A Whisper of Bones

by Ellen Hart

  “Where’s Lena today?” asked Iver.

  “Asleep. Now that she’s drinking again, I never know when I’ll see her.” She glanced at her watch. “I believe she has a piano lesson at four.”

  Frank trudged up the stairs into the kitchen. He stood next to the refrigerator and struggled out of his boots. “Crap, now my socks are wet.”

  “You should have left that tape alone,” said Iver, sitting back down at the table.

  “What are the cops gonna do? Arrest me for felony destruction of plastic?”

  Eleanor and Iver exchanged glances.

  “Are you hungry?” asked Eleanor. It was a moot question. She’d already begun making a sandwich.

  “I could eat.” He moved over to the table and squeezed into the chair nearest the wall, still wearing his puffy fleece-lined parka. He unzipped it, watching Eleanor work at the counter. “I come bearing good news. It’s about that guy you turned me on to,” he said, turning to Iver. “Walter Mann. He wants me to illustrate a children’s book. In fact,” he added, moving back as Eleanor set the plate in front of him, “I just talked to the art director at the publishing house. If everything works out, he said he has two or three more books he’d like me to think about illustrating. I can hardly believe my good luck.” He tucked into the sandwich, chewing hungrily, pushing a straggly piece of lettuce into his mouth. He stopped for a second to grin.

  “That’s marvelous news,” said Eleanor. “I’m proud of you.”

  “Yeah, might be a new career path for me. Wendy’s over the moon.”

  As Eleanor cleaned up the counter, putting the mayonnaise and the bowl of tuna salad away, the phone rang. “I’ll get it,” she said, grabbing the cordless hanging on the wall. “Hello?”

  “This is Patrolman Applewhite, Saint Paul PD. Who am I talking to?”

  “Eleanor Devine.”

  “We need to get samples of DNA from you and your sister. I could send someone out tomorrow. Would the two of you be home around one?”

  “Is this about the bones found in the garage?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Eleanor was glad that she’d had a chance to talk it over with Iver. Giving their DNA would tell the police absolutely nothing about who was buried in the garage. Still, she had to ask, if not for herself, then for Lena. “Does it hurt?”

  “No, no,” said Applewhite. “If you’re concerned, you can ask your niece, Britt Ickles, about it. She gave us a sample this morning. The tech just does a swab of your mouth. Very simple and easy.”

  “You say—” She put a hand on the wall to steady herself. “Britt gave a DNA sample?”

  “That’s right.”

  His words felt like darts hitting her bare skin. “Of course,” she said, working to keep her voice even. He spoke for a few more seconds, but Eleanor had stopped listening. “Fine, fine,” she said. “We should be home all day tomorrow.”

  Lena rolled into the room, still in her pajamas. She spent a moment assaying what had just happened. “Was that the police?” she asked.

  Eleanor nodded.

  “Britt gave her DNA?”

  Another nod.

  Lena rested her fingers against her temples, mulling over the news. Then, crossing her arms defiantly, she said, “I will not take the fall for what happened. I had nothing to do with it.”

  “Nothing to do with it,” repeated Eleanor, a deep shiver settling down inside her. “You’re the whole reason it happened.”

  “Oh, no. You can’t pin it on me. I never touched that man.”

  “Stop it,” demanded Iver. “Come on now, everybody. Let’s slow this down. This isn’t the time to fall apart and turn on each other.”

  “No?” said Lena. “If this isn’t the time, when is?”

  “Shut up, you pathetic hag,” said Frank. “Keep the threats coming and see what happens.”

  “Like I’m scared of you. Poor put-upon Frankie.”

  “Please,” pleaded Iver, standing up and tossing down his napkin. “Let’s just give ourselves a little breathing room. DNA can take months, sometimes years, to be processed. And then what? If we stick together, if none of us talks, the police can only surmise. I say we table the discussion and spend the evening praying about it. We can come together tomorrow and, hopefully, with cooler heads, come up with a plan.”

  “You really think prayer will solve our problems?” asked Lena, lips curled in distain.

  “I really do,” said Iver, holding her gaze.

