“Me? I’m fine. What’s another person lying on the floor, give or take? At least she wasn’t dead.”
He relaxed against the swing cushions and stretched out his arm along the back. His hand dangled close to my shoulder. “Still, it makes you think about your own mortality. Life’s short, and all that. It gives me an opportunity to reflect on my life.” He turned to look at me. “Know what I mean?”
I studied the tips of Mohair’s ears. There was a soft tuft of fur on each one. I wondered what she was thinking about, if anything other than the peacefulness of the moment. Did cats reflect on their lives? Did I want to reflect on mine?
Randall’s hand slipped down to rest on my shoulder ever so gently. For some reason that I was reluctant to explore, I didn’t shrug it off.
We swayed in silence punctuated by Mohair’s purrs. He and I used to sit like this, in this very swing, on balmy moonlit nights like tonight. I remembered one night in particular, early in our relationship, when he had brought me a box of chocolate-covered caramels, my favorite. We had sat and swayed and eaten our way through the entire box, talking about our hopes and dreams and plans for the future. It had all seemed so easy and straightforward then. Now I couldn’t envision my future with anyone, much less with the enigmatic man sitting next to me.
Randall eased me into a side-armed embrace. I felt so forlorn at the moment that I didn’t resist. He laid his other hand on Mohair’s neck and stroked her gently. “I feel like there are some things in my life that maybe I could fix.” He left that thought hanging between us, and continued to stroke and sway.
I leaned my head against his shoulder, and his hand came up to caress my hair.
“What went wrong between us, Daria?”
“Apart from the fact that you withdrew all our money and took off?” I pulled away from him. “Or was it the part about you trying to isolate me from my friends and family?” Mohair stretched out her claws and dug into my leg, disturbed by my sudden movement.
Randall bowed his head. He kept his arm flung across the back of the swing. “I guess I didn’t treat you very fairly, did I? I’m sorry.”
An apology? In all the time I’d known Randall, he had never apologized for anything. He really was taking stock of his life! I picked at Mohair’s claws, gently extracting them from my skirt. “I accept your apology.”
His arm went around my shoulders again, and I let it. I felt a confusing whirl of emotions. I’d been nursing anger and resentment toward Randall for six months now. All of a sudden that bitter place in my heart seemed to lighten up a little. I had never considered the possibility that our acrimonious estrangement was something we could fix.
Randall stroked my shoulder with his fingertips. I could feel my body responding to his touch. I didn’t know if he was hoping to end up getting physical, but I knew I couldn’t let that happen. Maybe we could fix our differences enough to actually become friends, but that was as far as it could go. He was engaged to be married to someone other than me. That was the bottom line, as far as I was concerned. I eased out from under his arm and hoisted Mohair off my lap. “It’s getting late, Randall.”
He slid away from me and stood up. He held out a hand to me. I took it.
“Here, let me help you with these things.” He stacked up the plastic cups and gathered up some of Aileen’s dirty dishes.
“Oh, don’t worry about that. Aileen can get it.” But his hands were already full, and he stood expectantly by the front door. I shrugged, and scooped up Mohair. I opened the door and let Randall follow me to the kitchen.
I leaned against the wall between the mirror and the white kitchen table, watching him putter around with the dirty dishes and the trash. It was a familiar sight that called up memories of domestic contentment, if I forgot about the increasing arguments of our later years together.
“Tomorrow’s the big day, with the final filming,” he said, busy washing his hands at the sink. “Are you looking forward to it?”
I forced a smile. “Oh, sure. I hope the house shines for the broadcast.”
He wiped his hands on the hand towel hanging on the oven door and came over to me. “Well, there will be one little seamstress lighting up the show.” He eased Mohair out of my arms and dropped her on the kitchen table. He put his hands on my shoulders and ran them down my arms before encircling me in a full embrace. “I can’t wait to see your face on national television.”
I turned my head away, so his lips grazed my cheek. “Randall.”
