The Last Maharajan (Romantic Thriller/Women's Fiction)

by Susan Wingate

  Euly tried to force the note into the door’s seam but it was too tight. She unfolded the note once and tried again but it didn’t work. She unfolded the note to its single thickness but, still, she found the seam too tight. She grabbed the door handle and gave it a tug. It budged but not enough to loosen. She walked back around to the side of the house, toward the side again, and in back where she knew there was a door leading into the garage. Aunt Moon’s yard was manicured even there on the side where she walked. A medley of mosaic stepping stones had been inset in the cool round leaves of Dichondra ground cover. There, on the shady side of the garage, her aunt hung baskets of geraniums and petunias that spilled over their cedar containers. Euly had to go through the redwood gate to get to the garage door where she’d have a better chance of slipping the note into one of its cracks.

  The handle turned fully. It surprised her to find the door unlocked especially in Phoenix. She stepped inside. The emptiness of the room echoed when she shut the door. It felt like a museum. Inside the room held captive a confusion of car oil and gasoline mixed with detergent and softener. Euly stood silently next to the washer and dryer, the same ones she remembered when she romped through the house as a girl. She looked at the brand, a heavy-duty old set from the 1960’s and she smiled to think how they don’t make things the way they used to. Next to those were three wicker laundry baskets stacked within each other. The top one still had a few crumpled and dingy rags and towels, kitchen towels, looking ready for a wash. The door to the house was just next to the laundry area. She felt awkward on the inside of her aunt’s garage like an intruder. If that door was unlocked, she’d just place the note on the kitchen counter, just two steps inside, and leave. If it wasn’t, she’d slip the note in the crack of the kitchen door. Euly prayed Aunt Moon didn’t have an alarm.

  The same familiar scent she’d noticed the day before hit Euly when the door swung open. It was a fragrance only Aunt Moon could produce, one of fennel and Evening in Paris, her favorite cologne. She stood inside thinking how comfortable she felt, how unusually comfortable like it was her home too. This was the house she, Enaya and Micaiah had played countless times. This was the home where they ran Tonka toy trucks over dirt mounds in the backyard and played hopscotch on the driveway with yellow pink and blue chalk smeared on their small hands and clothing. It was the same home where their two families spent eating breakfast, lunch and dinner together, opening presents at Christmas together right over there by the picture window the very one shaded the ponderosa pine outside. The pine the kids climbed. This was the same home where, just a day before, she’d questioned her aunt about Micaiah – asking her to prove his birthright. She couldn’t believe how badly it had gone. Still, Moon could’ve just as easily put her questions to rest by showing her. Was that so much to ask? A chill covered her when a blast from the air conditioner kicked on and blew on her neck. It reminded her of someone breathing down her neck. It startled her. She couldn’t believe she had been so bold to come into her house.

  The wooden slats of the old tambour desk slid easily into itself as she opened the lid. Each drawer contained orderly stacks of antique and yellowed papers kept within sepia-colored manila folders – each tabbed marking its contents – closer to the front of the drawer was one marked home remodel, another marked last will & testament, and so on until she came upon one marked vital records. Euly paused. Her heart quickened and she held her breath. She pulled out the manila folder and sat on the floor. She put one hand over it holding it down waiting to open it and keeping her hand ready to lift it out but stalling until she worked up the nerve.

  The first bunch of papers was a stapled set containing Aunt Moon and Uncle Teddy’s marriage certificate, next was of her aunt’s and one of her uncles birth certificates. Directly behind those was Micaiah’s birth information. She stopped and stared at the death certificate that had been the last thing stapled to his set. Her hand slid across the top of it almost caressing the cool sheet as she read the information her hand was passing over. He died so young. Her pulse quicken when she remembered what she was looking for. She lifted the death certificate.

  CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

  It was dreamlike, reading about him her brother, her cousin, whatever he was to her. It was a feeling like dog-paddling, everything muscle working at once yet suspended, unmoving. Or the reeling sensation, that impression of freedom as someone pushes you on a swing away clinging going forward and up, clinging as it returns. A familiar voice felt distant from where she sat on her spot of the floor but ringing true in her ears. The sharp shrill sound of a clarion seemed to ring in her ears, how many times? Once, twice, the third shattering into someone speaking, then words and became crystal clear when the woman called out to her the third time.

  “Euly? What are you doing?”

  It still didn’t seem real. Her movement seemed out-of-body. She felt her head lifting and looking up and over her shoulder toward the sound but she was voiceless as she turned.

  “What in God’s name are you doing?” She repeated to her niece. “I, uh, I…”

  “How did you get in here?” Aunt Moon’s face crushed into a question and her eyes flared open.

  “Oh my God. Aunt Moon.”

  “How did you get in?”

  “Through the garage. The back door was open and the kitchen door…”

  “What have you got?”

  She didn’t answer but lifted the folder up so she could see.

  “Micaiah?” Her voice arced and sounded as though he’d just walked into the room after not seeing him in many years.

  “Oh my God, auntie, I’m sorry.”

  She snatched the folder from her hands and flipped through to make sure nothing had been stolen.

  “Leave.”

  “Auntie, I can explain.”

  “You can? You can explain how you broke into my home and went rummaging through my personal things? You can explain how you’ve violated my trust in you, violated the memory of my precious Micaiah? Leave.”

  “Auntie. I’m…”

  “Leave!”

  The rental car tires skidded when she put it into gear and drove off. Her hands shook violently. She fought a sudden urge to cry. Her head pounded. Her eyes ached from the pressure building behind them. How could she explain what she had done? What was she thinking?

  She fumbled for the cell phone in her purse but whom would she call? Whom would she tell what had happened? Her mother would understand. It was her fault anyway. She’d try her mother.

  CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

  She understood the pull toward another person – the constant harping of fantasies rolling around in your head of another someone. It wasn’t you wanted to be untrue, no, it was more a Pac- Man of thoughts – you wanted to consume someone else if only a little and for a short time until the desire cooled.

  She’d heard men call it the conquest. For women, it was more of a collection. A little untidy something they could store high on a shelf and out of sight. She hadn’t felt the urge in a long while and blamed menopause for the dullness in her body that had replaced more torrid sensations of youth.

  She wore the vest she called her ‘writer’s vest’, the one she’d intended to wear on her trip back to Seattle. It had lots of pockets for pads of paper and pens, her recorder. It was normal for the bar. The cool room was in stark contrast to the warm November day she walked out of when she entered Benny’s again. A fading spotlight shone behind her and faded as the closing door sliced the light away. The cigar smoke was thick, thicker than before, and she felt saliva building in the back of her throat.

  How could people do this to themselves? She removed her sunglasses and spotted Clive sitting in the same spot at the bar humped over his glass. He didn’t look up, he didn’t speak this time because he wasn’t expecting her. He was leaning on both elbows with a cigarette in his left hand. He held the thing like a woman, deep in the crotch sandwiched between two fingers.

  Only when she set her bag on the bar nex
t to him did he look at her, over his right arm.

  “You’re back.” He didn’t act surprised. He didn’t act angry. He acted as if he quite expected it but could have gone his entire life without seeing her again.

  “I’m back.” She slid up onto a stool. “There are some things you said and I need to understand what you meant.” She reached into a pocket and without pulling it out, played with each angle of the recorder until she found the on button.

  “Yeah, like what?” He took a drag off his cigarette and blew it out up over his head.

  “Well, first off, why exactly did you and Sandy split?”

  “And, that would be your business, how?”

  “Come on, Clive, it’s, as you said yourself, ancient history. How can it hurt you now?”

  Clive was on his third or fourth drink and beginning to eye the bartender for another. Euly couldn’t help to think how the past must have contributed to his current demise, his daily alcoholic lunch. She felt sorry for him and disgusted all at the same time.

