"Oh my gosh," she moaned. "I didn't mean that. Not the way it sounded. I only meant—"
"I know." I didn't. Not for sure. And I wasn't very good at offering comfort, but at the same time I figured it was the right thing to say, I also knew this was the perfect opening to bring up the subject of Trish's odd behavior the day before. "I bet you meant that you weren't talking about SFTD and the premiere and all that stuff. You meant that things were going well for Trish personally."
"Exactly." Ella nodded and blotted the tip of her nose. "She told me. Just yesterday as we were leaving the television station. She told me that things were looking up for her."
Ella's office was larger than mine. She had two guest chairs. I dropped down into the one closer to the window that looked out at the section of Garden View where Didi was buried. "Really? She said that? Didn't it strike you as a little odd?"
Ella sniffed. Confused, she wrinkled her nose.
I sat back. "Think about it. When Merilee and Trish were here at the cemetery, Trish looked like a Queer Eye guest before the guys got to her. And one look from Merilee practically melted her on the spot. Yesterday at the TV station… well, I can't say she looked like she stepped out of Vogue. Nothing could make Trish look that good. But she was dressed differently. More stylishly. Sort of. And definitely more expensively. She was acting strange, too."
"Was she?" Ella scrubbed her hands over her face, and I remembered that I was the only one who'd witnessed the odd exchange between Merilee and Trish in the greenroom. "I noticed her clothing, of course. I just thought…" She shrugged. "I don't know. I guess I just figured it was a side to Trish that we hadn't seen."
"I'll say." I'd wound my carrot-colored hair into a braid before I left the house, and I fingered the end of it, thinking. "Don't you wonder why?"
"Why we hadn't seen that side of her?" Ella popped the lid on the cup and breathed in deep. I could practically see some of the tension melt away from her, and I was glad I'd taken the time to stop for the tea. She took a careful sip. "I guess we just didn't know Trish long enough to know what she was really like. And now…" The memory of Trish's untimely end negated the positive effects of the jasmine tea. Ella's eyes filled with tears. "We'll never have a chance to know her well. What a shame. She was my age, you know. Or at least close to it. That's when it really hits hard. When it's someone you know and they're the same age as you." She heaved a sigh, and the white blouse she was wearing with a relatively conservative purple skirt rose and fell along with the strings of orange and red beads that hung around her neck. "So unexpected."
When Ella called with the news of Trish's death, she'd been too upset to say much about exactly what had happened. And I'd felt a little ghoulish pressing her for details. But of course, I was curious. "How did she die, anyway?" I asked Ella.
She blinked and swiped at the tears that trickled down her cheeks. "That's the really sad part," she said. "Trish was trying on her gown. For the costume gala that will mark the opening of the museum. And from what I heard, it sounded positively beautiful! Gold silk with a trimming of… well, I guess none of that matters now. Anyhow, what happened…" Ella shook her head, the gesture not one of uncertainty as much as it was of despair. "Well, nobody knows how it happened for sure, but somehow, she tied the laces on her corset too tight. By the time Merilee heard a few muffled gasps and found her, it was too late. She suffocated."
"From wearing a corset?" The question burst out of me along with a laugh. One look at the shock on Ella's face and I knew both were inappropriate. I swallowed down the rest of what I was going to say (which was something in the line of How stupid could the woman be?) and nodded solemnly. "Merilee must be knocked for a loop. What's she going to do now that she doesn't have Trish?"
Ella rose from her seat. But not before she looked at me out of the corner of her eye. Like there was something she was uneasy about.
"What?" I got up, too. Sure, Ella was my boss, but I was a whole head taller than her. I figured if I had the height advantage, maybe she'd come clean. "There's something you're not telling me."
Ella's smile came and went. "It's something good."
"If it was something good, you'd look happy."
