by Susan Breen
She rang the bell quickly, not wanting to give herself a chance to turn around and run for the car, which was her first instinct. She tried to assume her least threatening look. She’d put the pearls back on and a little lipstick. She tried to twinkle. He opened the door and immediately his face contorted in fear.
“You!” he said.
He went to slam the door closed but she dropped her handbag in the opening. Another one of Detective Grudge’s recommendations.
“Please,” she said. “I mean you no harm. I’m just looking for information about Domino.”
“Leave us alone,” he said. He started kicking at her bag.
Us, she thought.
“I wish I could make it clear to you that I really am not looking to get you, any of you, into trouble.”
He kicked at her bag, kicking her in the process.
“Leave us alone,” he cried out, slamming the door shut, and then she was alone, on his front stoop. She stood there for a moment, then picked up her squashed bag. She wasn’t quite sure what else to do. She felt she had proven definitively that he didn’t want to talk to her, but beyond that she was stymied. Perhaps the best thing would be to work around that. Winfrey had gone to school with Domino. Other people had to have been in class with him. Maybe if she found a yearbook and looked through pictures, she could figure out who else they associated with. That was the only plan she could come up with, and it felt like a good one, and so she went back to the car, which would not start.
“Dear God,” she whispered. “Must this get worse?”
She noticed Winfrey’s curtain twitching. She imagined the poor man terrified of what she planned to do. She would have called Helen to pick her up, but what was the point of that. She had her car. So she called the Darby gas station. Jasper answered the phone.
“What’d you do, Dove?”
Some years ago, perhaps thirty, she’d been sitting in the car reading a book and had accidentally drained the gas. Ever since then, Jasper assumed she’d done it again.
“I’m up in Ossining. Can you get me and my car?”
“You bet,” he said, and so she sat there waiting for him to arrive, she and Grant Winfrey divided by a curtain and a lot of fear. She had much to write in her report that night, but none of it was going to make Racine happy.
Chapter 31
The next day the weather forecaster predicted a bad storm coming. Ever since Hurricane Sandy, when a good portion of the village flooded, and people lost power for weeks, everyone in Darby was jittery over storm predictions. Maggie, along with 1,000 other people, more or less, decided to go to the hardware store and buy batteries. She’d just bought the last of the C batteries, which she hoped were what she needed, when she saw Passion walking down Main Street.
Passion walked like she’d had years of ballet lessons, feet turned out, posture straight. Maggie put the batteries in her bag, paid, and ran out the door to catch her. But before she reached her, Passion turned into one of Darby’s five hair salons. One Maggie had never been in before. Immediately Maggie scooted inside and sat down alongside Passion, who smiled at her blankly. No recognition of her at all, although Maggie had met her at Stern Manor, on that horrible occasion in the cellar. Maggie felt a tad offended. Granted, Passion must have a lot on her mind, and Maggie was old enough to be her grandmother. Still, one liked to be recognized. One did not want to feel invisible. Maggie knew she was being foolish, because actually her invisibility was working in her favor. Passion would not have talked to her otherwise. Might as well make the most of it. She assumed her most dithery expression.
“Did I hear that girl call you Passion? What an unusual name.”
Passion smiled at her genially, as though Maggie were a turtle crossing the road. Unlike Grant Winfrey, she didn’t find Maggie a threat.
“I know,” she said. Maggie noticed her lip was still a little swollen. There was a bruise where Domino had bit her. “It was my mother’s choice. She wanted me to have an unusual life, and so she gave me an unusual name.”
“Did it work?” Maggie asked.
“Oh yes,” Passion said, grinning. When she smiled, she was beautiful in a way that only youth could be. “It worked better than she could have imagined. Matter of fact,” she said, conspiratorially, “I’ve been living at Stern Manor. Do you know it?”
“The house where that lady died.”
“Yes,” she said. “Domino Raines. I was the last person to see her alive.”