  “Euly. You have no idea what you’re asking.”

  “All I’m asking is for you to come clean. Tell me what split you guys up. It’s been, what, nearly forty years and you can’t talk about it, still?” She couldn’t understand. “Look, Clive, Bill and I were unfaithful to the point of being ridiculous but it’s over. That was only ten years ago and even I can talk about that. He screwed around on me and it hurt so I hurt him back. How can your story be any different? What could possibly be so bad?”

  Clive rubbed a hand over his entire face.

  “Lord, you’re just not going to give up on this one, are you?”

  Euly shook her head and stared hard into his eyes and held his gaze. She wasn’t about to lose their connection.

  “Another, Clive?” The bartender wasn’t helping his condition any and poured him another drink. He asked, “More ice?”

  “No, I’m good.”

  He almost seemed to forget she was there. When she adjusted her position, he tipped his head in her direction.

  “So.” Her question swung high in the air.

  “So, so.” He frowned. “I can see why you got a divorce. You say you got married again, did you?”

  “Look Clive, you can insinuate all you want but it’s not going to change the reason why I’m here. Just tell me. I’ll leave right after that. You won’t have to deal with me ever again.”

  “Didn’t you say you were writing a memoir?”

  “I’m changing the names to protect.”

  “It wouldn’t be me you’d need to protect.”

  “Now, see, that’s what I’m talking about.

  What does that mean?”

  “Just what I said.” He knew he had baited her and took a long slow drag from his cigarette. He blew a gray stream just as long in front of him. It traveled until it hit the back wall of the bar and tumbled within itself.

  “You love this toying with people don’t you? You know, screw you, Clive. I don’t need your stinking side of things. There are others who remember you and Sandy. They’ll tell me what they think happened and I’ll use their information, whether it’s true or not. It’s my flipping story. I’ll tell it the way I want.”

  “You sure are sparky, Euly. Why didn’t I ever get any of that?” He patted her thigh.

  “Quit, Clive.” She swiveled her legs away from him. “Cut it out.”

  “Why’d you stand me up back then?” And that was it, the whole reason he wasn’t giving her what she wanted now.

  “Well, for one, you were more like my uncle than a guy I would date.”

  “No, that’s not it. You were always a flirty little thing with me. I wasn’t too old for you. So, what was it?”

  “I don’t know, Clive.” Air fluttered from her lips. “I just couldn’t bring myself to. It seemed taboo or something. I don’t know.”

  “Taboo, huh?”

  “I guess.” Euly lowered her eyes and unraveled the memory – the phone call, her acceptance and then not showing up. But, she had accepted and felt guilty for it.

  “You were next on my list, kid. I wanted you so bad.”

  “Clive, please.”

  “Let’s go to the hotel. Who would know but us?”

  “Answer my questions, Clive.” Euly’s lips curved up.

  She could’ve added, that’s why I’m here. No other reason than that! But she didn’t. She let his question lay open. She allowed him a shred of hope. Enough of a shred for him to bite.

  “The game’s afoot, then?”

  “Something like that.” She couldn’t believe she was letting him believe she’d have sex him for the information but there she was doing just that. He smiled at her.

  “Okay. Cool. Let me buy you a drink first.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Euly wiped her nose and sniffed. The phone rang and startled her and although she was worried it might be Clive, she picked up the phone anyway.

  “Hello.”

  It was Geoff. He was telling her she sounded like she was getting a cold. He was telling her they needed to talk about the separation – how they needed not to do anything rash, to think about everything that was happening in their lives, maybe even go get counseling. He seemed worried but the knock on the door startled her.

  “Crap.” She whispered it, forgetting Geoff was listening. He asked her what was wrong. When she said it was nothing he didn’t believe her and kept pressing her to tell him.

  “It’s nothing. I just wasn’t expecting it. That’s all.” She didn’t realize she was still whispering and when he broached that point, she lashed out at him but still held her whisper. “Look, is this an interrogation or something? I don’t need this, Geoff.”

