The Impersonator (Leah Randall/Jessie Carr Novels)

by Miley, Mary

  There wasn’t an ounce of guile in this man. I couldn’t help liking him, even if he did pal around with Henry.

  “Of course I forgive you. Henry can be … well, never mind Henry.” Maybe he saw only Henry’s charming half.

  “It’s just that I’m not used to having blood relatives. Until a few months ago, I thought the only living person in the world related to me was my mother. Then I met Henry by accident, learned who he was, and found I had four cousins and a half sister. I don’t mind saying it about bowled me over.”

  And he had gone a little too far trying to please his newfound cousin. I understood him quite well, though I couldn’t say as much. I was as alone in the world as he. More so. I think I’d go giddy if I were to discover I had one living relative, let alone half a dozen. My eye fell on the silver gilt picture frame on my dressing table.

  “Have you ever seen a picture of our father?”

  He shook his head.

  “Here’s a picture of him with my mother when they were married. He was about thirty then, a little older than you, but the resemblance is there, don’t you think?” David picked up the photograph and looked at it for a long time before setting it gently back down on the dressing table. “You can keep that if you like.”

  “I’ll tell you straight, I don’t think much of him. My mother wasn’t good enough to marry, and I wasn’t good enough to meet. But no one’s all bad, I’ll hand you that. Maybe you can tell me some things about him that would make me see his better qualities.”

  “Does your mother ever speak of him?”

  “Never.”

  I sighed. It sounded all too familiar. “Well, to be honest, I didn’t know him very well either. He was away from home even when he was home, if you know what I mean. Spent most of his time with friends in casinos or at racetracks, and sailing in regattas. I was only eleven when he died. My lasting impression is of a man in formal dress heading out the door. It wasn’t so much that he wasn’t interested in you, it was more that he wasn’t interested in children. I think his better qualities were that he was young, handsome, rich, and the life of the party.”

  “You’re a remarkable person.”

  “Am I?”

  “Most people wouldn’t have anything to do with an illegitimate brother, yet you don’t seem the least ashamed.”

  “Me ashamed? Why on earth? I had nothing to do with it. Nor did you.” The clock pinged. “Come on, that’s the signal,” I said.

  He gave me his arm and we descended the stairs.

  Nine at the table made for a noisy meal. Aunt Victoria sat at one end and Grandmother opposite, with David placed between the twins on one side and Mrs. Applewhite, Henry, Ross, and I opposite them. The awkwardness that had plagued us at David’s first meal with the family had receded, now that he had been acknowledged and, to some degree, accepted.

  “Henry says you’re a cowboy,” began Caro, before the soup course was even served. “Tell us about your ranch.”

  “If rounding up cows makes a man a cowboy, then I plead guilty as charged,” said David with a wide smile that brought a dimple to both sides of his mouth. I realized it was the first time I’d seen him smile. “Although I’m afraid I don’t have the ranch any longer.”

  “Why not?”

  “Sold it.”

  Aunt Victoria shot Caro a reproving look to warn against personal questions, but she was not easily reined in. “Why?”

  “My mother was ill, and I couldn’t take care of her from Montana. It wasn’t much of a ranch anyway, so I sold it last year and came back to Portland.”

  “Is your mother better?”

  “Yes,” he said, but the response lacked conviction.

  “Where was your ranch? Was it big?”

  “It was a little bitty ranch, just a few thousand acres near the Little Bighorn River.”

  “I know that!” said Val. “Custer’s Last Stand! You must have been sad to sell it.”

  “Not so sad as you might think. It’s awful lonely out there, and the living is too rough for a woman, so it was best all around for me to sell up and come back home to Portland. I left when I was sixteen to make my way in the world, so here I am back again after ten years.” The significance of his age when he left Portland struck me. Aunt Victoria knew as well, but I didn’t think anyone else understood that it was the same year the trustees had cut off Mrs. Murray’s allowance. David had left school to find a way to support himself.

  The girls’ tutor, Mrs. Applewhite, joined the questioning. “What are you doing with yourself in Portland these days?”

