tears in his eyes.
"Hey," Bobby said. "There''s the Doc."
Chris bent, picked up the picture, and handed it to Bobby. "We had just gotten back from Somalia."
"Didn''t realize you fellas were in Somalia. Thought it was just the Rangers."
"Good. That''s what you were supposed to think." Chris''s voice was quiet.
Bobby glanced from the photo to Chris. His eyes were looking at the picture but his mind was somewhere else. Bobby wondered if the man was even aware of how closed down he had just become. It was a look Bobby was used to seeing in criminals-and victims.
"Well," Bobby said with slightly strained cheerfulness, "it''s good to see the Doc again, even in a picture." He placed it on the floor gently. "We''ll see you tonight?"
Chris nodded. Bobby noticed his eyes were clear again, like he had thrown a switch somewhere inside of himself. "Five-thirty."
Chris stepped out of the house and breathed deeply. Winter air was so clean. He could easily spend all day working on the grounds then enjoying another warm fire inside. As much as he would have liked to burrow into the house and stay there until spring, he knew small towns well enough to know that the longer he stayed out of sight, the longer the locals would have to speculate. The longer they had to speculate, the greater the mystery would become, and then he''d have no chance of ever fitting in, of ever simply being at home among them.
He zipped his jacket and pulled on his gloves. If Bobby was right and the best cup of coffee in town was the diner at the bottom of the hill, then that seemed like a good place to start. As he made his way into town, he realized he was looking forward to meeting the people and seeing the places he had heard so much about from his grandfather. The Jones sisters. Apparently, Margaret had given his grandmother a run for her money years ago. Town center and the statue of Thomas Jefferson Lambert, where his grandfather had first kissed his grandmother and poor Margaret lost out, even if she hadn''t known it at the time. Even Bobby had been a treat. Pops had underestimated the nice young man who might make sheriff one day, though. He had made sheriff and was obviously more than just a nice man.
Chris''s thoughts took him down the hill and to the main street. He looked around and, sure enough, directly across the street from him was the diner. It was just a few blocks up from the 7-Eleven where he had stopped the night before. He must have driven by it in the dark and not even noticed. The large clock on the building across the street read 11:30. It was early for lunch but dinner would be early, too, so he figured he was fine. He needed to get on a normal schedule anyway, if he could remember what that was.
He opened the door and a bell jingled over his head. The diner wasn''t very crowded, but every eye turned toward him and time seemed to stop. Ah, he thought with an inward smile. The stranger makes his first appearance. It didn''t matter where in the world you went, small towns were the same. The first appearance always silenced the room. Out of habit, he assessed the situation quickly. Two older women at the first table. A mother with her baby to his right. Three young guys in worn ball caps at the counter. The old guy contingent sitting at the other end of the counter. A young woman serving coffee. The happy-looking man in the kitchen, busy at his grill. And of course, the door behind Chris, another one under an exit sign by the restrooms, and a third just visible through the window separating the kitchen from the seating area, behind the cook.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Falling in Loveby Pauline Trent Copyright © 2009 by Pauline Trent. Excerpted by permission.
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