“Why not?”
“Because we didn’t think she was buried anywhere, of course. We believed she’d run off. Audrey was a bit of a wild child. She’d be considered a saint by the standards of today’s youth, but she was a bit scandalous in our stuffy little town. Her mother had been a dancer in New York, but our father saw to it Audrey was raised in boarding schools and not with her mother’s theater friends. Father hoped Audrey’s education and the right social setting could make her one of us. And for a while it was working. We hoped she was settling down. She was even engaged. When she ran off, Father said it all must have been too much for her. She didn’t want to get married and couldn’t see how to get out.”
“Didn’t her fiancé look for her?”
“He and my father made a project of it for months. They finally gave up when the last detective Father hired found a man who said he sat next to a woman who looked like Audrey on a bus to New York.”
“That must have been hard for all of you.”
“It was, but Cyrus took it the hardest.”
Chapter Seventeen
“Cyrus Mosley?” The idea of Mosley as anyone’s love interest made Grace glad she hadn’t eaten much.
Avril nodded. “He was Audrey’s fiancé. I can’t say he’s waited for her all these years, but he never married.”
Grace tried to make sense of what Avril had said.
“I suppose it’s a lot to take in,” Avril said. “But you’ve got to get up to speed, girl. You can’t just wander into a situation like this and blunder around. This is another reason why you need me.”
“You don’t really believe Emma Delaney would live in a house with her best friend buried in the backyard, do you?” Avril had thrown a lot of information at her, most of which sounded like a soap opera plot.
“When I look back, I’m not sure I ever knew Emma at all,” Avril said. “She was kind to me when she first came and when Audrey was alive. Even afterward, if Ford weren’t around, she’d invite me over to swim with her and the children. But she changed when Ford died. And later we had a falling out and never mended it. I wanted to go over when she died, but there was no point by then. There was no one I wanted to see and I don’t feel safe going over there alone now. Look what happened to you.”
“May I ask what you and Emma fought about?”
Avril looked uncomfortable. “I suppose you have a right to know,” she finally said. “I’m not proud of it, but we argued over your mother. Actually, you were the catalyst for our last argument.”
“Me?”
“I told Emma she was selfish to hold Julia back and I, unfortunately, made a rather adamant point about you being Julia’s child to raise, not Emma’s. I thought it needed saying, but I should have stayed out of it. Emma never forgave me, and then Julia stayed away. I never saw her - or you - again. Emma’s heart was broken and I made it worse for her.” Avril’s cantankerous air had dissipated and she looked exhausted.
Grace offered to call her as soon as she had decided which renovations she would be doing to Delaney House. Avril was a walking bank of information and, as irritating as she might be, she was right about one thing - Grace needed her.
Thunderstorms swept in from the west, pounding Washington and Baltimore before expending the worst of their fury as they crossed the Chesapeake Bay. A steady rain passed over Mallard Bay in the night, easing Grace’s sleep and leaving the morning with a crisp edge. When she arrived at Delaney House, the place looked better after its rain bath. If she didn’t look at the mud field that was the backyard, Grace thought she might be able to hold on to her good mood.
The work crews were in full swing. Grace picked her way around sawhorses and the electrical cords that seemed to snake everywhere. She found Henry on the second floor in one of the larger bedrooms standing amid piles of clothes, shoes and odds and ends of furniture.
“My God,” Grace said, trying to hold onto her temper. “Sorry, Henry. It’s just, I hoped it would be clean by now.”
Henry looked embarrassed. “When you called and said you were here, I came over to try and organize this a bit before you got here.”
“Organize it?” she looked around the room and came back to Henry who was holding an armful of old shoes.
“We may have had a miscommunication. You said save everything that wasn’t trash. We tossed anything that had ever been edible and all the stuff Winston left behind. Didn’t think you wanted his dirty laundry.”
“Not in any sense of the phrase,” Grace said.
“Everything that we kept is in this room. If you could go through it and take what you want, I can clear it out and then we move on to the next step.”
“Which is?”
“The exterminator.”
Grace groaned. “If you clean out everything, isn’t that enough? Is an exterminator really necessary?”
Henry gave her a pitying look. “At the very least, you’ll need a certification that the house is termite free or that termites have been taken care of, if you do have them. You can't sell the property without it. But you have mice and I’ll be surprised if you don’t have a regular zoo in the attic.” He handed her a business card. “We work a lot with this guy, Benny Pannel. He specializes in humane removal of mice, squirrels and such. He goes in, sets traps, shows us where the entry points are and we seal them up. He removes the trapped animals and replaces the traps until he’s gone a month or so without finding anything. Nice guy; you'll like him.”
“Is he expensive?”
“He’s competitive. You need someone experienced and Benny can handle the job. Problem solved."
“Maybe that one,” Grace said.
Her enthusiasm for searching for clues to her mother’s past went out the door with Henry. The piles of Emma Delaney’s belongings seem to swell around her.
Get moving!
Feeling her mother’s hands at her back, Grace reluctantly started her search.
After eight hours of sorting through Emma Delaney’s worn clothing, outdated magazines and grocery coupons, Grace wished Henry Cutter hadn’t taken her instructions quite so literally. Her definition of ‘junk’ and his varied considerably.
