Chapter Six
Roxanne kept an eye out for any sign of William Ledger, or anyone else suspicious, but saw nothing over the next week.
She finished unpacking and settled into a routine of work and getting the house arranged the way she wanted.
She planted chrysanthemums and flowering kale in the beds out front, and bought a pumpkin at the farmer’s market to decorate the front porch.
She saw her new neighbor, Kara, a few times and they talked briefly about nothing in particular.
Roxanne began to relax. Maybe the sheriff’s deputies had scared away whoever had run her off the road.
It hadn’t been Ledger—that was just her imagination conjuring up a familiar devil.
She made a point to take a break after lunch each day to walk around her little house, tending to the flowers and soaking in the peacefulness. This was home now. She was going to be happy here.
Ten days had passed since her accident when she was stooping to examine the developing chrysanthemum buds—and froze.
There, in the freshly dug soil beneath her front window—was that a footprint?
Heart hammering, she glanced around, as if expecting to see someone lurking.
But all was still, the only sound a birdcall in the distance.
She forced herself to look at the print again—to really study it.
It was small—too small for a man? It was rounded at the toe—like a tennis shoe?
Moving around the house, she found three more of the same impression, none complete or particularly distinct, but definitely shoe prints. Kara crossed the driveway to join Roxanne. “Is something wrong?” she asked. “You look upset.”
“Does that look like a footprint to you?” Roxanne asked. She pointed to the impressions in the flower bed.
Kara studied the imprints. “Who would be walking in your flower bed?” she asked. She looked down at Roxanne’s feet. “Are they yours? Maybe you were weeding or something?”
Roxanne shook her head. “They aren’t yours, are they?” she asked.
Kara laughed. “Why would I be creeping around your house?”
“I’m sorry,” Roxanne said. “Of course it wasn’t you.”
Kara hugged her arms across her stomach. “It’s spooky, isn’t it? I’m already nervous about being out here so far from town, but the rent is so reasonable and I really like the tiny house. It’s so cozy.”
“I think this is as safe as anywhere,” Roxanne said. She turned away from the mysterious footprints. Looking at them was too upsetting. “Where did you live before?” she asked.
“Oh, I’ve lived all over,” Kara said. “I guess I’m the restless type. I live one place for a while, then move someplace else. I was in Houston before this. This is much nicer. What about you? Where did you live before?”
“I was in San Antonio for a long time. But I wanted to make a fresh start.”
“Do you work from home? I see you over here all day.”
“Yes. I work for a software company.” She didn’t elaborate—most people weren’t that interested. “What do you do?”
“Oh, I work from home, too. Project management.” She glanced back at the flower bed. “What are you going to do about those footprints?”
Roxanne pulled out her phone and took a few pictures, then dialed a number. “Mr. Lusk?” she asked when her landlord answered.
“Roxanne, how are you doing?” The old rancher had a gravelly voice. Roxanne thought she heard the growl of the ATV he frequently rode around the ranch.
“I’ve come upon something strange around my house.” She stared down at the footprints next to her newly planted flowers.
“Strange how? What is it?”
“There are footprints in the flower beds. As if someone had been looking in the window.”
“I saw you planted flowers,” Lusk said. “They look really nice. Are you sure those aren’t your footprints?”
“I’m sure. Would you mind coming down and taking a look and telling me what you think?”
“I’ll be down in a minute.”
She ended the call and continued to study the prints. “Mr. Lusk is coming down to take a look,” she told Kara.
“That’s good. Let me know what he says. I need to get back to work.”
Kara moved away, but Roxanne scarcely noticed. She was trying to remember what size shoe William Ledger wore. Her impression had always been that he was a big man, but she had been a ten-year-old girl. All men looked big to her back then.
A few minutes later, the roar of the ATV’s unmuffled motor heralded her landlord’s arrival.
Robbie Lusk was a third-generation rancher in his sixties, lean and weathered, dressed in worn denim jeans, a chambray shirt faded almost white and a leather vest blackened in the creases by age.
He stopped the ATV a few feet from Roxanne and stiffly dismounted.
“Let’s have a look here,” he said and peered down into the flower bed.
“Do you have any idea who it could be?” Roxanne asked.
“I have an idea, all right. Dang kids.”
“Children? Who?”
