Bougainvillea

by Heather Graham

  “Like I said,” Kit told her, getting out of the car, “you’re not required to show me around.”

  She felt uncomfortable when she returned to the main house that afternoon, but as usual Seamus was waiting for them, wanting always to chat with Kit.

  Other than her experience with Kaitlin, Kit found that her days were almost idyllic.

  Shelley picked her up a few times after work, and they explored malls and saw a few movies. Shelley was great, helping her to remember many little things about the place and her childhood.

  Then there were Martin and Eli.

  Eli worked long hours as a cop, but he was always fun when he was around.

  Martin was often at his own home, rigging his fishing gear. He was always glad to see Kit if she walked over. He’d tell her about some of the parties that used to be held at Bougainvillea, and how other women had hated Marina sometimes just because she had been so darned beautiful.

  “Now Lenore, I think that she wanted to be a decent human being, but maybe forgot how. She got too caught up in being the first lady of Bougainvillea. She wasn’t terribly fond of Marina, because Marina, of course, was a threat. And Kaitlin. Well, you’ve noticed, she’s pretty darned exotic.” He winked. “I think she always thought David would marry her one day. But David never considered her as a love interest, so don’t you go worrying. There’s a chip on that girl’s shoulder.” He laughed. “Okay, so she didn’t like your mom, either. But you, you just hold your own and thumb your nose at them. Seamus has been pining for you to come back for years. And David—well, he was kind of the cream of the Sea Life crop, you know what I mean? You two will be fine. Just hunker down and bear with the sharks!”

  Martin always tried to make her feel better and more welcome, so it seemed. He also seemed to delight in his amusement with the foibles of the Delaney family.

  “What did you feel about my mother?” Kit asked him frankly one day.

  He hesitated. “Honestly? She was beautiful. And seductive. She could be charming and sweet. She could be hell on wheels, making everyone around her miserable. She was human, and quite a character. But she loved you. And in the end, she loved your father.”

  “In the end?”

  “Well, she liked to flirt,” he said uneasily. “But, like I said, she loved your father.”

  He wouldn’t continue. Kit left soon after their conversation, a light feeling of dread threading its way through her heart.

  * * *

  David had come home early that day, eager to see Kit.

  He knew that Seamus was in seventh heaven, where he should have been himself.

  He was.

  Except that he couldn’t quite shake an uneasy feeling.

  Kit wasn’t at the cottage when he first came home. He turned on the stereo and stretched out on the sofa, wondering where she was. Although Kit hadn’t said anything, he had the feeling that she was sometimes uncomfortable being there.

  So we should get the hell out, he thought.

  Marina Delaney had been dead a very long time. And yet, with Kit here, it seemed as if people were remembering her as if she had died only yesterday.

  And it was true…

  A trick of light, and she might have been her mother, returned, in the flesh.

  It had all been so long ago, and yet, he knew bits and pieces of what had gone on. Marina knew about all the deep dark Delaney family secrets. Were they really so secret, though? Most of the dirt on the family could be easily uncovered.

  Most of the scandals had to do with Seamus and what had once been his philandering days. But who the hell cared anymore?

  People only cared when it affected them.

  And still…

  Why this constant feeling of unease?

  Because of what Kit might discover? Because of the cataclysm that might be caused by her return?

  The door opened, and he straightened, looking toward it. Kit was home. “David?”

  “I’m here.”

  She rushed over to the sofa, bounding on top of him, grinning beautifully from ear to ear. She had something Marina had never possessed: a natural love of people, and of life. He touched her hair, smoothing it back, amazed that she was his.

  “You’re early,” she whispered.

  “I needed to be home. I’m a newlywed, you know.”

  “And I wasn’t here!” she said.

  “Chatting away the hours with old Seamus?” he asked gruffly.

  She laughed. “No, getting the spin from old Martin next door,” she told him.

  He watched her carefully for a moment. “You’re happy here?”

  “You bet.”