“Really!” Maggie said. There seemed to be a lot of people who considered themselves the last to see Domino alive. She had either been very active in that last half hour or a lot of people were liars.
She felt odd sitting in this new hair salon. The colors were different. Here were all earth tones and candles, unlike Iphigenia’s black and white motif. Maggie was definitely more of a black and white person.
“Yes, Domino and I were very close. She was like a mother to me.”
“And what were you to her?” Maggie asked. She couldn’t help herself. One could only pretend to be dithery for so long.
Passion smiled. She didn’t seem embarrassed at all. “You’ve heard the stories,” she said. “I know, in a small town like this gossip gets around.”
“So it was just gossip?” Maggie asked.
Passion eyed her curiously, but clearly she wanted to talk. A girl named Passion who traveled as the girlfriend of a married man was not a girl who wanted to hide her light under a bushel, Maggie thought. If in fact it was appropriate to bring a biblical allusion into this conversation.
“People are so judgmental,” Passion said. “You try to be creative. You’re not hurting anyone. You just want to explore the meaning of everything, to try something new. You know?” She looked at Maggie and must have concluded Maggie did not know. “Anyway, what business is it of anybody’s what we did? It’s between us.”
“Now I guess it’s just between you and Lucifer,” Maggie pointed out. “With Domino gone and all.”
“That’s true,” Passion said. She didn’t try to pretend she mourned Domino. Maggie liked her for that.
Just then the hairdresser moved them over to a set of maroon chairs, settling Maggie next to Passion.
“Did you make an appointment, dear?” she yelled at Maggie.
“No,” Maggie said. “Is that all right?”
“No worries,” she said. “We’ll hook you right up with Ursula.”
“Fabulous,” Maggie said. She didn’t think she actually needed anything done to her hair. She’d seen Iphigenia only a few days ago, but she didn’t want to interrupt her momentum with Passion.
“Still, he and Domino were married a long time,” Maggie said. “Wasn’t it thirty years?”
“He doesn’t miss her at all,” Passion whispered. “He’s been trying to get rid of her for years, but she wouldn’t go. He wants to have more children. He wouldn’t have stayed with her at all. Except, well, you know.”
“He needed money.”
“It’s just wrong,” Passion cried out. “He loved me. What we had was perfect. She’d had her time with him. She had decades with him, and now it was my time and it wasn’t fair that she hung on to him. I told Lucifer that when I’m her age, I won’t expect him to stay with me. I’ll understand if he wants to put me aside for someone young and new. It’s only natural. But for now, it’s my time with him.”
“Lucky for you she died, then,” Maggie pointed out.
“I know,” Passion cried out. “That’s what I keep thinking about. It’s almost like it’s karma. She was always talking about that, the Rule of Three, and that what you send out comes back three times, and now look what happened.”
“Are you also a witch?” Maggie whispered.
“No,” Passion said. “I told them. I didn’t want any part of that. I was raised in the Bible Belt. I’m a churchgoing gal. Can’t take that away from me. My mom’s a Sunday School teacher.”
Maggie had not often been completely dumbfounded in her l
ife, but she was now. She supposed there was no reason why someone in a polymorphic relationship shouldn’t be Christian. Christians were all over the place.
Ursula came then and began tugging away at Maggie’s hair, and Maggie didn’t even look. Didn’t want to know. She had short white hair. How much could the stylist do?
“You didn’t happen to find Domino’s tarantula after she died, did you?” Maggie asked, because Passion certainly had the disposition of someone who would put a tarantula in someone else’s house. Though the fact that she couldn’t remember who Maggie was made her think she hadn’t. But Passion was proactive. Maybe she’d make a good private detective.
“No,” Passion said. “I didn’t want any part of that stupid thing. Always made me think of Domino, with those black hairs sticking out. What sort of pet is that? When I get married, I’m going to have dogs. Golden retrievers. Beautiful ones. They’re the best. And lots of children.”
