Four White Roses

by Judy Ann Davis

  Beside her, on the end table, she had two glasses with amber liquid emitting the smell of rich smooth whiskey. When he took a seat in one of the wingback chairs, she handed one to him. “To a pleasant, prosperous visit to Hickory Valley,” she said, raising her glass and touching his with a soft clink.

  Rich stretched out his legs and took a sip. “I was so pleased to see Grandmother Gertie had the kitchen remodeled and the bedrooms repainted and refurnished. It makes it so much easier for us to stay here.”

  Marlene swirled the whiskey in her glass. “She started the renovations six months before she died and left me strict instructions to have them finished if something happened to her. The only thing I had to do was to get the front bedroom papered and painted pink, and have the canopy installed over the bed. I suspect Estella is delighted?”

  “Estella is ecstatic over the room. Thank you. I wish my grandmother could see her now. She’s older and funnier and witty.” Rich took another sip of whiskey. “The old toy chest brings back a ton of memories. I’m going to check out some of those old games we used to play. Remember how you used to clobber me in chess?”

  Marlene laughed. “Yes, but you beat me in Memory. I never could get those crazy tiles to match each other.”

  He paused a moment to stare into his drink and reminisce before looking at Marlene. “The porcelain doll was really a nice touch. Estella loved it, since it has dark hair like hers.”

  “What porcelain doll?”

  “On the window seat.”

  Marlene raised an eyebrow and a momentary look of discomfort crossed her face. “I never left a porcelain doll in the pink bedroom.”

  Their eyes met, each clouded with uneasiness. Rich was the first to break contact and shrugged. “Well, someone did. Maybe someone from the cleaning service rearranged things. You don’t believe in ghosts, do you, Marlene?” He frowned and watched her expression change to one of faint caution.

  “Well, Richard Junior, I’ve certainly not been able to get a house this grand to sell. And in Hickory Valley and the surrounding area, the housing market is getting stronger every month.” She handed him the sealed letter. “Let’s get this over with and find out what your grandmother had to say. We’re lucky we have this. If it hadn’t been for Ivan Winters, your grandmother’s accountant and loan officer down at the First National Bank, who suggested I check the house one more time for unopened mail and bills, I might not have found it. It was shoved into a pigeon hole on her desk in the study where she did paperwork.”

  With steady hands, Rich took the envelope and tapped it on his knee. There was a faint smile on his lips. “The sweet old lady can reach me from the grave. Last wishes of the deceased are always the hardest ones to carry out.” Silence descended as he opened the envelope and read the one-page letter. Finally he looked up, his lips thinned in irritation. He handed it to Marlene. “Looks like she got me.”

  Marlene took the letter. “You sure you want me to read this?”

  He nodded.

  She settled back into the chair and kicked off her shoes. Taking her time, she read the letter. When she was finished, she dropped it in her lap and sighed. “Well, I didn’t see this coming.” She looked down at it one more time, forehead wrinkled. “So, there’s hidden jewels, supposedly brought over from Austria before the war by your Great Grandmother Hilda, that never came to light in the last one hundred years. And you have a half-sister somewhere whom Gertie wants you to find for a trust she had set up for both of you.” Marlene shook her head. “Looks like your dad got you, too. A half-sister? Aren’t you shocked?”

  Rich heaved a weary sigh and ran his hand through his still-damp, sandy-colored hair. “If you understood the pitiful marriage my mom and dad had, then no, it’s no surprise. They both cheated, I’m guessing.” He looked at her with a disheartened gaze. “I wonder why Ivan Winters never said anything about a half-sister when I was clearing some of Gertie’s accounts at the bank. He told me the trust would become available in three years when I was thirty-eight, but he never told me there was a stipulation to include a half-sister.”

  “Was she mentioned in Gertie’s will?”

  “No, of course not. This is all news to me.”

  “Then, I’d guess he figured you already knew or perhaps were on a need-to-know basis. Since the trust didn’t directly involve you yet, but rather an individual whom no one could locate, it wasn’t critical to transacting business.”

