Maggie nodded. “William Wheeler’s son?” she asked.
“That’s supposed to be confidential,” Glenn said. “But, yes.”
“I’ve heard that he’s having a terrible time with all of this. Who can blame him? It’s a lot for a thirteen-year-old to handle. What do you have in mind?”
“He needs a project of some sort; something active to do with his mind and his energy. I’m supposed to be leading him through a workbook of lessons. It’s a terrific tool, but studying a workbook won’t help him now. He’s smart enough to answer all the questions correctly and get back to making mischief or worse. I want him involved with others less fortunate than himself—he needs to have someone depending on him. Something to care about. I think he’ll rise to the occasion.”
“How do you think he’d like to work with stray animals at a shelter?”
A smile slowly erased the worry from Glenn’s brow. “I think that just might be the ticket.”
“Did you know that Frank Haynes is the founder of Forever Friends? And, of course, he knows David Wheeler. Ask him if the boy can volunteer at the shelter.”
Chapter 22
Maggie made her way through her back door, wrangling her purse on her shoulder, her briefcase on her arm, and a bag from the supermarket in her hands. Raindrops trailed across the tile floor as she shuffled her way to the kitchen island and deposited the load in a jumbled heap on the counter. It was good to be home early for a change. The caustic email she’d received midafternoon from yet another disgruntled pensioner had convinced her that she needed to take a break. If he wanted to start a movement to get her impeached, more power to him.
She instinctively bent down to pet the ever-effusive Eve, but her dog was nowhere to be found. Maggie abandoned her groceries and walked to the dining room.
“Eve? Eve?” she called. “Mommy’s home!”
Her pace quickened and her voice became a shrill cry as she rushed through Rosemont. Eve had never failed to greet her return home with unrestrained affection.
Maggie’s panic mounted as she turned to the stairway that swept up the side of the living room. She started climbing, taking the stairs two at a time, when she heard the plaintive whine. From the library? She had already looked there.
Maggie tore into the room. This time she noticed a bulge under the long drapery by the French doors. She pulled the fabric aside and fell to her knees. Eve lay on her side, eyes wide and scared. She lifted her head a fraction and wagged her tail infinitesimally.
“Oh, sweetheart! What’s happened to you?” Maggie whispered softly as fear wedged into her chest. “No, don’t try to move.” She stemmed her tears as she gently stroked her beloved companion. “We’ve got to get you to the doctor.”
Maggie rose to retrieve a towel to use as a stretcher. Eve dutifully tried to follow her master. “No,” Maggie commanded a bit too shrilly. “You stay. I’ll be right back.” Her tone was firm and Eve obeyed.
After placing Eve gently onto a towel and carefully carrying her to the car, Maggie set off for Westbury Animal Hospital and the capable hands of Dr. John Allen, DVM. Seeing John might be awkward. She had wondered if she should find a new veterinarian following their breakup, but right now her only concern was getting the best care for Eve. Without question, that would be John.
Maggie pulled into the parking lot shortly before closing. She didn’t have an appointment, but she knew John would see them. She gathered Eve into her arms and was grateful when another pet owner held the door for her. She rushed to the counter. The receptionist was checking out a patient. Maggie hailed a technician.
“Eve was in this terrible state when I got home a few minutes ago. I don’t know what’s happened to her, but something’s terribly wrong.”
“Dr. Allen just left; there’s nothing we can do for you here,” he said, looking at the miserable creature lying in Maggie’s arms. “She definitely needs to be seen right away. There’s an emergency animal hospital about thirty minutes from here. Take her there. I’ll give you directions.”
“No. That won’t do. She needs help before then.” She reached into her purse, pulled out her phone, dialed John’s cell phone, talking right over his greeting when he picked up.
“Eve’s terribly sick. I’m here at your office. Please, please, John, come back. I’m so scared. I don’t think she’ll make it to the emergency hospital.”