  “Well, ma’am, my mother has a store”—he looked at me when he said the word, and I realized Lawrence Carr had something to do with that store—“and I help with that. Merchandise in, merchandise out. Not too hard a life.”

  “What kind of store?” asked Val. “Is it near Meier and Frank’s?”

  David shook his head. “No, it’s on the other side of town. Just a small dry-goods store.”

  “Oh,” gasped Caro, “that makes me remember! Do you remember, Val, when we were at the ice-cream parlor in Portland, and we saw him? We saw you out the window, David! Across the street from the theater. And I wanted to invite you over to join us but Jessie said the table wasn’t big enough.”

  I felt the need to explain. “And you were gone before we could even think about another chair.”

  Plainly, this was unwelcome information. David looked at Henry with a frown, and neither said a word. Aunt Victoria broke the silence.

  “How is the campaign going, Henry, darling?”

  Never one to turn down an invitation to dominate the conversation, Henry responded with vigor. His campaign was going brilliantly. His speeches were excellent, his wit much admired, his popularity rocketing like a Chinese firecracker in the night sky. Hardly anyone even knew the name of his opponent.

  “Would that be Conrad Livingston?” asked Mrs. Applewhite innocently. Henry grunted. “You’re running as a Democrat, are you not?” Another grunt. “Mr. Livingston has a reputation in Portland as a respected lawyer. You may not find him so easy to beat.”

  “A Democrat?” I asked, ignorant of party politics.

  “Democrats have dominated our state legislature for years now with the support of the Ku Klux Klan,” said Henry, “and their influence is starting to pay off. Last year they barred the Japs from owning land and banned private schools. This year we’re following up on Congress’s immigration bill, the one Coolidge signed in May, to keep out undesirable foreigners and Communists. ‘One hundred percent Americanism’ is our motto. Not that we’re against foreigners, mind you. They’re fine as long as they stay in their own country.”

  Angel food cake was served. Mrs. Applewhite used the change of courses to look across the table at me and ask, “What are your plans for the future, Jessie? Will you be staying in Dexter for the time being or perhaps moving to Sacramento to work for Carr Industries?”

  Henry took refuge in his linen napkin, laughing so hard he nearly choked on his food.

  “You find that amusing, young man, that a woman would hold a position of responsibility in a business?”

  “No. No, ma’am, not at all,” he said with his napkin to his face, pretending his laughter was really a coughing spell. “Ahem, let me just say … ahem … some women make wonderful secretaries or switchboard operators.” He gave up and collapsed with laughter again. This time Ross joined him until they were holding their sides. Aunt Victoria pursed her lips and shushed to no effect. “If they hired Jessie,” Ross gasped, “they’d get a gal who can’t file or type or write a letter, but man alive, can she tell jokes and cut a rug!”

  “Henry, Ross, one more word from either of you and you’ll leave this house at once. Do you hear?”

  “Yes, Mother,” they said in unison.

  “I am mortified by your behavior. Apologize at once.”

  They mumbled something. I nodded my head to accept it, but only for Aunt Victoria’s sake.

  “N
ow then, Jessie,” said Mrs. Applewhite. “Do tell me about your future plans.”

  “I’d be delighted. I’ll be going to Sacramento to sign papers on my birthday, and then I’m planning to sail to Europe to visit the places I lived as a child.”

  “Oh, no!” exclaimed Caro. “How long will you be away?”

  There was nothing to be gained by telling them I was not coming back. “Several months, probably. I might try to look up some of the people I knew, some friends of Mother and Father, if they are still in the area. You girls must take care of my car while I’m away.” They brightened a little at that. “And you must come visit me after I’m settled.”

  The moment the words left my tongue, I knew I had blundered. Oliver’s plan had been for me to take legal control of Carr Industries and then go someplace far away where my contact with the family would, forever after, be limited to an occasional postal card. Now I’d have to find an excuse to withdraw the invitation. My increasing fondness for the twins had come in the way of good sense.

