LimeLight

by Melody Carlson

  Violet just stands there with wide eyes and a gaping mouth. “You’re not dead!” she finally gasps.

  I glare at all of them. “No, unfortunately, I am still very much alive.”

  “I think I’m having a heart attack,” says Caroline.

  “Here.” Eddie hurries to stand, helping her to the clothing-covered chair. “You sit here.”

  “Oh my.” Caroline takes in a slow, deep breath.

  “You are okay?” Roberto asks Caroline.

  “Yes…just shocked.” Caroline turns and looks at me with a puzzled expression. “But how about you, Claudette? Are you all right? Have you been injured? Should we call for medical assist—”

  “No,” I snap, “I have not been injured!”

  Roberto bends down and picks up his phone, and looking embarrassed, he excuses himself and leaves the room. Too bad the others aren’t as polite.

  “But there has been a break-in?” Eddie stands by my bed now, peering down at me, as if I’m a specimen from some strange scientific experiment gone badly.

  “The only break-in has been the result of you people,” I tell them.

  “But the front door was wide open,” says Caroline.

  “And the window was broken,” adds Violet, “and—”

  “And everything was messed up,” says Eddie. “Things strewn all about as if an intruder was—”

  “As I already explained, there was no break-in. And I would appreciate it if you trespassing interlopers would please leave me alone!” I stare at them, trying to absorb the fact that they are all in my bedroom. “Just why did you come here in the first place?”

  “We wanted to invite you to come to McLachlan Manor for Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow.” Caroline smiles.

  “Not all of us,” says Violet. “I only came along because we were going to see the Festival of Trees.”

  “We were going to invite you to that as well,” says Caroline.

  “They were,” Violet adds, as if to make her position perfectly clear.

  “So…would you like to get ready and come along?” Eddie asks in a tone that suggests he knows this is not likely.

  “Thank you, but no thank you.” I glare at my sister. “To both invitations, tomorrow and today.”

  “What is wrong with you?” demands Violet.

  “What is wrong with you?” I shoot back at her. “I’m obviously having some difficulties right now, and yet you walk right into my home and you invade my private space. Did you simply come here to torment me?”

  “No, of course not.” Eddie shakes his head.

  “But everything looked so strange,” says Caroline. “We didn’t know what to think. We assumed something was wrong.”

  “Well, now you know that’s not the case. No one broke in. I am not dead. My only problem at the moment is that I want to be alone!”

  “Not so quick.” Violet frowns. “You scared us half to death, Claudette.” She picks up the empty wine bottle and dangles it back and forth in front of me in an accusatory way. “You obviously have some problems.”

  “We’re your friends, Claudette,” Caroline says in a gentler voice. “Maybe we can help.”

  “Please, tell us,” urges Eddie. “What is going on here?”

  “And why are you wearing that ridiculous hat?” Violet drops the wine bottle back onto my bed. “And those silly purple gloves?”

  “Because I was freezing to death!”

  “Why didn’t you just turn on the heat?”

  “Because it wasn’t working.”

  “Had you considered ordering some heating oil?”

  I don’t answer, but I do narrow my eyes at her.

  “Well, that must be the problem with the heat.” She wrinkles her nose, as if she’s disgusted. “And what is that horrid smell in the bathroom? We thought we were about to discover your dead and decaying body in there.”

  “Too bad you didn’t.” I lean back against the pillows, folding my arms across my chest, wishing they would all just leave.

  “What happened in there?” asks Caroline.

  “Plumbing problem.”

  “Why didn’t you call a plumber?” demands Violet.

  I lean forward and screech at my sister. “None of your blasted business!”

  “Well!” Violet takes a couple of steps backward.

  Caroline stands now. Using her cane, she comes over to my bed and looks sadly down at me. “You are obviously having some problems, Claudette.”

  “Obviously.” I roll my eyes dramatically. “But they are my problems, thank you very much.”