Maggie looked at the technician. “Your technician is shaking his head,” she choked out the words. “He thinks I’m right.”
Maggie put her head in her hands and listened.
“He’s coming back, isn’t he?” the technician asked.
Maggie nodded. He disappeared into an examining room with Eve while Maggie sat in the reception area for what seemed like an eternity.
***
Waiting in a hospital for news of a loved one—human or not—was a lonely experience. She quietly prayed for her sweet companion. The animal that had adopted her upon her arrival those months ago and had, in truth, turned Maggie’s life in a new direction. Introduced her to Dr. John Allen. Brought her comfort as she started over.
A door finally opened and John emerged looking tired and serious. Maggie steeled herself for the worst. He took a seat on the bench next to her. “She’s resting comfortably. I believe she’s going to be fine, but we’ll need to keep her here for a few days for observation. And when she goes home, she’ll need a long course of antibiotics.”
Maggie released the breath she had been holding. She tried to talk but found herself sobbing instead.
John reached over and took her hand. “I think she’ll be fine in a few days,” he reiterated.
“What happened to her?” Maggie choked.
“Looks like she was bitten by a spider and it got infected. The infection had taken hold.”
“I should have noticed,” Maggie cut in. “I’ve been so negligent.” She was crying harder now.
“That’s not true,” John quickly reassured her. “There really aren’t any signs that you could have seen. It comes on fast. Was she eating and acting normally?”
Maggie nodded.
“Then you couldn’t have known. Don’t beat yourself up over this.”
She nodded again.
“Eve knows you love her,” he continued gently.
Maggie lifted her eyes to his and attempted a smile.
“Infections in animals are like infections in people these days—they can be resistant to antibiotics. We’ll keep her here until we’re sure that the antibiotic is working. Then we’ll send her home.” He squeezed her hand before he let go.
***
Maggie stepped through the back door at Rosemont and hung her purse on its usual peg by the door. She trudged to the laundry room and tossed the towel she had used as a makeshift stretcher into the hamper.
Exhaustion and hunger were both vying for her attention. She leaned into her open refrigerator, looking for something appealing. Nothing presented itself. She retrieved an egg and decided to fix an egg sandwich. Her bread looked dubious, so she settled for a scrambled egg and saltines. Halfway through the meal, she chucked it down the disposal.
The sterility of the house without Eve’s companionship settled on her like a shroud. Maggie took the stairs to her room slowly. She’s going to be fine, she repeated to herself. John’s got her; she’ll be fine.
***
Maggie was hard at work at her desk at Town Hall when her cell phone rang. The caller ID showed Westbury Animal Hospital. She punched the answer button and brought the phone to her ear, expecting to hear the technician who had called her daily with positive reports about Eve’s progress. Her eyes widened when she heard Dr. John Allen say, “Maggie. It’s John.”
She smiled. “I recognize your voice, John.”
He hesitated, and then continued. “Eve’s all set to come home. She’s done very well. You’ll have to give her antibiotics for another week, but that’s all. She’s fine.”
“Oh, John, that’s such
great news! You can’t believe how much I’ve missed her. I hate being at Rosemont without Eve. When can I pick her up?”
“Anytime today. Just stop in and the technician will go over her medication with you.”
“So I won’t be seeing you?” Maggie asked, unable to hide her disappointment.
“No, you don’t need an appointment.”
Did his voice suddenly seem a bit brighter or was she imagining that?
“Okay. Well, then,” she stammered. “John, thank you so much for coming back to the clinic to see Eve and for taking such good care of her. I’m convinced she wouldn’t have made it without you.”
John smiled. He didn’t tell her that he didn’t think she would have made it either. He had spent that first night at the clinic with Eve when things had been touch and go. Her fever, left untreated, would have killed her. John simply replied, “You might be right. The main thing is, she’s fine now.”
He hesitated and Maggie waited, hoping he would continue. John finally drew a breath and said, “Call if she has any problems. Goodbye, Maggie.”
