by Tami Hoag
A single yellow rose, slightly mangled, was peeking out from beneath the spare pillow she had hugged and punched and tussled with throughout the night. She picked it up by the end of the stem, staring at it in shock and disbelief as a petal dropped off and drifted to the bed.
Warmth surged through her before she could check it. A rose. How lovely. How thoughtful. How sweet. Then a blush bloomed on her cheeks and indignation rose up inside her. Bryan Hennessy had snuck into her room! He’d come into her room while she had been asleep.
Of all the low, strange things to do. How long had he stood beside the bed, looking at her? A minute? Five minutes? The very idea was mortifying! She might have been talking in her sleep or snoring or drooling, while this man she barely knew watched her!
Leaving the housekeeping for later, Rachel turned on her heel and stormed purposefully from the room to go in search of her midnight caller.
Bryan woke slowly, knowing Instinctively that he would be better off unconscious. All the clues were there as his mind reached cautiously up out of the depths of sleep: an ache here, the beginnings of a pain there. Still, his eyes came halfway open, and he rubbed his hand along his jaw, rasping a two-day growth of whiskers against his palm. He realty did have to remember to shave later.
The light in the billiard room was dim. It was early, he guessed, early enough for him to get to the bird cages before Addie did. Groaning, he pushed himself upright on the felt-covered slate of the old billiard table and swung his long legs over the edge. His body protested in more places than he cared to count.
“Maybe I’m getting too old for this kind of thing,” he reflected as he retrieved his spectacles from the cue-stick rack and put them on. He looked at himself then in the ornate mirror that hung on the wall, taking up a space equal to that of the billiard table. Even through a couple of decades worth of dust he looked bad. He looked like a vagrant. His shirt was rumpled beyond redemption, the tails hanging out of his equally wrinkled pants. His wilted magic rose drooped over the edge of his shirt pocket.
A shower, a shave, and clean clothes were the order of the morning, he thought as he slicked his disheveled hair back with his hands. But first, the bird cages.
He went into the parlor and unearthed the coffee can filled with bird seed Addie kept stashed behind a burgundy velvet fainting couch. Also behind the couch were a dozen unopened bags of bird seed and a foot-high stack of mail. Addie was notorious for stashing things away, like a squirrel hoarding nuts for the winter. And, like a squirrel, she often forgot where she had buried her booty. She never forgot her bird seed, however. She only forgot that she didn’t have a bird.
Bryan wondered what her frame of mind would be this morning. He hoped for Rachel’s sake Addie would be in one of her more normal periods. The two of them had a lot to talk over, a lot to settle between them, and not much time to do it. That was the one sure thing about Addie’s illness: it would progress. There would be no remission, no reprieve. What needed settling between mother and daughter needed settling as soon as possible.
“Not that I’m getting involved,” Bryan mumbled as he opened a wire cage and scraped the seed out of the little dish and into the coffee can. “I’m just here minding my own business, doing my little job.”
To distract himself from the inner voice that was trying to tell him differently, he began to sing softly to himself. “I got a ghoul in Kalamazoo-”
“Mr. Hennessy.” Rachel paused in the doorway of the parlor, ready to launch into her tirade, but the sight of Bryan brought her up short. He was crouched over a little bamboo bird cage-Just one of dozens of bird cages in the room-digging bird seed out of the tiny dish with one large finger.
“Addie gets upset if Lester doesn’t eat,” Bryan explained, his expression serious.
Rachel’s heart turned over in her breast. Not many men of her acquaintance would have catered to an old lady the way this one did. But then, he was getting paid for it, she reminded herself, steeling her resolve.
She marched across the room and thrust the bedraggled flower in his face. “Would you care to explain the meaning of this?”
Bryan rose slowly to his full height wincing absently at his stiff muscles. His gaze moved from the flower to Rachel and back again. He took a deep breath, pondering. His eyebrows rose and fell, and he pushed his glasses up on his nose.
“It’s a rose,” he said finally.