  “Wasn’t critical? Marlene, I’ve been handling my grandmother’s investments for the last ten years. The least that doofus Ivan could have done was to give me a heads up.”

  “It wasn’t Ivan’s place to tell you about a half-sister, Richard Lee. It was only the bank’s responsibility to manage the trust.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” Rich rose and paced the room, stopping at the fireplace. “Good grief, what a mess!”

  Marlene chuckled a dry, heckling sound. “It looks like you might be extending your stay a little while longer than a month to sort out this tangled web.”

  “You think this is amusing?”

  Marlene yawned and rose. “No, I think I need to go home, take a shower, and go to bed. Things always look better in the morning.”

  Rich walked her to the door. “Can you tell me, what’s the story with Torrine Larson? I see she’s back in town.”

  “She has been for a few years. After she graduated from Duquesne in Pittsburgh with a degree in art, Torrie headed to New York City. Supposedly, she was engaged.” Marlene shrugged. “About six years ago, she returned. No diamond. No marriage. No reasons for her return. There was gossip, of course, but I’m not spreading any. I’m guessing there are more than a few scars, but it’s Torrie’s story to tell, not mine. Her parents and family are very supportive of her. Torr and Regina Larson have always been exemplary parents to all their children. Rumor has it Ivan Winters at the bank is very interested in her along with a dozen others, but she doesn’t return the attention.”

  Marlene opened the door. “She started a business here with her older brother, Finn, and sometimes she helps Henry when he needs someone to man the phone. I believe she also does his bookkeeping. Her younger brother, Gus, is a mechanic and works for him, too.”

  “Where does she live?”

  “In a small apartment across the street from Henry’s main garage above a warehouse he owns.” Marlene leaned in and bussed Rich lightly on his cheek. “Welcome home. It’s so good to see you again. Don’t forget, if you need anything, just give a jingle. I’m on the payroll to help with whatever you might need.”

  She slipped out the door before Rich could ask her what kind of business Torrie Larson had started.

  Chapter Three

  After checking to see if Estella was still asleep, Rich refilled his glass and strolled out onto the back porch. He had always loved nighttime in Pennsylvania. Rural life in the evening was so different from the commotion, noise, and bright lights of the big city. The branches on a stand of pine near the carriage house sighed in the warm breeze like they were settling into a comfortable bed for a much-needed rest. Fireflies winked and danced out on the lawn to the harmony of caroling crickets and cicadas.

  He leaned against a post and reread the letter, then stared off to the distant hills fading away as gray dusk turned to darkness. One more thing to add to his long list of things to do. Renovate the outdated monstrosity of a house. Find a buyer at a worthy price. Go on a wild goose chase to locate a half-sister he didn’t even know existed. And last, unearth century-old jewels from Austria—rubies to be exact—that no one else in over a hundred years could locate. Rich sighed. What a fine cactus patch he fell into! Now his plan to blow into town, sell the house, and make a quick exit within the month was shot to hell.

  “Did I throw you for a loop, Richard Lee Junior?” a scratchy voice asked.

  Rich jumped and looked around. From the farthest corner of the porch, a rocking chair moved slowly back and forth. Back and forth. But there was no one sitting
on it. The night had become still and tranquil without a hint of a breeze.

  Rich set the glass and letter on the railing and rubbed his tired face with his hands. “It’s been a long day,” he muttered to himself, “and now I’m hallucinating. I swear I’m hearing a voice sounding like Grandmother Gertie’s.” His gaze traveled to the moving rocker, and he gave it a quizzical look.

  “You are hearing me, young man,” the voice said. “Hallucinating, my foot.”

  Rich continued to peer at the rocker, now rocking at a faster pace.

  “Grandmother? Gertie? Aren’t you supposed to be dead?”

  “I am dead.”

  “Then aren’t you supposed to be somewhere else? Like in another dimension? In heaven or riding a cloud somewhere?” He pointed upward. “Or am I drunk and I don’t know it?”

  “Phfftt, you’re hardly drunk. And I’m not going anywhere while I have unfinished business here on earth.”