  It was at that moment when the truth revealed itself to Eleanor. Until now, even with everything that had happened between them, she’d never truly hated her sister. Clenching her shoulders, bracing herself against the judgment welling up side her, she said, “Iver’s right. We need to step back and think it through before one of us does something that can’t be taken back.”

  “You mean me,” said Lena.

  “Get out of here you wretched old skank,” said Frank, “before I—”

  “Enough,” snapped Eleanor, cutting him off midsentence. Frank appeared stricken by the rebuke, but Eleanor was past caring about his hurt feelings. She needed to buy time. “Let’s agree to a meeting tomorrow morning and see where we are.” She paused. “Lena?” she said, looking down at her sister. “Are we agreed?”

  “Oh, hell,” said Lena. “I’m not gonna pray, but I will drink on it. That good enough?”

  25

  “This looks wonderful,” said Jane, standing next to the chef who’d set up the table for the wine tasting in the Fireside Room. Dozens of wineglasses had been arranged, along with palate cleansers such as rare roast beef, thin-sliced French bread, crackers, and small slices of barely ripe pineapple. “And thanks, Henry, for getting the fire going,” she added, turning and smiling as guests began to arrive. Not only had Cordelia and Julia been invited, but Jane had asked both of her sommeliers, her general manager, her executive chef, two sous chefs, her headwaiter, and three of the bartenders to attend.

  Berengaria’s assistant, a furtive bald man who never made eye contact, had set up several bottles each of seven wines: three reds, three whites, and a rosé. Cordelia, dressed to the nines in all black—a sequined black satin gown with a deeply plunging neckline—towered over the round, red-haired vintner as they stood by the fire talking and laughing. Jane could tell by Cordelia’s rapt expression that she continued to be smitten. But because Jane wasn’t getting a lesbian vibe from Berengaria, she hoped that her friend wasn’t setting herself up for a fall. Nevertheless, Cordelia’s charm offensive was in full swing as people began to gather around them.

  When Julia walked in, ten minutes late, Jane finally relaxed. Oddly, the mere sight of her caused Jane’s breath to catch in her throat. She hadn’t seen Julia in almost two days and was more than a little surprised by the intensity of her reaction. Brushing her feelings away, she walked over and gave Julia a quick kiss. “Glad you could make it. You’re not wearing your dark glasses.”

  Julia surveyed the room. “I don’t know why, but I don’t seem to need them. Maybe it’s the new drug I started taking a few weeks ago.” Her cheeks were flushed, probably from the cold. “I’m famished. Are we having anything to eat? I hope?”

  “Not during the wine tasting,” said Jane, delighted to hear that Julia’s appetite had returned. “When we’re done, the kitchen will set up small a buffet.” Jane had ordered several pork pies, a corned beef panackelty, sautéed greens and, of course, an English trifle.

  “Cordelia looks … intent,” said Julia, walking over to the table and picking up one of the wine bottles to examine the label. “She hasn’t even looked at me. I’m wounded.”

  Jane was thrilled that Cordelia’s usual snarky antagonism had been short-circuited by Berengaria’s presence. She hoped it would stay that way.

  Everyone moved in close as Berengaria raised her voice and began to talk about her winery, what she was trying to accomplish, some of the hurdles her team had overcome, the methods she used for growth and fermentation, and
finally detailing some of the awards her wines had received in the last five years. She quickly moved on to the wines on offer, her newest, something she audaciously referred to as a Grand Cru–quality Pinot Noir. The woman had confidence to burn, thought Jane, noting the less-than-positive reaction her two sommeliers gave the comment.

  As everyone began to sample the first white, Jane felt Julia grip her arm. “Are you all right?” she whispered, turning toward her. Julia’s face had gone deathly pale.

  “I feel dizzy,” she said, staggering slightly. “I think … I’m going to be sick.”

  “Let me help you.”

  When Julia drooped and began to fall, Jane caught her and eased her to the carpet.

  “Is she okay?” asked one of the sommeliers.

  Jane crouched down next to her as everyone gathered around. “Julia? Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

  Julia just kept groaning and holding her head.

  Pulling her cell phone out, Jane tapped in 911. She gave the woman on the other end of the line the information she asked for, punctuating each answer with a request for them to hurry.