"I am happy. I mean, not about Trish or anything, but, Pepper, you should know that this is a golden opportunity for you. And it will take care of your financial problems. I've been worried about you, you see. Worried about how you were going to get through the summer without your regular paycheck. That's why when the opportunity came up…"
The opportunity had already come up. The opportunity to make a few bucks. If I could prove that Didi wrote So Far the Dawn. If Harmony ended up coming into those tens of millions and was willing to toss even the tiniest percentage of it my way.
I was pretty sure this was not what Ella was talking about.
I barked out a laugh. "What did you do, offer my services as a secretary to Merilee?"
Ella didn't say a thing. She didn't have to. She turned as red as her beads, all the way from her chin to her forehead.
"No, you didn't." The words came out of me in a whoosh of horror, and I backed away. From Ella and her sick sense of humor. From the very thought of spending the better part of my summer with the author from hell. "You're trying to pull a fast one on me. You're joking. Please tell me you're joking."
Ella didn't confirm or deny. Instead, she gave me her Mother Knows Best smile. "It's a perfect arrangement," she said. "Think about it. You need money and Miss Bowman needs—"
"A punching bag? A whipping boy? A Trish clone to grovel at her feet?"
Ella's lips pinched. Her shoulders were rigid. "Trish wasn't a groveler. But she was respectful. Who wouldn't be? Merilee is a star. Don't forget that, Pepper. She's earned the right to be treated with a certain amount of dignity."
No way was I hearing this right. "I'm too smart to get sucked into that nonsense," I reminded Ella and myself. "I'm too much my own woman to bow and kiss Merilee's ring. And in case you haven't noticed—and boy, I hope you've noticed, because if you haven't, I'm doing something really wrong—I'm much too well dressed to take Trish's place."
Buying some time—and maybe thinking about using the window as a means of escape—I spun away from Ella. Lucky for me I wasn't very quick on my feet. One step farther and I would have walked smack into Didi.
"This is perfect!" Didi's eyes glowed with excitement. "This is exactly the opportunity we've been waiting for."
"No." I was talking to Didi. And to Ella. Just so they'd both know it, I turned back around. "No," I said again.
"But why not?"
The question may have come from Ella. Or it might have come out of Didi's mouth. It was hard to tell because Didi was suddenly standing right behind Ella, and they were both talking at the same time.
"It's the answer to our prayers," Didi said.
"It's the solution to your problem," Ella reminded me.
"It's the perfect way for you to investigate," Didi told me. "You'd have the inside track."
"Up close and personal." Ella smiled. "How lucky you are to have the opportunity to establish that kind of relationship with Miss Bowman. And don't deny it, Pepper!" She wagged a finger at me. "You're a closet fan. No matter what you say. I'd read about it, of course, but even I'd forgotten that Merilee had a sister. And who knew that she was buried here at Garden View? That alone makes me think that you're the ideal candidate for this job. You care about the family. You know their history."
"You sure do!" Didi grinned. "What a way to help me out."
"And you'll really be helping me out," Ella said. "After all, if I can handle this and get Merilee the help she needs, it will make me look like a miracle worker."
"It will be perfect," Didi commented. "Especially since I heard someone around here say that Merilee's staying at our old house."
Both their voices bounced around inside my head, warring to see which would make me feel guilty enough to cave. I couldn't stand it anymore. "What difference does it make where Merilee
is staying?" I shrieked.
Ella wasn't following my train of thought. Who could blame her? She didn't know that I was carrying on two conversations at the same time. She eyed me warily "Merilee's staying in the family house," Ella said, and behind her, Didi smiled and nodded. "As far as I can tell, that doesn't make any difference to anybody except maybe to you. But it can't be more than twenty minutes between the Bowman house in Ohio City and your apartment. You can pop back and forth every couple of days to check the mail, or I can pick it up on my way into work. Miss Bowman, of course, isn't used to being on her own. She'll want you to stay there with her."
"Perfect!" Didi chirped.
"Not a chance in hell," I said.
"Oh, come on, Pepper!"
This comment came from both Ella and Didi at the same time.