  Oliver was right. Being around Henry and Ross was too unnerving, and Henry’s rapidly growing political power would afford him too many ways to make my life miserable. I needed to be out of reach, someplace where the men of the family couldn’t find me.

  I glanced up at Henry, who had gone very still. He was watching me with a fierce speculation that brought goose bumps to my arms. I much preferred the mocking Henry to this serious one.

  “We must have a party for you, Jessie,” said Aunt Victoria. “A bon voyage party! Or—why didn’t we think of it sooner? A birthday party to celebrate your majority! It’s been ages since there’s been a real party at Cliff House!”

  I managed not to cringe. The girls loved the idea, but all I could picture were scores of people who knew Jessie Back When, asking questions and reminiscing about those Good Old Days. I put on what I thought was a convincing smile.

  Then I saw Henry’s narrowed eyes and knew there was one person who wasn’t convinced at all.

  34

  “Is there anything else you need, miss?” Rainy gave my dress a brisk shake, hung it in the wardrobe, and gathered up my underthings for laundering. I climbed into bed.

  “No, thank you. It’s late. You go on to bed too.” The house was as quiet as midnight although the clock had not yet struck twelve. I threw back the blanket. “My word, that bath made me hot. Would you open both windows, please? A cool breeze would feel good.”

  “Certainly, miss. You do look flushed.”

  I felt flushed. And my heart was beating hard, as if I’d been running a long way on a hot day.

  “Mercy! I think I need some cool water…”

  “Stay in bed, miss, I’ll get it.”

  I heard the water streaming through the pipes to the sink in the hall bathroom. By the time Rainy returned, my heart was galloping like a runaway horse.

  “You’re very red.” Rainy gave me the water and then, her face wrinkled with worry, a hand mirror. My cheeks looked like boiled beets.

  I fell back onto the pillows and saw myself from a dizzying height, as if I’d been leaning over the balcony rail of a large theater. My arms flailed weakly. I watched my bed begin to tilt, then spin, slowly at first, then faster. My mouth opened but no words came out.

  I clung to the sheets so I wouldn’t fall off the bed. Rainy was beside me. Rainy was gone. Rainy was back, seconds, minutes, hours later, with the gardener, of all people! She really wasn’t very bright. I lay on my back, unable to speak, watching with curious detachment as the bedside drama unfolded.

  The words Rainy and Chen exchanged were drowned out by the blood pounding in my ears. Chen was gone. Chen returned. Chen held a bowl to my lips.

  As much of his nasty brew dribbled down my chin as my throat. Chen kept insisting more, a little more, more, until suddenly I pushed his hand away and doubled up. Rainy stood beside the bed, ready with a large basin, and I heaved the contents of my stomach.

  Sweating like a horse, I lay back as Rainy bathed my face and neck with a cool compress. I could hear her voice from miles away.

  “… oysters tonight … or the fish sauce…”

  Chen eyed my almost empty glass of sherry. He picked it up and stuck his finger in it. How rude.

  Exhausted, I slept.

  When I woke, the clock on the mantel said eleven. Gradually I became aware of Rainy in the room with me, knitting as she sat in the Martha Washington chair by the fireplace. She’d been there all night.

  “I didn’t know you could knit,” I said stupidly.

  She set her work aside. “How do you feel this morning, miss?”

  I touched myself in a few places. My skin felt tender, like that of a person who had the influenza. Holy smoke! Influenza! That deadly disease had killed millions when it swept around the world after the Great War. I hadn’t heard much about it in a couple years, but it had never disappeared entirely.

  “I told them you were under the weather, miss, and would stay upstairs today. Chen says would you call for him when you’re fit?”

  “I certainly will,” I croaked. “I need to thank him for his medicine.”

  “I thought of it!” she said proudly. “I had a bad stomach last week, and Chen gave me that drink of his, and it was cured like a doctor did it. Better than a doctor.”

  “I’d vote for that.”

  “You ate sumpin’ bad, miss. And threw it up, praise be.”

  “I remember that much.”

  “You looked bad, miss.”

  I shuddered, remembering my red face in the mirror. “I did at that.”

