“It could happen to anyone. I left the bathwater running once. I flooded the kitchen downstairs. I felt awful, but it was an accident, and so is this. We’ll get it fixed.” Olympia was trying her best to sound reassuring.
She was moving through the chaos of wet rugs, stacked furniture and curling magazines toward the kitchen where she could see William Bateson. He was in his shirtsleeves, still pushing at the pools of water.
“Poor thing,” he semi-whispered over his shoulder, “fell asleep and left the water running. I knew I should have done those dishes for her. We had tea together just before it happened. I offered, but you know how independent she is. Wouldn’t hear of it, and now this.” He sloshed some more water through the kitchen door into the back hall where it gurgled down the stairs into the cellar.
Olympia put her hands on her hips and surveyed the situation. “She can’t stay here tonight. I have a church directory next door. She’s probably got one, too, but I don’t want to ask her for anything at the moment. Will you stay here until I get back?”
He stopped sweeping and leaned on his push-broom “Of course I will. I’ll do anything I can. I’m very fond of her, but between you and me, I don’t think it’s safe for her to live alone much longer. The next time it could be worse.”
Olympia nodded in uneasy agreement and turned back toward the living room. “I’ll be right back. Good thing you came by. That was a lucky coincidence. Did you just happen to be in the neighborhood?”
“I don’t live far away, so I kind of keep an eye on her. I like older people. My grandmother raised me, so I’m comfortable being with them. Lucky for her I did come by. I drive around these neighborhoods for my business. When she woke up and found the water, she called the fire department. I heard the sirens and followed the sound. Poor thing was completely disoriented. She’s better now.”
“I’ll be right back,” Olympia called over her shoulder.
“And I’ll be right here,” came the answer.
After Olympia walked out of the house and closed the door, William Bateson counted to ten, put down his push-broom and walked back to the living room where Dory was still sitting twisting her handkerchief and shaking her head. She turned toward him as he entered the room.
“What am I going to do? It’s all so overwhelming.” She pressed her handkerchief against her lips.
He went over and sat down beside her and started to pull the afghan back over her legs, but she gestured him away with an impatient wave of her free hand.
“Thank you, dear, but I’m not cold. My house is a wreck, and I don’t know how this all happened, and I don’t know where I’m going to sleep tonight, but I don’t need a blanket right now. It would help if you could manage to find a light and turn it on. The water is bad enough. I don’t want to sit in a wet house that is dark, as well.” Her eyes were bright and clear.
“They shut off the power because of the flood,” said William. “Have you got a flashlight or something, maybe a couple of candles?” He stood up again, looking at the chaos around him.
“I keep an emergency battery light under the sink and another one in my bedroom. The one under the sink is probably wet, but the one in my bedroom should be OK, I just tested it. I always keep extra batteries. You never know when you are going to lose power here, and I’m too old to wander around in the dark.”
“Good thinking, Mrs. West.” Bateson pushed himself up off the low-slung sofa and started toward the hallway. “I’ll go upstairs and get it. Which one is your bedroom?”
“Mine is the room on the left at the top of the stairs. The lamp is right beside the bed on the night table. The bathroom’s straight ahead, if you need it. The one down here is a total mess.”
Bateson paused on the landing and called out, “I see it.”
Once he was inside Dory’s bedroom, he took his time picking up the lamp and turning a switch to see if it worked. As he did so, a pale bluish light flooded the room. In that light William found what he expected to find in an old lady’s bedroom: family pictures on a white painted dresser of indeterminate vintage, an old quilt folded and placed at a slight angle over the foot of the bed. On the wicker night stand beside the bed there was a box of tissues, a bottle of aspirin and a half-full glass of water. Beside that was a large print mystery novel by Island author Cynthia Riggs. It was marked with a lace bookmark, ready for that evening’s chapter. The room was meticulously neat and smelled faintly of lavender and cedar.