I grumbled a curse, flopped back down in Ella's guest chair, and dropped my head in my hands. "Why?" I groaned. "Why is it so important?"
Ella, being rational, thought the question was for her. She hurried over and sat in the chair next to mine. The better to have a heart-to-heart with me. "Merilee's doing us a tremendous favor. Us being ISFTDS, of course. And us being Garden View. Look at all the fabulous publicity we've gotten." She frowned. "Well, except for what happened to that poor photographer and now to Trish." She shook away the gloomy thoughts. "But don't forget all the good stuff. There's been plenty of positive press. And none of it would have been possible without Merilee. She's been gracious and kind. And she's being generous, too. She's even donating personal mementos to the museum. One of them is her first, handwritten draft of So Far the Dawn."
"Well, doesn't that just take the cake!" Didi perched on the arm of the chair where Ella was sitting.
Gift or no Gift, Ella must have sensed her presence. As if she was suddenly cold, she chafed her hands over her arms.
Didi was too angry to notice. Or to care. "The nerve of that Merilee," she growled. "How can she say she has the first handwritten draft when I was the one who handwrote the first handwritten draft in the first place?"
"How can she?"
I was echoing Didi's question. Like Ella could know that? Her face scrunched up. "How can she donate the manuscript? Well, it's hers, of course. But I see what you mean, Pepper!" She grinned and pointed a finger my way. "How can she bear to part with something so valuable and so personal? That just proves it, doesn't it? It just proves that in your heart, you're as much an SFTD lover as the rest of us. You know how difficult it will be for Miss Bowman to give up something so wonderful. But don't you see, just the fact that she's willing to donate the manuscript to the museum proves what a terrific person Merilee is."
"How can she have the draft?" I asked the question again, and at that point, I didn't care what Ella thought I was talking about. I needed answers and I needed them fast. Before I could get talked into something I knew was the mother of all bad ideas.
Didi pouted. "She's had fifty years to copy it," she said. "And besides, whatever she says she has, it's not going to matter. Not once you're in the house."
"Why? What's in the house?"
Ella eyed me carefully. As if she was worried about my sanity. "What's in the house is what's in most houses," she said. "Except for the museum on the first floor, of course. Upstairs are the bedrooms, and you'll have your own and your own bath. I haven't been there myself, but I've heard the restoration is fabulous. You may have your own sitting room, too."
"Not what I meant." I looked away from Ella and toward Didi.
"It's the manuscript," Didi said. "The real original, handwritten copy of So Far the Dawn. My original, handwritten copy. Merilee never knew it existed. I hid it, you see. In the attic. Right before I died. I knew it wasn't smart to have only one copy so I kept one in my bedroom. That was the one I typed to send to publishers in New York. The other one, I tucked away. Just in case, I don't know, just in case there was a fire or something and the typewritten one got damaged or destroyed. If it's true and the house hasn't been lived in since then, the manuscript should still be there, right where I left it. And finding it… that will be as easy as pie. Like I said, it's in the attic. There's a loose floorboard right under the windows that look out at the front walk. Tip up the board, lift it up, and voilà! That would prove everything once and for all, wouldn't it? The original manuscript. No way can anybody believe Merilee after they see it."
This was making too much sense. I can't say I was happy about it. "Why didn't you tell me this before?"
Ella rose. "I just found out myself, Pepper. After I heard about Trish. Miss Bowman called to say what a terrible inconvenience it all was and—"
"How much?" I got up, too. Not because I felt I had to challenge Ella, it was just that with her standing, I couldn't see Didi. "We've never discussed my fee. Not in dollars and cents."
"You know Harmony will be generous."
"You know Miss Bowman will be generous."
"Come on, Pepper. It's the only way."
"Please, Pepper. It would be such a help."
I was being tag-teamed.
By the living and the dead.
I tried one more desperate attempt to ignore their pleas.
"It's not going to work," I told both Ella and Didi.
"Of course it will." Ella smiled and rounded her desk. She picked up the phone and even before she hit the buttons, I knew she was calling Merilee with the news.