I didn’t get any further.
I heard a clatter in the kitchen doorway, and the sharp exclamation “Oh, hell no!”
Randall sprang away from me, a look of panic washing over his face. I tore my eyes away from him to see Aileen stalking into the kitchen in full intimidation mode. She was dressed in skintight black leather pants with purple zigzags streaking down the legs, paired with a purple silk corset tied together with brass chains. Her jet-black hair was gelled into spikes all over her head, dusted with purple glitter. Her habitual black makeup was augmented with purple accents. She gripped a guitar in one hand and the other fist rested on her hip. In her six-inch heels she towered over both Randall and me. “What the hell is this?”
Randall scuttled backward to put a little more space between himself and Aileen. He looked like he couldn’t have spoken even if his life depended on it.
I picked Mohair back up and cradled her close to my chest. If she felt my heart pounding double-time, she made no sign. “Randall, this is Aileen, my renter. Aileen, Randall.”
Aileen glared at him. “Yeah, I know who this is. Mr. Love ’Em and Leave ’Em in Poverty. I know your whole story, buster. And don’t think you can come sneaking around trying to get into our house, because we are all on the lookout for jerks like you.”
“Randall was just leaving.” I grasped Aileen’s arm and drew her into the kitchen so Randall could have a way out.
He zipped past her and made a beeline for the front door. I followed, with Aileen stalking behind me. She loomed over my shoulder as I let him out and locked the door firmly behind him. I turned to face her.
Both fists were on her hips now. “Did I seriously just see you kissing that lowlife?”
“Um, no.” I walked back into the kitchen and sank down on a chair. Mohair meowed and settled into my lap, stretching her claws and kneading my skirt. “But who knows what would have happened if you hadn’t come home when you did. He came by to see if I was okay after finding Ruth on the floor. He was being awfully nice about the whole thing.”
Aileen sat down at the table next to me. “Wait, you found another body? What is it with you, girl?”
“No, this time she wasn’t dead. Ruth Ellis had fallen in her bedroom. She’s at the hospital now. She’s going to be okay.”
Aileen frowned, a truly terrifying sight if you didn’t know her. I did, so I kept my cool. “Did a murderer help her on the way down?”
I sighed. “I don’t know if it was on purpose or an accident. She got an overdose of sleeping pills, only she didn’t take any sleeping pills, or at least she didn’t mean to.”
“Maybe she tried to kill herself.”
I shifted Mohair off my lap and stood up. “Maybe. I don’t know. The important thing is that she’s going to be okay.”
“I’d say the important thing is for you not to eat or drink anything when you’re in that hellhole of a house.”
I couldn’t agree more.
I had a hard time sleeping that night. I couldn’t close my eyes without seeing Randall’s face close to mine, a look of compassion and more in his eyes. But when I fell asleep, I dreamt of McCarthy snapping my picture with a cocky grin on his face. I jerked awake, my heart pounding, at the sound of someone entering the house. It took a few minutes for me to realize that it was only Pete. Good thing I didn’t confront him in the dark again. He’d be sending me off to the fu
nny farm. I fell back to sleep chuckling at my silly fears, that didn’t seem silly at all if you stopped to think about them.
Chapter Seventeen
Morning dawned bright and clear—a fine day to film the final segment for My House in History. I put on a white peasant blouse and calf-length swirly skirt that might approximate a period costume if the camera didn’t focus on me directly. I packed jeans and a T-shirt in my shoulder bag, in case Cherry preferred me to look completely modern since I wasn’t wearing an authentic eighteenth-century gown. Either way, I resolved to enjoy the process and not fret about what I hadn’t accomplished.
