It was all Grace could do not to rip the container out of Niki’s hands.
“They’re yours,” Niki said. “You can have them. I wasn’t sure why I was keeping them after Gran died, but now I do. I was saving them for you.”
For the first time, Grace hugged her cousin with affection.
As the afternoon passed, Grace sat at a round table in Niki’s sunny kitchen and sifted through black and white photos of strangers and newspaper clippings spanning more than sixty years. Stark Delaney and a Tony Delaney were named in reports of high school baseball games and field hockey tournaments. Julia Delaney played softball and won swimming competitions. Older articles chronicled the rise of Winston Stratford Delaney III, ‘Ford’, through civic groups into local politics.
Grace felt an unfamiliar tug of jealousy as she leafed through articles recording Winston’s science fair project and Niki’s dance recitals. Still, overall, she felt oddly satisfied when she put the last clipping back in the bin and replaced the lid, resealing the past in its plastic tomb.
She’d checked an avenue of information and nothing had changed. She still didn’t know what caused the family’s rift, and she hadn’t learned anything about her father. There were no new facts to change her mother’s account of their history.
Later that evening as she and Niki were sharing a bottle of wine and a pizza, Grace asked if there were any other contractors she should consider before consigning all the work on Delaney House to the Cutters.
“Well, I’ve known them my whole life and I’ve always had a crush on Bryce, so I’m hardly impartial.” Niki laughed at Grace’s expression. “Oh, come on! The man is a god. Don’t tell me you don’t think so, too.”
“Are you two involved?”
“Okay, don’t answer me, but you know he’s amazing. And, sadly, no. I’m not his type. He isn’t mine, either, but I’d be willing to make allowances.”
Niki’s tinkling laugh was contagious. Grace was coming to realize it was hard not to like the girl - in small doses.
“So who is your type?” Grace asked. “Who was your mystery date this afternoon?”
Niki rolled her eyes. “I’m embarrassed to tell you after the way he behaved when you met him. We’ve been on and off since junior high. I love him, but I’m never gonna be in love with him if you know what I mean. We get the idea every now and then to try again. We’re on the downside right now, and I swear this is the last time. He’s got to move on and I need a fresh start.”
“I’ve met him?” Grace asked, thinking back over her short time in Mallard Bay.
“Aidan Banks. You know, the officer who came to the house when you found Winnie under the tub.”
“Oh.” Grace had no trouble remembering Banks’ angry face. “Well, that explains why he was so agitated. I guess he was upset about your brother.”
“He stays upset about Winnie. They’ve hated each other even longer than Aidan and I have been together.”
“Chief McNamara said he was rude because he’d worked on the scene of a fire at a rental property. I guess landlord negligence sets him off?”
“Let’s say Aidan has issues and I’m trying not to let them become my issues. Now, your turn. Who’s the man in your life?”
There was no way to explain David Farquar without opening up her life to Niki, and that wasn’t going to happen. “No one at the moment. My life has been mostly work and taking care of my mother.”
Niki frowned. “Well, you came to the wrong place if you want to find a husband. The Eastern Shore is long on retirees and short on eligible men you’d look twice at.”
“Not a problem,” Grace said. “I want to get my life settled. Romance can wait. Besides, you got married, right? Your name’s not Delaney, so there must be a Mr. Malvern.”
Niki had never mentioned a husband. Grace realized she’d never given her cousin’s personal life any thought before now.
“I was somewhat precocious,” Niki grinned. “I got married the summer after high school. It only lasted a few years, but that was long enough. Bob decided letting me have this house free and clear was a better settlement than alimony.”
Grace had never handled divorce settlements, but Niki’s story sounded odd. “You must have had a good attorney,” she said.
“Cyrus,” Niki answered. “And he didn’t have to be good. Bob is 59 and worth a bazillion dollars. If I’d had the stomach for a fight with the old fart, I wouldn’t have to run an inn for income.” Again, the silvery laugh lightened her words. “The ‘victory’ in Victory Manor Inn was the divorce settlement.”
“You married a man, what? Thirty years older? When you were eighteen? That’s, that’s…”
“Profitable. Obviously.” Niki laughed.
“I was going to say ‘unusual’,” Grace said.
“You wanted to say ‘trashy’.”
“No! But maybe precocious is the right word.”
“Mom uses it a lot. She also said Bob was a good catch before she knew he didn’t intend to give up his other women. We kept that part from Dad. If he’d killed Bob, it would have ended the settlement agreement.”
“Well, you did say your father has a bad temper.”
Niki’s laughter died abruptly. “It wasn’t funny at the time. We hide a lot from Dad, just so you know.”
It was an opening Grace had been looking for. “I wonder if you would be willing to set up a meeting for me. With your parents, I mean.”
The silence in the dining room grew uncomfortable as Grace waited for an answer. Niki pretended to be occupied picking pepperoni off her pizza and stacking the orange disks in a greasy column.
Grace finally said, “Okay, this isn’t a good idea. I can call them and we can meet without you. I can understand…"
“No.” Niki spoke softly, but firmly. “You don’t understand. That’s the problem.”