He walked out of the bedroom, eased open the door across the landing and stepped inside. He did a quick inventory, mentally assessing the shape and condition of the space and cataloging the furnishings in what he assumed was Dory’s guest room. In the fading light he could see a day bed against the far wall, another painted chest and an old wooden writing desk set squarely in front of the dormered window, presumably to take advantage of the natural light. On top of the desk he could see an orderly arrangement of file folders and papers.
She must use this as her office.
He stepped back out of the room and into the bathroom where he flushed the toilet, then waited a moment or two before coming back downstairs with the emergency lamp.
“That’s better,” he said setting the black plastic lantern on the coffee table in front of Dory. “Not much better, mind you, but at least it’s something. Maybe a candle would …”
“No candles please, dear, they make me nervous, even with you here and me wide awake. I never use them anymore. Too easy to forget.”
“Yes indeed, Eudora. You can never be too careful. You know, maybe when I come back tomorrow, it might be time to …”
But he never finished the sentence, because Olympia simultaneously knocked and burst through the front door. She was breathing heavily and patting her chest.
“I’m back! I ran all the way—all twenty five feet and six inches between my front door and yours. I’ve still got electricity, by the way. How are you holding up, Dory? Julia Scott-Norton is on her way. She would like you to stay with her until we sort things with the fire department and the insurance company. You’ve been to Julia’s house. I was there myself today.” Was it only four hours ago? “She must have twenty bedrooms, well, OK, maybe five or six. But she’s got loads of room. What do you think?”
“That would be wonderful, I …” Dory’s chin began to quiver, and the tears she had been fighting back all evening rolled down her cheeks and fell unchecked onto the printed flowers on her blouse.
Olympia sat down beside her and looked up at William Bateson. She nodded toward the kitchen in a silent request that he leave them alone. Did she see a flicker of annoyance in his eyes? No, if it was anything, surely it was concern for Dory.
She could hear the sound of the sump pump sucking the water out of the basement window. It was an ugly sound. Olympia spoke softly to the woman sitting beside her.
“Would you like me to gather up a few things to take with you for the night? You know, a nightie and a robe and maybe your toothbrush. How about your medicines? We can always come back and get more tomorrow.”
Dory hesitated only a moment. “Would you mind? If you could get my nightie from under the pillow, the robe is on the back of the door. I keep my pills in my purse. That way, I always know where they are.” She looked toward the kitchen and lowered her voice to a whisper that William could not possibly hear. “My small clothes are in the top drawer of the dresser, one of each please, the light blue ones. My bedroom is the one on the left at the top of the stairs. And my toothbrush, please—it’s in a glass on the bathroom sink.”
When he heard footsteps on the staircase, Bateson returned to the living room and stood just inside the doorway.
“Everything OK in here?”
“Olympia is upstairs gathering up a few things for me to take tonight. I guess I’m going to Julia Scott-Norton’s.”
“I was here when Olympia suggested it, don’t you remember?”
“I …”
Once again, the front door opened, and
Julia Scott-Norton, in all of her blessed efficiency, strode into the room as Olympia returned with Dory’s night clothes, small things, and toothbrush, discreetly folded into a towel. On top of it all was the unfinished mystery novel.
Julia took one look at the collection in Olympia’s hands and said, “I have a plastic grocery sack in my purse. I always keep one or two with me. Never know when you’ll need them.”
Julia turned to hand the plastic bag to Olympia and spotted William Bateson standing across the room. “Good heavens, how did you get here so fast?”
Olympia slipped Dory’s things into the plastic bag as she responded to Julia. “He was in the neighborhood when he heard the sirens, and a good thing it was, too. He followed the sound and found Dory ankle deep in water.”
Dory lifted her legs and pointed to the rubber boots on her feet. “First thing he did was put these things on my feet. I don’t know what I would have done if my feet got wet.”