I had a quick breakfast by myself in the kitchen. Aileen was still sleeping, and Pete was already gone for his marathon workday. I hadn’t even had the chance to tell him about my adventures yesterday. Although, maybe all the details could wait. Pete had a tremendous amount of respect for McCarthy, a departure from his almost universal dislike of my boyfriends in high school. I suspected he’d take McCarthy’s side in this argument, and I didn’t feel like taking on the two of them. Plus he would surely frown on my unexplainable encounter with Randall last night. Aileen had let it go, which continued to surprise me. Pete would be harder to convince that nothing untoward was going to happen.
I took a deep breath and told myself out loud, “Nothing bad is going to happen.” Mohair looked up at me with a plaintive meow. I filled her bowls and gave her a quick caress. Then I threw my bag over my shoulder and reached for my keys.
They weren’t there.
I thought I had hung them up on the hook last night like I always did, but maybe not. I’d been in such a sorry state after that argument with McCarthy combined with my feelings of professional failure. Maybe I had dropped them in my bag instead.
I dumped out the contents of my bag and sorted through everything, but my keys weren’t there. A quick search of my room and workroom upstairs came up with nothing. I scanned the floor, in case I might have dropped them. No keys. Finally I gave up and sent a quick text to Aileen: “I can’t find my keys. If you go out, leave the back door unlocked.” She would get the message in the next few hours, since she rarely surfaced before ten or eleven in the morning. I turned the knob so the door locked behind me, and ran for the bus.
I called the hospital from the bus and asked to speak with Ruth. I had to resort to my stern imitation of the lady in question before the nurse would let me speak to her.
“Who is this?” Ruth’s barking voice sounded as robust as ever.
“It’s Daria Dembrowski. I’m headed over to Compton Hall and I wanted to be able to tell Priscilla how you’re doing.”
“I am languishing here in a bed that is hard as a board while being prodded and poked by nurses who are young enough to be my grandchildren. I wouldn’t consider it to be a party.”
I tried to keep the smile out of my voice. “Do you know when you’ll be discharged?”
“They’re sending in the staff psychologist to examine me first. I expect they’ll require me to go to confession and receive absolution before they will let me go.”
“Well, I hope you pass all their tests. Do you need anything?”
“I need an excessive dose of patience, which has never been my virtue.” She muffled the receiver, but I could still hear her say, “No, I am not finished with my conversation. He will simply have to wait.”
“I’ll let you go,” I hastened to say. “I’ll tell Priscilla that you’re doing as well as could be expected.”
“Diplomatic, aren’t you? You can also tell my son John that I will call him to pick me up when I am discharged, which I am sure will be very soon.”
I guessed that that last phrase was directed at the nurse or whoever it was who was in her room pressuring her to get off the phone. I hung up, satisfied that Ruth was weathering her hospital stay in her own imperious fashion. I felt a pang of sympathy for the nurses.
I hopped off the bus and walked the rest of the way to Compton Hall. I scanned the vehicles in the driveway as I approached. Blazing among the other vehicles was the bright yellow Mustang of Sean McCarthy.
I didn’t know who invited him, but I didn’t really want to confront McCarthy today. Maybe he would want to apologize first, and we could just move on. Maybe he’d thought things over and would promise not to tell. I chuckled ruefully. Probably not.
I walked into the front hall, surprised by the quiet that surrounded me. I’d expected a lot more hustle and bustle from the camera crew on their last day of filming.
I poked my head into the kitchen, which was completely empty. The newly restored hearth showcased the antique bricks that Carl Harper had salvaged. He’d even installed a cast-iron rod with a kettle dangling from it. I wondered if the fireplace was safe to use or if it was just for show. At any rate, the entire room looked like a bona fide eighteenth-century kitchen.
I wandered down the hall, wondering where Priscilla might be. I had expected to see her on the front porch. I peeked into her bedroom, where I found Louise tidying things up.
“What’s going on, Louise? I thought the final filming was today.”
She turned toward me and shook out her duster over the wastebasket. “They didn’t tell you? They had to postpone it, on account of Miss Ruth not being here. Cherry specifically wants to film the two old girls together. She has to wait for Ruth to get discharged.”
“Sounds like she’ll get out today.”
