Holly Grove Homecoming

Holly Grove Homecoming

by

Carolynn Carey

Holly Grove Homecoming

Copyright © 2016 by Carolynn Carey

All rights reserved.

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Edited by Helen Woodall

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Cover art by Dar Albert

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No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

Holly Grove Homecoming

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

About

Holly Grove Homecoming

When Carly Morrison moved to Holly Grove, Tennessee, the last person she expected to run into was FBI Agent Trooper Myers. Everybody knew Trooper had cut ties with his hometown twenty years earlier when his parents were murdered and his mother accused of being a child predator. And although Carly moved to Holly Grove for reasons that had nothing to do with Trooper, now that she’s here, she plans to write a true crime book about his parents’ murders. She can only hope that Trooper’s unexpected return won’t upset her plans.

Over the past twenty years, Trooper Myers has come up with plenty of excuses for staying away from his hometown, but now that he’s on medical leave, he can’t justify not returning to begin his long-delayed investigation into his parents’ deaths. Fortunately, his aunt Myrna is thrilled to have him back in town, but he’s curious about her new neighbor. Carly Morrison sets off all sorts of alarms on his suspicion meter, but at the same time, she appeals to him in ways no woman ever has.

With so many secrets and suspicions threatening their relationship, can Carly and Trooper not only solve a twenty-year-old murder mystery but also learn to trust each other enough to plan for the future

OTHER TITLES BY CAROLYNN CAREY

Historical Novels

A Simple Lady

Compromising Situations

The Secret Christmas Ciphers

My Elusive Countess

The Mysterious Merriana

The Untamable Antonia

The Barbourville Series

Celebrations of Joy (A Novella)

A Summer Sentence

Falling for Dallas

Dealing with Denver

Dreaming of Dayton

The Forgotten Christmas Tree

At Home in Barbourville

The Bow Wow and Meow Campaign

Barbourville Christmas Reunion

Chasing Dreams in Barbourville

McCray County Series

McCray County Retreat

Contemporary Titles

My Cupcake, My Love

Christmas with Tiffany

Prognosis for Happiness

Lily for a Day

Holly Grove Homecoming

For information, visit Carolynn’s website:

www.CarolynnCarey.com

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Chapter 1

Nelson Trooper Myers eased his foot off the gas as the entrance to the alley neared. He hadn’t made this particular right-hand turn in more than twenty years, but from what he could see, not a lot had changed since the last time he’d approached his aunt Myrna’s backyard. He’d been eighteen years old then, a boy immersed in the pain of having seen his entire world ripped apart.

Now as the turn neared, memories of his last days in Holly Grove threatened to smash through the mental wall he’d erected to keep them at bay. His muscles involuntarily clenched in response, bringing a twinge of pain to his still-healing shoulder. He set his teeth and turned the steering wheel sharply, then eased his car into the narrow, weed-lined alleyway.

Seconds later he turned again, this time into the parking area Aunt Myrna had paved some twenty-two years ago when she finally grew tired of trying to keep grass growing in her backyard where he and his cousins parked on their frequent visits to see their favorite aunt.

The parking area was still there, but everything else about Aunt Myrna’s backyard had changed. Damnation, Trooper murmured, rolling to a stop and putting the car in park. He sat and stared at the changes he hadn’t expected. His aunt’s iris bed had once been her pride and joy. Now that area was covered by an extensive wooden deck, complete with a pergola on the end nearest the house.

She hadn’t mentioned any of these changes to him, but in truth, he couldn’t blame her. He hadn’t called her often enough in recent years, and he hadn’t bothered to tell her he was coming back today. He hadn’t told her because he hadn’t been sure right up until the minute he turned into the alleyway that he wouldn’t just keep on going.

Returning to Holly Grove was the hardest thing he’d done since the day he drove away.

But he was here now, so he might as well go through with his plans. He unlatched his seat belt, wincing as the pressure against his shoulder eased. He sat for a minute, waiting for the pain to ebb before he opened the door and climbed out, only to wince again as the heat and humidity of a Tennessee July enveloped him. He’d forgotten just how unbearable that combo could be.

