by Sylvia Nobel
“Let’s hope his lovely wife has simmered down,” I said, reaching to gather my things. We both rose, but Audrey put a restraining hand on my arm. “By the way, you never told me what you talked about this afternoon with Orville Kemp.”
She listened intently and reacted to the information casting suspicion on Marta with a sorrowful shake of her head. “What’s been stolen?”
“He didn’t say, but I’ll know more when I get a look at the reports while we’re in Bisbee on Thursday.”
“But, Marta told me she’s worked here for seventeen years. That means she came only a year after my mother and I left. Why would she suddenly begin to take things, and if she did, and my father caught her...” She turned horrified eyes on me. “So, Detective Kemp thinks Marta may have...”
I put up a hand to interrupt her. “That’s nothing more than a theory at this point. Don’t forget, he was obviously bombed out of his mind that night and if worst comes to worst we’ve got several other suspects skulking around besides her.”
“I’m hoping his fall was just an accident,” she said in a hushed voice. “It’s pretty scary to think that someone might have actually...murdered him.”
Perhaps it was the unsettling subject matter, or the restless wind rattling the leaves of the sycamore trees. Whatever, it spooked both of us when we heard a faint movement at the front door. “Who’s there?” Audrey asked breathlessly, peering into the gloom.
“Sorry, girls,” came D.J.’s mellow voice, “didn’t mean to scare you, but Marta sent me over to tell Miss O’Dell that a Mr. Tuggs wants her to call him back before ten and that chow’s on the table.”
Looking relieved, Audrey said, “Thank you.”
D.J. held the screen door open for us, reaching behind him to switch on a flowered globe lamp. Rose-colored light cast soft shadows and made the room seem warm and welcoming. He snapped on overhead lights as we followed him along the hall and across the covered walkway that connected the two wings. My intuitively suspicious nature at work, I wondered how long he’d been standing there listening to us.
Explaining that he normally ate in the kitchen, D.J. directed us to the two places already set at the table in the oak-paneled dining room before he pushed through the swinging doors.
Within moments, Marta emerged and served us a sumptuous meal. She had prepared roast duck with all the trimmings in honor of Audrey’s first night. Later, as I finished the last bite of homemade pecan pie and set aside my napkin, I decided that this was a life I could easily get accustomed to.
We thanked Marta profusely when she returned to clear the plates. Her face beaming with pleasure, she informed us that D.J. was going to drive her across town to a friend’s house for the evening and that tomorrow she would need to consult with Audrey about the week’s menu plan. By the look of awe mirrored on Audrey’s face as Marta left the room, I think it was finally beginning to dawn on her that she was indeed mistress of this grand house.
Due to the thick cloud layer, another early dusk had fallen when we finally rose from the table. It was my intention to begin compiling notes for the first draft of my article and then return Tugg’s call, but Audrey insisted that I accompany her on an exploration of the old wing. “Who knows, maybe I’ll discover something that will spark a memory,” she implored, grasping my hand with the beguiling enthusiasm of a small child.
Our search of the ground floor revealed an enormous unused kitchen, the entrance to a dank-smelling basement, which she refused to enter and, to our surprise, a genuine relic of bygone days hidden inside one wall in the adjacent pantry.
“It’s called a dumbwaiter,” I informed her, peering up the shaft after I’d scrupulously checked to make sure there were no spiders lurking nearby. “If my dad hadn’t forced me to watch old movies with him I’d have never known what this was.”
I explained how the pulley system operated to carry items from one floor to another, but she didn’t seem particularly interested so we moved on to the living room where she insisted we set and wind the intricately carved grandfather clock. From there, we roamed from room to room and I sensed her mood of anxious anticipation. Sharing in each new discovery, I began to realize that my role in her life was taking yet another form, evolving ever so subtly from that of guardian into trusted confidante.