“It’s a very pretty picture,” Maggie said. “Are you planning to get married soon?”
For the first time Passion blushed and looked girlish. Maggie wondered how old she was. Twenty-five? Younger? “I can’t say anything yet, but it’s going to be special. He’s just waiting for the right time to propose.”
Maggie thought of Lucifer assuring her that Passion did not expect to get married. You could change all the rules and do whatever you wanted, but it didn’t change the fact that everyone wanted to feel special, and chosen.
“I hope it all works out,” Maggie said, and she did, because this child was so vulnerable, and thought she was tough, and Maggie suspected she’d have a lot of hardship in her future. This was the problem with being the mother of a girl, you wanted so much for her to be happy, but every path forward carried its own type of concerns.
Just then the stylist swooped in and moved Passion to a different station. Maggie noticed almost immediately she began chatting with her hairdresser, and it looked like that conversation was following a similar trajectory. Maggie wondered if she could sit down with her and have the same conversation all over again and if Passion would even remember who she was. She sat there, lost in thought, thinking about all she’d learned. For a person who had died accidentally, who her sister hoped had committed suicide, Domino had a lot of enemies. More than just people who disliked her. There seemed to be several who actively wanted her to die.
Passion certainly did, and if what Passion said was true, then Lucifer had a motive too. Maggie didn’t know what Grant Winfrey’s motive was, yet, but there was certainly something going on with him. And then there was Racine, who was Maggie’s employer. She felt disloyal thinking about Racine, and she wouldn’t include this in her gold letter report, but Racine had the best motive of anyone. Domino was trying to take her money and home.
Maggie remembered what Joe had said about the Roomba. Was it possible someone had killed Domino and made it look like an accident? Should she be thinking about that? What were the ethics of the situation, as a private detective?
Maggie looked up then, surprised to see that the hairdresser had completely changed her hair. It looked fabulous. She couldn’t get over it. All wispy. She smiled at her reflection, and then, just as quickly, watched her face fall. She couldn’t keep it like this. To do so would be to betray Iphigenia, and she’d been going to see Iphigenia for two decades, plus she was her friend. She’d cut Juliet’s hair. There were ties that went beyond anything else…and yet her hair did look so nice. She quickly paid and snuck out the back door, so as not to go on Main Street. She took a back route home. She would go home and stay there for the night. There was no reason to go out anyway because of the storm. She’d enjoy the way she looked for a few hours and then she’d take a shower and no one would be the wiser. There was no point at all in upsetting Iphigenia, she thought, as she tiptoed into her house. Her friendship was worth too much.
Chapter 32
Soon the wind started rising. It made a whipping sound as it thrashed against her house. Maggie’s poor little oak tree danced wildly under its assault, branches flinging themselves back and forth. Occasionally one broke off and Maggie saw it go flying by her window like a broomstick. Unfortunate image.
She went throughout her house, setting out flashlights and candles, getting ready. She actually liked storms, because unlike most disasters that hit you, you had time to prepare. You knew what was coming. You didn’t know precisely how bad it would be, but at least you didn’t usually get completely blindsided. Plus there were so many wonderful storm images in the psalms. “The God of glory thunders, The Lord is over many waters.” She’d created a lot of good Sunday School lessons out of that one.
That done, she made herself some avocado toast, poured herself a glass of white wine, and then went upstairs, ready to watch the storm. She had a window in her attic that allowed her a slight view of the river. There was still enough light that she could see the waves churning. She settled back to watch. Kosi leapt onto the windowsill. She imagined he liked storms too, though it was impossible to say. He might just want to block her view.
She had a lot to think about.
