Escape. Sleep wasn’t sounding all that bad at the moment. It had been one heck of a long day. “That sounds wonderful.”
He led her past the dining room where James and Sally watched her with curiosity. “I’m just not feeling well,” she offered lamely with a shrug of her shoulders.
“I hope you’re feeling better soon,” Sally called out.
“Darling, they understand. You know, I think they adore you as much as I do.”
Sally maybe, but James didn’t seem fond of Maxine. Well, she wouldn’t have to deal with any of them after tomorrow. The white carpet squished silently beneath her feet as he led her from the tiled living room to a hallway off the main area. The house was bigger than it looked from the outside. Maxine hoped they had separate bedrooms. When she walked inside, she had a feeling they did not.
The room was huge, dominated by a white bed. On the walls were pictures of dummies, and if that weren’t bad enough, there were several on display in here, too. Apparently Maxine hadn’t yet put her own touches in. Except for the one picture of Maxine on the nightstand. She was smiling up at the camera as she sat at a little table in the sun.
“I’ll get you a nightgown,” he said, disappearing into an enormous closet. A moment later he emerged, holding up two lacy specimens. “Which one do you want?”
Maxine dropped down to the bed. “Er, I don’t feel like anything that…revealing tonight.” No need to give Mr. Wiggles any encouragement. Her forehead was throbbing without even having to pretend she had a headache. “Something plainer, perhaps.”
He disappeared again, re-emerging with a long T-shirt that made Maxine breathe out in relief. It had the swirly words Belly Aches on the pocket.
“That’s perfect.” She snatched it up and walked into the hallway leading to the master bathroom. “Er, where’s the door?”
He laughed. “There’s no door, you know that. You’re not getting modest on me, cherry lips, are you?” He tilted his head, and the light from the bathroom glinted off his round glasses.
“I just feel…strange tonight, that’s all. Not myself you could say.”
She stepped into the shower stall and closed the door behind her. The walls were made of glass, but at least it was frosted. She stepped out of her clothing quickly, folding them into neat squares. Everything except the thin wisps of silk that might pass for panties. Good grief, could those be legally considered undergarments?
Feeling sexy was as foreign to her, as…well, as sex, she supposed. She’d only just been hitting her teens and getting interested in boys when she’d been paralyzed. She had known before that, though, that she wasn’t going to be one of those teenagers who looked more mature than their years. Still, experiencing the awkwardness of hormones and dating would have been preferable to the humility of being different. The hormones had raged all the same, but she’d been afraid to act on them.
Her fingers slid beneath the silk straps that barely looked able to hold the scraps together. She arched, making the fabric tighten, then sucked in her stomach. It wasn’t perfectly flat but felt firm enough. Maxine’s body had more to it than Jennie’s. A little taller (well, a lot taller considering), maybe a size or two larger in the chest, more filled in, especially in the legs where Jennie’s had been skinny sticks. She actually had curves.
Maxine smiled, running her hands down her sides and over her stomach, then down over her legs. She wasn’t as lithe and graceful as her ex-roommate Gabby was, but Maxine wasn’t about to complain. Tilting her head back, she wrapped her arms around her shoulders and gave herself a hug. Life was good. Even if she was Sam’s ex-wife. She couldn’t expect God to hand her everything, now could she?
When she emerged from the bathroom, Armand was standing there watching her with the strangest grin on his face. Well, maybe it wasn’t strange for him. She pulled the T-shirt down, past her knees. She hoped he didn’t know she was wearing the tiniest, laciest little panties she had ever seen beneath it.
“You are so cute. I just want to take you away and marry you this moment.” He started for her, his hands ready to encase hers again.
She dodged him, wrapping her arms around herself. “I, ah… I’m just going to lie down for a while.”
He dropped his hands. “Yes, of course, darling. You take all the time you need.”
She climbed into bed and pulled the white comforter up to her chin. He leaned down and kissed her. Thank goodness he didn’t use his tongue. She might have gagged. When he stood, she rolled over and faced the other way. “Goodnight, Armand.” She hated being mean. He was probably a nice guy, but she had another nice guy in her heart.
