“How do I get myself into these things?” I asked Calpurnia.
If I’d been smart in the beginning, I’d have denied being the Michelle Lincoln mentioned on Lenora’s acknowledgments page. That could have saved me a whole lot of trouble.
Brooding, I went into the kitchen to make myself that sandwich. Calpurnia trailed after me, suddenly much more interested in begging for shreds of turkey than in guarding the house.
I’d finished eating but was still seated at the dinette table, sipping a second glass of lemonade and enjoying the light breeze coming in through the open windows, when something alien blighted my view of the backyard—Bella Trent.
Shading her eyes, she peered in through the screen.
I ducked.
A moment later, from a singularly ignominious position on the floor beneath the table, I stole a glance at the window. Bella was still there.
“Hello?” she called.
I didn’t answer. I didn’t think she’d seen me. I hoped she hadn’t.
The shuffle of footsteps told me she was moving on, circling the house. When the knob on the back door rattled, I held my breath. I was almost certain it was locked.
The silence in the house was so complete that I could hear the seconds tick by on the kitchen clock. Calpurnia hopped up onto the chair I’d vacated and stared down at me, as if to ask what the heck was I doing there on the floor. I reached up to scratch behind her ears before I eased slowly to my feet.
Talk about a ridiculous overreaction!
Smiling at my own foolishness, I went from room to room, peeking out each window I came to in an attempt to spot Bella. When I saw no sign of her, I concluded that she’d given up and gone home.
Don’t get cocky, I warned myself. She may have left for now, but she’s not going to stop bugging you.
I doubted it would do any good to confront her and tell her to get lost.
It was then that a logical solution, albeit a temporary one, occurred to me. After considering the pros and cons, I made three phone calls, inviting Luke, Ellen, and Darlene to have supper with me that evening.
Chapter Thirty-two
I don’t do fancy dinner parties. I started using our wedding china for every day about thirty years into my marriage and the only good silver I ever owned was inherited from my grandmother. It’s still in its original box somewhere in the attic room I use for long-term storage.
That evening’s meal was as simple as I could make it. I convinced Darlene’s husband, Frank, to help Luke man the grill while Darlene, Ellen, and I put together shish kebobs with chunks of chicken and assorted veggies. Dessert came from Harriet’s—one of Ada’s Boston cream pies. We ate inside because it was too muggy to be comfortable outdoors. Besides, I had only cheap folding lawn chairs to offer for seating. I had been toying with the idea of buying a nice wooden picnic table, but that seemed extravagant for a person living alone.
It was a bit of a squeeze to fit the five of us around my dinette table. Ellen and Luke perched on the window seat flanked by Frank and Darlene while I sat with my back to the kitchen. The cat, hopeful tasty morsels would be dropped her way, was at my feet. I waited until we’d finished every last morsel of food before I cleared my throat and stood.
“I have an announcement to make,” I said. “I’ve decided to move into Tessa’s farmhouse so I can search for the rest of the diaries full-time. I only have a bit more than two weeks left to find at least one more, edit it, and post the contents online.”
“What brought this on?” Darlene’s voice was rife with suspicion.
“It seems a sensible thing to do.”
“Why?” She knows me too well and wasn’t to be put off with a vague answer.
“Aside from a fast-approaching deadline?” I shrugged. “This is just a good time for me to get away from Lenape Hollow for a bit.” Turning from Darlene to Ellen, I added, “Bella Trent keeps turning up on my doorstep. Can you keep an eye on the house while I’m gone?”
In a heartbeat, my charming dinner guest was replaced by a no-nonsense officer of the law. “Has she threatened you?”
A look of alarm appeared on Darlene’s face. “Mikki Lincoln, what have you been up to?”
With a sigh, I sat down again. Ellen’s reaction forced me to give the others a capsule version of my interactions with Illyria Dubonnet’s biggest fan. Even leaving out what Detective Hazlett had told me about Bella’s prior run-ins with the law, the situation still sounded alarming.
