Southern Secrets Society: The Grooming | #Suspense | RomePi™

͋ 4 ͋ The Grandfather Clock (BWWM)

THE INTRODUCTION

"Young lady, if you're in some kind of trouble, you need to say something, so I can figure out how to help you." I never knew I was a sucker for a country boy accent until the baritone in his voice laid siege to my ears.

I felt like he would start crooning one of those old-school Country & Western songs any minute. But, instead, his tone had me feeling like I was listening to the sexiest lullaby ever.

He stepped outside and looked around cautiously as if he expected someone to spring out of nowhere. Once he visually confirmed that I was alone, the stranger placed a hand on my elbow and led me inside the house, where it was nice and warm.

"I'm not sure about what's going on with you, but I think it would be best to call the police." As the concern-filled words registered in my mind, I instantly snapped out of my dazed state.

POLICE.

He said he was about to call the cops, and I had no one to blame but myself.

"Please. Ummm. Excuse me. It's been a long day, and I think I just got a little bit too cold. There's no need to call the police. I just stopped by because of your yard and the trees," I attempted to explain myself.

The numbness in my extremities pulsated as the house's warmth penetrated the clothes that had begun to lose my body's warmth long ago.

In the room, a familiar sound swirled around me as if it were welcoming me into the unfamiliar space. The air was rich as the voices announced a PBS special on classical music.

I recognized the tune from my music class and the all too frequent practice sessions of the school band. I happened to love art from several different disciplines even though an empty canvas sort of possessed a kind of magic I was incapable of resisting.

"Sorry for spazzing out on you. By the way, isn't that Vivaldi?" I questioned, pleased with how the music lightened my soul. I pointed up as if the notes were visibly dancing across the ceiling.

"Correct. How did you know about this composer?" The stranger's critical glance landed in my direction.

"I often listen to this when I am painting." I shared.

"I'm still not sure I understand why you rang my doorbell." He stated with a hint of frustration and an unmistakable question mark on his face.

"I won a national art competition for our high school. Because we have several activities coming up, I'm trying to raise money to attend each school-sponsored local event and out-of-town field trip. I've put together a list of the different odd jobs I've completed since the beginning of October as a reference sheet," I stated as I handed him the paper.

He glanced over the information and handed it back to me.

"I was actually about to call it quits for the day as I rode by your house. But, when I saw the state of the yard, I figured you could use some help." After I laid it all on the line, his face caught up to the conversation as if a series of sequential scenes from a movie came into focus.

It was somewhat comical watching his face transition with the time it took for me to bring him up to speed. I was sure I hadn't thoroughly confused him the way I did only minutes ago. After I told him everything, I hoped to walk out of the house with a firm commitment from him to give me the job of crafting his yard.

I figured based on the size of the front yard alone and the amount of effort that would be required to get it back into shape; there was a great possibility I could make double what I charged for the last yard. Considering I'd already made the money I needed for the school trips long ago, the pay from his yard, along with the previous three hundred dollars I deposited in my savings account, was destined to be free money.