  Caroline turns to my sister. “Has there been any concern about Alzheimer’s?”

  Violet shrugs. “It wouldn’t surprise me a bit if she was losing her mind.”

  “I am not losing my mind! But I am losing my patience and would appreciate it if you would all leave. Now!” I pull the covers back and get out of bed, standing before them as if I am prepared to physically throw them out.

  “What on earth are you wearing?” Violet holds her hand to her mouth as if to suppress laughter.

  “As I said, I was cold,” I growl at her. “Now if you will—”

  She lets loose with a loud, snorting laugh. “I’ve never seen my fashionable sister looking so—”

  “Violet,” Caroline interrupts her.

  I walk directly toward my sister, holding my purple gloved hands out as if I plan to wrap them tightly around her neck. And I must have a slightly crazed expression in my eyes, but I don’t care. My goal is to frighten her.

  “I think we should go. Come on, Violet.” Eddie tugs her toward the door.

  “Yes,” says Caroline. “Let’s go now.”

  And just like that, they are gone. I slam the door behind them and begin to stomp around my room, swearing profusely. I have never been a violent woman and never the sort of person to use such coarse language. Gavin frowned upon such behavior. But at the moment, I cannot control myself. I am so angry, so infuriated, so enraged… I honestly think if they hadn’t taken Violet out of here, I might have strangled her with my own two gloves.

  I can hear them talking in the living room. Why are they still in my house? Why can’t they leave me alone? And then I hear the sound of a siren, growing louder, closer…and then it stops directly in front of my house. More voices. More questions. I pull my red ski hat down over my ears, trying not to hear the commotion out there. It’s like a never-ending nightmare. Or perhaps I have died and this is hell. I would not be surprised.

  Perhaps these people are simply trying to drive me mad. Perhaps my sister has concocted this evil plot. Maybe she sneaked over here when I was gone and turned off the furnace, stopped up the plumbing, plugged the chimney—all part of her devious plan to drive me out of this house so she can have it all for herself.

  I sit on my bed and consider my new theory. The more I think about it, the more it seems plausible, the more it makes sense. My sister has always been jealous. She probably is out to get me. I remember the old What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? film that Billie starred in with the marvelous Bette Davis. Jane, played by Bette, was insanely jealous of her older sister’s acting career. The aging sisters were living together, and Jane was torturing her older sister, Blanche, trying to drive the poor woman crazy. It all makes sense and—

  “Ms. Fioré?”

  I jump at the sound of a male voice and a knocking on the bedroom door.

  “Can we talk to you?”

  “What do you want?” I demand.

  “We need to come in and see if you’re okay,” he says.

  I make a groaning sound. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.”

  A policeman and paramedic step into my bedroom, and I just shake my head.

  “I’d like to do a quick medical check on you, if you don’t mind,” says the dark-haired paramedic. He’s actually a nice-looking young man with an attractive profile, so I agree. I let him poke around on me, checking my pulse, heart rate, breathing, and such.

  “So, am I a
live?”

  He grins. “You seem to be alive and healthy.”

  The policeman clears his throat. “I’m Officer Bradford, ma’am. And I need to ask you a few questions.”

  “Yes?”

  “Did you experience a burglary?”

  I let out a loud sigh. “No, as I told the others, I did not.”

  “Can you explain why the glass in the door is broken? Why it looks as if someone has gone through your things?”

  I tell him the embarrassing story of having no heat, going out for firewood, and being locked out. I even explain the fireplace disaster.

  He nods and makes notes.

  “If you don’t believe me, go and look around.”

  “And the bathroom situation?”

  “The plumbing seems to have quit working.”

  “How long ago did this occur?”

  “It all happened last night,” I say impatiently.

  “Wow,” says the paramedic. “You had a bad night, didn’t you?”

  “Yes. It was rather horrific.”

  “Why didn’t you call for help?” asks Officer Bradford.

  “Because my phone was not working.”