Chapter 23
Maggie leapt out of bed the next morning at the first buzz of her alarm. Eve didn’t seem anxious to do the same, and Maggie rushed to her side. She stroked the shaggy head gently as Eve thumped her tail against the bed and slowly stretched. Eyes now bright, she jumped down and circled. “Just tired from being in the hospital?” she asked as they headed downstairs. “Well, I didn’t sleep well without you, either.”
Maggie let Eve out into garden while she retrieved her paper. A cold blustery day had been anticipated, but the weather was calm now. It being Saturday, she didn’t have to rush out the door. She and Frank Haynes had planned to discuss the Fairview Terraces matter, but they weren’t due to meet until midmorning. She’d throw on some old clothes, feed Eve, and take her for a walk. Maybe even do some yard work if the weather held.
By the time she returned to the kitchen, leash in hand, Eve was fast asleep in her basket by the breakfast nook. Maggie stood quietly and watched the steady rise and fall of her chest, broken by the occasional deep sigh and snuggle into her blanket. She deserves this rest, Maggie thought. I’ll leave her be.
Maggie stepped outside; an icy wind swept her hair from her face. She exhaled and her breath crystallized, hanging expectantly in the air. Winterizing her garden could wait. The weather might be better later that afternoon. Or tomorrow. She retreated to the warmth of Rosemont.
She had at least two hours before she needed to get ready to meet Haynes. She headed upstairs, intending to find her winter boots, when her eyes fell on the small, recessed door to the third floor and the attic beyond. Sam Torres, her faithful handyman, had taken her up to the attic shortly after she had moved in, but she hadn’t been up there since.
She drifted over to the door and turned the knob. Nothing. She gave it a solid push, but it still wouldn’t yield. Determined, she leaned into and shoved the door until it finally gave way. A cold draft hit Maggie; she’d have to remind Sam to replace the seals on the windows.
She had a vague memory of the attic being loaded with the discarded treasures belonging to prior occupants of Rosemont, remnants of lives well lived in days gone by. I’ll just go upstairs for a few minutes, she told herself. Just to take another look around and get an idea of what’s up there. That way she’d know if it was all junk that some overly thrifty owner hadn’t been able to part with—cooking utensils and discarded furniture, and old records and papers—or whether there might be something of value, either historical or monetary.
She found a flashlight in the drawer of the secretary in the upper hallway and cautiously ascended the steep stairs. At the top, she flipped the switch for the bare bulbs positioned erratically throughout the space. Their scant illumination provided a theatrical effect, as if items within the pools of light were on stage while those in the shadows observed from the audience.
Maggie edged her way cautiously through the clutter on the front side of the house along a pathway that someone had cleared long ago. Her sneakers left footprints on the dusty floor. The grimy windows rattled in the wind. She shivered. This feels like the point in a movie when the heroine is creeping along and the audience is mentally shouting “You idiot! Get out of there! Run away!” she mused.
She carefully trained her flashlight around the room, making sure she was alone, even though she felt foolish for doing so. As the beam of her flashlight rounded the final corner, Maggie caught a quick flash of something metallic. She slowly retraced the light’s trajectory and was about to give up when she found the object she sought. There was definitely something shiny in the far corner.
Making her way to it would be quite a chore. She really should wait until Sam was there to help her, she told herself reasonably as she began gingerly picking her way across the detritus, sliding aside a stack of boxes and crawling over an old trunk that proved too heavy to move. Curiosity had always gotten the better of her.
Maggie’s jeans were covered with dust when she reached the spot where she had seen the reflection. There, hidden by an old tarp, was a stately mahogany secretary with an intricate filigree key protruding from its lock. The key must have caught the light. This piece alone would be worth a tidy sum. Excited, she propped her flashlight on a nearby box and worked the key until the lock finally yielded and the door swung open.