  “Despite the dragon queens up at the big house?” he demanded.

  She laughed. “They’re not so bad beneath the surface.”

  He tightened his arms around her. “I was thinking we should leave, find our own place.”

  She drew away. “Not…not now, David. It would hurt Seamus too deeply, I think. Besides,” she said, and a low, sensual quality crept into her tone as she lowered closer to him again, “we are alone, all alone…here. Now.”

  He laughed. It was an invitation if he had ever heard one.

  “There is the cat, you know,” he reminded her primly.

  “Ah, that’s why the good Lord invented doors.”

  He swept her up dramatically, and started for the stairs. In a few moments, it didn’t matter where they were.

  They had created their own private heaven.

  And it wasn’t until hours later that he lay at her side, feeling the unease again, and remembering his own relationship with Marina Delaney.

  * * *

  Kit hadn’t been there a full two weeks before David had workmen arriving at their cottage, determined to make space in one of the extra bedrooms into a perfect artist’s studio for Kit. She became involved in the planning herself, and the days passed quickly.

  Jen called frequently, and Kit kept her up to date.

  And every night, she lay in David’s arms, amazed that her depth of passion and love for him could continue to grow and become ever stronger.

  It was the night he wound up not coming home—stranded down in the Keys because of an auto accident on US1, that the perfect tapestry of her new life began to unravel.

  It began when she found the cat at the rear door to their cottage, stiff and cold and dead as a doornail.

  CHAPTER 6

  * * *

  Devastated, Kit cradled Whitney and strode purposely to the main house, entering with her beloved pet. The compound lights gleamed around the lagoon, but they were soft, and shadows from the foliage edging the path and beachfront fell heavily all around her. She took no notice of them.

  They were gathered in the family room, where the wide-screen television was showing something done by the History Channel. Kaitlin, Lenore, Michael, and Josh were there, all engrossed in the show. But when Kit entered, carrying her dead pet, Michael instantly turned the volume down and sprang to his feet. “Kit! What happened? He didn’t wander off the property and get hit, did he?”

  She shook her head, tears in her eyes, staring at them all. “There’s nothing wrong with him at all,” she began.

  “Dead does seem to be wrong,” Kaitlin told her drolly.

  She flashed the woman a furious glance. “He hasn’t been hit by anything. There’s not a mark on him. He’s just dead and stiff. I’d say he’d been poisoned.”

  “Good heavens, dear! Are you suggesting that one of us would poison your cat?” Lenore said indignantly.

  “No, but I’d like to know what did happen,” Kit said, wondering if she had come ready to accuse one of the “witches” of killing her cat.

  “Poor thing,” Josh said, stroking Whitney’s cold back. “He must have gotten into one of the storage sheds and eaten something. I’m so sorry, Kit.”

  “There’s fertilizer for the plants, all kinds of stuff in the storerooms—rat poison,” Michael said. “He might have gotten into anything, I’m afrai
d.”

  “We have a little pet burial ground…it’s very nice,” Josh told her, smiling with sheepish sympathy. “My canary is there, an old one-eyed stray we took in once, and Shelley’s Pomeranian. It just died last year.”

  Bury him. Of course. That was what you did with creatures that died.

  She didn’t want to bury Whitney. She wanted David to be there, and she wanted to cry her heart out, because suddenly it didn’t seem fair that her father and her cat had died.

  “I should find out how he died,” Kit said, her anger taking root with her pain.

  “You want to autopsy the cat?” Kaitlin said, and laughed.

  “What good will it do you?” Michael reasoned gently. “I’m afraid that I agree with Josh—he got into poison. And as I said, we do have it in the storeroom, down by the docks. We’ve never had an animal get into it before, but then, we never really had pets here before.”

  He was right, and she knew it. She could autopsy the cat, and find out that it had died from rat poison. She couldn’t find out if Whitney had been given poison on purpose or not.