“My nephews were visiting and roaming all over the ranch. I told them to stay away from the tiny houses, but you know teenagers—they don’t listen. I’ll give ’em a good talking-to and it won’t happen again or I’ll have their hides.”
She supposed those prints could have been made by a teenager. Studying them again, she was sure of it. “I’m relieved it was only your nephews.”
“I’m sorry they upset you like this. If you see any of them down here, you be sure and call me. I’ll deal with them right away.”
He returned to the ATV and settled onto the seat, but didn’t start it immediately. One thing she had quickly learned was that Mr. Lusk liked to talk. “So how are you doing?” he asked. “Are you settling in all right?”
“I’m doing well,” she said. “I really love it here.”
“I heard about the accident with your car. Sounds like that was a close call. You have to be careful on these winding mountain roads. Especially at night. A deer or other animal jumps out in front of you, you try to avoid hitting them and the next thing you know, you’re over the edge. You’re lucky you weren’t killed.”
That wasn’t what had happened, but she was relieved he had landed on this explanation for her accident. “I’ll definitely be more careful,” she said. “The body shop should have my car back to me in about ten days.”
“You be sure you look the car over good before you sign off on the repairs.” He shook his finger at her. “There are too many people around who would try to take advantage of a young lady on her own.”
Let them try to take advantage of me, she thought but only nodded. “Thanks for the advice.”
“Now, this one time . . .”
She resigned herself to listening to a long-winded story when her phone vibrated, startling her. It was probably a junk call, but she was prepared to pretend it was an important work consultation if it would move Mr. Lusk on his way. She checked the phone screen. Dalton Ames.
“That might be the biggest smile I’ve ever seen from you,” Mr. Lusk said. “That must be a call from someone special.”
“Um, just someone I need to talk to.” She backed toward the house. “It was good to see you, Mr. Lusk. Thanks for stopping by.” She waved, then darted inside. “Hello?”
“Hello, Roxanne. It’s Dalton. I hope I’m not calling at a bad time.”
“No, this is a good time.”
“I think I told you I’m working on some software for search and rescue?”
“Yes. How is that going?”
“I’ve run into a little problem getting the calendar to sync in all the different modules. I was wondering if you’d mind taking a look and seeing if there’s anything obvious I’m overlooking.”
“I’d be happy to help you.”
“Could you stop by my place sometime when you’re free? It shouldn’t take long.”
“I’d love that.” After a week of no contact, she had given up on seeing Dalton again. The idea had disappointed her, even though she had no one but herself to blame for his absence from her life. She had made it clear she wasn’t interested in dating. He had no doubt moved on to someone else.
Except he had called her and asked for her help. She still didn’t want romance, but maybe this would be the way for them to build a friendship of sorts. Another person to anchor her in her new life. “I could come this afternoon, if that works for you,” she said.
“Sure. Make it after four. I should be home by then. I’ll text my address.”
At four fifteen, Roxanne knocked on the door of Dylan’s apartment. She had thought he might live in the large complex of apartments near the river. Instead, Dylan rented a garage apartment off a quiet side street a few blocks from downtown.
“Thanks for coming over,” he said when he answered her knock. “Come on in.”
She followed him into a small, dim room outfitted with a sofa, a well-used recliner and a very large desk with a thirty-two-inch monitor. He pulled a second chair up to the desk. “You can sit here. Would you like some water? Or, I might have a Coke somewhere.”
“I’m fine, thanks.” She sat, and put her purse on the floor by the desk.
He sat in the desk chair and swiveled to face her. “How have you been?” he asked.
She opened her mouth, fully intending to lie and tell him she was fine, busy unpacking, etc.
Instead, she said, “The sheriff’s department says they haven’t found any trace of William Ledger, and I haven’t seen him, either.
But I had a scare when I found footprints in the flower bed under my window. ”
Dalton leaned toward her. “Do you think Ledger was there?”
She shook her head. “They were too small to be his. Anyway, my landlord said they belonged to his nephews. They were visiting and apparently running wild. He told them to stay away from the tiny houses, but they must have been curious.” She sat back. “It was unnerving, though.”
“Do you believe your landlord—that it was just his nephews?”
“Well . . .of course. I don’t think Mr. Lusk would lie to me. And the prints weren’t large enough to be a grown man’s.”
“What about a woman?”
“I guess . . . I mean they could have belonged to a woman. But what woman would be looking in my windows?”