  “Didn’t anyone tell you to go toward the Light?” His voice rose an octave now.

  “Of course.” The voice was getting as annoyed as he was. “But not when I know things you don’t. Not when I need you to finish a few unresolved issues for me.”

  Rich moved a little closer to the moving rocking chair and blinked, still trying to process everything. “Can you do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “Just waltz around willy-nilly on earth after you die?”

  The rocker slowed.

  Rich dropped his head in his hands and mumbled, “Please, please, please. Let this be a dream…or the effects of good eighteen-year aged Irish whiskey. I’m losing my marbles.”

  The voice interrupted, “Buck up, Richard Lee. You aren’t losing your marbles, although you may have a hole in your bag. You are my last hope. You need to find your half-sister, who needs your help, and you need to find those Austrian rubies I’ve searched for my entire life. If not for me, for Estella. It’s my great-granddaughter’s heritage and inheritance. Did you read the letter and understand it?”

  “Yes, but for the record, how can I tell you’re really the ghost of my grandmother? Tell me something most people don’t know about me.”

  “For goodness sake! What is this? Jeopardy? I see you still can be a pain in the backside with your endless quest for the truth. How about this? The kids used to tease you and call you Richie Rich. And every time you got yourself tied in a sanctimonious knot over it, I used to tell you they could have chosen worse names like Dumbo or Dimwit.”

  Rich’s eyes widened as he stared at the rocker. “It really is you. Grandmother Gertie. Why me?”

  “Because you’re the only direct surviving relative, Dimwit.”

  “But I really don’t know where to start.”

  There was a long whoosh of air, like a disgruntled sigh. “Just how did you pass the bar with such a dull, negative attitude? How about some creative thinking? How about your grandfather’s study for starters?”

  “Where in the study?” he asked, but he instantly knew he wouldn’t get an answer. The rocking chair now stood motionless.

  “Holy moly, let this be the effects of alcohol or a bad dream,” he muttered before turning and trudging inside, locking the door, and heading straight to his room to sleep.

  Chapter Four

  Rich slept like a stone. If it wasn’t for Estella standing beside his bed and speaking in a cheerful chirpy voice about needing breakfast and wanting to go outside to explore as he promised her at bedtime yesterday, he would have crawled back under the covers for another seven hours. Then, when he remembered Lucille Smith was planning to stop by in the morning, he dragged himself out of bed, pulled on a pair of jeans, and hurried barefoot and shirtless to the kitchen to put the coffee on. He was helping Estella with a bowl of cereal when the elderly woman arrived, using the back entrance, knocking on the first set of French doors opening into the kitchen.

  With a basket on her arm, Lucille Smith took in Rich’s bare chest and feet in one sweeping glance and shook her head, then his hand, and murmured a curt hello. Like a bee zoning in on a flower, she headed straight to the kitchen. She was a little woman with a face wrinkled like a raisin, and her gray hair was braided and wound on top of her head. She wore a turquoise blouse, a red skirt, and a clean, pressed, bright yellow apron over the outfit. Well, at least they wouldn’t lose her, Rich decided, as she set her basket on the counter and pulled out a plate full of freshly baked blueberry muffins. She had both Estella’s and his attention immediately.

  The little girl rose from the table. “I’m Estella,” she politely said.

  “And I’m Lulu Smith,” Lucille said. “Pleased to meet you.” She looked around the kitchen and let out an appreciative grunt. “A person could do some good cooking in a kitchen this fancy.”

  “What we need,” Rich said and waved a hand in the air, “is someone for a few hours each day. Someone to help keep us tidy, fix a lunch, and possibly make a dinner I could re-warm. We’d even work around any hours you might have for appointments or personal matters.” He bit his lip. “You see, I’m planning to do legal work for my Dallas office in the mornings. I have research to do, and I need to get this house renovated and ready to sell. It could use some sprucing up. It’s no wonder Marlene can’t sell it. Also, I need someone to help with Estella while I work.”

  “And you aren’t exactly Emeril Lagasse, I understand,” Lulu said, her little wizened eyes sizing him up.