Fighting an urge to climb back into his air-conditioned car and drive away, he instead started walking toward the left rear corner of his aunt’s house. He’d never gone in her back door although many of his cousins had. For reasons he no longer remembered, he had always gone around to the front and up the wooden steps to the deep front porch he’d loved so much.

He paused as he neared the back of the house to look over the new deck. He could see now that it opened off Myrna’s screened-in porch. It was a nice addition. He hoped to also spot an outside air-conditioning unit but no such luck. When he’d been a boy spending the summers with Aunt Myrna, he hadn’t noticed the heat, but now that he was accustomed to air conditioning, he wondered how he’d hold up without it.

Of course, this was assuming that Aunt Myrna would agree to let him stay with her for a few days. He turned and started down the path that led around the side of the house, his stomach knotting with the sudden fear that her feelings toward him had changed and she wouldn’t want him around. He’d have to ask her and find out. He wouldn’t blame her much if she turned him down. She didn’t owe him anything anymore.

He just hoped she didn’t fault him too much for staying away so long.

MYRNA JOHNSON HAD PRAYED every night for the last twenty years that Nelson Myers would return to Holly Grove some day. She’d prayed extra hard for the past few weeks, considering what had happened three months ago, but this morning she hadn’t given her nephew a thought. She’d been too busy trying to talk Josh Sewell out of running off with his best friend’s wife.

Josh hadn’t appreciated her interference. Now see here, Myrna, he’d said, his brow drawn into a severe frown. It ain’t none of your bee’s wax what me and Sherry do. We’re both over twenty-one. He’d glanced down the street as though hoping to spot someone coming to his rescue, but he and Myrna had been alone on the sidewalk in front of her house on Sugar Maple Drive.

Myrna had propped her hands on her hips. Yes, you’re over twenty-one by a long shot, Josh Sewell. I haven’t forgot that you were three years ahead of me in school. Which means that you ought to know better than to trade an old friend for a little nookie.

Color had flared on Josh’s cheeks. Lordy, Myrna, you ought not to be talking like that. Besides, me and Sherry are in love.

Myrna had snorted. Love, shmuve, Josh. Y’all aren’t in love. You just need a change. Why don’t you go to Millertown and visit your cousin for a couple of weeks? Go to church with him. You might find some nice widow lady who’s already lost her husband, not one like Sherry who’s going to cost you the best friend you ever had.

Josh had heaved a sigh, heavy enough to express his disgust. How’d you find out about me and Sherry, anyhow?

Never mind about that. Myrna never revealed her sources. You just go on to Millertown and cool off for a couple of weeks. I’ll tell Sherry you were called away by an emergency—which this is, to my way of thinking.

Josh had crammed his hands into his pockets. Oh, all right. But be sure not to let on to Sherry that I’m looking around while I’m in Millertown.

Myrna had bitten back a smile of triumph. My lips are sealed, Josh. Now you run along.

She’d watched until Josh had walked to the end of the block. If he’d turned left onto Dahlia Way where Sherry and Harold lived, she’d have had to chase him down and try reasoning with him again. And reasoning with a fool who thought he was in love wasn’t an easy task for a person to set for herself. So she’d breathed a sigh of relief when he hung a right, heading toward downtown Holly Grove and away from trouble.

When she turned from watching Josh, she picked up her watering can and went back to giving her impatiens a morning drink. They needed water every day in July. Otherwise, they’d droop when the sun moved into the west and they were no longer sheltered by the four maples that stood along the front of her lot.

When she finished, she set her watering can down at the far end of the flowerbed and started toward the house, then stopped in her tracks and stared, afraid to blink lest she discover her eyes were playing tricks on her.

Nelson stood near the edge of her porch, watching her. He must have parked in her backyard and walked around the house, the way he’d always done when he was a teenager. He hadn’t changed much since then. Not really. A little leaner, the fullness of youth having faded when he matured into a grown man.

He would be in his late thirties now, an age when his father’s people tended to start noticing their first gray hairs. She could see that Nelson’s hair was still fully dark, but his eyes—usually bright with intelligence—appeared hooded, as though he was reluctant to impart any suggestion of what he might be feeling.

Well, two could play that game. Myrna held her expression carefully neutral, hoping not to frighten him away with either her joys or her concerns.

