Dark Homecoming
Page 15
“That’s all right. I should be getting back to the house anyway.”
“If you can wait half an hour, I can drive you . . .”
“No, I’m just going to call a cab,” Liz said, taking out her cell phone.
“Oh, no, please let me drive you . . .”
She smiled. “There’s no need. You’ve done so much for me today already. Thank you for everything, Roger.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positively. Go back to Mrs. Delacorte.” She smiled. “I can see she’s a handful.”
He returned the smile. “You’ll come to the opening?”
She sighed. “All right. I’ll be here.”
Roger beamed. He kissed her on the forehead.
Liz headed out of the gallery, avoiding any further glances at the bizarre artwork on the walls. How she’d get through an entire opening party, walking around all night looking at that stuff, she wasn’t sure. But she owed it to Roger.
She also wanted to show Palm Beach that there was harmony in the Huntington family.
If there had ever been bad blood between the two brothers, that was in the past. Liz would insist on that when David came home.
She needed Roger in her life.
Without him, she didn’t think she’d last long at Huntington House.
27
The next morning, Liz awoke with a terrible cold. Her head throbbed, her nose was stuffed, and her throat felt as if someone had taken a knife to it. She blamed it on being caught in the rain and getting soaked to the bone the day before. Picking up the phone beside her bed, she rang the kitchen, asking Variola to send her up a pot of hot tea.
A short while later came a soft rapping at her door.
“Come in,” Liz rasped.
But instead of Variola or one of the maids, Liz saw it was Thad carrying in the tray of tea. “I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said, “but no one else was around . . .”
“Oh, thank you, Thad,” Liz said. “My throat is killing me.”
Thad looked terribly worried about her. He set the tray beside the bed and poured her some tea. Steam rose from the cup like an Indian smoke signal. Liz accepted the tea gratefully and took a tiny sip.
“What do you think ails you, ma’am?” Thad asked.
“I guess I caught a cold yesterday,” Liz replied. “I got caught in a rainstorm.”
“Awfully quick for a cold to set in, if that’s the case,” Thad grumbled. “Drink your tea, ma’am. I hope it makes you feel better.”
Something seemed to be troubling Thad; Liz wasn’t sure what it was. She gave him a smile as he left the room. She supposed it was a rather a fast onset if her cold indeed grew out of her rainstorm adventure yesterday, but no matter how she’d caught it, she was really suffering today. She sipped her tea again. It soothed her throat a little bit. She lay back against her pillows, closing her eyes, hoping the pounding in her head subsided.
She must have fallen asleep, for suddenly she opened her eyes. The light in the room was different, and the cold hard face of Mrs. Hoffman was looming over her.
“I’m terribly sorry to have to wake you, Mrs. Huntington,” the housekeeper was saying. “But Detective Foley is downstairs, wishing to see you.”
Liz tried to shake off the sleep and gather her wits. “Detective . . . Foley?”
“Yes, ma’am. I told him you weren’t feeling well, but he asked that I inquire if you could just spare him ten minutes.”
“Yes,” Liz managed to say. Her throat was still sore, but her headache was gone. “I’ll put on a robe and come downstairs.”
“Very well,” Mrs. Hoffman said, striding out of the room.
Liz stood, feeling a bit dizzy. Steadying herself against one of the posters of the canopy bed, she slipped into a large flannel robe. Despite the sun streaming in through the windows and the warm temperature of the room, Liz felt cold, and she took some comfort inside the flannel. She glanced at herself in the mirror and shuddered. She had no strength to make herself look more presentable to Detective Foley, but neither did she want to send him away. Perhaps he had more information about the deaths of Audra and Jamison. And if so, Liz wanted to hear what he had discovered.
Heading down the stairs, she passed the portrait of Dominique that dominated the landing, those great dark eyes staring down at her. Liz looked away, shivering under her robe.
Waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs was Variola, holding a steaming mug on a tray.
“More tea for me?” Liz asked.
Variola shook her head. “Not tea, ma’am. This is better. Variola’s concoction for what ails you.”
Liz caught a whiff of the strong brew. A mix of coffee and spices, she thought. But also something else. Something bitter.
“Drink it, ma’am,” Variola told her. “It will make you better.”
Liz smiled. “More island witchcraft, I presume.”
“Indeed, ma’am. Brewed up by Variola in her cauldron.”
Liz lifted the mug by its handle and took a sip. It tasted like nothing she’d ever tasted before. Not coffee. Not even very spicy. But also not unpleasant. Thick, rich.
“Thank you, Variola,” Liz said.
“There is a man waiting for you in the parlor,” the chef told her.
Liz nodded. “Yes, I know. Detective Foley.”
“Drink, ma’am. It will make you strong.”
Liz clutched the mug with both hands as she entered the parlor. The police detective was seated on the divan, looking idly around the room. He stood when Liz entered.
“Detective Foley,” she said.
“I’m sorry to rouse you when you’re not feeling well,” he told her.
“It’s just a cold. How can I help you? Have you discovered anything new?”
