by Mary Daheim
“I guess we’ll be going now,” Judith said, again more nervous than annoyed.
“Hell, no,” Dobler said. “I’ll tell the Danfields you’re here. Don’t call me unfriendly.”
“That wasn’t the word that came to mind,” Renie murmured, trying to wipe off some of the dirt that clung to her tank top. “I was thinking…‘circumspect.’” She gave Dobler a toothy grin.
Dobler regarded Renie with suspicion, but approached the entrance to the Danfield house. For the first time, Judith noticed a small wire mesh grill set next to the wall and a system of buzzers, as well as a round indentation that could have concealed a surveillance camera. With movements that looked like wizardry, Dobler unlocked the wrought-iron gates.
“The missus’ll let you in. I’ll wager she’s been watchin’.” Dobler cackled and wandered off down the road, the shotgun at his side.
Like the Barber house, the Danfield mansion stood on a bluff that overlooked the water. Judith and Renie approached the double front doors, one of which opened before they reached the single step leading to the wide verandah.
“How nice!” exclaimed a silver-haired woman in matching beige slacks and cashmere sweater. She exuded good breeding, charm, and a placid air. “I considered calling over to Chavez Cove, but I thought you might be busy. Do come in and have some ice tea. Bates will join us in just a moment. He’s in the den. I’m Esther Danfield.” She put out a graceful hand.
“Hello,” Judith responded, sensing that her smile was off-center. “I’m Judith Flynn.”
“I’m Serena Jones,” Renie said, still picking debris from her clothes. “Are you armed?”
Surprise was swiftly replaced by amusement. “Goodness, no!” Esther laughed. “You must forgive Mr. Dobler. I hope he didn’t frighten you with that silly shotgun. He’s very protective. You wouldn’t believe the trespassers we get on Chavez. There are so many parks and campsites on the other islands that visitors assume we have them here, too. But we don’t. During the tourist season, we get overrun. It’s very distressing.”
Grateful for Esther Danfield’s hospitality, Judith exuded sympathy. “Oh, I’ll bet it’s awful! People can be so thoughtless and selfish. They don’t respect others, let alone private property and the environment.”
Esther’s thin mouth turned down. “It seems to me that many people respect the environment more than they do human beings.” As Esther Danfield voiced her opinions, she led her guests through the entry hall. Off to the right, Judith caught glimpses of both the living and dining rooms. The decor was a homogeneous mix of contemporary and antique furnishing, artistically arranged to give the fleeting impression of a showcase.
Esther turned the latch on an arched door that led outside. “Let’s sit in the garden. Fall’s coming, and we won’t have many fine days like this to enjoy before the cold and damp set in.”
The Danfield “garden” was a far cry from Hillside Manor’s backyard. Judith cherished her prosaic flower beds, the aging fruit trees, the small patio, and the statue of St. Francis. But she felt a pang of envy as she gazed upon the enclosed area with its stone floor, vine-covered walls, sleek wrought-iron furniture, flower-filled urns, and a marble lion’s head that gently spilled water into a small pool. Two separate planting sections, one for flowers and one for herbs, were separated by a walkway with stone benches at each end. Privacy was ensured not only by the stone wall, but the big horse chestnut trees which had been planted around the grounds. Beyond the garden area stood one of the smaller stone outbuildings. It looked like a guesthouse, but it crossed Judith’s mind that it might be Elrod Dobler’s residence. The ornery old codger had to live somewhere, after all.
“This is beautiful!” Judith exclaimed. “How I’d love to do something like this in my backyard!”
“You could sink your mother in cement and have her hold a hose,” Renie murmured. “Then you could turn the toolshed into a giant planter.”
Esther’s blue eyes widened. “I beg your pardon…?”
“Ah…” Judith struggled to explain. “Serena said my mother’s sink has a dent that makes her hold her nose. We use the toolshed for a giant panther. Sort of.” A vision of Sweetums on the prowl crossed Judith’s mind. The cat bore little resemblance to any of its feline fellows, let alone a graceful panther. Often, Sweetums seemed to belong to a species of his own.