For after twenty long years, Nelson Myers had returned to Holly Grove, and the good Lord only knew what that would mean for him and for the town.

CARLY MORRISON PUSHED her screen door open and stepped onto her front porch, hoping for a breath of fresh air. Instead the morning humidity enveloped her like a hot, cloying cloud. I hate this weather, she muttered to FluffBall, the blue-gray cat she’d adopted six months earlier when it turned up on her front porch and refused to leave.

We had some hot weather in Pennsylvania, she informed the long-haired kitten, which had hopped up on a post and was watching her intently. But this humidity is making me sorry I bought a house with no air conditioning when I moved to Holly Grove.

Carly sighed. While she didn’t regret falling in love with the century-old Victorian on Sugar Maple Drive, she had to admit it was considerably less comfortable than a modern, air-conditioned house would have been.

She bent to pick up the morning newspaper and glanced at the headline: Record Heat Wave to Continue through Week.

Enough already, she declared, folding the paper and using it to fan her face. I give up. Even though I’ll hate the way it looks, be darned if I’m not going to invest in a window air-conditioning unit.

She stepped back inside to grab her purse and car keys. She’d drive to the local hardware store and talk to the owner, Mr. Starr, about what size unit she needed and who she could get to install it. Mr. Starr charged considerably more than the superstore on the outskirts of town, but his knowledge about what should be done and who could do it was invaluable. A single woman who’d spent much of her adult life as an apartment dweller, Carly now needed all the help she could get.

She hurried down the sidewalk toward her car. She’d parked under one of the massive trees lining Sugar Maple Drive, hoping the shade would help hold the interior temperature of the car to something less than two hundred degrees Fahrenheit.

She glanced across the street and that’s when she saw him, the man standing so still on Myrna Johnson’s porch.

Most people wouldn’t have recognized Nelson Trooper Myers, but then most people hadn’t served a stint as a crime reporter for a TV station in a major city. Carly had known for years that Trooper was one of the FBI’s top agents in the Philadelphia area.

She’d also known, of course, about Trooper’s connection to Holly Grove, but she’d never expected to see him here. Everybody knew that he never, ever returned to the town of his birth.

Until today obviously.

Curiosity about Trooper’s presence at Myrna Johnson’s house chased all thoughts about the sizzling heat from Carly’s mind. Redirecting her steps, she marched around the front of her car, crossed the street, and walked into Myrna’s yard. Then she paused, taken aback by the intense stares being exchanged between Myrna and Trooper.

Pasting on a broad smile, Carly pulled out her most cheerful tone. Good morning, Myrna. I saw you outside and wanted to comment on how much I’ve been admiring your impatiens. Mine are so leggy that I’ve almost given up on trying to make anything out of them. Oh, I see you have company.

Carly threw up her hand at the man on the porch. He ignored her. Oh well, there’d be time later to delve into what brought Trooper back to Holly Grove. No sense in being so inquisitive that he became suspicious of her. Then he might start looking into her background and that would never do.

She cut her gaze back to Myrna. I’m off to Mr. Starr’s to buy an air conditioner. Can I bring you anything from town?

Myrna didn’t bother looking at Carly before shaking her head. Thanks anyway, dear. I’m fine.

Carly risked another glance at the man on the porch. He now stared at her, a puzzled frown pulling at his brow as though he was trying to place her. Anxious to avoid further scrutiny, she turned and hurried to her car, unlocked the door, and scrambled behind the wheel. She tried to catch another glimpse of the two in her side view mirror as she pulled out into the street, but all she could see was Myrna Johnson standing as still as any statue and gazing toward her front porch.

TROOPER STARED AFTER the silver SUV easing down Sugar Maple Drive. The woman who’d climbed behind the wheel had looked vaguely familiar, although memory suggested that her chestnut hair, a shade between brown and red, had been shorter at some time in the past, and her face, pretty in a less than conventional way, had once been made up to appear glamorous rather than girl-next-doorish.

But speculation about the woman would have to wait. His aunt had started walking toward him. He should meet her halfway, he supposed, but he couldn’t yet bring himself to move away from the familiarity of her porch.