“I know it’s a rose,” Rachel said irritably. “Would you care to explain why I found it on my pillow this morning?”
She was staring up at him with fire in her violet eyes, as if finding a rose on her pillow were some horrible affront to her sensibilities. Bryan couldn’t stop the soft, thick warmth that filled his chest. She was lovely. There was no denying that. She had to have just combed her honey-colored hair back and arranged it at the nape of her neck, but already wisps had pulled loose to curl around her face. She was no doubt trying her darnedest to look indignant, but her features were too soft and angelic for her to quite pull it off.
“Mr. Hennessy,” she repeated, her tone clipped. It was the tone of an irate schoolteacher. “I’m waiting for an explanation.”
Bryan sighed a bit, dragging his gaze off the lush, kissable curve of her lower lip. He gave her a bright smile. “Is this a riddle? I do like a good riddle.”
“It’s an infringement on my privacy, and I don’t like it at all,” Rachel said, thumping the bedraggled flower against his chest. “I know I was sleeping in what is technically your room, but that doesn’t give you the right to just walk in-”
“I wasn’t in your room.”
“Then how did this get on my pillow?” she asked, shaking the flower for emphasis. Yellow petals floated to the floor.
Bryan’s broad shoulders rose. Behind his spectacles his blue eyes sparkled. He smiled his most engaging smile. “Magic?”
Rachel frowned in disapproval. “I don’t believe in magic, Mr. Hennessy.”
“My name is Bryan,” he corrected her soberly as he lifted the flower from her small fingers. “Everyone should believe in magic, Rachel,” he said. He held her gaze with his as he performed a little sleight of hand, making the rose disappear and a playing card appear in its place.
His eyes went wide. The trick had worked! He had his magic back!
Trying to swallow some of his excitement, he handed the queen of hearts to Rachel.
She looked at it and went on frowning, unimpressed. “Card tricks?”
“It’s the best I could do on short notice,” he said cheerfully. “I’m not the kind of fellow who keeps silk scarves tucked up his sleeve, you know. You must know, or you wouldn’t have thought I was the one in your room last night.”
“It had to be you,” Rachel insisted. “Who else could it have been?”
“Addie, I suppose.” He rubbed his chin in thought, and his eyes brightened suddenly. “Or Wimsey. Did you see anything, hear anything? Did you notice any change in the air temperature?”
“I don’t believe in ghosts, either,” Rachel said. “No sensible person does. Which is another reason I’ve come to see you. I’m going to have to ask you to leave, Mr. Hennessy.”
“Oh, dear.” Bryan sighed. “I thought we’d settled this. My deal was with Addie.”
“My mother isn’t… up to… making decisions like that,” Rachel said, avoiding the word competency and its legal ramifications. “Really, I think it’s quite cruel of you to play on her illness this way. I should probably report you-”
“Whoa there, angel,” Bryan said, a thread of steel in his soft voice and the glint of it in his eyes. His jaw hardened as he stared down at her, all traces of the innocuous magician gone. “Let’s get something straight here right away. I’m not taking advantage of Addie. I’m not taking a red cent from her, and I heartily resent that you think I would.”
“But you said you have a contract-”
“That’s right. Addie has agreed to let me stay here and search for the ghost.”
“T
here is no ghost,” Rachel said in exasperation. “Don’t you understand? Addie isn’t well. This ghost is just what she calls it-whimsy.”
Bryan stared at her, solemn and sad. “Just because you don’t believe in something doesn’t mean it isn’t true, Rachel. Trees fall in the woods all the time, and they make plenty of noise even though you’re not there to hear it.”
Rachel refused to listen. Her mind was made up. “My mother is a lonely old woman who has invented this whimsy to keep her company. There’s no reason for you to stay, Mr. Hennessy.”
“I’m going to start walking with a cane if you don’t stop that mister business,” Bryan grumbled, combing his hair back with his fingers. He took a deep, cleansing breath and started in again. “I am aware of Addie’s illness. Has it occurred to you what it must be like to know your mind is slipping away a little bit at a time and realize there’s nothing you can do about it? Have you considered what it must be like to have everyone in town think you’re some kind of lunatic and not believe a word you say?