Esther appeared more bewildered than enlightened, but remembered her duties as hostess and asked the cousins to sit at the glass-topped wrought-iron table. A big jar of ice tea sat directly in the sun. Next to an urn filled with ivy geraniums was a tray containing linen napkins and tall frosted glasses.
“I have no sugar out here,” Esther apologized, glancing at the stone wall behind the urn. Another grill was set in the stonework, though Judith couldn’t see any sign of a camera’s spying eye. “Do you mind, or shall I have Bates fetch some?”
Neither Judith nor Renie cared much for ice tea, with or without sugar. Having assured their hostess they required nothing extra, Judith watched Esther fill three of the frosted glasses with self-assured, graceful movements. The women had just settled back in their chairs when a tall, lean man in his fifties strolled into the walled garden. He was dressed in a tan safari suit with an ivory scarf at his neck. A trim gray mustache and a full head of wavy gray hair enhanced his debonair manner.
“How delightful,” Bates Danfield declared after his wife had made the introductions. “We have so few friends call on us after Labor Day.”
“What Bates means,” Esther said with the tiniest of frowns creasing her otherwise remarkably smooth skin, “is that during summer, so many of the people we know visit on their yachts. Even though the weather usually stays pleasant through September, it’s not the happiest of months in some ways.”
Judith was puzzled. “You mean the change in seasons?”
Esther leaned forward, with a sidelong glance at her husband. “In a sense,” she said. “Most of our friends are duty-bound to return to work after the summer lull. Except, of course, for those who are fortunate enough to be retired.”
“Are you retired?” Renie inquired between brave sips of ice tea.
Esther’s frown degenerated into a scowl, but Bates threw back his head and laughed richly. “You might say I’ve always been retired.” He crossed one leg over the other knee, revealing the perfect crease in his safari slacks. “For three generations, my family has been in investments. My main job—if you can call it that—is to oversee the finances. What that actually means is letting an army of accountants and attorneys and financial advisors tell me where to sign my name. If anything, I’m a professional puppet.” He laughed again, this time in a manner that was meant to be self-deprecating.
“You’ve certainly found a beautiful spot to live,” Judith put in after a discreet glance at Esther who had recovered her placid air. “Did you build this house?”
Bates shook his head. “My father built it seventy years ago. Esther and I moved here after we married.” He paused, leaning in his wife’s direction. “That was thirty-two years ago. Sometimes it seems like only yesterday, doesn’t it, darling?”
Esther smiled at her husband. “There’s a timelessness to Stoneyhenge,” she said, then turned to Judith and Renie. “That’s what this house is called. Bates’s father was fascinated by Stonehenge in England. He had some marvelous theories about it, including one that it represented the solar system.”
Bates reached over to pat his wife’s arm. His touch was gentle, but his dark eyes had hardened. “There are many theories about the original Stonehenge. Let’s not bore our guests with them, darling. I believe they’d enjoy a refill of their ice tea.”
But Judith and Renie had downed all the ice tea they could stand. “We should be heading back to Chavez Cove,” Judith said, getting to her feet. “Oh—I almost forgot,” she added, mentally berating herself for another potential omission. “One of my guests, a Mr. Hodge, was planning to meet you. I gather from what Mr. Dobler said that he’s alr
eady come by.”
“A Mr. Who?” Esther asked.
“Mr. Hodge,” her husband responded quickly. “He did drop by an hour or so ago. Fine fellow, very congenial. We went for a walk in the woods.” His dark gaze avoided his wife’s questioning look.
“Hodge?” Esther echoed. “Do I know him?”
Bates Danfield had also gotten to his feet. “I think not,” he answered easily. “Hodge is another of those advisors who feels it’s his job to pull my strings.” Again, the rich laugh, as he regarded the cousins. “I’ve never seen any reason to bother my wife with the dull details involved in finances. Women are so much better at keeping house instead of worrying about how to pay for the running of it, don’t you think?”
Judith thought about Dan. “Well—maybe.” During her first marriage, she had worried a great deal about keeping the house, period. Indeed, they had defaulted on one mortgage and been evicted twice. Life with Joe was not only far more secure, but he had no qualms about letting Judith manage their money. “At our house, I’m in charge of expenses. My husband doesn’t like to be bothered with money matters.”