Aunt Myrna had been the unofficial babysitter for Trooper and dozens of his cousins over the years. While his own parents had spent their summers going back to college to renew teaching certificates or familiarize themselves with new state education regulations, he’d stayed with Myrna. At least ten of his summers he’d spent reveling in the joys of her front porch—the screeching chains of her porch swing, the heady fragrance of her orange blossom shrubs, and the lulling comfort of her wicker furniture where he’d sprawled for hours with a leg slung over a chair arm and a book in his hands. He’d loved every minute of those carefree days.

But that was then and today...well, today the porch looked much the same, but Trooper knew he did not. He’d grown from a boy into a—

Nelson, his aunt called, interrupting his thoughts. She was the only family member who refused to call him Trooper, although she was the reason he’d been given the nickname in the first place. A little trouper, she’d called him when he was five years old and had been assigned the chore of looking after his three-year-old cousin Karen. Trooper could still remember the thrill he’d felt when he’d earned Myrna’s praise by following Karen around like a bloodhound on a fresh trail. He’d been too afraid of losing his cousin to let her out of his sight.

Now, all these years later, his heart still swelled with joy at the sound of Myrna’s voice. She was his mother’s youngest sister, the baby in a family of eighteen siblings, and somehow she had become the glue that held them all together, at least for a while. The fact that he’d walked away from the extended family certainly hadn’t been her fault.

Aunt Myrna. Trooper finally forced his feet to move. He hurried down the wide plank steps and reached to grasp his aunt’s hands. He wasn’t surprised when she brushed his hands aside and wrapped her arms around his waist, hugging him tight.

She was frailer than Trooper remembered. Her shoulders, which had once seemed broad enough to support the troubles of the world, seemed a tiny bit stooped now. When he put his arms around her, he was careful to hug her gently. And when he brushed her cheek with a soft kiss, he wanted to cry. Her skin was still supple and warm but lacked the firmness he recalled from his youth, and her welcoming smile left more than a few wrinkles in its wake.

Her voice had not changed, nor had her matter-of-fact attitude. It’s about time you came back to Holly Grove, young man. I’ve missed you. How long can you stay?

Trooper should have known he couldn’t avoid that question for long, but he wasn’t ready to answer quite yet. I’m not sure. A few days, at least.

She stepped back and slipped an arm through his, pulling him close to her side. Why didn’t you let me know you were coming?

He couldn’t very well say that he’d been afraid he’d back out at the last minute, so he grinned instead. What? And give you a chance to slip out of town before I arrived? No way.

She gave his hand a playful slap and he realized they were slipping back into their old familiar ways. You’ll be staying with me, of course, she said.

I’d hoped you’d invite me. And maybe I can repay your hospitality by doing a few chores around the place.

His aunt shrugged. No need for that. Karen’s husband helps out with all my little plumbing and electrical emergencies. He builds houses, you know.

Is he competent?

He’s a master carpenter. And it’s a good thing. He’s built on to their house three times. They have five kids now.

Trooper raised his brows. Karen always was a fast worker.

His aunt patted his arm. She’ll be glad to see you.

I doubt she remembers what I look like. I barely remember her.

Oh she’ll know what you look like. We’ve all seen your picture in the news magazines from time to time.

Trooper suppressed a groan. The last thing he wanted was a discussion among family and friends about his career—or lack of one, as might now be the case.

He decided a change of subject was in order. Who was that woman who asked if you needed anything from town? She looked familiar but I can’t place her.

Myrna shot him a quick glance. No reason why she should look familiar that I can see. She just moved in across the street a couple of years ago.

Does she have a family?

Not local, but a couple of cousins from out of state visited her last summer. She keeps to herself most of the time. If pressed, she says she’s working on a book. Karen’s oldest girl says she looked for Miss Morrison’s name on the internet but didn’t come up with any authors, so we figure she’s not published yet.

What kind of book is she writing?

I don’t think she’s ever said. At least not that I’ve heard. Why?

Just curious. Trooper would have shrugged but a shrug could be downright painful these days. Instead he smiled. Well, I wish Miss Morrison luck. Half the people I know want to write a book. Not many will actually try, and those who do discover it’s a lot harder than it looks.

You speaking from experience?

Trooper shook his head. Not me. I do well to write a report occasionally. His smile faded as memory dredged up the horrors of the last reports he’d written.