After examining every nook and cranny, we headed for the steep stairway. Our footsteps drew squeaks of protest from the ancient wooden stairs and the realization that we were alone seemed to accentuate the deep silence cloaking the old house. At that point, I found it easy to understand why Jesse had proclaimed that the house gave her the creeps.
On the landing Audrey stiffened, her poignant backward glance a clear signal that she was replaying the story of her parents’ violent quarrel that fateful night. Did she imagine herself tumbling to the bottom?
“Did you hear something just now?” Audrey whispered, clutching my arm.
I listened intently, but heard nothing. “No. What was it?”
“Kind of a scrunching, squeaking sound.”
“Probably mice. Or maybe squirrels. It’s hard to tell what might be living in the walls of a place this old.”
Instead of putting her at ease, my suggestion seemed to heighten her apprehension. She clung to my arm as we continued our journey along the shadowy corridor, and now that I was cognizant of the Morgan family’s capricious history, that same odd sensation of having wandered back in time washed over me again. Somehow, the wavering flame of a candle would have seemed more appropriate than the steady beam of the flashlight we’d borrowed from the kitchen.
“What happened to your little friend,” I asked as we passed by her bedroom.
She looked vacant, then smiled. “Oh, you mean the cat? Marta told me her name is Princess. She disappeared before dinner and I haven’t seen her since.”
“Well, see. That’s probably the sound you heard.” There were certainly plenty of places for a cat to hide, I thought, turning the knob on the first room. With the exception of Audrey’s bedroom, we discovered that only a few of them were fully furnished. Some were either filled with an astounding assortment of clutter while others stood empty, shrouded in hollow dusty silence.
At the threshold of each room, she paused with breathless expectation, her expressive eyes magnifying what I now recognized as not only a burning need to connect with her past, but in addition, her desire to secure a firm foothold on the present.
Thunder was mumbling through the hills as we stepped through modern French doors and outside onto the second floor balcony I’d viewed from below with Orville Kemp only hours ago. Adorned with white wrought-iron furniture and well-tended potted plants, I felt certain that under normal circumstances it would have been a pleasant place to while away some time. But because of the infamous event that had occurred here, Audrey’s discomfort was evident as she tentatively approached the low railing. “That’s an awful long way to fall,” she said hoarsely, staring into the deep ravine below.
Or be pushed, I reflected, following her gaze. As if she’d read my morbid thoughts, she threw me a look of alarm and scurried back indoors.
On the third floor, we each drew a breath of appreciation when we entered a room that would be an antique dealer’s dream. I got the odd impression it should be roped off from the public, so beautifully appointed it was with doily-draped, hand-carved mahogany tables, a graceful turn-of-the-century couch and several high-backed wing chairs upholstered in plush crimson velvet.
Audrey clapped her hands together in delight and crossed to a little alcove in the far corner of the room where the ceiling sloped down to meet an ancient treadle sewing machine. The yellowed material of an unfinished gown draped a dress form close by. “My mom loved to sew,” she murmured, running her hand over the old machine. “I’ll bet this was her favorite room.” Her eyes swept around the room, taking in the delicate pieces of Dresden china scattered about before coming to rest on a large oval portrait hanging on the wall adjacent to a white-marble fire
place. Seemingly mesmerized, she stared at it. “What a pretty lady. Who do you suppose she is?”
I stood on tiptoe to read the name. “Audrey, say hello to your great-grandmother, Hannah Morgan.”
While she stared in open-mouthed surprise, I decided that pretty wasn’t quite the right word to describe the lady. Striking might be more appropriate. Even with the soft upswept hairstyle, high lace collar and puffed sleeves of her gown, the artist had caught the strong set of the woman’s jaw line, the proud thrust of her patrician nose, and most of all the vibrant inner strength that seemed to radiate from her piercing eyes.
“I look a little bit like her, don’t I?” Audrey prompted me hopefully, tilting her head from one side to the other as she continued to study the painting.
“A little,” I lied, sensing her need for connection, while actually thinking she favored the Morgan’s dark-browed looks considerably more. If she had inherited any of this woman’s spunk, she hadn’t displayed it yet.
