Roser Park, page 1
Wendy Dalrymple
Roser Park
Copyright © 2022 by Wendy Dalrymple
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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Contents
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
About the Author
Also by Wendy Dalrymple
Chapter 1
March 24, 1913
I am not well. I feel more and more trapped every day. This horrid house that my father built is more of a cell than a home. My thoughts are addled, and worst of all, Martin continues to insist that I see him. How many times can a woman say no? He becomes even more impertinent when father is out of town. His forward way with me is scandalous, and I can’t help but feel for his wife. What must she think? I suppose I’ll continue to rebuff his advances for as long as I can manage.
Martin says that he wants me to sit for a portrait when I am feeling better. He says that my beauty should be preserved forever on canvas. What a silly idea. No one sits for oil paintings anymore, it’s so old-fashioned. My father will likely agree and force me to do it just the same. He never tells the good doctor no.
There are even more unsettling things on my mind than Martin and his unwanted advances; I saw the strange woman in the window reflection today. Mother says not to speak of it, but I have no one else to talk to, so I must write my thoughts and dreams down here. The woman looks so sad and lovely. It’s as though she’s trying to tell me something. But that’s just me being silly again, isn’t it?
Despite all my worries and the heat coming early this year, I try to keep my spirits up by reminding myself that things will be better in the fall. George will return from England, and we can truly start to plan our lives together. When we begin construction on our own home after the wedding, I hope we break ground far, far away from Roser Park. Yes, life will be better once George is home again. It must be.
Chapter 2
A balmy, late summer breeze kissed Charlotte Slater’s cheek as she approached the rambling blue and white century-old home at 684 Roser Park Drive. The estate — much like all the other neighboring homes — was nestled high up on a hill, tucked away behind a jungle of lush green fronds, exotic foliage, and colorful flower beds. Late summer sunlight dappled through overhanging oak branches against the clapboard siding of the two-story craftsman in a dancing, hypnotic display. A flock of ibis preened themselves along the banks of Booker Creek and somewhere in the distance the shrill cry of a limpkin broke through the afternoon tranquility. The creek itself was a decorative feature, a force of nature contained on all sides by man-made walls, dividing where the city ended, and the security of suburbia began. The bubbling body of water sliced through the historic neighborhood, cutting the residents of Roser Park off from downtown St. Petersburg, FL in a pristine and almost jarring way.
As Charlotte approached her destination, a hair-dryer warm wind whipped through the overhanging oaks, causing drapes of Spanish moss to shudder from their boughs. The real estate listing for 684 Roser Park Drive proved that the home she would be tending to for the next few weeks was a dream. The million-dollar property was brimming with architectural beauty, history, and mystery, things she had always appreciated, even as a young girl. It was the kind of house she would have wanted for herself if that sort of thing weren’t completely out of reach. However, through a stroke of luck, for the next twenty-one days, if she were lucky, Charlotte could fantasize that she actually lived in the highly sought-after neighborhood near the bay. Three weeks of blissful silence and solace in an elegant, scenic home was exactly what she needed.
The online advertisement she had seen that very morning specifically stated that the house and dog sitting position would be ideal for a college student, which Charlotte most certainly was. At thirty-seven, she was perhaps not the typical kind of college student that the homeowners had in mind to hire, but she was enrolled in nearby University of South Florida’s online nursing program just the same. Studying in the spare bedroom of her sisters’ noisy, hectic home hadn’t been easy the past few months, though she was grateful to have a soft place to land for the time being. Still, the prospect of having an entire house — and a gorgeous one at that — all to herself was enough to make her instantly answer the ad. The fact that she would be getting paid well on top of it all practically sealed the deal.
Charlotte smoothed a coppery strand of hair behind her ear and threw her shoulders back as her sneakers padded on the brick road beneath her feet. The bus stop was a quarter of a mile from the Roser Park neighborhood, and her feet suffered the effects of the journey as the scalding August asphalt burned through the thin soles of her shoes. After only a minute of walking, her thighs burned, chafing together in hot, prickly patches as they always did in the hottest part of summer. Sweat beaded on her upper lip; trickled down her back as the bright sunlight kicked back up from the road in radiant waves. Her destination was an oasis in the sprawling suburban desert.
The stone stairs lead to an impressive wraparound front porch, and the unmistakable feeling of someone watching clawed at her back. The meticulously kept estates in the neighborhood were all hewn close together, with little side yard space to speak of. Spying into another neighbor’s front yard in Roser Park was just as easy as a turn of the head. It was this close, neighborly proximity that caused her to lock her gaze with a pair of dark irises peering from over a box hedge.