Myrna appeared to understand his sudden mood swing because she gave his arm a tug, pulling him back toward the shelter of her porch. I’ve got lemonade in the refrigerator. Have a seat out here on the porch and I’ll bring you a glass.

Can I help?

No, child. You just have a seat and rest a spell. You’ve not gained all your strength back yet, from the look of those lines forming around your mouth. You hungry?

Trooper let her lead him to the wicker rocking chair and gently push him to sit. It felt good, letting someone else take charge for a minute. Do you have any cookies made up?

Myrna grinned. Just some chocolate chip. I probably couldn’t twist your arm and get you to eat a chocolate chip cookie.

Trooper grinned back. Somehow the decades were falling away and he felt ten years old again. Chocolate chip cookies had been his favorite, and Myrna had always kept them baked for him. He stuck his left arm out. Maybe if you twisted my arm really hard, you could talk me into it.

Myrna’s grin widened as she grasped his arm and pretended to twist.

Okay, I give, he said, matching her grin for grin. I’ll take some chocolate chip cookies with my lemonade.

Ah, but you drive a hard bargain, boy. Myrna dropped his arm and reached for the screen door handle. I’ll be back shortly. You just relax and let yourself unwind.

When she’d disappeared into the house, Trooper leaned back in the rocker and wondered how his aunt had known he was tense. He thought he’d learned to hide his feelings well during the years he’d been away.

Obviously there was a difference between the perceptiveness of the people who had known him all his life and the people who’d become acquainted with him after he was grown.

Which meant he’d have to be extra careful while he was staying in Holly Grove.

MARGE ABBOTT HEARD the voices coming from somewhere out on Sugar Maple Drive and blinked back the instant threat of tears. She could never reconcile herself to the notion that these people, her neighbors and supposed friends, had gone on with their lives after the incident. Logically, Marge understood that the incident that had destroyed her life twenty years ago was merely a sad recollection for most of the townspeople, but she didn’t appreciate being reminded of their indifference. They could at least keep their voices down.

She blew her breath out in a disgusted sigh. Blast it all! How was she supposed to shut the world out when the world wouldn’t shut up? But as usual, she couldn’t stand not knowing what they were yammering about. After pushing herself up and out of the recliner, she shuffled across the dimly lit living room and eased back the heavy, bottle green drapery.

She grasped the window facing for support. God almighty, she whispered. He’s here again.

Feeling too faint to make her way back to the recliner, she dropped into the straight chair that sat beside the end table that held the telephone. The phone never rang anymore. People had tried for a few years to reach out to her, but when she never answered her phone, they quit calling. She’d have had the phone disconnected but Ralph wouldn’t hear of it. They needed it, he said, in case of an emergency.

Was this an emergency? Should she call Ralph down at the barbershop and tell him that Trooper was back?

She stared at the phone. It was one of the old-fashioned rotary phones. Black of course. She knew the push button variety came in pretty colors. In fact, one of the phone companies had sent them a brochure trying to sell them a fancy phone with caller ID and an answering machine built in, but as she told Ralph, if nobody ever called, then they didn’t need caller ID.

She lifted the receiver. It was heavier than she remembered. Moving slowly, prepared to change her mind at any minute, she eased the phone to her ear. Yes, there was a dial tone. And she remembered the barbershop’s number. The number for Abbott’s Barber Shop hadn’t changed in twenty-five years except for the area code, and she didn’t have to dial that, thank goodness.

She stuck the tip of her forefinger into the hole over the five and pulled it around, then lifted her finger and listened as the rotary wheel clicked back into place. Next came the two. Then the five again. When the last number had finished its slow rotation and stilled, she heard intermittent bleating that indicated the phone was ringing on the other end.

She knew Ralph would answer the phone himself. No one else cut hair at Abbott’s Barber Shop these days. Once upon a time, Ralph had had two other barbers working for him, but business had slowed as boys started letting their hair grow long and Ralph had eventually let the other barbers go.

Hello? Ralph answered the phone as he always did, as a question. And Marge responded as she always had. Ralph? she asked, although she recognized his voice.

Yes?

It’s me.

There was a long silence. So long that Marge became irritated. While it was true that she hadn’t called Ralph in years, she figured he should still