For a few minutes she reveled in the silence after he left. Glorious silence where she didn’t have to answer questions or pretend to be anyone. Her breathing slowed as she relaxed.
Then she felt something touch her arm. Something that didn’t feel human. Lurching around, she came face to face with one of the puppets. She couldn’t help the scream that escaped her mouth as she batted it away from her. The puppet’s eyebrows raised and its mouth opened in surprise.
“Maxy, what’s wrong?” a strange little voice said in sync with the puppet’s mouth.
She leaned over the edge of the bed to find Armand ducked down hiding. “Good grief, you scared me,” she said, trying to cover with a smile she was having an awfully hard time finding.
The puppet, which looked a lot like Armand, reached out and touched her arm again with its curved hand. It tilted its head and said in a high-pitched voice, “You’re not afraid of Mr. Wiggles, are you? You can’t have hit your head that hard.” It looked up at Armand. “She looks rather cute with that bandage on her forehead, doesn’t she?”
Maxine’s mouth dropped open, but she quickly covered it. The laugh that burst out was laden with relief. “Mr. Wiggles.” Another laugh. “I’m sorry, Mr. Wiggles.”
“S’allright,” he said in a gangster way. “Just don’t let it happen again. You nearly scared my little wooden heart right outta me when you screamed like that. I was giving you a good night kiss, that’s all.”
She was conversing with a dummy. And now she was going to have to let it kiss her. “Why, thank you.” She turned her cheek, and Mr. Wiggles pressed his wooden lips against her skin. She dropped back down on the pillow.
Armand stood there looking down at her. “Goodnight, huggy buggy. I’ll be in soon.”
She lurched upright again. “You will?”
He took her hand. “Of course I will. Don’t you worry at all.”
She slowly lowered herself again, forcing a smile. “Oh, I won’t.”
When he left, she allowed herself a laugh. Mr. Wiggles was a dummy. The show, Mr. Wiggles cheering her up later…Armand hadn’t been a lecherous fool at all.
She hardly wanted to admit to herself the mental pictures all that had conjured, Armand standing on a small, lit stage twirling a two foot long…no, she still couldn’t think about it. All these years of pushing the subject of sex to the back of her mind came in handy, and she shoved the images and thoughts away.
She glanced around in the dim light of the room. Mr. Wiggles sat on a stand by the door, watching her. She rolled over so she couldn’t see him. All she had to do was get through this night and she’d go back to Sam. What was she going to tell him? That she didn’t love Armand anymore, that she was in love with Sam now? Geez, why did she have to come back as Sam’s ex-wife? Not that she was ungrateful or complaining. It was just going to make things a lot more complicated, that’s all.
Well, if she had once faced the challenge of living without the use of her legs, she should darn well be able to handle this setback.
When Armand returned with the glass of water and aspirin, she pretended to be sound asleep, then took it when he left. She closed her eyes and drifted into a mottled sleep.
Maxine dreamed about stairs, walking up them, falling down them; she dreamed of Sam holding her as she died, then kissing her gently. Then his lips turned wooden and she turned to
find Mr. Wiggles kissing her instead. She woke with a start, blinking to clear the fuzzies from her eyes and brain. Adding to her confusion was the man who was staring down at her.
“What are you doing out here?” James asked, standing there with consternation on his face.
Light streamed in through the opaque white curtains, filling the living room with softness. The living room? She sat up and looked around her. The couch had an inviting hollow where she’d lain.
“You and dad have a fight?” he asked, sitting down in the matching chair beside her.
“No, nothing like that.” Now she remembered. She’d waken during the night to find Armand clinging to her. The man was making her claustrophobic. So she’d slipped out of his grasp and come out here, but she couldn’t tell James that. “I couldn’t sleep and didn’t want my tossing and turning to wake Armand.”