  Whoever stood on the opposite side of the door, knocked again.

  “I’ve got to go. I’ll call you…” Before she could finish, Geoff’s end of the line went dead. “Dammit.”

  She looked through the peephole but saw no one. With her back against the door she could feel her body shaking. Her left hand involuntarily made its way up to her mouth but rather than chew at a nail she rocked her thumbnail hard in-between a bicuspid and an incisor to the point of making a dent in it.

  Her head thronged in pain--the crying, the worry and, now, this thing with Geoff. She fumbled into her luggage. An old thin tube of Anacin peeked through the mesh compartment. Geoff had left it there from a weekend trip to Seattle they'd taken, right after his knee surgery a couple years back.

  She quickly unzipped the compartment and pulled out the tube. The cap was difficult to turn but she managed, even with shaking hands. For some reason, the pills didn’t look right. They looked like the old style of aspirin, without a coating for easy swallowing.

  Still, Euly popped two into her mouth. They tasted tart and bitter. She filled a glass with water and shook her head once to help guide the pills down her throat. The headache felt like it might accelerate into a full-blown migraine so she emptied out one more pill into her palm and took that one too.

  She made her way back to the door and looked again through the peephole. Whoever had knocked, had left.

  Balancing her rump on the edge of the bathtub she watched the water filling the tub. A soak would help her relax. While she waited, the small room filled with mist.

  Not waiting for the tub to fill, she dipped one toe in and laid back. The warm water rushed over her stomach and breasts, finally pouring up and over her shoulders, reclining fully and placing her feet onto the faucet wall, raised, straight-legged at an angle.

  But, then, a moment of dizziness enveloped her. It was a singular whoosh. Her head began to feel thick and uncomfortable. The sound of water filling ricocheted within the room, almost too loudly.

  She sat up but crumbled back instantly into a reclining position. She was finding it difficult to breath.

  The dizziness remained but now a buzzing began deep inside her ears.

  She began to breathe heavily. Her breathing quickened and her chest felt tense.
She tried to sit up again lifting her arms above her head, trying to stretch out her ribcage but instead felt the dizziness overtake her, crumbling yet again, lying in the tub. Her legs weak and useless, flopped openly held up only by the sides of the bathtub.

  Trying to normalize her rugged breathing, Euly sucked back deep pockets of air, holding them but nausea set in.

  Feeling as if she was being held down, she struggled to get up. But, the water splashing against the walls of the tub echoed in her head like a bongo throughout the tiny room. She flopped her arms over the sides but then only hung there.

  The nausea gripped her again and she fell back into the tub lying back.

  Her eyes wanted to close. A helpless feeling to sleep wrapper around her as she lay there, the water running, but an irresistible urge to close her eyes took over, like a gripping around the neck, and as she sank lower, Euly fell unconscious.

  CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

  Enaya closed her car door and looked up just as a man pushed his way, hard, out from the lobby doors.

  He stomped across the parking lot and got into his car. He started the car but didn’t pull out right away instead, he just sat there.

  She thought she recognized him – his curly hair, his lanky features – a slim long nose and dark eyes but she couldn’t place from where. So, Enaya let it go and headed into the hotel.

  Enaya sat in the lobby reading her mystery novel, while she waited for her sister to return from God knows where she was. Then, she thought maybe Euly was in the shower or possibly wasn’t in her room at all but decided she had a little extra time today to sit and read. The lobby stirred with bodies coming in, checking in, finding the elevator, leaving the lobby. Luggage racks wheeled in and out, the door chimed each time the sensors recognized a void splitting their connection, People talked and laughed, the phones rang for reservations or room service or the valet and there was a television set tuned to a news station for those waiting for the shuttle or taxi. The place was anything but suited for a nice quiet afternoon spent reading. Enaya closed her book and breathed out. She stuffed it into her purse and sat with her hands folded in her lap, watching the anthill of activity in the hotel.