  “Bam!” he replied with a devilish smile.

  “I’m guessing you had a housekeeper when you were in Texas?”

  “Yes, ma’am. And a cleaning service which Marlene hired for this house as well. You’ll need to instruct them on what you want done.”

  The little woman rose to her full four-feet-ten-inch height, but this time surveyed him with a motherly stare. “Well, when do you want me to start?” Her gaze dropped to his bare feet. “It looks like you’ve already run out of shirts and socks and need clothes laundered.”

  “Don’t you want to discuss an hourly rate?” Red-faced, he glanced at his sockless feet. “I wasn’t expecting you to arrive this early or I would have been dressed and presentable.”

  “Whatever you think is fair.” She shrugged.

  “What do you think, Estella?” Rich asked.

  The little girl took a step forward. “Can you iron, Mrs. Smith? My daddy can iron wrinkles into any piece of clothing. It’s a real talent of his.”

  “Estella.”

  “But it’s true,” the little girl said. “And can you do a French braid? My daddy doesn’t know anything about fixing hair.”

  “Estella!”

  “I can do both.” Lulu chuckled. “But you must call me Lulu.” She pulled out Estella’s chair, motioned for her to sit, and placed a muffin on her plate. “We need to make a list of what foods you both like. Then you and I can go grocery shopping later today.” She waved Rich into a seat opposite his daughter, handed him a muffin, and refilled his coffee cup.

  Rich took a bite, swallowed, and felt like he was going to swoon. The muffin had just the right amount of sweetness, and the cinnamon and sugar topping was outrageously delicious. It sure beat cold cereal. It was going to be a fine day. He was sure of it.

  ****

  Torrie took a deep breath and strode up the walk to Gertrude Redman’s residence with the purple toy giraffe in her hand. It was as good an excuse as any to stop in and get acquainted with Rich and Estella. She would be seeing a lot of them when she came to tend the flower gardens out back, and she needed to tell him about his SUV, which her brother and Henry had towed to the garage.

  She looked at the purple giraffe and thought of another child a short distance away who also adored stuffed animals. She had no idea how the giraffe had been forgotten amid the luggage last evening. Then she thought of all the many boxes, bags, and suitcases she had unloaded. It was like hauling a traveling circus. Estella should be lucky only one toy had been left behind. But Torrie knew how attached little girls could be to
their fuzzy critters.

  Rich answered the door with a muffin in one hand and wearing only a pair of black designer jeans. Torrie’s eyes widened when he opened the door. He was a magnificent, handsome specimen of a man, tall and fit. He reminded her of a cheetah with his tawny hair, sleek physique, and penetrating charcoal eyes fading now to a soft dusty gray. She remembered her sister telling her that Richard Redman’s patience was his virtue, but once angered, he could take down the devil with his sharp eloquent tongue.

  “Torrie,” he said, “what brings you around so early in the morning?”

  She held up the giraffe. “I thought Estella might be missing this. And Henry said your SUV isn’t limping along. It’s going to need a lot of work, including a new transmission. He wants to know whether you want to put more money in it or whether you’re planning to replace it.”

  “Come in, come in,” he urged. He finished the last bite of muffin. “You have to taste Lucille Smith’s blueberry muffins.”

  “Gosh, I don’t know,” she said. “This is my day off, and I have loads of things to do. I don’t usually do breakfast.”

  From the back of the kitchen a voice called out, “Torrine Jane Larson, get in the kitchen and have a muffin and something to drink. You don’t eat breakfast? You know better. Get in here. Right now. Don’t make me come out there and grab you by the back of your neck.”

  Torrie grinned. “Lulu Smith is here?”

  “Yes, I hired her this morning to help with the house and Estella.”

  Minutes later, seated at the table beside Estella, a purple giraffe, a half-clad man, and eating a muffin, Torrie said, “If you need a ride to see about a rental, I can drop you off.”

  “No, I want a ride to a car dealership, preferably your brother’s. I need to buy a new vehicle with a warranty that assures me it will not take its last breath with me in it.” Rich rose from the table and took his plate and cup to the sink.