  He frowns. “Sounds like not much is working for you, Ms. Fioré.”

  “Certainly seems that way, doesn’t it?” I frown at him, unsure as to whether this man can be trusted or not. “Have you ever seen that Alfred Hitchcock film What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? ”

  “Oh yeah,” he says. “I love Hitchcock movies, and that one was a real piece of work. I was a kid when I saw it, and for a long time, Bette Davis gave me nightmares.”

  “My good friend Billie, otherwise known as Joan Crawford, played the older sister, Blanche…the one who was mistreated by her younger sister.”

  “You were friends with Joan Crawford?”

  “Yes. And despite that horrible book that her ungrateful daughter Christina wrote, which was a pack of lies by the way, Billie was a wonderful person.”

  “You don’t say…”

  “Anyway,” I say in a quieter tone. “I think what happened in that movie may be similar to what is happening here.”

  Officer Bradford looks slightly confused. “What do you mean exactly?”

  “I mean…my younger sister, Violet, has always been extremely jealous of me. I had my acting career, my marriage. I was wealthy and beautiful, living the good life in Beverly Hills. Gavin and I traveled all over; we were friends with some of the best people in Hollywood…”

  He nods. “Yes, I know of your husband. He was a great director.”

  “So do you remember how Baby Jane sabotaged her older sister in that movie? She tried to make poor Blanche go crazy so she could put her away?”

  He nods again. “I still remember the dead rat scene.”

  “Well, I think it’s entirely possible that my younger sister, who has been extremely jealous that I inherited our mother’s home… I think it’s possible she sneaked over here while I was gone doing errands yesterday. I think she may have turned off the heating oil, done something to block the plumbing, and perhaps even stopped up the fireplace which nearly asphyxiated me. Do you understand what I mean?”

  “I don’t know for sure, ma’am…”

  “Think about it. All that happens in one single night—what are the chances?”

  “She makes a good point,” says the paramedic.

  Officer Bradford makes more notes. “Will it make you feel better if I look into this?”

  “Yes, immensely.” I give him my best smile, which I fear could be lost due to the effect of my strange ensemble. I’ve noticed them looking at me curiously. “I don’t normally dress like this,” I say with a slight laugh. “But it was so cold last night, and with no heat, I really thought I was going to freeze to death.”

  “It’s a wonder you didn’t,” says the paramedic. “You better be sure to get that heat back on today. It’s supposed to be even colder tonight.”

  “But you say your phone doesn’t work either?” asks Officer Bradford.

  “No.” I wonder if Violet is responsible for that as well, but keep this suspicion to myself. No need to overwhelm him with too much information.

  “Well, I’m going to send someone out to help you,” the officer says.

  “Really? Who might that be?”

  “We have a nice gal in town; she heads up Senior Services. Her name is Melinda Maxwell. I’ll give her a call and see if she or one of her volunteers can come to your house and help you with your phone and everything else.”

  “Just in case,” says the paramedic, “do you have anywhere else you can stay?”

  “In case of what?”

  “In case your heating and plumbing problems aren’t resolved. Do you have a neighbor or relative who can take you in?”

  I consider this. “Not really.”

  “Maybe you can book a room at the motel,” suggests Officer Bradford.

  “Perhaps.” I nod.

  “Do you have transportation?”

  “The Jaguar in the driveway belongs to me.”

  “Sweet.” The paramedic smiles.

  “And a current driver’s license?”

  “Of course.” I frown at Officer Bradford. “You can see it for yourself if you don’t believe me.”

  “That’s okay. This isn’t a traffic violation.”

  “And you will look into it—what I told you about?”

  “Your Baby Jane theory?”

  “Yes.”

  “Sure.” He closes his notebook. “And if I find anything that supports your story, I’ll get a detective to investigate it with me. Those are serious accusations, Ms. Fioré.”

  “I’m well aware of that.”