Maggie wasn’t sure what she thought of Passion. There was something naïve about her that was both touching and disturbing. The older Maggie got, the more she struggled to figure whether she thought naiveté a virtue or not. She approved of innocence, but didn’t you reach an age when you shouldn’t be quite innocent. Wasn’t it the responsibility of an adult to see the world as it was? You might want to change it. You might disagree with it. But was it right to just blindly assert that the world was a particular way when all evidence pointed to the contrary? Maggie did not believe that Domino didn’t mind sharing her husband. And she also didn’t believe that Passion would be willing to surrender him when she was 40. It reminded her of that Somerset Maugham story when he plans to live in paradise for ten years and run through all his money and then kill himself. And then ten years go by, and he has a change of heart.
But Passion was young, she thought.
Kosi began batting at the window and then Maggie’s phone rang. It was a different young woman. A woman who perhaps saw the world all too clearly.
“Hey, Dove,” Helen said. “Checking in. How are you?”
“Not bad,” Maggie said. “Hunkering down. Just ate some avocado toast.”
“Nice. Hey, I hear you’re looking mighty gorgeous.”
“How do you mean?”
“New hairdo, right? I hear you look like a young Lana Turner.” Helen howled with merriment, but Maggie felt disheartened.
“Does everyone know?”
“I don’t think the President knows,” Helen said. “Would you like me to call the White House?”
“Oh dear,” Maggie said. She could only imagine what Iphigenia would have to say, and there was no way around it.
“I’ll go tomorrow and talk to her,” Maggie said, but then she recounted her talk with Passion, and told Helen about what she’d been thinking. Helen thought Passion would wind up marrying Lucifer. She’d get pregnant. “Mark my words, Dove. Girls like that have one tool and they’re not afraid to use it.”
Maggie was surprised at the harshness in Helen’s voice, and wondered what set of circumstances led to her pregnancy with Edgar. She wished Helen would tell her, but now was not the moment.
They talked for a while more and then Helen had to find some batteries. Maggie went back to her wine and her thoughts and the storm, until Agnes called.
“You’re in the shit,” she said.
“I will apologize tomorrow,” Maggie protested.
“Good luck with that,” Agnes said. Maggie tried to shift direction by telling Agnes about her conversation with Passion, and it worked. She thought they might be able to offer her a special discount, “because that girl is surely going to need some marital detective work in the future.”
Maggie laughed. That was the thing about Agnes. Bad as she was, she always made her laugh.
“You okay in that house of your
s, Maggie? Cherrelle and I can come over, if you like.”
“No, don’t drive around in this. I’m fine. I’m just going to sit here and wait it out.”
Joe Mangione gave her a buzz soon thereafter, and Leona Faraday called to tell her this was going to be the worst storm ever. “A complete disaster. You okay, Maggie Dove?”
By the end of the hour, and five different phone calls, Maggie felt so loved she didn’t know what to do with herself. As always, when she was feeling loved, she wanted to turn around and pass the kindness on, and so Maggie thought she’d call Racine. The storm must be hitting Stern Manor hard, given that the mansion stuck out so far into the river. Bad as it was at her house, it would be worse there. The rain was flying at her window like pellets. One of her gutters dropped off and swung back and forth like a noose.
Maggie called Racine’s number, but got an out of service message. So she had a blackout already. There was nothing to be done, then. Maggie would try again in the morning. She settled back in her chair, the wine and the excitement exhausting her. She fell asleep and dreamed of Juliet on a boat and then an awful crack of lightning exploded outside her window. For a terrible moment Maggie thought the Indian Point nuclear power plant had been attacked. She could still see bits of light blasting in her vision, as though her cornea got scarred. Then there was another blast and all the lights went out.
Maggie checked her phone: 2:18.
She stood up and stepped on Kosi, who had settled by her feet. She decided to stay where she was, pulled a shawl over her and fell back asleep and didn’t wake up until late the next morning. Still no lights. She hoped it didn’t take too long to fix the electricity. She couldn’t shower because the water pump didn’t work. But avocado toast worked just as well for breakfast as dinner, as long as you didn’t mind the bread untoasted, and given that her freezer was defrosting, she thought she’d stop by Stern Manor with a bread pudding and see how everyone was doing.