Other than some clothing and costume jewelry she thought Niki might want, she sent most of the contents of the second floor to the dumpster. From six bedrooms once occupied by a wealthy family, there remained only two beds and a dresser. Grace thought she could feel the house’s resentment as she walked through the empty rooms.
She was grateful Niki wasn’t home when she returned to the inn. A shower, quick nap and clean clothes put her in a better mood until she wandered into the inn’s dining room and found a formal table setting for four.
“Good! There you are. I was about to come find you,” Niki entered from the kitchen carrying a low centerpiece of pink roses and white mums.
“Looks like a dinner party,” Grace said, taking in Niki’s white sheath dress and chunky onyx necklace. Her hopes for a quiet recovery from the long day died away.
“Mom called this afternoon and seems to be over her snit. I think putting my foot down with Winnie’s bad behavior was just what she and Dad needed. They’re coming to dinner and I have to say, I’m rather proud of myself.” She glanced at Grace. “You did ask to meet with them, remember? You’re okay with this, right?” A pointed look said if Grace had a problem, it was too bad.
Grace sighed. “How long do I have? I need to change.” The leggings and oversized turtleneck sweater, which had been fine five minutes earlier, felt shabby.
Niki insisted she looked wonderful, and anyway it was too late. The front door opened.
Chapter Eighteen
Far from being the imposing figure she’d imagined her mother’s brother to be, Stark Delaney was at least two inches shorter than Grace and thin to the point of gauntness. Unlike her mother, he had dark coloring, graying brown hair and hooded brown eyes, but the family resemblance was there in the shape of his features. His face said he was present under duress.
Introductions were awkward, but Niki and Connie shared a gene for streaming conversation. Stark and Grace silently assessed each other as mother and daughter segued through one safe topic after another. When Niki served drinks, Stark grabbed his scotch with a touch of desperation.
Grace asked about Winston’s condition as if he had been injured in a benign, generic accident - not one involving a falling tub. Connie responded as if her son was ten and recovering from the flu. Appreciative of their efforts to maintain polite small talk, Grace answered Connie’s questions about her life in Washington in the same breezy, superficial way and the evening moved along. Stark’s vocabulary was limited to basic short responses and facial cues aimed at his wife and daughter, all of which appeared to be ignored.
Dinner occupied their attention for a while. Niki’s lasagna was undercooked and the Caesar salad was heavy on garlic. The meal’s deficiencies gave Stark a reason to complain and describe his various digestive ailments while Connie first rushed to her daughter’s defense and then give her own critique. The lack of concern or response on Niki’s part said this was normal dinner conversation. By the time coffee and biscotti were served, Grace was more than ready to change the subject.
As if reading her mind, Connie said, “Grace, has anyone told you how much you look like your grandmother?”
“It’s been a long day.” Stark cut his wife off and pushed back from the table.
“Daddy, let’s talk a bit longer.” Niki slid the plate of biscotti toward her father.
“You and your mother talk enough for all of us. And she,” he nodded at Grace, “looks tired. Let’s call it an evening.”
“If you could stay for another few minutes, I’d be grateful.” Grace flushed, embarrassed to sound so needy.
Stark nodded unenthusiastically and stared at his coffee.
“I’m sure Niki has told you what’s happening at Delaney House,” Grace said.
Stark’s head came up. “She’s told Connie about the work you’re doing to clean Mother’s house up, yes. Good thing you’re a D. C. lawyer, you’re gonna need a lot of money to fix that old pile up."
“I’ll only be able to do so much. Of course, I'll keep you informed of the progress. I’ve hired Bryce Cutter to do the renovations.”
Stark and Connie looked at each other but said nothing.
“I do have some questions,” Grace hesitated. Now that she had the opportunity she wanted, she found it hard to introduce the topic of her parents. She started with the easy question first. “I’m searching for anything that might have belonged to my mother -”
A cattle prod couldn’t have gotten a sharper reaction. Stark and Connie jerked to attention and Niki’s hands flew to her mouth. In the next second, Grace realized how she’d sounded and hurried on. “I don’t know much about my mother’s early life, or my own. I’m hoping to find any of my mother’s childhood things. Toys, books. Anything like that. Would you have any idea where Mother’s things might have been stored?”
Stark laughed. “Stored? Girl, nothing is stored in that place. Buried under crap, now that’s another question and I don’t have any answers for you.”
If any of the Delaneys found irony in his statement, it didn’t show. The tension eased, but only a bit.
Grace took a breath and said, “Well, then, I’m hoping maybe you can tell me something about my father.” There. It was out.
Connie started to answer but stopped when Stark raised his hand. “Are you saying your mother didn’t tell you? I wonder why?”
“She did,” Grace said. “But she wasn’t long on details about him, and I never thought much about it until she was sick. By then, she didn’t want to talk and I didn’t want to upset her.” It was the truth. Mostly.
Stark said, “Again, I’d have to ask why? And if your mother didn’t want you to know, why should I tell you?”