"We're all set now, kiddo." I turned at the sound of Didi's voice. Just in time to see her walk through Ella's office wall. The next thing I knew she was outside the window. She waved. "See you at home!"
I've never liked history.
I know that might seem like a weird statement considering that back in college, I majored in art history, but the art history thing… well, it wasn't because of the history. Or, for that matter, because of the art.
Truth is, I found out early on in my college career that art history wasn't as impossible as some other subjects, like chemistry or biology. It wasn't as boring as English, either, with all those useless similes and metaphors. Besides, I never intended to actually do anything with my education. Art history was a means to an end. It was all about doing what was expected (as in getting through, degree in hand), making the right contacts, finding the right man.
All of which I'd done.
None of which had made even a little bit of difference when the expected changed overnight into the unexpected. As for the right contacts and the right man, I may have mentioned before that they turned out all wrong.
But back to the history…
Like it or not, my job as tour guide at Garden View meant that I had history thrust in my face every day. I knew more about the city of Cleveland, its residents, and, yes, its history than I could have ever thought possible. Way more than I ever wanted to know or cared about. That's why when Ella mentioned that the Bowman family home was located in Ohio City, I was able to make sense of the whole thing.
Back in the day (and don't ask me when, I only know that it was a long time ago), Ohio City was just that. A city of its own. The area is just west of downtown Cleveland, right across the Cuyahoga River that splits the city in two. Eventually, of course, the inevitable happened. Cleveland gobbled up Ohio City and it became just another of its many neighborhoods.
These days, Ohio City is an odd mix of Victorian mansions, pricey condos, light manufacturing, charming restaurants, and not-so-charming rundown houses with boarded-up windows and cracked sidewalks. As I drove around looking for the Bowman home, I was reminded of Harmony's neighborhood. Except that Harmony's side of town was—and always had been—home to the workingman. In other words, utilitarian was the name of the game. Ambience definitely was not.
On the other hand, Ohio City had once been where the movers and shakers lived. Obviously, some of them still did. On every street, at least a couple of grand old Victorian mansions had been lovingly restored to perfection.
I stopped my car in front of one of them and got out to watch as a team of w
orkers put a sign in place on the front lawn:
SO FAR THE DAWN MUSEUM
Looked like I was in the right spot.
The background of the sign was marine blue, the same color as half the turreted house behind it. The other half of the house… well, let's just say that when the workers who were scrambling over the property finally got around to painting it, it would do the old house a world of good. From what I could see, the Bowman family home had spent the last however many of its years as a gray and grungy hulk. Its front steps sagged and its shutters hung off the windows like the skin around a middle-aged woman's eyes.
Once the work was finished, though, it was clear that the museum would be a showplace. The house had a wraparound front porch, a stained glass window on the second-floor landing, and—from what I could see—a garden in the back that hadn't been touched in years. Even as I watched, a team of workers was stepping through the thigh-high weeds, assessing the damage and talking about what could be saved and what would have to go.
Go.
The single word was like a beacon in the night, and not for the first time since I'd agreed to Ella's plan, I thought about chucking the whole thing.
I could go.
Now.
I should go.
Now.
Before I had to deal with Merilee.
Except that dealing with Merilee was exactly what I needed to do if I was ever going to prove Didi's claim to the So Far the Dawn throne.
Right?
Doubts filled me, and though I tried to ignore them, there were too many. Instead of dwelling on them—and making my stomach any sicker than it already was—I reminded myself that if I could get in and find the manuscript Didi said was in the attic—fast—I could just as quickly tell Merilee the Merciless that I'd changed my mind and I was quitting.
It was that thought and that thought alone that gave me the courage to get a move on. I got my suitcase out of the car and headed up the front walk.
Not as easy as it sounds, considering that there were boards and paint cans piled everywhere along with a whole bunch of scaffolding that was being assembled and, oh yes…
The Chick and the Dead Page 9