“You may not believe in ghosts, Rachel, that’s your prerogative, but Addie believes in Wimsey, and I believe there’s every chance that he’s a genuine, bona fide entity. If I can prove that, I can give Addie a little bit of her dignity back. Don’t you think that’s worth having a nuisance like me around for a little while?”
Rachel couldn’t find any words for a rebuttal. She felt ashamed of herself for the things she had accused Bryan of. Worse, she felt a strange flutter of panic in her throat. If he had been a con man, she could have gotten rid of him. If he had been a crook, she could have sent him on his way and held on to her righteous anger. But he wasn’t a con man or a crook. He was a temptation. Her heart rate shifted gears at the realization.
She had wanted him gone not only to protect her mother, but to protect herself. There was something about Bryan Hennessy that attracted her beyond reason, and she couldn’t allow that. She was there because of Addie. Addie would need her undivided attention. She couldn’t waste her energy on an attraction to a man who made up silly songs and pulled playing cards out of thin air.
“What do you say, Rachel?” Bryan queried softly. He suddenly felt compelled-almost propelled-to step closer to her. It was too early in the day to question the wisdom of getting too near, so he gave in to the urge. He inched a little closer so she had to tilt her head back to look up at him. It would have been so simple to raise his hands and frame her face. The desire to do that and to lean down and kiss her swam through him.
His held breath burned in his lungs as he waited for her answer. Would she let him stay? Why did it matter so much? This trembling hope inside him had to do with something other than Wimsey, but he refused to think of what it could be. He told himself he needed this job right now because he needed something to focus on. It wasn’t that he was interested in getting involved with Rachel. Despite the argument his inner voice had put up the night before, he wasn’t convinced he could help her.
But as he looked down at her, at the uncertainty and the questions that filled her eyes, the need to have her say yes grew inside him to mountainous proportions. And the attraction both of them would rather have denied strengthened and tightened its hold.
“What do you say, Rachel?” he asked, his voice a whisper. “Will you give me a chance?”
Rachel swallowed hard. Her heart was pounding, her knees were wobbling. There was something more in his question than permission to work in the house. She read it instinctively as she stared up into his earnest blue gaze. She felt it in her heart, and fear cut through the haze of this strange desire. How could she cope with a man who believed in magic?
In some distant part of the house a door banged and voices sounded.
She couldn’t, Rachel whispered to herself. The last thing she needed was a man who believes in magic.
Bryan flinched slightly. He had heard the words spoken only in her soul, and they went straight to his heart.
Before he had a chance to wonder about it, the voices that had sounded faraway were suddenly sounding again-just outside the parlor. Then the doorway was filled with the substantial form of Deputy Skreawupp. The deputy hooked his thumbs behind the buckle of his belt, his arms framing his pot belly. He scowled, his frown reaching down his face nearly to his double chins. He bore a striking resemblance to Jonathan Winters but hadn’t nearly the same sense of humor.
Bryan raised his eyebrows and stepped back from Rachel, breaking the tension that had enveloped them both. Suddenly a hand reached around from behind the deputy and a finger thrust forth.
“There she is!” Addie’s voice was muffled by the deputy’s bulk. “She’s the one.”
The deputy lumbered forward, his dark gaze pinned on Rachel, whose expression was the very picture of stunned surprise. “All right, angel face, the jig’s up,” he said, his voice a flat, comical monotone that could have belonged to a detective in a movie from the forties.
“I beg your pardon?” Rachel squeaked, her gaze darting from the deputy to her mother and back.
Addie gave her a cold, hard look. “She’s the one, Officer. The intruder.”
“Mother!” Rachel exclaimed, aghast. Embarrassment flamed in her cheeks.
“She looks like my daughter, but she isn’t,” Addie said. “She’s an imposter. She broke in here last night and stole my dentures.”