“If that ornery old lady knows that she’s holding up the show, she’ll take her sweet time about coming home.”
I doubted that. It sounded from my conversation with Ruth like she wanted to get out of the hospital as soon as possible.
“Since we’ve got another day, I can make you an eighteenth-century gown.”
“You cannot! In one day?”
I gave her my most winning smile. “I can move pretty fast if I have to.” I pulled a tape measure and notepad out of my multipurpose shoulder bag. “Let me just get your measurements.”
Louise grumbled, but she let me take her measurements. “I’m expecting you to destroy these when you’re finished, got it?”
I nodded. “I’ll eat the paper, like a spy. What color do you like?”
“I don’t care. I don’t have a favorite.”
We settled on dark blue, and I packed up my things. Time to head out to the fabric store again.
As I came down the staircase, a flash exploded in my eyes. I blinked away the echoes of light to see the grinning face of McCarthy, of course. “Looks like I came by for nothing.”
I shrugged. “The newspaper will just have to wait one more day, like everybody else.”
“Waiting on Ruth Ellis, I understand. Feel like telling me what’s up with her yet?”
You could always count on McCarthy to get straight to it. “Feel like promising not to tell anyone yet?”
He shook his head with a big smile on his face nonetheless. “Sounds like we’re at an impasse. But that doesn’t mean we can’t talk about other things, does it?”
“Actually, we can’t. I have another gown to make, and I need to get to it.” His goofy grin melted my heart. It was almost the same thing as an apology. “Although...you could take me to the fabric store again.”
He laughed out loud at my suggestion. “She doesn’t want to talk; all she wants is a chauffeur.”
I took him by the elbow and steered him toward the front door. “That’s what Aileen always says. You make Aileen feel used at your peril, you know.”
“I can only imagine. You’re a braver person than I am.” He opened the door and waved an arm with a flourish to usher me through.
I swept through the door, to pull to a stop on the front porch. While I was inside, Priscilla had resumed her habitual seat in her rocker. Her knitting needles flashed to the beat of her rocking. I went over to her, leaving McCarthy standing by the porch railing.
> “Good morning, Miss Priscilla. I’m sorry the filming got postponed today. I’ll bet you’re ready for all this disruption to be over.”
“As you say.” She gave me her vague, sweet smile. “How is Ruth this morning, my dear?”
I reached out and took her hand. “Ruth is doing as well as can be expected. She’s hoping to come home today.”
Priscilla nodded with an elfish smile on her face. “Good. I do miss her when she’s not around. And how are you, my dear? Is this your young man?”
McCarthy grinned at me from his spot on the railing.
I returned the smile, realizing that he was listening carefully to my answer. “This is Sean McCarthy, photographer for the Laurel Springs Daily Chronicle. He’s the one I was telling you about, who likes to take pictures of the sunset. He was here last year for the Laurel Springs House Tour.”
McCarthy approached and reached out a hand to Priscilla. “Very nice to see you again.”
She took his hand with her bony fingertips. “Of course, the photographer. I do enjoy your pictures in the paper. You did the one with the robin perching on a tree branch covered in snow, didn’t you?”
His face broke into a smile. “Yes, I did. That was two years ago. I’m amazed that you remember it.”
She patted his hand. “You’d be surprised what we old folks remember, my dear. I think you did all those lovely pictures of Francisca Toumay’s silver, didn’t you? She had such a spectacular collection, before she died.”
I gave McCarthy a sharp look. Photographing silver seemed like a stretch for him. But he nodded. “Those photos were for the house tour as well. They turned out to be useful to the police when the silver was stolen from the estate after she died.”
“Dear Francisca. She loved to be surrounded by all that silver. I’m sure it broke her heart to look down from heaven and see it all gone missing.”
I pictured an old lady looking down from the clouds, seeing her beloved silver being stolen and not being able to tell anyone where it was. Was that how heaven worked?
Historically Dead Page 20