  “We’ll find you another one,” Lenore said impatiently. “There are always stray cats out by that marina shanty where the guys go for lunch every day. We’ll just replace him.”

  She didn’t want to discuss the loss of a loved pet with people whom she doubted could really even understand the loss of a human being.

  “I don’t want another cat,” she said angrily and turned on her heel and left.

  She was partway down the path when she heard footsteps behind her. For a moment, she felt a strange rake of fear streak down her spine. Having left the main house, she was suddenly aware of the darkness in the brush surrounding her, and of the many shadows created in the soft, surreal light.

  She came to a dead stop and spun around. At first, she saw no one. She turned again.

  The sound of footsteps reached her once again. She was being followed. Still frightened, she spun again.

  “Kit! Wait up!” It was Josh. She had been followed. And yet, Josh was dead center in the path now, and running. He hadn’t been following her slowly—or furtively.

  She waited for him to reach her.

  “Kit, are you okay?”

  She nodded, then felt the tears fall.

  “Ah, Kit, I’m so sorry!” He comforted her with an awkward arm around her shoulder. “I’m afraid you’ve got to ignore my mom and Kaitlin. They’re both pet haters.” She wondered what he saw in her expression then because he quickly said, “No, no—they would never hurt your cat!”

  “This place just doesn’t seem to be kind to my branch of the family,” she murmured.

  Josh hesitated, looking at her. “Please don’t feel that way.”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m really feeling.”

  “David will be back tomorrow. Things will look better again.”

  She nodded.

  “Hey, I really adored your mom, you know. I missed her terribly,” he said.

  “Thanks.”

  “I’ll walk you back to the cottage. You can make me a drink.”

  “Great. Thanks.”

  At the cottage, Josh took Whitney and gently wrapped him in a big towel, then secured his body in a garbage bag. He thanked Kit for the rum and Coke she prepared him, drank it down, and suggested that they go bury the cat right then. Josh shrugged shyly. “We can both say a little prayer, graveside.”

  “Thanks.”

  It was dark at the pet cemetery. The compound lights didn’t quite make it through the thickness of the foliage that surrounded the inner area of the estate. Josh had found a shovel in the work cabinet on the porch, so he led the way, pushing aside bushes as they walked. Once in the little area, Kit was touched to see that Shelley had ordered bronze markers for all the dead pets—even a goldfish someone had lost along the way.

  As Josh dug a hole, Kit mourned her cat, her best friend when times had been the darkest. He was twelve years old, so she could at least assure herself that he’d had something of a life.

  Not the life he should have had.

  She had killed him by bringing him to Bougainvillea. Where her mother had died.

  “He was beautiful, Kit, really,” Josh said, tamping down the dirt and then coming to stand beside her and set an arm around her shoulders. “Honestly, I’m so sorry.”

  As sweet as he was being, she just wanted to be alone. She kissed his cheek. “I think I’m going to call it a night. Thank you, really.”

  He wanted to do more, she was certain. But he stayed there, watching as she walked away.

  The little pet cemetery had been deep in the brush. Walking back, she felt the darkness all around her again. The bushes began to close behind her, separating her from Josh. She quickened her footsteps. It seemed that she heard the brush rustling, and she was afraid again, so much so that she didn’t want to stop and listen for footfalls in her wake.

  She hurried to the back door of their cottage, and realized that she had not locked the sliding doors when she had stormed out. She wondered what on earth she could be afraid of—there was a wall with a gated alarm system surrounding the compound.

  Still, she grabbed an umbrella from beside the door as she walked through the cottage, going so far as to open every closet door. At length, she was assured she was alone. Only then did she sit down and call David.

  His voice was strong over the phone, with the right touch of sympathy and assurance.

  She didn’t mention her accusation to the family. He told her he could try to get a flight in through a friend that night, but she told him it was too late, and she didn’t want him rushing around to get back. She’d see him the next day.