  “Now can you drink some tea—no milk, just sugar—and maybe take a bite of toast?”

  Aunt Victoria came by to make sure I was improving. “No matter how much better you feel, I’ve called the doctor,” she fussed. “I’m sure Chen’s herb medicine did no real harm, but I’ll not rest easy until a real doctor has looked at you.”

  By late afternoon, I felt strong enough to leave my bed, if not my room. Rainy went outside to ask Chen to come upstairs. Grandmother came in too.

  “I heard you were sick last night,” she said, settling into the overstuffed chair.

  “Horribly sick. Something I ate. I’m fine now. Aunt Victoria insisted on ringing for the doctor, but I don’t really need a house call.”

  Chen appeared at the door to my room and bowed low. “I am so glad to see you well.”

  “Thank you, Chen, come in. It’s all your doing. I’m very grateful. How did you happen to be here last night?”

  He entered and bowed low to Grandmother.

  “It is a long walk to town. I have fixed a little space in the shed for myself whenever I want to stay the night. Mrs. Carr knows of this,” he added, a bit defensively. As if I were likely to disapprove!

  “What was that you gave me to drink?”

  “Boneset. A strong dose usually causes vomiting.”

  “Thank heaven it worked. Was no one else sick? Did I get the only bad oyster?”

  Black eyes looked directly at me for the first time, then at the floor. “I do not believe it was a bad oyster. I believe it was something in your glass.”

  No shock there. Prohibition had brought a profusion of ills, one of which was the proliferation of bathtub gin. It wasn’t always gin, and it wasn’t always made in a bathtub, but it was everywhere. Anyone could fashion a still with a copper boiler, some pipe, and a few gadgets from the hardware store, and people breaking the law tended not to be fussy about recipes. White lightning, rotgut, moonshine, panther sweat—it had a hundred names and as many unpredictable ingredients, like embalming fluid or creosote. Everyone knew of someone who had gone blind, been paralyzed, or died from drinking bathtub gin. Even a smuggled-in foreign bottle with a fancy French label was no guarantee as labels could be counterfeited and the booze adulterated.

  “I’ve been sick before on rotgut but never that bad.”

  Chen shook his head. “Not rotgut. What was in your glass?”

  “Sh
erry.”

  “Something in the sherry. Did you pour your own drink?”

  I nodded. Chen glanced nervously at Grandmother, then back at me.

  “There was a piece of white in the bottom of your glass. It tasted bitter, like ma huang. I think there was ma huang in your bottle of sherry.”

  “What the devil is ma huang?”

  Anticipating my question, he pulled from his pocket a cluster of bright green spindly stems. “Ma huang. I don’t know the English name, if there is one. It is a bush I grow in the garden, useful for many things, especially colds or hay fever. But many herbs that are good in small amounts are deadly in large amounts.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “What was in your glass is not my ma huang. I cannot make white pills. Someone made ma huang into a white pill that would dissolve in liquid. But there was so much, it did not dissolve all the way.”

  My mind refused to follow.

  “Did others drink the sherry?” he asked.

  I shook my head.

  “Who knew you drink sherry?”

  “Everyone, I suppose. I have a glass before bed every night. It’s no secret.”

  “Someone wanted you to become sick. Maybe worse. Be very careful.” He looked pointedly at Grandmother, then bowed again to both of us and left the room.

  Someone wanted me dead? That was nothing new. The Carrs stood to inherit at my death, so they were the obvious suspects. But that’s what made it so very unlikely that they would try to poison me here.

  Before I had time to think this over, Aunt Victoria came bustling down the hall. “Dr. Milner is here, Jessie. He would have been here sooner but he was setting Lem Stoner’s arm. Right this way, Doctor. Here’s our little patient, looking much better this afternoon.”

  Doc Milner gave his “little patient” a perfunctory examination, looking down my throat and listening to my chest. “Food poisoning,” he intoned. “Probably a bad oyster from last night’s dinner.” He prescribed bed rest, tea, and toast. Useless man. He bade us good day, and Aunt Victoria showed him out.