She gasped and stood in stunned silence. Shelves crammed full of silver serving pieces—pitchers and urns, gravy boats and trays, and an entire row of champagne buckets. Her hand trembled as she carefully dislodged a small creamer near the front, careful not to cause the contents of the entire shelf to tumble to the floor.
She reached for her flashlight and examined the piece. The stamp was unmistakable; this was solid sterling. For the second time since her arrival at Rosemont, the discovery of a treasure left Maggie feeling faint. She had just stumbled upon a collection of vintage and highly collectible silver. All of it was badly tarnished. She’d have to consult an expert before she attempted to clean any of it, she thought as she began to cautiously pull additional items from the cabinet.
Finally checking her watch, Maggie realized that she’d lost track of time and was running late if she was going to get herself pulled together to meet Haynes. The wind, which had picked up, howled around the dormers. She’d much rather stay safely inside and continue exploring her marvelous attic. She’d call him and cancel, she decided.
Maggie reached for her phone, then realized it wasn’t in her pocket. She must have left it in her bedroom. She’d have to run down to get it. She reluctantly pulled herself away and attempted to retrace her steps, this time paying more attention to the items in her path. What other gems might be laying under these layers of dust and debris?
She reached the top of the stairs just as a blast of wind hit the house, forcing a draft up the stairway. The door at the bottom slammed shut with a resounding thwack. Maggie glanced nervously over her shoulder then carefully made her way downstairs, fighting the urge to race down as if the bogeyman was at her heels. Suddenly she noticed that the door was missing a knob on the inside. The skin at the back of her neck began to tingle. She shoved her hair behind her ears and resolutely reached into the opening where the knob should have been. Her attempt to turn the outside knob using the exposed mechanism failed. With mounting panic, she yanked and pulled at the door, but it wouldn’t budge. No two ways about it, Maggie was locked in her attic. All of a sudden, it didn’t seem like such a marvelous attic. And she didn’t have a phone.
Maggie kicked at the door savagely, but the solid construction of the old house held firm. Startled by the racket, Eve began to bark downstairs. Maggie slumped onto the bottom step and sagged against the banister.
She knew that she wouldn’t die in this attic; she had enough appointments and commitments on her schedule that someone would notice her absence and come looking for her when she couldn’t be reached. Frank Haynes might even raise a hue and cry when she didn’t show up
this morning. She’d be out by dinnertime—tomorrow afternoon at the latest. Sam and Joan would worry when she wasn’t next to them in the pew at church. But what about Eve? She would become increasingly agitated as it got dark. And she’d miss the doses of her medicines. Would that set her back? How could I be so stupid? Maggie berated herself.
She hoisted herself to her feet and returned to the attic. If she was going to be here for a while, she should clear a space to sit near one of the front windows. She needed to be able to hail any vehicle that might approach on the driveway below.
With the howling wind as her only companion, she tested the locks on the windows along the front and found that the third one unlocked easily and the pulley operating the window was intact. With a concerted effort, Maggie managed to push the lower pane open six inches from the sash. Enough to shout through, Maggie thought with satisfaction.
She considered leaving the window open so that she could better hear anyone outside, but quickly abandoned the idea. Although it wasn’t raining—yet—the wind was cold. Maggie pulled the sleeves down on her thermal shirt. For the first time, she noticed how chilly it was in the attic. She’d remain close to the window and stay on lookout duty.
She glanced wistfully over her shoulder at the collection of silver in the corner. Only moments ago she had happily contemplated spending the afternoon sorting through it all. The idea still held a lot of appeal, and she started in that direction. Before she was halfway to her destination, she realized that she wouldn’t be able to quickly dart back and forth to the window. She’d also need to use her flashlight and she had no idea how fresh the batteries were. Being stuck all night in this inhospitable space was a possibility. She didn’t want to be without a working flashlight.
Maggie spent the next hour making short forays into the attic and returning to the window every few minutes. She planned to open the window as soon as she spotted a car and wave her shirt like a surrender flag.
Weaving the Strands Page 10