“Then tell me. I’m going to meet them sooner or later, you know.”
“I’m afraid they’ll be rude. My parents, both of them, are difficult. They are bookends, in a way. Dad is abrupt and can be," Niki hesitated. “He can be cruel. Not intentionally. He just doesn’t care what anyone thinks. He says what's on his mind and people sometimes get hurt.”
Grace thought Niki was probably the one who was most often hurt, but she said nothing.
“I mean, don’t get me wrong, he’s there when I need him. Most of the time, anyway. He loaned me the money to redo this place as a B&B after my divorce. He’ll always come over if I need something done, too.”
For the first time, Grace saw that Stark might have some traits in common with his sister. Julia had always been at Grace’s side.
“Mom is his marshmallow,” Niki went on. “She’s gooey and soft around him, but will take the head off anyone who upsets him. She says it’s because when he’s mad it’s hard on her, but I know it’s more than that. She’s proud to be the wife of a strong man. She used to say that to me when I was little. She’d say, ‘Niki, find yourself a strong man like your daddy. You take care of him and he’ll keep you safe.’ She brags, saying she’s the only one who can handle him. Frankly, the two of them together suck all the air out of a room. I try to avoid family gatherings as much as possible and when we have them, I go to their house so I can leave when I want.” The speech seemed to drain her.
“Okay. I’ll wait until they’re used to me being here.”
Niki looked relieved.
“But don’t get too happy," Grace added. “We’re about to have a change of subject neither one of us will like.”
The doorbell rang.
“How did you do that?’ Niki rose to answer the door.
“Avril Oxley,” Grace said, nodding to the window behind Niki’s chair. “She’s coming up the front walk.”
Chapter Sixteen
Avril was happy to take Niki’s chair, a slice of pizza and coffee. Niki seemed happy to give it all to her and disappear, giving Grace a sympathetic smile as she left.
“I’ve never approved
of fast food,” Avril said after her first bite of pizza. “This is soggy."
“Sorry about that. But we weren’t expecting you.”
“Worry about yourself. Dough and cheese will kill you.” Half a slice of pizza disappeared before the old woman continued. “I only just heard you were here. We need to talk before you do anything to Delaney House.”
Grace remembered all the warnings she’d heard about the nosy neighbor, especially Bryce’s insistence that it was better to pander to her meddling than to fight it. “I appreciate your interest, Mrs. Oxley and I assure you I’ll follow all the required procedures.” She emphasized ‘required’ and earned a deadeye stare from Avril.
“You may call me Avril. And it’s Miss. Miss Oxley,” Avril said. “I had a lover but never married her. Illegal in Maryland back then.”
Grace had just taken a mouthful of water and snorted it through her nose.
“Oh, get hold of yourself, girl,” Avril said as Grace mopped up. "I wasn’t always old and bent, you know. Was a looker in my day and so was my Glenda. This,” she waved a hand to indicate her tiny, arthritic body, "comes in one way or another to everyone lucky enough to survive into old age.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Grace said. She was still recovering from choking and couldn’t manage more.
Avril nodded in approval and popped a pepperoni round from Niki’s abandoned plate into her mouth. “So, I’m here because I know more about Delaney House than anyone alive today and I feel it’s my duty to help guide you through the renovation. It’s arguably the most important structure in this town. One of the oldest standing structures on the Mid-Shore for that matter. Of course, it’s been rebuilt and renovated so many times; most of what’s left of the original building isn’t visible. But some of the original wing is exposed.”
“Really,” Grace said, her initial resistance to the irritating woman clashing with her interest in anything to do with the house’s history.
“Yes. What’s now the kitchen and the room above it date to about 1740, and you would know that if you’d done the proper research before considering renovations. You can’t run in there willy-nilly and start changing things. You could wipe out a piece of history. A piece of our history. So, I’ll help you.”
“Thank you, but…”
Avril smacked the tabletop with her open palm. “No ‘buts’ about it, missy. You need me.”
It was a silly argument and Grace decided to use it to her advantage. “You’re right, of course. I apologize. Let me get you more coffee and maybe you could tell me about the house? Did you see it back when my mother, Julia, was young?”
“I was here well before then. Born and bred in the house I own now. Family homes. Nothing like them for history.” Avril continued eating and talking through two more slices of pizza and half a pot of coffee. Grace found herself caught up in Avril’s stories of sneaking into Delaney House as a child - snooping through other people’s homes being a habit Avril cheerfully owned up to.
“Delaney House was better than any castle I’d ever read about. Everything was big and shiny. It all sparkled to my eyes. The housekeeper was a large woman named Miss Rollie. Your grandfather's mother died when he was born, you know. Miss Rollie had been with the Delaney family forever, so she took over raising Ford, too. At least as much as Mr. Winston would let her. She was a kind woman. When I’d show up over there, she fussed over me like I was hers. She would treat Ford and me as if we were brother and sister until Mr. Winston came home, and then she’d send me home.”
Grace hadn’t given much thought to the occupants of the house before her mother’s family. "Was it a big household back then?” she asked.