Her uncle was enjoying himself. Grace tamped down her anger and focused on the man sitting across from her. Stark’s eyes were glittering and his mouth was drawn in a thin, mean smile. He wanted a fight.
“A valid question,” she said and was rewarded with a grunt of surprise.
Connie and Niki were bystanders who couldn’t look away from a train wreck.
“It wasn’t fair for my mother not to tell me about my family.” Grace sent a silent prayer for forgiveness to Julia. “Obviously, she didn’t feel she could, but I have no idea why. She never said anything at all about any of you and she didn’t say much about my father.”
“I never met your father and my sister left a long time ago." Stark’s words were sharp. “Why do you want answers now? Seems a little late to get worked up over missing your daddy. You’re crowding forty if I’m not mistaken.”
Grace clenched her hands under the table and tried not to laugh. If this was all he had, she could handle him. She had planned answers to this very question, but tossed them and went with an end run around the question.
“Please,” she said. “Anything you’re willing to tell me will be more than I know now. Can you at least tell me why my mother left Mallard Bay?”
Playing helpless to the bully worked.
Stark leaned back, relaxed and in charge. “Seemed to me like Mother and Julia just couldn’t get along. You were still a toddler when Julia got it into her head to leave. I guess you know that. I was away at college, but I had to come home to deal with Mother. She nearly lost her mind worrying you’d starve or need something she could give you.” Stark took a sip of coffee, but no one stepped into the silence. Finally, he said, “Young people can be thoughtless.”
He could have meant Julia or Grace or the universe in general. Grace didn’t ask for clarification, but said, “You must have known something about my father.”
Stark shook his head.
Connie came to life, saying, “We felt terrible for her, of course.” Now that the tension had eased, she seemed eager to join the conversation. “Your parents didn’t have much time together. It was tragic.”
“You weren’t there,” Stark barked at his wife.
Connie’s face colored. “That doesn’t mean I didn't feel bad for your sister when I heard the story.”
“Don’t repeat gossip. You weren’t there.”
Niki gave Grace a ‘see what I mean?’ look and bowed her head.
“Did you see my mother after she moved to DC?” Grace tried to steer the conversation back to the pre-Connie ambiance.
“Of course.” Stark glared at Grace as if it had all happened yesterday. “I hauled furniture and Julia’s clothes and your toys across the damned bridge a dozen times until Mother finally accepted that Julia wasn’t going to come home. Nothing was enough for either one of them. Mother’d call me home to take a load over to whatever rattrap apartment Julia had you in, and Julia’d be mad when I showed up. She’d yell at me to take it back and we both knew I couldn’t without sending Mother on a bender.”
“Stark!” Connie yelped. “Don't say…”
“She was an alcoholic! Who the hell doesn’t know that? She had every reason to be, but damn, woman. You think it’s a secret? The girl here,” a forefinger jabbed in Grace’s direction, “owns her house. You think she hasn’t figured out there was something wrong with her grandmother?”
“Daddy, please!” Niki broke out of her protective posture and stood up. “I’m sorry, but…”
“Don’t you ‘Daddy please’ me, young lady. What the hell did you think would happen when you set this up? She wants to know about her family. I’ve got nothing nice to tell and I won’t lie.” He turned to Grace. “Go talk to Cyrus Mosley. He’s got all your answers.”
Grace hung onto her temper, but it was a struggle. “It sounds like you had a rough time of it and I’m sorry I’ve upset you.” And that my mother’s death does
n't seem to bother you, she added silently.
Stark snorted. “The past was bad, but the present’s no picnic either. You’ve got your hands on Delaney House, understand? Delaney.” He stood and tossed his napkin over his plate. “You selling it when you’re done tearing it up?"
Grace didn’t take the bait. “Yes.”
“I thought so. Just remember this while you’re enjoying that money you get. It’s mine.”
“Really?” Grace kept her tone mild. She wanted him to keep talking, but Stark only glared at her. She said, “Is that why you left me a message in the kitchen?”
“What the hell do you mean, a message in the kitchen?”
Niki’s face paled as she caught on. “Oh no, Grace. Don’t.”
“Mosley said it was your son who trashed the place, but now, I’m wondering. Someone spray painted a message in the kitchen.”
Stark merely looked surprised, but Connie said, “No!” and stood abruptly. “My boy was good to his grandmother! He’s always working on something over there. Stark and Winnie have been treated unfairly. Surely you can see that, Grace!”
“I don’t know what happened before I got here,” Grace said. “But your mother-in-law sold her house, remember? She didn’t give it to me, I bought it.”
Without taking his eyes from Grace, Stark said, “I’m leaving. If you want a ride, Con, you’re leaving, too.”
When they were gone, Grace insisted Niki take a large brandy and go to bed. As she cleared away the dinner dishes and rehashed the evening in her mind, she found herself humming her mother’s favorite song. They’d watched Casablanca so many times, she and Julia could quote long lines of dialog. Behind the sounds of running water and clanking dishes, Grace could hear her mother’s clear voice singing As Time Goes By. One line from the song resonated.
If she only knew which fundamental thing applied to the decisions her mother had made, maybe she would finally understand what had happened to her family.
Squatter's Rights Page 10