  As Jane held Julia’s hand, Cordelia bent down next to her. “She’s made of steel. She’ll be okay. Just tell me if there’s anything I can do.”

  “Stay with me,” said Jane, pressing a hand to Julia’s forehead to see if she had a fever. “Would you like some water? Is there anything we can get for you?” When Julia didn’t respond, she asked, “Are you in pain?”

  It took a several seconds, but Julia finally said, “Yeah. My head.”

  For the next few minutes, Jane allowed the rest of the room to fade around her. When the paramedics arrived and went to work, she stood next to Cordelia as they asked Julia questions, took a blood pressure reading, and generally tried to make sense of what was going on. Jane asked her own questions but didn’t get any answers, at least none that satisfied her. The two men loaded Julia onto a gurney so they could transfer her to HCMC in downtown Minneapolis.

  “Let me drive you to the hospital,” said Cordelia. “You’re in no shape to drive yourself.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “No, you’re not. This is no time for stubbornness.”

  Jane apologized briefly to Berengaria. She asked her to continue with the wine tasting, saying that her staff would benefit from the opportunity if she was willing to stay, adding that she would taste the wines herself later and they could meet to discuss them or, if Berengaria was leaving soon, on the phone. She noticed the vintner and Cordelia exchange looks. Whatever it meant, she had no doubt that Cordelia would explain it later in great detail.

  * * *

  Jane spent the next couple of hours in the emergency waiting room sitting next to a nervous Cordelia who chewed gum at warp speed. Jane had initially asked to be allowed into Julia’s room to sit with her, but the nurse at the front desk said she was being taken to another part of the hospital for tests.

  “Want some candy corn?” asked Cordelia, digging through her sequined purse.

  “You actually eat that stuff?”

  She cocked her head. “Some reason I shouldn’t?”

  “Why do you have candy corn in your evening bag?”

  “Hattie borrowed it as part of her Halloween costume.”

  “Which was?”

  “She went as a flaming carrot this year. She thinks the purse is hilarious. I told her to take it, that it would give the carrot a little fashionista attitude.”

  Jane had no idea how to respond.

  “This place makes me feel crawly,” said Cordelia between chews, adjusting her plunging neckline while starring daggers at an old guy ogling her from across the room.

  “You could catch the plague just breathing the air,” said Jane absently, pretty much tuning her out.

  “You really think so? Which plague?”

  “Bubonic,” said Jane, staring at the doorway, willing someone—anyone—to come and tell her how Julia was doing.

  “Seriously?” She dug through the evening bag again and came up with a tissue, quickly covering her nose.

  “I’m kidding,” said Jane.

  “You can’t be too careful. You know,” she added, musing out loud. “I thought Julia looked pretty good tonight. Healthier than the last time I saw her.”

  “I didn’t notice you noticing her at all.”

  “Oh, you mean Berengaria?” She chuckled. Checking her phone, she added, “I’ve got a couple of texts from her. She wants to know how Julia is doing.”

  “That’s nice of her.”

  “Yeah, she’s a stunner, isn’t she? We made a date.”

  “For what?”

  “Dinner. At Thornfield.”

  “You mean Thorn Hall?”

  Cordelia lived in a Kenwood mansion purchased by her rich sister, Octavia Thorn Lester, though the sister was rarely in the country these days. Since Cordelia and Octavia didn’t get along, it was a perfect arrangement. “Why the name change?”

  “Oh, well,” she said, waving the question away. “I was already halfway to Thornfield Hall when I named it Thorn Hall. Might as well do the full Charlotte Brontë.”

  “Sure. Why not?” Jane assumed it all made perfect sense to Cordelia. “When you and Berengaria have dinner together, you should wear your Olive Hudson duds.”

  “Funny.” She chewed a couple of times. “Berengaria’s a keeper.”

  “You think she’s a member of the tribe?”

  “I don’t just think, I know.” After a pregnant pause, she winked.

  “You up for a long-distance romance? I mean, she lives in California.”

  Before Cordelia could answer, a man in a white coat came through the door and called Jane’s name. She shot to her feet and raised her hand. “How is she?” she asked as the doctor sat down next to her.