Bates seemed surprised. “Really? I should hate to trouble Esther with such mundane matters. Finances usually aren’t a woman’s strong suit.”
The comment rankled Renie. “My husband and I believe in complete equality. Neither of us can add or subtract. Since we have no money, it’s not a problem. We take turns standing on street corners holding up a sign that says ‘Will Intellectualize for Food.’”
The Danfields exchanged puzzled glances. Judith thought it best to redirect the conversation. “With such a big house and extensive grounds, I’m sure that keeping everything up requires a lot of time and effort. Do you have any help?”
“Elrod takes care of the garden,” Bates said, opening the side door for the women. “We used to have Peggy Lowman as our regular housekeeper, but lately we’ve had to rely on someone coming over from Laurel Harbor. It’s been rather trying. But finding good help has been a constant problem over the years. We’ve had every Tom, Dick and Harry—literally.”
“Harry!” Esther gave a little shudder. “Do you have to remind me? He was an utter disaster!”
Judith could have sworn that an expression of alarm crossed Bates Danfield’s handsome features, but it was gone in an instant, replaced by a fond smile for his wife. “Now, Esther, that was all a long time ago. Tom Lowman was very hardworking, and Dick Wicker has been invaluable.”
“You mean Doc?” Judith asked.
Bates nodded. “Doc Wicker’s first name is really Richard. He hasn’t actually worked for us, but having him here has been a source of comfort. It’s cut both ways, of course,” he added enigmatically.
“You must come for dinner while you’re here,” Esther put in quickly, as they walked through the entry hall. “We’re expecting our children up for a few days, but I’m not certain when they’ll arrive.”
“Oh,” Judith said, warming as ever to a sense of family, “do they live close by?”
“They’re both city dwellers,” Esther replied, assuming a softer expression that might have been maternal pride. “Elliott—our son—is an antiques dealer. Our daughter, Eugenia, has her own catering business.”
“You know young people,” Bates remarked as he opened the front door. “They like the city. Oh, they’re keen on outdoor activities and all that, but those bright lights lure them away from our kind of solitude.” With a gallant smile, he ushered Judith and Renie outside. “Do enjoy your stay on Chavez. It was delightful meeting you. Good-bye.”
The iron gates, which apparently were electronically controlled, closed behind the cousins. “Did Bates just uninvite us to dinner?” Renie asked as they started back down the road.
“I’m not sure,” Judith answered in a puzzled tone even as she kept one wary eye out for Elrod Dobler and his sawed-off shotgun. “In fact, I’m not sure about anybody on this island. Have you noticed how guarded everybody seems?”
“Guarded?” Renie considered. “I’d say edgy. At least when certain subjects come up. Often that subject is H. Burrell Hodge.”
“That’s true,” Judith agreed. “As you said, it’s not our problem. All we have to do is see to the guests.”
“And feed me,” Renie pointed out. “I believe you mentioned prawns.”
Judith checked her watch. To her surprise, it was after four. The afternoon had flown as they made their brief rounds of the island. “I should relay Cilla’s message to Rafe St. Jacques. Maybe I can call him instead of walking down to Hidden Cove.”
“Good idea,” said Renie. “All this walking has made me hungry.”
“So would sitting or sleeping,” Judith remarked dryly.
Renie gave a little shrug. The cousins continued in silence, enjoying the golden hue of the trees that were starting to turn color, the faint haze that had begun to rise from the grassy glens, and the soft dance of amber light that shimmered on the water.
The Carr house was quiet when they passed by. But around the bend, they saw Cilla riding toward them on a bicycle. She braked to a sudden stop and waved a hand. Her blond hair was wet and the oversize T-shirt appeared damp. Sand clung to her bare legs and feet.
“Hi, there! I just went for a swim at Hidden Cove. You’ve got to try it. Rafe won’t mind. At least, it never bothers him when I swim there.” A becoming flush crept under Cilla’s tan. “Anyway, he’s off somewhere in the kayak right now.”