“Can’t you get a restraining order?” Darlene asked.
“I doubt Mikki has grounds for one,” Ellen said. “Frankly, there’s not much anyone can do unless and until Bella commits a crime.”
“Trespassing,” Frank suggested. “If she was in your backyard—”
“Do you remember old Mrs. Mintz? She used to own the house where the Frys live now,” I added, since Frank was the only one who’d known me when she was our next-door neighbor. “She used to blow a gasket every time I cut across her yard to get to the field where we played softball. I refuse to turn into a modern-day Mrs. Mintz.”
“But if this woman threatened you—”
“I’m pretty sure she’s harmless, Darlene, nothing more than a nuisance, but ignoring her is becoming difficult. I’m hoping that if I go away for a while and there’s no one here when she drops by, she’ll be discouraged and give up trying to catch me at home.”
“Admit it. You feel sorry for this Bella person.” Darlene shook her head. “You always were a softy.”
Luke held one hand so it shielded his mouth and spoke in a stage whisper. “Probably because Bella gets even more worked up over grammar mistakes than Mikki does.”
“Ha ha.” I made a face at him. “To be honest, I think she needs professional help, but I haven’t a clue how to convince her to go into therapy.”
“I’ll ask around,” Ellen offered. “Find out if Bella has family who can steer her toward counseling.”
“Is introducing Bella to Ilona an option?” Darlene asked.
“Illyria,” I corrected her. “And no. For one thing, Illyria Dubonnet doesn’t really exist. It’s a pseudonym and the persona that uses it on social media is . . . well, let’s just say that the woman who actually writes the books doesn’t bear much resemblance to the alter ego she created for herself.”
Looking from face to face, each one filled with concern for my well-being, I realized I could trust the four of them with the truth. In fact, I owed it to them.
“You have to keep this to yourselves,” I said, “but you’ve already met Illyria. She’s my friend Lenora Barton, the one who visited me for a few days at the end of last summer.”
“She’s Illyria Dubonnet?” Darlene’s eyes went wide with disbelief.
“In the flesh. You see the problem. Aside from the fact that it would intrude on Lenora’s privacy to spring Bella Trent on her, Bella herself wouldn’t be happy with the outcome. She’d either be bitterly disappointed or think I was lying to her.”
“Not to change the subject,” Luke said, “but are you sure you’ll be any safer staying at the farm?”
“Bella won’t know to look for me there.”
“I wasn’t talking about Bella.”
I made a face at him. “I don’t think the people who built those storage units are likely to come back.” At least I didn’t have to explain that part of the story. I’d already told Darlene and Frank about my unexpected discovery in the Swarthout barn.
“Did you talk to the security company?” Ellen asked.
“I did. They missed the activity at the barn because the camera they installed was mounted there and aimed at the house.” I didn’t add that it hadn’t been working anyway, or that Sure Thing Security had since removed it. I saw no point in giving my friends more cause to worry about me.
I started to clear the table. Everyone offered to pitch in, but when I shooed Luke and Frank out onto the porch with after-dinner drinks, they didn’t put up much of a fight. Ellen, Darlene, and
I made short work of the dishes. Calpurnia wound herself around my ankles until I convinced her that there were no tidbits left to beg for. With a haughty flip of her tail, she took herself off for a nap.
“Have you finished editing Estelle’s diary?” Darlene asked as she dried a plate.
I handed her a saucer. “I have, but I still can’t understand why her sister thought it should be published. What she wrote doesn’t paint a very flattering picture of anyone in that household.”
“Maybe Tessa wanted Estelle to have the fame she failed to achieve during her lifetime,” Darlene suggested.
“What kind of fame was she after?” Ellen asked.
“She wanted to be an actress,” I said. “She had leading roles in local productions and after Rosanna’s death, she and Tessa headed for Hollywood.”