  “I’m Dr. Reid. I’ve been working with Julia for the last month. She’s told me a lot about you, so I’m sure you’ve heard all about the clinical trial she’s taking part in. We’re in the first phase, so there’s much we don’t know about this new drug.”

  Julia hadn’t said word one about any of it. “I don’t have a lot of information.”

  “Well, we can go into more detail later, if you want. As for now, Julia presented tonight with vertigo. We’ve determined that she’s had a small stroke.”

  “A stroke,” repeated Jane.

  “What do you mean by ‘small’?” asked Cordelia.

  He turned to her. “I’m sorry. You are?”

  “Cordelia M. Thorn, dear old friend of Dr. Martinsen.”

  He took in her gown, the jewels around her neck, his gaze coming to rest on the tissue she held over her nose. “The flu’s going around. Good to get your flu shot early.”

  “Bubonic plague,” Cordelia corrected him.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Back to Julia?” said Jane.

  He drew his eyes away, gave himself a moment to process the comment, and finally continued. “Um, yes, we need do more tests to determine what’s going on. I’m admitting her to the ICU.”

  Jane gave a start. “You think she’s that sick?”

  “We need to monitor her closely. I’m sure you understand.”

  “But … will the stroke have any lasting effects?”

  “I can’t give you anything definitive. Let’s hope not.”

  “Can she talk?”

  “Yes, there’s no problem with her speech. I’ve started her on a medication that should help with the dizziness. Also given her something for nausea. She’s feeling a bit better, although she’s still weak. I have to be honest. The weakness worries me.”

  “Can I see her?” asked Jane.

  “Once she’s in her room, then yes. She’s been asking for you. I’m sure I must have your phone number in my records, but if you’d give it to the reception nurse, I’ll make sure you get updates on her condition.” He gave Cordelia a sidelong glance. “I’ll be in touch.”

  After he was gone, Jane sat in stunned silence, sta
ring into space. Of all the scenarios she’d anticipated, a stroke wasn’t one of them.

  “Are you okay?” asked Cordelia, gently touching Jane’s arm.

  “Yeah. It’s just a lot to take in.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m on the case. I’ll go home and do a tarot reading. That should give us a better sense of where we’re at.”

  Tarot readings had no meaning to Jane, and yet, because they were a centerpiece of Cordelia’s spiritual life, she figured it would probably make her feel better, as if she was actually doing something to help. “Thank you.”

  “I’ll stay until you head up to Julia’s room.”

  “Would you do me a huge favor?”

  “Anything.”

  “I called Evelyn Bratrude before we left the restaurant, asked her to let the dogs out. She has family visiting right now, so I didn’t want to ask her to do more. Could you stop by my place and make sure they’re okay? Give them their evening kibble and rub their tummies for a few minutes. Make sure they have some time outside in the backyard.”

  “I’ll do more than that. I’ll take them home with me. Hattie will be thrilled. Except—” She removed the tissue from her nose. “What about the Skarsvold place? Maybe Olive Hudson should put in another appearance tonight. I could ask Bolger to drive over and take care of the pups.”

  Bolger Aspinwall III was Hattie’s part-time nanny. He’d completed film school several years back and was currently living with Cordelia at the mansion, working on a screenplay. “Honestly, it’s up to you. I’ll probably spend the rest of the night here.”

  She patted Jane’s hand. “No problemo.” Glancing at her phone as another text came in, she read it silently and then added, “Berengaria wants to come by Thornfield.”

  “Let’s put the investigation on hold for the rest of the night.”

  “She’s dying to meet Hatts. She adores kids.”

  Maybe the vintner actually was a keeper after all, thought Jane. “You don’t need to stick around. I’ll be fine.”

  “You’ll call me with updates, yes?”

  “If you want.”

  “Look, Janey. I care about you and you care about Julia. Axiomatically, that means I care about her. That is,” she added, standing and shrugging into her coat, “until she pulls through and goes back to being Julia Martinsen, Dr. Mega Bitch. When she’s home and reasonably well, I can go back to loathing her and all will be right with the world.”