She took a seat on the opposite divan. Foley sat back down.
“Nothing really new, Mrs. Huntington, I’m sorry to report. But I’ve been going over the reports with a fine-tooth comb. I wonder if I could ask you about a couple of other things.”
Liz took another sip of Variola’s elixir. “By all means. Go ahead.”
“Do the names Jeanette Kelly or Tonesha Lewis mean anything to you?”
“No. Who are they?”
“Friends of Audra McKenzie.” Foley paused for the slightest moment. “Friends who went missing in the weeks after her murder.”
“Do you think there’s a connection?”
“I have no idea.” Again that slight pause. “But I’ve learned to trust my hunches.”
“Did either of them have any connection to Huntington House?”
Foley shook his head. “I interviewed Mrs. Hoffman before you came down. She didn’t recognize the names either. She said neither had ever worked here or, to her knowledge, ever been to Huntington House, though she couldn’t say if either had ever visited Audra at any point while she was employed here.”
Liz clutched the mug in her hands, seeming to draw strength from it, just as Variola had promised. “They might still be alive.”
“They might be. But their families have had no contact from them in months.”
“That’s terrible.”
“I only made the connection when I was going over our investigations of Audra’s murder. I saw that we had interviewed Tonesha, who had spoken with Audra earlier on the night she was killed. The name sounded a bell for me, and sure enough, I had received a notice of a missing person with the same name from neighboring Broward County.”
“It seems too obvious to just be coincidental.”
“Perhaps.”
“But Detective Foley, you see, I’ve only been here a short time, as I’ve told you. I didn’t know Audra. You’re going to have to speak to my husband when he gets back—”
“I understand that, Mrs. Huntington. But it’s the very fact of your newness here that makes me want to speak with you.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Since arriving here, has anything seemed—oh, I don’t know, curious? Strange? Has any
one seemed as if they might be keeping secrets from you?”
Liz was flabbergasted. How could she respond? Yes, indeed, all of that was true. But could she admit it all to a police officer? What would David think?
“Why . . . why do you ask?” was all Liz could manage to say.
“What do you know of your husband’s first wife’s death?”
“It was an accident. It had nothing to do with—”
“What do you know about the accident?”
“Just that it was on the yacht, and that she drowned . . .”
“Who was with her on the yacht?”
“I don’t know . . . I believe she was alone.”
“Are you sure? Was your husband with her when the accident occurred?”
“No! I mean, I’m only going by what I’ve been told.”
“What have they told you about the accident?”
“Very little, actually.” Liz thought better of his question. “Who do you mean by ‘they’?”
“Any of them here. Mrs. Hoffman. Your husband.”
Liz stiffened, her hands tightening around the mug. “I don’t think I should talk to you anymore until David has returned.”
“If that’s what you wish,” said Detective Foley.
Liz felt a strange sort of panic growing in her stomach. “Surely, you can’t think that Dominique’s accident was in any way connected to the killings of Audra and Jamison?”
“My job is to ask questions, Mrs. Huntington.”
“But it was an accident! Mrs. Hoffman said that the doorbell rang and there was a Coast Guard officer at the door, telling her there’d been an accident.”
“And where was your husband at the time?”
“I . . . I don’t know.”
“He’s never spoken about where he was when he learned of his wife’s death?”
Liz felt foolish. “No. He hasn’t.” She began to tremble. “He doesn’t like to speak of it. And I’ve never pressed him.”
Foley looked skeptical. “He’s never told you about the inquest that followed her death, or about his testimony?”
Liz shook her head. “As I said, Detective, I don’t think I should talk to you anymore until David is home.”
“All right.” He stood. “Well, I hope you’re feeling better soon, Mrs. Huntington.”
Liz stood as well. “Actually,” she said, “I’m feeling much better.”
It was true. Her sore throat was gone. Her nose was no longer stuffed. She felt fine.
She looked down at Variola’s potion in her hands. What was in it?
Liz walked Detective Foley to the front door. “You understand that I’m only trying to get to the bottom of these cases,” he said to her. “I’m not accusing or suspecting anyone at this point.”
“I understand,” she said. “You’re only doing your job.”
He smiled at her.
Once he was gone, Liz turned. Mrs. Hoffman was standing across the foyer, staring at her, rock still. Liz stared right back. Neither woman said a word, and neither moved from their places for several moments. Their eyes burned holes into each other. Then Liz made her way across the room, climbing silently up the stairs, still clutching Variola’s mug in her hands.
28
“She’s trying to kill her,” Thad said.
Mrs. Hoffman turned around to glare at him.
“Who’s trying to kill whom?” the housekeeper asked him in a cold, bored monotone.
“Dominique. Trying to kill that poor girl.”
Mrs. Hoffman gave him that expression that passed for a smile on her plastic face. “Dominique is dead.”
“That don’t matter. She’s still here, and you know it.”
“You’ve been spending too much time with Variola, talking about spirits.”
She tried to walk past him, but Thad grabbed her arm, stopping her.
“How dare you!” Mrs. Hoffman hissed. “Let me go.”