  “And under the circumstances, the duress of your situation last night, it would be understandable if you weren’t thinking completely clearly today.”

  I glare at him. “Are you suggesting that I might be crazy?”

  “No, no. Not crazy. But a little stressed.”

  The paramedic places a hand on my shoulder. “It’s only natural that you would be stressed, ma’am. You’ve been through a lot.”

  “I’ll say.”

  “Well, take care,” says Officer Bradford. “Someone will be checking on you shortly.”

  “And stay warm.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “I’ll take a quick look at that fireplace,” says the paramedic. “Maybe we can even get it working, take the chill off.”

  “That would be lovely,” I tell the handsome young man. “Thank you ever so much.”

  I listen as they return to the living room. Apparently my sister and her gang of thugs are still out there. Their voices are lowered, and I suspect they’re discussing my mental condition.

  I just hope Officer Bradford doesn’t tip his hand regarding my suspicions of my sister.

  After about forty minutes, my house quiets down, and I think all of my “guests” have finally departed. I cannot imagine what they found to talk about for so long, besides me and my unfortunate state of affairs, but then I refused to leave the sanctuary of my bedroom and join the party to find out.

  Now, still dressed in my layers to protect myself from the cold, I tiptoe out of my room, unsure as to whether any lurkers are staying behind. As I walk through the kitchen, I hear a noise from the living room and wonder if I really am alone. I hear another popping sound and realize it could be a fire.

  I go out to the living room to see that a nice fire is burning in the fireplace, crackling and popping the way I wanted it to do last night. Not only that, but a fire screen is set up. Oh, it’s a bit rusty and dusty and old looking, and I suspect it came from the woodshed, but at least it should keep the embers safely enclosed. There is also a note on the mantle, secured with one of my silver candlesticks, informing me that the reason for my smoke problems was a closed flue, which is now open.

  Despite the fire, it’s still cold in here. Someone taped a piece of cardboard over the broken window in the front
door. I suppose that will help to keep some of this heat in. Just the same, I’m not ready to remove any layers yet.

  I need to use the bathroom but cannot bear the thought of going back into that cesspool. And yet I really have to go. If Bea were home, I would actually set aside my pride and ask to borrow her facility. I think about what pioneers did back in the “good old days,” and I suppose I could find something to work as a temporary commode. It would certainly be better than wetting myself.

  It takes me several minutes of searching in the house, and I refuse to go outside to the shed. Finally I decide on a Crock-Pot Michael stored in the laundry room. I honestly do not see that I’d ever have a use for such an appliance anyway. Well, other than this. And after I use it today, I will dispose of it.

  I consider taking it to the bedroom, but I don’t want to risk spilling anything on the carpets in there. So I settle it in the center of the kitchen and, after peeling down my layers of pants, I attempt to hold on to the edge of the counter to balance myself. However, squatting doesn’t come as easily as it once did, and I decide it might be best to elevate the Crock-Pot. I notice a nearby plastic crate, one that had clothing in it, which will be just the thing. Soon I’m all set.

  With the Crock-Pot balanced on the crate, I am able to hit my mark with no problem. I’m feeling pleased with myself when I realize I forgot to bring toilet tissue. Oh, what have I been reduced to? I try not to think what some of my old friends would say if they could see me now. How tongues would wag and phones would jingle.

  Just as I’m finishing up, someone knocks on the front door, and this is followed by the incessant ringing of the doorbell. I jerk on my layers of pants, not even getting them fully zipped, then rush to see who is at the door. I just hope that it’s not unlocked this time. I cannot bear any more uninvited visitors barging in on me again. I especially hope it’s not Violet or her friends. I do not care to see my sister or any of them anytime soon, if ever.

  I peek out to see what appears to be a well-dressed and fairly nice-looking woman standing on my porch. She’s probably in her thirties and carrying what appears to be a Gucci purse as well as a black briefcase. I inch open the door to see what she wants. Hopefully, she’s not selling anything.