Without another word, she left the room and we continued our search of the third floor. Two of the four bathrooms we’d seen so far were a delight, boasting old-fashioned pedestal washbasins and magnificent claw-footed bathtubs that cried out to be filled with steaming water and lavender bubble bath.
“Anything look familiar?” I asked at length after we’d examined the last mothball-scented bedroom.
A protracted sigh revealed her frustration. “Nothing. You’d think I would recognize...something.”
“Don’t be too hard on yourself. After all, you were just a toddler when you left. Whatever memories you have are still in there,” I said, tapping her head softly. “Sometimes it’s just difficult to retrieve them.”
She made a gallant effort to look enthused, but the sag in her shoulders told me that her resolve was beginning to wane as we climbed the final four steps that would take us to the circular tower room.
The brass knob turned easily, but the door didn’t budge. “This area probably doesn’t get used much,” I muttered, handing her the flashlight before shouldering my full weight against the sturdy wood. After a few tries it finally gave way with a resounding crack.
I groped around in the airless gloom for a light switch and when I flipped it on, the tiny room was bathed in light from an elegant crystal chandelier hanging from the peaked ceiling.
“Ohhh,” Audrey marveled in delight, moving past me to turn in a slow circle. “I’ve never seen a totally round room before. What do you suppose it was used for?”
“Maybe it was a reading room.”
Walnut bookshelves filled half the wall space and three tall windows wrapped the remainder. A worn overstuffed chair, end table and floor lamp were the sole furnishings with the exception of a scarred, black steamer trunk that looked as though it had bounced cross-country on a covered wagon. Was this the one containing the additional photographs that Marta had mentioned when we first arrived? My fingers itched to open it, but first I had to have some air.
“It’s suffocating in here,” I said, crossing the threadbare carpet to tug upward on splintery old windows that ultimately yielded to pressure and allowed the night breeze to waft in. “Whew! That’s much better.”
The sudden movement of air caused the prisms in the chandelier to tinkle musically and when I turned to remark how pleasant it sounded, I felt a stab of shock at the look of spellbound horror on Audrey’s face seconds before she bolted from the room.
Momentarily stunned, I stood frozen, then gathered my wits and charged after her. “Audrey, wait!”
Unheeding, she practically flew down the stairs and didn’t stop until she reached my room on the first floor. Heart hammering against my ribs, I rushed over to where she sat on my bed, shaking, her teeth chattering together so hard, I feared they would crack.
“What happened up there?” I demanded, panting for breath. Attempting to follow her unpredictable mood swings was like visiting a veritable amusement park of human foibles.
She looked sheepish. “I’m sorry. You must think I’m completely bonkers.”
I’m sure Tally would have pronounced her two tacos shy of a combination plate, but I was careful to say, “No, but obviously something scared you. Did you remember something?”
“It wasn’t a memory exactly,” she began haltingly. “But...this really awful feeling of...total panic came over me when the crystals jingled. I couldn’t think of anything except getting away.” She turned bemused eyes on me. “What do you think it means?”
“Well, I’m certainly no psychiatrist, but it’s possible that incident is a gateway to unlocking your past.”
She chewed a fingernail pensively. “Maybe I shouldn’t even be trying. Remember my mother’s letter? The secrets of the dead are best buried with them? Well, maybe she just wanted me to get the money and forget everything else,” she said, meeting my eyes with fierce intensity. “But that doesn’t make sense either. Somehow, way down deep inside, I have the feeling she was trying to tell me something else. What do you think it was?”
“Beats me. But she did say you were entitled to your inheritance and everything that comes with it.”
“Well, what does that mean?”