A long set of clipping shears glinted against the sun as the owner of the staring eyes snipped and pruned the yellow and green shrubs that cleaved the properties. An electric shock of adrenaline spiked down her chest all the way to her toes at the sudden realization that someone was staring at her. Charlotte narrowed her eyes into two suspicious slits at the baseball-capped stranger that continued to size her up as she made her way up the stairs toward the wooden glass-inlaid front door. Her heart had already been skipping at an erratic pace in anticipation of her job interview, but now it was positively leaping out of her chest.
Before she had a chance to fully collect herself and knock, the front door opened to a duo of enthusiastic, smiling expressions. The unfamiliar faces stared back at her like a pair of overeager twins, each sporting perfectly white-capped teeth set against tanned, mature skin. The homeowners wore sleek, fair hair cropped short and dappled with just a touch of silver. The man and woman both featured trim figures that hinted at regular exercise, organic groceries, and good health insurance. They wore minimal jewelry and outfitted themselves in crisp T-shirts and loose khaki shorts that were probably from Nordstroms, and not off the sales rack. Mr. and Mrs. Collier effused the very epitome of the Florida lifestyle that all the retirement communities want to sell to prospective snowbirds. Wealthy. Conservative. Immaculate.
“You must be Charlotte.” The woman at the threshold cooed and extended a hand, “Judy Collier. Please, come in.”
“Hi. Charlotte Slater.” She accepted the woman’s reach as a cool blast of conditioned air spilled out of the doorway.
The woman’s hand was icy to the touch, soothing and cool as the frigid interior. “This is my husband, Garrett.”
Charlotte smiled and extended her reach to the man.
He hesitated; his mouth pursed in a thin line before speaking again in an authoritative voice reminiscent of an old Southern lawyer. “Are you sure you’re at the right place?
Charlotte’s eyes grew wide and darted to Judy’s face. Her throat dried as she stammered out a response. “I . . .”
“Oh, stop.” Judy slapped her husband on the arm. “Gary is such a kidder. Come on in.”
Charlotte emerged into the foyer of the blissfully air-conditioned room, grateful to finally be out of the humidity and sun. Apart from a few modern amenities, the furnishings and decor of the interior appeared to be just as old as the foundation of the Roser Park house itself. A time capsule. The soft, muffled yip of a small dog echoed across the hardwood floor as the door closed behind her.
“I know the sitting room looks a little stuffy and old-fashioned.” Judy waved her hand in the air, motioning for her to follow. “We started to renovate and tried to keep the home historically accurate but once we got to the kitchen? Forget it.”
“I keep asking Judy if I can bring in a recliner and flatscreen, but I guess this room is just for show.” Garrett chuckled.
Judy shot him a stern, but playful look, then pursed her lips and sighed. “Have you house-sat much before, Charlotte?”
“Hmm?” Charlotte b
After a moment of silent staring, Charlotte snapped back down to earth, turned her attention to her would-be employer and forced a smile. “Yes. I’ve done a number of house-sitting jobs before. Babysitting and pet sitting too. I brought my references.”
“I see you’ve spotted Mary Mueller.” Judy paused. “Lovely portrait, isn’t it?”
Charlotte nodded. “Someone from your family?”
“Heavens no.” Judy waved in the air. “But the painting did come with the house. I believe the original homeowner may have even painted it.”
“Did she live here then?”
“Apparently, she lived next door.” Judy continued, her slides clomp, clomp, clomping across the floor. “Mary Mueller was the daughter of the original homeowner at 682, some millionaire cookie baron or the other. He founded the neighborhood, apparently.”
“He was madly in love with her.” Garrett sighed; a sly smile spread across his flushed face.
“Who?” Charlotte’s gaze was still locked on the ever-changing expression on Mary Mueller’s face.
“The artist, of course.” Garrett’s voice was soft and dreamy. “Look at how he painted her.”
“Oh, we don’t know that!” Judy made her way toward the kitchen, her leather slides continuing to slap against the original hardwood floor.
Garrett shrugged. “It does make for a nice story when we take folks on a tour of the grounds.”
The sitting room gave way to a narrow hallway as Charlotte followed Judy toward the back of the house. Garrett chuckled at her back and followed closely behind, almost boxing her into the claustrophobic, tight space. The floor creaked under their footsteps as she scanned the dark walls lined with old photos, paintings, and a long, horizontal mirror. Finally, the dark hallway opened to a bright, open space so full of light it was nearly blinding.
“Wow.” Charlotte shielded her eyes, blinking against the bright, massive kitchen. Unlike the stuffy front entry brimming with heavy furniture and shrouded in heavy curtains, the kitchen was wide open and full of light. The whitewashed cabinets, delicate veined gray Carrara marble counters and stainless appliances were all new, but like the front of the house, the rest of the decor seemed to be from another era. The most impressive aspect of the kitchen, however, was the entire back wall constructed in floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out upon a terraced garden. The backyard offered even more lush foliage than the front, and to her utter relief, the patio also opened out onto a small, well-kept swimming pool.