“I tried to find some record of her online,” Darlene put in, “but if she had a film or theater career after she left the farm, it wasn’t enough of one to get into any online databases. Actors are usually pretty visible, even the old-timers, what with IMDb and all the rest. The only mention of her I found was the Social Security record of her death. She died decades earlier than her sister somewhere in New York State.”
“Was there an obituary?” Ellen asked.
“Not that I could find. Not everyone has one, you know, especially when newspapers charge the family an arm and a leg to print it.”
“What if she used another name professionally?” I suggested. “It’s a little hard to envision Estelle Swarthout on a theater marquee. If I’d been in her shoes, I’d have changed it to something that sounded a little more glamorous.”
“Possible,” Darlene conceded, “but very few real names stay secret, especially those of people who are successful. I’ll bet even your friend Lenora hasn’t kept as tight a lid on her secret identity as she thinks. Did you know there are databases of pseudonyms?”
“There are databases for just about everything,” Ellen agreed.
“The most likely explanation,” Darlene continued, “is that Estelle moved away from the farm with Tessa and continued to live with her sister for the rest of her life.”
“So the only records would have been in Tessa’s name?”
“Right. That diary you found may be Estelle’s only shot at immortality.”
The party broke up shortly after we finished washing the dishes. Ellen had to be up at dawn to work the early shift and Darlene simply ran out of steam. She’d had a good day, using only her cane to get around, but she’d suffered a bout of insomnia the previous night. Despite a nap before coming over to my house, by seven thirty she was yawning, a sure sign she was in desperate need of sleep.
Luke lingered after the others had gone. By the glow of the porch light I could see that he had a worried expression on his face.
“What?”
“I’m not convinced that you’ll be safe staying out at the farm on your own.”
“I won’t be completely alone. I’m taking Calpurnia with me.”
“Your ferocious guard cat won’t be much help against the person or persons unknown who were using your barn. What if they show up?”
“What if they do? They’ll hardly stick around once they realize someone is living in the house.”
He descended the porch steps, but at the bottom he stopped to look back over his shoulder. “I know you can take care of yourself, but it’s sensible to take precautions. If only for my peace of mind, will you promise to phone me at least once a day?”
I rolled my eyes, but I had to admit the suggestion was a good one. “Fine. I’ll call you every afternoon at five. Will that do?”
“I guess it will have to.” He grinned and started to walk away, but he hadn’t gone a half dozen steps before he stopped again. “Is it okay if I come by while you’re staying there?”
“I don’t need a babysitter, Luke.”
“Perish the thought! I’m only interested in the pond.”
“The pond?” I repeated, puzzled. “The pond at the farm?”
“That’s the one. You know I’m just a country boy at heart. There’s nothing I like better than to spend time at a good fishing hole on a hot summer’s day.”
“You are so full of it!”
With a wave and a laugh, he continued on his way.
Chapter Thirty-three
For my stay at the farm, I packed comfortable clothes and also loaded my trusty old walk-behind lawn mower and a Weedwacker into the trunk of my car. I tucked food and drinks, cat supplies, and several flashlights with extra batteries in around them. Once I’d secured Calpurnia in her carrier and in the passenger seat, I was ready to go.
“You’ll like the farmhouse,” I told her as I drove. “There are lots of places for you to explore. You might even catch a mouse or two.”
Despite the housekeeping services Tessa had arranged, I’d come across evidence that the farm wasn’t rodent-proof. No old house is, especially when it’s located way out in the country.
It was late morning when we arrived, and not yet as hot as the weather forecasters were predicting it would be by midafternoon. I left the cat in the car while I unloaded the rest of what I’d brought. She didn’t liked being abandoned for even that short time. When I finally lugged her carrier inside, I heard about it every step of the way. She was still complaining when I set it down on the kitchen floor.
“Give me another minute,” I said. “I need to check the doors.”
Naturally, I’d keep the front and side doors locked while I was in the house, not only for my own protection, but also to prevent Calpurnia from escaping into the big bad world outside. I didn’t want her going upstairs, either, so I wanted to make sure the stairwell was secure. She’d find enough to get into roaming free on just one floor.