Where Armand’s gray eyes were soft and kind, James’s were more like chips of granite. “I know what you’re up to, Maxine.”
She pulled the comforter around her, creating a cocoon of security. “You do?” How could he know?
“Yes. I know a gold digger when I see one. He’ll love and take care of you, and you’ll use him. Probably have a lover or two on the side, and you won’t be too careful about hiding them. He’ll be miserable, but he won’t divorce you, which is what you’re counting on. He’s not the divorcing kind of guy. In fact, if our mother hadn’t died, he would have kept putting up with her forever. I’m not going to let you make him miserable. I’m going to make sure my father sees what you really are. This wedding is not going to happen.”
Well, she knew that, but she couldn’t tell him he had nothing to worry about. She gathered the comforter about her as she stood. My, but it was nice to face someone at their height. It was harder to confront someone when you had to look up to them.
“Your father is a nice man. I have no intention of hurting him.” She walked past him and to the bedroom, hoping Armand was still asleep.
He was. All the sheets were thrown off the bed, and he was curled up in a fetal position in the exact center of the bed. She tiptoed to the closet and found half of it filled with women’s clothing. Maxine’s, she presumed. She found a soft beige sweater and black pants. What she needed was some time alone to figure out her game plan…and an excuse to see Sam again. She took a shower as quietly as possible, then pulled her clothes into the stall to change in there.
After changing, she went back out to the greenhouse. It was only past six o’clock. She’d always been an early riser; that still remained the same. How much of Jennie was still inside her? She still felt the triumph of taking those two little steps down. One step she could handle with nary a pause in her wheelchair, but two steps were an insurmountable barrier.
The cold air and spot of sunshine on the white deck made her look upward. The tarp covering the hole had blown off during the night. A slight breeze lifted her hair, and she touched the edge of the bandage on her forehead. Beneath it still felt tender, though the throbbing pain was gone. She looked up through the hole to the place the flower box had been.
“I’m sorry you had to die, Maxine,” she said softly. “I promise to take good care of your body. And Sam. I… “ She crossed her arms in front of her. “I don’t like the coincidence of Armand being called to some non-existent meeting at the same time the box happened to fall down as you were walking beneath it. Why did you go to Sam’s?”
Maybe she was making more of this than necessary, but she couldn’t put it out of her mind. Maxine walked back inside, and taking a breath, mounted the stairs. She passed Sally and paused to make the expected pleasantries.
“How are you feeling, Maxine?” she asked. There was a sticky sweet quality to her voice, and to her smile. It made Maxine think of cinnamon buns.
“Much better, thank you.”
Sally seemed to pause for a moment, as if expecting Maxine to say something else. “Were you looking for me?”
“No, why?”
“It’s just that you’re never in this part of the house. Mostly you hang around either in Daddy’s bedroom or the greenhouse.”
“Oh. Well, I… “ She glanced toward the guest bedroom. “I lost an earring. I think it may have dropped off in the guest bedroom.”
Sally glanced at the closed door. “What were you doing in there to begin with?”
“Oh, just looking at the brackets on the wall. They were rusted. In fact, the ones holding up the flower box in your room are rusted, too.”
“Really? Well, we’d better take it down before it falls and does even more damage.”
“Armand’s going to take care of that today.”
Sally nodded. “Good. One accident around here is too many. Do you need some help looking for your earring?”
“No, thank you. I’m sure it’ll only take a minute.” She started to walk away, but paused. “Sally, do you think I’m just after your father’s money?” She didn’t want to think that Maxine-the-first was a gold digger.
“No, why would you ask me that?”
“Oh, it was something that James said earlier.”
She gave her a flip of the wrist. “He’s very protective of Daddy. He’s worried that Daddy might go overboard and give everything to you.”
Ah, James was worried about his inheritance. No wonder he was hostile. Armand could very well be the kind of man to do just that for his kissums. Maxine-the-first probably knew that.
“And you’re not worried,” Maxine pressed.