“You said you had references?” Judy slipped on a pair of reading glasses as they reached the kitchen island.
“Oh! Yes.” Charlotte reached into her tote bag and pulled out a folder that held her resume as well as a reference sheet of names and phone numbers of people she had worked for recently. In the last year she had done quite a bit of house-sitting, babysitting and dog sitting. It wasn’t steady work, but it had been enough to get her through a rough patch.
Judy scanned the document and silently mouthed the names of her past employers as she read. Charlotte stopped herself from tapping her foot on the original black and white tile flooring as she scanned the kitchen.
Garrett whistled to himself and shuffled to the fridge. “Can I get you anything, Charlotte? Water? Coffee? Gin and tonic?”
She forced a smile. “Water would be great.”
“I know that the ad specified a non-married, non-smoker, but I have to ask.” Judy arched an eyebrow and pursed her lips. “No smoking, right?”
“Not at all.” Charlotte gritted her teeth.
“And your health?” Garrett extended a bottle of Evian to her.
“Excuse me?”
“We just want to be certain that you’re fit and feeling well.” Judy batted her eyelashes and cocked her head to one side. “We don’t mean to be personal, but we would hate to have to cut our vacation short because you fall ill from some underlying condition.”
Charlotte’s ears flamed. Cubicle life had been a living hell before she left her old job and her old life behind, but at least in the corporate world, employers couldn’t ask personal questions. Often, questions and concerns regarding her health were insinuations that she could stand to lose a few pounds. Still, she reminded herself of the money and the freedom that this walk-in-the-park gig would allow her. The Collier’s clearly were not nice people, but they were offering her attractive means to an end.
She sucked in her stomach and forced a smile. “I’m fit as a fiddle.”
“Well, this all looks wonderful.” Judy smiled up from the reference sheet. “I must say though, when we put out a call for a college student, I was expecting someone a little, well, younger.”
Charlotte frowned, unable to control her facade any longer. The Collier’s were testing her to her limit. She took a long, deep pull of water to try and mask her rage.
“I’m sorry dear, what I mean to say is that it will be nice to have a more mature house-sitter for once.” Judy grinned and pushed her references aside. “The last time we tried to leave town, the neighbors said the young woman we hired had a party.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t do that.” Charlotte nearly choked on her water. “That’s just unprofessional.”
“Of course, she left the house in order.” Garrett shook his head. “We didn’t see any evidence of a party, but we’re still a little gun shy. You understand.”
“Mmm, especially because of Laurence.” Judy nodded.
Charlotte’s eyes grew wide. “Laurence?”
“Our Yorkie. I’ll bring him out to say hello in just a moment. He’s a sweet boy, but he’s old and I need to have someone I can trust to be sure to follow his diet and give him his special food and medicine.”
“Mrs. Collier, I can assure you I would take excellent care of your dog.” Charlotte’s jaw was beginning to ache now from clenching.
“Please, call me Judy.” She smiled and patted the top of Charlotte’s hand. “I’m sure you’ll do an excellent job. This is why we wanted to meet in person first. Garrett and I like to get a feel for someone’s personality before we hire anyone new.”
A fresh bead of sweat formed at her brow despite the brisk, piped-in air. Charlotte had only been inside the house at Roser Park Drive for five minutes and was already getting run through the ringer. Her senses were overloaded, and everything from the slap of sabal palm leaves against the back kitchen window to the slightly sweet and musty odor that permeated through the laundry detergent-scented air were heightened. The kitchen seemed brighter than ever as she held her breath, wondering what awful, insensitive thing they would say next.
“So, do I have the job then?”
Judy and Garrett glanced at one another.
Garrett sighed and scratched his head. “We would need you to start tomorrow. Would you be able to do that?”
“Of course.” Charlotte nodded. “I can be here first thing in the morning if you need me.”
“No need.” Judy offered a reassuring smile. “Our flight doesn’t leave until the evening. We’ll just call a few of these references tonight to be sure, if that’s alright with you?”
“Not a problem at all.” Charlotte’s eyes flicked to the ceiling as she calculated what she stood to make from the job. Five hundred dollars a week times three weeks; she would have just enough cash saved for the first and last month’s deposit on her own apartment. By this time next month, she would be able to move into her own place if all went well. Finally.
“We’ll just introduce you to Laurence now.” Judy rose from her seat at the bar. “Then you’ll already be friends when you come back tomorrow.”