Julia looked around at the soggy mess in the room. “Olympia told me you called 911. You knew what to do. Anyone would be overwhelmed to find their house flooded. Come on, Dory, I’m taking you home with me. We’ll deal with all of this tomorrow. Where’s your cane, dear?”
“On the doorknob, but I only use it when I go out.”
Julia winked at Olympia and then turned to William Bateson.
“I can’t thank you enough. You just stepped in and took over, but I don’t think there is anything more any of us can do today. The firemen are packing up, and Olympia and I will be able to give or take down any information that might be necessary.”
She paused and smiled, “So it looks like you’re off duty, Mr. Bateson. You are going to need a well-deserved rest after all this.” There was no mistaking the firm note of dismissal under Julia’s enthusiastic display of appreciation.
William retrieved his briefcase from beside the staircase and turned to Dory. “Anything I can do, my dear lady, you just call me. You have my card in your purse, and you know my numbers.” He stood and inclined his head toward Julia and Olympia, “Thank you, ladies. I’m not going to worry. I know she’s in good hands.”
When they heard the sound of his car driving off, Julia called Olympia out into the kitchen, saying she just wanted to have one last look around before they left. The wet wood smell was curiously pleasant, but Olympia thought it best not to say so at the moment. Could be a wee bit tactless just now.
Julia lowered her voice so Dory couldn’t hear. “Maybe she is starting to lose it. Up until today I wouldn’t have said so, but after this, I‘m not so sure. On the other hand, something like this would upset Mother Theresa. We’ll just wait and see how she is over the next few days. I’ll call her daughter tomorrow. Nothing is going to change between now and the morning, and in the meanwhile I’ll see what Dory can tell me when it’s quiet and she’s had a chance to calm down. Do you mind staying after we leave and opening a few windows and then locking the place?”
Twelve
As Olympia listened to the sound of them driving off, she walked around the sodden house, telling herself that it really could have happened to anybody. Tomorrow Julia or somebody would call the insurance people and the flooded house experts, whoever or whatever they might be, and get things rolling. She shook her head in dismay. The floorboards creaked under her feet, and little pools of water formed around her sandals as she picked her way through the mess. She could hear water dripping. Probably down in the basement, but there’s no way in hell I’m going down to look. Suddenly the whole thing felt creepy.
By now the firemen had taken away the pump, and all was quiet except for the creaks and groans of an old house trying to shake itself dry and not succeeding. Olympia was just about to leave when she noticed a file folder lying on the staircase. Seeing it there made her think that she should probably go up those stairs and open a few windows and get some more fresh air in the place. She stepped over the folder and started up the creaky stairs, holding Dory’s emergency camping lantern in front of her. When she was almost to the top, she slipped on something and fell forward, slamming the lantern on the floor in front of her and leaving her in total darkness. Jesus! I need this like I need a hole in the head.
As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she felt around on the stair tread to find out what it was she’d stepped on and found a pencil. Good thing it was me that stepped on it and not Dory. That could be really dangerous for someone as old as she is. In the light cast by the street lamp outside, she felt her way back into Dory’s bedroom and pushed up the two windows as high as they would go. Having gathered some confidence, she made her way into the bathroom and managed to get the tiny window over an old-fashioned claw foot tub open and up by about an inch. Now all that remained was the guest room. Her eyes were fully adjusted to the dark by now. Aided by the light from a full moon on the other side of the house, she could see a desk under the single window and what was probably a bed against a far wall. She slipped her feet across the painted boards and felt something soft brush against her ankle. Olympia jumped, screamed, and kicked all at the same and then looked down to see that her attacker was a scatter rug.
“This is just not my night,” Olympia spoke aloud into the darkness as she continued feeling her way across the room to open the window over the writing desk. The smooth surface of the desk top reflected the moonlight into the orderly room, making it easier to see. There was a plastic container with several manila folders tucked into it. It was too dark to read them, but thinking that this might be information that Dory could need tomorrow, she tucked the container under her arm and took one last look around. There was no clutter to be seen anywhere. Even the work area on her desk was empty except for a tiny pot of pencils and pens.