“That’s low,” the deputy said, shaking his head reproachfully. “I’ve heard it all before. Desperate times and desperate measures. Makes me sick.”
“It’s not true!” Rachel insisted emphatically. “I am her daughter.” She turned toward Addie, her big eyes imploring. “Mother, how could you say that?”
“You’re not my daughter. My daughter left me,” Addie said flatly. She lifted her slim nose regally and gave a dismissing wave of her hand. “Take her away, Deputy. I’m going to go have my toast. Hennessy, to the kitchen.”
With that she turned on the heel of her green rubber garden boot and marched from the room, obviously expecting Bryan to follow her. Bryan cleared his throat and smiled pleasantly at the deputy. “I believe there’s been a small misunderstanding here.”
The deputy pulled out a pocket notebook and a pencil, prepared to take Bryan’s statement. “You were here last night?”
“Yes. I slept on the billiard table. I wouldn’t recommend it.”
Skreawupp halted his scribbling and pointed at Bryan with his eraser. “Don’t get cute with me, bub. I’ll clip you like a wet poodle.”
Bryan looked shocked. “Please, sir, there’s a lady present!”
“Look,” the deputy growled, his droopy shoulders slumping further. He gave up on Bryan, directing his questions to Rachel. “I am damned sick of being called out here on all kinds of wild goose chases. Are you Batty Addie’s daughter, or what?”
“I am Rachel Lindquist,” Rachel said tightly, her chin rising defiantly, her eyes burning with fury at the deputy’s attitude. “Would you care to see proof of identification?”
“Skip it.” He tucked his notebook back into his breast pocket. “I should have known this would be another waste of my valuable time. Last month she had me out here because she thought a commie sub had washed up on her beach. Before that she was being abducted by a religious cult. I don’t need it.”
“Well,” Bryan said in a tone that belied the anger in his own eyes, “we’ll all kick in a little extra on our taxes next time around to compensate.” He followed the deputy into the hall and pointed the way to the front door. “I’d show you out, but I have to go make the toast.”
“Hippie,” Skreawupp muttered, swaggering away. He turned and pointed a finger at Bryan. “I’ve got my eye on you, Jack.”
Rachel pushed past them both and strode stiffly down the hall, trying to find her way through the maze of rooms to the kitchen. She found rooms packed full of dusty old furniture, one room that was crammed full of old wooden church pews stacked one on top of another like cordword. Finally she pushed open the correct door.
>
The kitchen had once been sunny yellow, but the color of the walls had dulled over the years to a dingy ivory shade. It was a huge room with black and white tiles on the floor and an array of oversize appliances, one of which was an outdated wood-burning cookstove that had been left ostensibly for decorative purposes. Near the window was an oak table that had been haphazardly set with mismatched china. Addie sat at her place, her back straight, her hands folded in the lap of her flowered cotton housedress. She refused to look when Rachel entered the room.
“Mother, we have to talk,” Rachel said through clenched teeth.
“I don’t want to talk to you. Where is Hennessy? I want my toast.”
Rachel pulled out the chair beside Addie’s and sat down. She composed herself as best she could. She had read about the kind of behavior her mother was exhibiting, but comprehending a textbook and living the reality were proving to be two very different things. Logically, she knew Addie’s behavior stemmed from her illness. Realistically, she knew her mother was probably incapable of manipulation because manipulation required a great deal of careful thought and planning, and those were abilities Addie was losing.
Emotionally, she couldn’t help but feel hurt and humiliated and angry. She resented the way she’d been treated since coming to her mother’s house. She felt manipulated, because Addie had been a master at it in her day. It had been Addie’s machinations that had ultimately driven them apart. That was a difficult thing to forget now, when Deputy Skreawupp’s squad car was rolling down the driveway.
“Mother,” Rachel said, trying to speak calmly so she wouldn’t precipitate another catastrophic reaction like the one she had been greeted with the night before. “I’m Rachel. I’m your daughter.”
Addie glanced at her, annoyance pulling her brows together above her cool blue eyes. “Of course I know who you are.”