After I arranged Cal’s litter box beneath the pedestal sink in the downstairs bath, I turned her loose. At first, intent on giving me the cold shoulder, she refused to come out of the carrier. I kept an eye on her while I put away the groceries I’d brought with me. I’d plugged in the refrigerator on my last visit and it seemed to be functioning normally. That was a relief. If I’d had to rely on my cooler to keep food fresh, I’d have had to keep going out to buy ice.
The stove was another matter. The propane tanks that fueled it were long gone. Fortunately, I own a camp stove, one James and I kept to use during power outages. Together with a wood stove to keep us warm, and battery-powered lanterns for light, we’d even been able to stay in our home during the legendary ice storm of ’98, when power throughout Maine went out for more than a week.
I unpacked my personal possessions in Tessa’s old room. By then Cal had left her carrier and was busily exploring. I was already dressed in jeans and sturdy boots, so all I had to do before venturing outside was spray myself with bug repellent, slap on sunscreen, and don a floppy hat. After our visits to Sure Thing Security and Monticello Maids, Jason Coleman had offered to contact Tessa’s lawn-care service for me, but they had yet to make an appearance. The overgrown front yard was an eyesore. If I had to look at it while I was in residence, I meant to do something to improve the view. I know it sounds strange, but I find mowing relaxing, as long as the lawn isn’t too large.
The grass had grown so high that I didn’t realize there was a bank of bright orange day lilies near the road until I almost mowed them down. Any “naturalized” flowers too low for me to see in time went the way of the grass, but on the bright side, I didn’t disturb a single snake. When I finished with the lawn mower, I put the Weedwacker to good use.
Two hours later, dripping with sweat, I surveyed the result of my labors. The area immediately surrounding the house was by no means pretty, but the grass was now a reasonable height and the worst of the intruding underbrush had been hacked into submission.
Back inside, I treated myself to a cold drink and a bath. Like the refrigerator, the pump and water heater Tessa had left behind still worked reasonably well. I felt quite invigorated once I was clean and dressed in
fresh, lightweight clothing. I slipped my bare feet into flip-flops and, still toweling my wet hair, went in search of my cat.
It was the gift Calpurnia had left for me that I found first. By stepping on it, naturally. The medium-size mouse Cal had deposited in the middle of the living room rug was quite dead.
At least it wasn’t a snake.
Gingerly, I picked up her trophy by the tail and carried it to the front door. Checking first to make sure the cat wasn’t lurking, waiting for her chance to make a dash for freedom, I stepped out onto the porch and flung the little corpse as far away from me as I could.
I spent the afternoon making yet another search of the downstairs rooms. Calpurnia helped. She attempted to climb into every opening big enough to hold her and a few that weren’t before wandering off in search of more mice. Neither of us found what we were looking for.
The highlight of the day was my five o’clock phone call to Luke. Reminding me that he could easily take time away from his job—like me, he works for himself—he offered to drive to Swan’s Crossing and help me search. I appreciated the thought, but turned him down. There was no sense in both of us wasting our time.
That night, tired out from all the exertion of the day, I opened both bedroom windows in the hope of catching a breeze and went to bed early. When I closed my eyes, I found myself wondering what it had been like to sleep in this room in the days when the Swarthouts took in boarders. Their guests, and maybe family, too, must have passed many a summer’s evening sitting in Adirondack chairs on the wide wraparound porch just the other side of the walls of Tessa’s old room. I could almost hear them talking in soft voices as the stars came out. Imagining the gentle, soothing rhythms of their speech, I drifted into sleep.
I was up bright and early the next morning, well rested and raring to go. First, of course, I had to feed the cat. While I was at it, I fired up the camp stove and fried a couple of eggs for myself. I’d found a working toaster and a coffeepot among the things Tessa and Estelle left behind, so all in all breakfast was quite satisfactory.
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