I shook my head. “Audrey, I don’t know exactly what your mother had in mind. You said yourself she was very ill when she wrote the letter. We don’t know what her thought patterns were at the time. To me, it sounded like she wasn’t sure what to tell you and what not to. And remember she didn’t expect all this to happen so soon. She had no knowledge that your father would pass away in the same year. Maybe she figured you’d be older and therefore more prepared to handle...whatever.” “Who knows?” Yawning, she rose and headed towards the door. “I’m too tired to think about it anymore tonight.”
Would I ever become accustomed to her mercurial temperament? All I could do was go with the flow. “See you in the morning for the meeting,” she called over her shoulder.
“I can hardly wait.” My dry quip was rewarded with her backward glance of amusement that faded to curiosity when the phone began to jangle in the little parlor adjacent to my room.
She’d still made no move by the fourth ring and it dawned on me that she was probably expecting the housekeeper to answer it. “Do you want me to get it?” I asked. “I don’t think Marta’s back yet.”
“Oh. No, that’s okay. I’ll see who it is.”
She disappeared around the corner and I hauled my suitcase onto the bed to begin unpacking. The book on epilepsy I’d purchased leaped out at me and I withdrew it, making a mental note to browse through it as soon as possible. Perhaps it would reveal some clue to this girl’s quicksilver personality.
Some quiet time was definitely in order. I smoothed the wrinkles from my clothing and placed them in the dresser drawers. It was a relief to finally be alone with my thoughts. And there were a number of them spinning around in my head.
I hoped Audrey wouldn’t stay on the phone too long, because it was getting late and I wanted to return Tugg’s call and bounce some ideas off him.
I shed my clothes and was slipping into a robe when I became aware of those frantic beeps emitted by the phone when it has been left off the hook. Puzzled, I cinched the belt and hurried to the little parlor where I found Audrey standing rigid and white-faced, the phone gripped in her hand.
“Audrey? What’s wrong?”
No answer—just a blank stare.
What in the world was happening now? I pried the receiver from her stiff fingers, replaced it, and gently pressed her into a nearby chair. I cradled her icy hands and forced her to meet my eyes. “Who was on the phone?”
Audrey drew a shuddery breath. “It...w...was a woman....”
“And?”
“Well...I’m not sure I heard her right. The line was all...kind of staticky.”
“What do you think she said?”
“That I’m an imposter. And if I don’t leave this house right away, I might have an accident...just like Grady Morgan.”
Chapter 10
It took me quite a while to get her settled down and into bed. On the outside chance she had heard correctly, I told her that crank calls were one thing, but death threats were nothing to fool with and that we should contact the sheriff’s department immediately.
She vehemently objected, insisting it could wait, that she knew her physical limitations and was too exhausted and stressed-out to be interrogated at this hour.
“Besides,” she insisted, “it was probably just Jesse trying to scare me away from the meeting tomorrow.”
But I wasn’t so sure. What about Jesse’s claim that she’d been harassed also? “Did you recognize the voice?” I asked. “Did it sound like Jesse?”
Irritation flared in her eyes. “I don’t know. I’ve never heard her speak in a normal tone of voice, let alone whisper.”
That was true. The two times we’d met, Jesse had been shouting at the top of her lungs. “Do you think it was the same woman who claimed to be Dr. Orcutt’s nurse?”
“I hate sounding like such a helpless baby. It might have been, but I can’t be sure.”
“You said there was static on the line. Could it have been long distance?”
Shrugging her answer, she closed her eyes, effectively shutting me out. I stood there for a moment marveling at her amazingly juvenile behavior and decided it would be futile to continue the questioning.
My stomach was churning, as I made my way back downstairs. Her brave assertion earlier that she planned to finally take a stand seemed dubious at best, and I felt more uncertain than ever about my role here. Torn between pity and exasperation, I was beginning to feel less like a companion and more like a nursemaid.
But, I was worried too. Proof or no proof, I was more convinced than ever that Grady Morgan’s header off the second floor balcony was no accident. This story was fast developing from purely human interest into something far more menacing. Just exactly what Tally had warned me about, I thought, dialing Tugg’s home number from the parlor phone.