“It’s a little late for a swim,” Judith said with a smile. “Tomorrow, maybe. By the way, I forgot to tell Rafe about…”
Cilla laughed. “No problem. I left him a note. I’ve learned never to make assumptions. You can’t always count on things—or people.” She made a sudden, embarrassed gesture with her small hands. “It’s not that I expected you’d forget completely—but you’re new to the job, and anyway, Jeanne Barber got really absentminded after her husband died. She could hardly remember who her guests were. See you tomorrow.” With another wave, Cilla resumed pedaling down the road.
At the back door to Chavez House, Judith found a note written in precise, yet bold penmanship:
Toilet plugged. Need plunger. Or tools.
Miss Hennessy
“Oh, swell,” Judith grumbled. “Now I’m a plumber. Where are the tools?”
“Don’t fuss about it,” Renie urged. “Didn’t Cilla say she was a handywoman? Call her.”
Judith did, dialing the single digit of 5, as Doc Wicker had instructed. A harsh female voice answered on the second ring. “Don’t bother us. Nobody’s here.” The line went dead.
“If that’s Mrs. Carr, she’s worse than my mother,” Judith said in annoyance. While Gertrude detested talking on the phone, she could rarely resist getting in a few insults before hanging up. But the phone rang while Judith was trying to figure out what to do next. Cilla’s cheerful voice was a welcome sound in Judith’s ear.
“Don’t mind Mama,” she said. “She’s not very sociable. What’s up?”
“How did you know it was me?” Judith asked.
Cilla laughed. “Rafe’s out in the kayak, Doc Wicker went bird-watching, and Mama wouldn’t dare hang up on the Danfields. That leaves you, right?”
“So it does,” Judith said, impressed by Cilla’s logic. It was a faculty she not only admired, but also tried to exercise. “I got a note from Miss Hennessy about her plumbing. About the cabin’s plumbing, I should say. Could you take a look?”
“Sure,” Cilla answered. “I’m just about to take a quick shower, then I’ll go over there.”
Relieved, Judith sought out the liquor cabinet, which was in a breakfront cupboard next to the stove. Like the rest of the house, it was well stocked. She poured a measure of Scotch for herself and bourbon for Renie. The cousins took their drinks out onto the roomy deck and sat down in a pair of matching wooden chairs.
“Dinner won’t take long to fix,” she said, watching a pair of cedar waxwings peck at food in the bird feeder that sat on the ra
il a few feet away. “There’s a baguette in the freezer. I’ll thaw it to serve with the pasta and salad.”
“Sounds good,” Renie commented. “I’ll make the salad.” She gave her cousin an amused look. “I’m not really going to sit on my duff and do nothing. I’d get bored.”
Judith, well aware of Renie’s nervous energy, had known that all along. “We can watch a movie tonight,” Judith said. “I noticed quite a few good videos in the bookcase, both classics and recent releases.”
Renie shook her head. “Jeanne and Duane knew how to live. They spoiled themselves, don’t you think? I mean, this place has everything. I’m going to dive into the Jacuzzi this evening and wallow around like a baby seal.”
“Sounds good,” Judith agreed. “But don’t forget the water shortage.”
Renie wrinkled her pug nose. “That’s true. I’d like to do a wash, too. My clothes got dirty while we were under fire at the Danfields’. I don’t want to bother Cilla with our personal laundry.”
Judith agreed. “She does plenty as it is. You have to admire her energy.”
“She’s young,” Renie noted. “And all that work gets her away from her nasty mother.”
“I wonder what’s with Mrs. Carr,” Judith mused. “I picture her as a grieving widow who moved away from the memories of her husband.”
“As usual, you’re probably being too kind.” Renie shook her head at her cousin’s endless fascination with human nature. “It’s not our problem, remember?”
Judith said nothing. The cedar waxwings flew off. A pair of young raccoons approached boldly, stood up on their hind legs, realized they weren’t going to be served, and disappeared under the steps of the deck’s lower level. The cousins laughed; they were well acquainted with raccoons. Though they lived in the heart of the city on Heraldsgate Hill, there still remained wooded gullies and creeks and expanses of underbrush where the masked marauders thrived. Judith and Renie knew that it was unwise to feed them. The raccoons were cute, but they could turn into savage little pests.