“Nah. I’m pretty good about judging people’s character. I have you pegged.” She glanced toward the stairs. “Well, I’d better find James. He’s supposed to take me to breakfast this morning.”
She ambled down the hallway, and Maxine walked into the guest bedroom. After a moment of fiddling with the cranks, she wished she’d paid more attention when Armand opened them yesterday. Finally she got the thing open and braced herself against the brisk air outside. She leaned out through the narrow space. The ragged hole was beneath her, open to the deck below. It seemed an awfully long way down. Though the glass roof had a reflective quality to it, she could see the faint outlines of what lay below.
She inspected the bent brackets, thick with rust. Just an accident. Then why did Maxine-the-first run right to Sam’s office instead of going to the hospital? Was she really that flaky? Or was she afraid?
She pulled herself back in, thinking about the other window. What was that flower box hanging over? Maxine walked across the hall and looked down the stairs. No sounds from below. She knocked softly on the door, but no one answered. They’d probably already left for breakfast. She pushed the door open and looked inside.
Glorious color greeted her along with the disarray. She opened the window and looked out over the box. If this one fell, it would hit the outside wall of the greenhouse. Harmless. She gripped the molding around the window to push herself back in, then pulled her hand back when she touched something sticky. A brown smudge covered the tip of her finger. That was odd.
She leaned way over and found a few more drops suspended beneath the ledge. Then she noticed that the area around the brackets had been recently wiped clean. The house was relatively clean, so it wasn’t easy to see the difference. It was only the bright morning light shining directly on the surface that revealed the cleaner area. Since stucco didn’t rust, she didn’t think these drops were moist rust. What else could they be?
A movement within the hole in the greenhouse roof caught her eye. Through the glass, she could see a shadow moving quickly into the house. Someone had been standing there watching her, but they’d moved out of sight before Maxine had seen them. Damn, she’d been spotted in Sally’s room. She wiped the brown stuff on her pants, closed the window and walked down the hallway to the top of the stairs. If it had been Sally, surely she would have come up wondering what Maxine was doing in her bedroom. No one came, nor did she hear anyone talking downstairs. She walked back to the guest bedroom.
The room wa
s frigid now, and she walked back to the open window and leaned out to look at the concrete ridge just below the window. No one stood in the greenhouse now, or at least that she could see. She focused on the wall, shifting this way and that. She could see the slight difference there, too, where someone had wiped something off the surface. They’d missed the drops hidden beneath the ledge. She touched one. What would make metal corrode rather quickly? Something brown and sticky. She lifted the brown smudge to her nose. It smelled sweet. She made a face. She’d probably regret this, but she had to know. She touched the tip of her tongue to the drop. When she didn’t gag or keel over, she did it again, smacking her tongue to find the taste a bit like…Coke.
She braced herself against the window sill, leaning out into the sunshine. A dull pressure thrummed in her chest as she followed her thoughts. Someone could have poured cola on both window brackets over the last few weeks to make them look corroded. They could have waited there until Maxine-the-first took her afternoon walk in the greenhouse. They could have pushed down on the box just as she walked outside, even calling her name, just to make sure she stayed there to answer. Which is what she might have seen before the box came down on her. Her heart was now pounding at the images her mind put forth. Maxine-the-first had seen her murderer, and that was why she’d run to Sam.
“Kissums, what on earth are you doing?”
Armand’s voice startled her, and she lost her footing as she hung out the window. Grabbing onto the frame, she found the precious floor and pulled herself inside. Armand stood there in a white robe with Mickey Mouse stitched on the pocket, his hands stuck under his armpits against the cold. She felt cold, too, but not from the weather. Her hands were trembling as she closed the window.
“I, er… “ What to tell him? That someone in the house had tried to kill her? That someone had killed Maxine-the-first? He’d probably be a little sensitive when she listed the suspects: James, Aida, or Sally. She couldn’t imagine Armand himself snuffing Maxine.
He pulled her closer, trapping her hands in his. “Darling, you’re freezing. Are you delirious? Should I call a doctor?”
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