“I know too much—I’ve seen too much—for you to just dismiss me. And I’m not going to let anything happen to that poor girl. Enough is enough.”
“Let me go,” Mrs. Hoffman said again, in a low and furious voice.
Thad complied. “You’ll see. I’m going to drive Dominique’s spirit from this house. I’m going to find a way. I’m not going to let her kill again!”
29
The sun was setting, a big wet canvas of red and gold, as Joe Foley drove Aggie McFarland home to her husband and kids. Palm trees were silhouetted against the sky and long blue shadows were filling up the streets.
“I’m not sure where you’re going with this line of investigation,” Aggie was saying to him as she flipped through the reports on her lap.
Foley stopped at a red light. “You don’t think two of Audra’s friends going missing not long after her murder is suspicious?”
“Sure it is, but what does it make us suspect? That they were killed by the same person, only we haven’t found their bodies yet?”
“Possibly.”
“But they didn’t even live in Palm Beach at the time of their disappearances. Look, Joe, all three girls lived rather fast lives. They were all involved in drugs to some degree.”
“So maybe there’s no connection.” The light changed and he started to drive again. “But maybe there is. You know me and my hunches.”
Sometimes Joe just knew things were true. Like that horrible day he knew his mother was dead in her tent, and not just sleeping late.
“I agree we need to look into both cases,” said Aggie, “but I just caution you against making any quick assumptions.”
“Caution well taken,” he said.
“But what I really don’t get,” Aggie continued, “is this inquiry into the drowning death of the first Mrs. Huntington. There was an inquest at the time. Her death was ruled an accident.”
“Without any body ever being found.”
“When someone falls off a yacht that far out to sea in shark-infested waters, it’s rare that a body ever is.”
“True.” Foley turned to look at her. “But read the captain’s statement.”
Aggie flipped through some pages, then found what she was looking for.
“Do you see what I mean?” Foley asked.
His partner just looked at him.
“This isn’t going to go over well with the chief,” she finally said.
Foley pulled into Aggie’s driveway. The front porch light came on. A couple of kids appeared at the door.
“I can deal with the chief,” Foley said.
Aggie tossed the reports at him. “Thanks for making our lives even more difficult,” she said, getting out of the car.
“See you in the morning,” Foley said.
Aggie just made a face. Foley watched her as she went inside, kissing the kids on the tops of their heads. He could smell pot roast cooking from the open front door.
He placed the reports on the empty seat beside him. He’d go home, pop a Lean Cuisine into the microwave, and look the reports over again to see what he could figure out.
He would crack this oyster. He vowed on his mother’s grave that he would do it.
30
“This is quite possibly the most delicious dessert I have ever tasted,” Roger enthused, spooning another helping of Variola’s pudding into his mouth.
“I agree,” Liz said. “What is in it? Mango, for sure. Cinnamon . . . what else?”
“Who knows? Whatever it is, it’s magnificent!”
They were sitting out by the pool, the sun on their faces, the sound of the gushing waterfall in their ears. Liz was feeling perfectly content and happy, something a week ago she could never have dreamed she’d be feeling in this house.
“She did tell me it was packed with herbs to keep that cold from coming back,” Liz told Roger. “She said it was the healthiest dessert ever made!”
“If only everything healthy tasted this good,” Roger replied, laughing. “Usually healthy crap tastes like cardboard and dead leaves.”
“What do you say we take a walk?” Liz suddenly asked, standing. “I’ve yet to really explore the grounds here, except for a couple of pass-throughs. It’s such a beautiful day. Let’s see what kind of backyard I’ve married into!”
Roger smiled. “David certainly pays enough for its upkeep. We might as well enjoy it.”
They wandered off along a path that wound through the gardens. Enormous red hibiscus grew on either side, accented by tall spiky yellow flowers that Liz couldn’t name.
“I expect it does cost a great deal to keep these gardens maintained,” she mused. “I have no idea about the finances, or what it takes to run Huntington House. David’s never shared any of that with me, and I’ve never thought to ask.”
“Money is a boring topic.”
“Yes, but I should know, shouldn’t I? If I’m going to be expected to plan parties and things like that . . .”
“I’m sure you’ll learn everything you need to know.”
She paused to admire a garden of orchids. “So beautiful,” Liz said. “Sometimes, I still can’t believe how my life has changed . . .”
“Is it really so different from before?”
Liz laughed. “Only like the difference between night and day. Roger, I grew up very middle class. The only landscaping we had to do to our yard was mow it twice a month.”
“Well, you have gardeners now to take care of that.”
“That’s what I’m talking about. I married David so quickly . . . and now I find myself in a world that seems so beautiful and yet . . . so intimidating.”
They stopped walking, and Roger took her hands in his. “There’s no need to feel intimidated. You are going to be fine here.”
“Because of you, I’ve started to believe that,” Liz replied. “Thank you.”
The held each other’s eyes for several seconds. Liz finally looked away.
“Have you heard from David?” Roger asked as they resumed their walk.