“Oh, yes. Household help mostly. Houses like ours - although my family home is much smaller - always had a housekeeper and maids and a gardener. Ford, your grandfather, was an only child growing up and my mother died in a boating accident when I was six. We had our semi-orphaned state in common, and we played with each other for years. We even had a path through the woods from my backyard to his. It’s grown over now, of course.”
Grace couldn’t imagine children traipsing through those woods without a bushwhacker leading the way.
“The natural division of boys and girls eventually split us up. He was a few years older, so he tired of me first and I was crushed. But time takes care of those things and we grew up. We never got on in our teenage years. Then my older half-sister came to live with us and Ford was all of a sudden interested again. She was invited everywhere. She was beautiful and outgoing and she dragged me along with her until she established herself in our society.”
“Do you remember how the rear parlor looked before it was wallpapered?” Grace reddened at her own rudeness, but she was tired and Avril appeared to be settling in for a long, involved, personal memoir.
Avril blinked at the abrupt change in the conversation but changed gears without hesitation. “It looked like the same room without wallpaper hanging in strips from the ceiling.”
“Oh,” Grace said in a placating tone. “So you’ve seen it recently, then. Do you remember the furnishings? It’s empty now.”
“Of course I remember the furnishings before Emma ruined everything,” Avril snapped. “I assume you don’t care how it looked in the past couple of decades. No one in their right mind would want it like that.”
“The deterioration started about twenty years ago?” Grace asked. No maintenance and haphazard DIY projects would account for the current state of the house.
“We’re all deteriorating, every day, all day. Look in the mirror. Is that the same view you had twenty years ago? I’m guessing no.”
Grace laughed. She was beginning to enjoy Avril. Which could be dangerous, she told herself. The old woman could strike like a snake.
The snake was smiling a bit, Grace’s laughter having apparently restored what passed for Avril’s good humor. With another refill of her coffee cup, she took up her story again.
“When Mr. Winston and Ford were alive, they kept the pocket doors open between the parlors to make one large room. The front parlor had a grand piano placed between the windows so it could be seen from the street. Near that was a full-sized harp. It was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen and I would always try to play it, but of course, it never sounded right with a child pulling the strings. The harp was gone by the time I was attending the parties Ford and Emma gave, but the piano was still there and they would always have a string quartet or a jazz band. We did have fun. I met my first lover there.”
Hoping to keep Avril on track, Grace said, “It’s hard to imagine all of that in the house I bought. There’s no furniture on the first floor now.”
“Good thing, with tubs falling through the ceilings. All the paintings gone, too?”
Grace nodded.
“Shame. Emma’s oil portrait was over the mantle. Ford was so proud of it. He’d commissioned it from an artist in New York, I think, from a photograph of Emma some famous photographer took when they were first married. Most people were impressed, but my sister said Ford only did it because he needed something splashy to cover up the loss of the Monet.”
“They lost a Monet? A real one? How did that happen?”
“Well, ‘lost’ isn’t the right word, really. Mr. Winston remarried and had another child and wanted to settle his affairs between his new family and Ford. He came to visit and when he left, the Monet, a Degas and some of the furniture - antiques, I was told - were packed up and shipped to France where Mr. Winston lived with his new family."
Grace digested this for a moment. “You must have been close to them to know all of this.”
“Off and on over the years, yes, we were close. Sort of. But for a while, my sister was Emma’s best friend and she told me a lot.”
Grace gave in and asked about the sister Avril clearly wanted to discuss.
“Audrey. We resembled a little, but she was older and taller. And a lot more glamorous. Her mother was my father’s first wife. It didn’t last long. T
heir marriage, I mean. My father supported Audrey and her mother, of course. And when Audrey wanted to come live with us after she graduated from college, Father agreed.” Avril sat back from the table and seemed lost in the memory. After a moment she said, “Audrey’s why I called the police when I heard you’d fallen into a hole in the backyard.”
Grace wished she had something to take notes on. Avril seemed to like dropping non sequiturs and watching her victims try to catch up. Grace took a moment to gather her thoughts, but it was hopeless. “Okay, I give up. What does your beautiful sister have to do with the hole I fell into?”
“The police didn’t tell you? That’s interesting.” Avril looked at her empty cup and said, “Fresh coffee would be nice.”
Grace gave Avril her best hostile witness glare and was rewarded with a smile.
“I didn’t mention Audrey just up and vanished, did I?”
You know damn well you didn’t. Grace shook her head. “What did you tell the police?”
“I reminded Lee McNamara about Audrey as soon as I heard about your accident. He’s hard to read. I can’t tell if he’s taking my concerns seriously.”
So you’re spreading those concerns around a bit, Grace thought. She was getting an education in small-town gossip. “The chief didn’t mention your sister to me.”
Avril gave an exasperated sigh. “I have to get him to pay attention! It’s the only thing that makes sense, now that I look back.”
“How long ago did she disappear?”
“1960.”
“Surely the police investigated back then. You did notify them, right?”
“Did I? No. My father was still alive and in charge of the universe. You better believe he turned over every stone, but discretely, of course. He pulled in every favor he could and when none of the official avenues turned up anything, he hired detectives. The one place he didn’t search was the neighbor’s backyard.”
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