  Even when her dad had died, she had never resorted to drugs. But tonight was different. Kit mixed a few beers with mild sleeping aids, hoping to relax as she tried to pay attention to a Pay-Per-View movie. But she lay on the bed, wondering, despite herself, if her poor cat had just wandered in where he shouldn’t have been, or if he had been tempted by something, or someone, far more dire.

  * * *

  The next morning, she made herself coffee, then hurried over to the main house. No one was around, but she helped herself to more coffee and walked up the stairs to the room that had been her parents’ when they had resided there. She smiled, seeing the nightgown on the bed; Seamus had really ordered that nothing—nothing at all—be changed.

  She stood without moving for several minutes, surveying the entire room. Then she idly began going through the drawers. The scent of jasmine rose to her, and she felt an aching sense of nostalgia. Her mother’s taste had run toward the truly elegant. At first, Kit found nothing but her clothing.

  In the nightstand by the bed, she found a journal. She took it from the drawer and sat on the bed and opened it to the first page. She noted that it began about a month before her mother had died. The first few pages offered nothing but appointments and social engagements, but again, Kit felt that comforting sense of nostalgia, just seeing her mother’s handwriting. She had gone no further when she was startled by a voice from the doorway. “What are you doing? What are you looking for?”

  Kit looked up to see Kaitlin, knuckles white as she gripped the door frame. Kit surveyed her for a moment before speaking. “I’m not looking for anything in particular. Just exploring my folks’ room.”

  “Maybe you don’t want to know more than you do,” Kaitlin told her.

  Kit stared at her and sighed deeply. “Kaitlin, I get the feeling that we weren’t great friends when I was a kid, whether you baby-sat me or not. And I definitely get vibes that you really didn’t like my mother. I don’t think that I’m going to find anything so bad. Maybe she could be a bitch. Well, if so, she fit right in here, and must have done so well.”

  She slid the journal into her shoulder bag and rose, walking past a startled Kaitlin.

  As she continued down the hallway, Kaitlin called out to her. “You know, we really didn’t want you here.”


  Kit turned around. “Wow. Duh. I think I’ve picked up on that.”

  “Seamus sent David to bring you back.”

  “Really?” she deadpannned. “What a shock.”

  “Maybe David doesn’t even really want you here,” Kaitlin suggested. She probably hadn’t meant to go quite so far, but since her previous jibes hadn’t garnered the response she wanted, she had pushed.

  “If David didn’t want me here, I wouldn’t be here,” Kit assured Kaitlin smoothly, and sailed on by her. She was glad that she could portray a far greater confidence than she was feeling that morning.

  As she hurried down the stairs to exit the main house, Kit nearly collided with one of the day maids, a middle-aged, perpetually smiling woman named Rosa. She was carrying a tray.

  “Where are you off to?” Kit asked her.

  “To see Miss Mary.”

  “Mary!” Kit repeated, standing dead still. “My God, Mary! I don’t believe it—I had forgotten that she was still here, still alive. And no one reminded me! No one has mentioned her since I’ve been here.”

  Rosa sighed softly. “She isn’t well, Mrs. Moore. She is so old, you know? And she had a flu, so now…her mind wanders and she is very weak. She is in bed.”

  “I still want to see her, as soon as possible. Now. May I come with you?”

  “Of course!”

  Rosa chatted happily about the beautiful day as they walked along the trail. Mary’s little cottage was on the opposite side of the lagoon from Kit and David’s, but like theirs, closest to the water.

  Rosa pushed open the door to the cottage, calling out to announce her arrival. A young woman in a nurse’s uniform came to greet them. Rosa introduced her as Alicia. She seemed pleased to meet Kit, and assured her that her patient was doing well that day. “Her mind wanders almost continually, but she’s as sweet and wonderful as ever,” Alicia said. “She’ll enjoy seeing you.”

  Kit thanked her, and stepped toward the bedroom. The windows to the water were wide open. Mary, tiny, thin, was in a hospital bed, and it was levered up so that she could look out on the beauty of the bay.