She turned and went out of the room and inched her way down the stairs to the living room. The light of moon and street lamp did not carry far enough around corners of the stairwell to light the entire way, but once back in the living room, she could see her way safely to the door. Before she left she returned to the stairs and picked up the orphan folder and added it to the others under her arm.
After she had locked and tested all the doors, she tucked the key under the overturned flower pot beside the door. With that accomplished, she made her way through the sodden grass back to her own little cottage. Perhaps with an uninterrupted hour or two, she would wind down with a glass of wine and consider her sermon. But as she pushed open her front door, she clapped her hand to her mouth. Frederick! I was supposed to have called him hours ago. Oh, crap!
She flipped on the light and put the plastic box of folders on the table. By some miracle both the electricity and the phone in her side of the house were still working. The cats were both dancing around and squawking for food, but they could wait. She sat down, lifted the receiver and tapped in her Brookfield number. Olympia found herself weak with gratitude and longing when she heard a very welcome voice say, “Frederick Watkins here.”
“Oh, Frederick, it’s me, Olympia.”
“I know who it is, Dearie, I’d know that New England twang anywhere. I’m glad you called. I have some important news for you. I had no idea how to reach you. I left a message at the church, but I guess nobody told you. By the way, I miss you fiercely, and I love you. Just thought I’d get that out before you could change the subject. And if you want, I’ll bring your phone down when I come over there, which could be tomorrow morning if you so desire.”
“Frederick?”
“Oh, dear, something’s wrong isn’t it? I can hear it in your voice, and you’ve been gone a little over twenty-four hours. What in the bloody hell have you managed to get yourself embroiled in this time?”
“Nothing bad, Frederick, at least I don’t think so. At the moment it’s just messy.”
“Olympia, dearest, I am not understanding you.”
“OK, short form: my landlady fell asleep with the water running and flooded her house. My place is OK. We’ve packed her off with a church member for safe keeping. I’m using he
r extension. Thank heaven it still works. So you see, it’s not really a problem, it’s just an inconvenience of proximity. Now, what’s your news?”
“I think you’d better be sitting down. Your daughter called when we were both out yesterday. She left a number. She wants to meet you.”
“Oh, my God, let me go get something I can write with.”
Olympia got up to find a pencil and was surprised to find her hands shaking and her knees wobbling. This was too wonderful for comprehension, and it was also completely overwhelming. A lifetime of waiting, and now what? Of course she would call her daughter, but not until morning. It was too late, and she was an emotional train wreck.
When she finally located the stub of a pencil in the kitchen, she wrote down the number and spent the next few minutes trying to catch Frederick up on all that had happened since they had parted company. He, in turn, filled her in on his various projects, but Olympia wasn’t hearing a word. She made polite noises at seemingly appropriate intervals, but in reality she was beyond thinking and finally admitted it. Frederick, bless him, really meant it when he offered to come down on the first boat out the next day. So he could be with her when she called her daughter, was the reason he gave, but Olympia declined. Much as she loved him (yes, dammit, loved him), she simply could not add him to everything else that was going on around her. She tried to explain it, and Frederick, bless him again, said he understood. She would, she promised, call him right after she talked with Laura, but right now, she needed a glass of wine and an hour of utter and complete silence.
When she finally finished her wine, Olympia stood by the window for a moment of reflective peace and quiet. Despite the chaos of the day, her heart rate had returned to normal, and she was actually enjoying the sounds of the night and watching the moon shadows flittering on the grass between her cottage and the main house. It was such a clear night. She looked up at the sky and realized that she could see so many more stars here than she could in Brookfield, and she looked forward to sharing this with Frederick. Everything had happened so fast. Their original plan had been to spend the summer working on the house in Brookfield to see if living together might be a viable option for their combined futures. Now even that was on hold.
A Despicable Mission (Olympia Brown Mysteries) Page 6