by V. J. Banis
“Well, Miss Heather,” Rebecca said pointedly, “shall we follow Mr. McCloud back into Pinebrook and find ourselves a place for the night. I don’t want to stay here. I’m afraid of the dark.”
David laughed. “I’m afraid there isn’t any hotel in Pinebrook, but we have a nice little rooming house. It’s small but I think Mrs. Johnston, the owner, will make you comfortable.”
“Do you live in Pinebrook, Mr. McCloud, or do you commute?” Rebecca asked.
“I own a little place up in the mountains near here but I only go there on weekends or whenever I want to get away from things. During the week I rent a couple of rooms—like a small apartment—from Mrs. Johnston.”
“Then we’ll be neighbors, at least for tonight,” Rebecca said.
“That we will.” He gave Rebecca a wink, which Maggie did not see.
CHAPTER TWO
Mrs. Johnston was as nondescript looking as her house. She wore a long white skirt, white blouse and apron and looked more like a hospital attendant than an innkeeper. Her hair was dyed pale blonde. She was tall and thin, and her eyes were cool, almost cold. Maggie introduced herself and Rebecca.
“Yes,” Mrs. Johnston said without smiling. “Mr. McCloud telephoned.” Her voice was pleasant enough and showed a kind of refinement. “I’ve been expecting you. This way, please.” She turned sharply and started along a hallway that ended at a flight of stairs. She marched rather than walked up the stairway with Maggie and Rebecca close behind.
“In here,” Mrs. Johnston said, pushing open a door. “I don’t serve meals. The room will be eighteen dollars for the night.”
“Thank you, it will do nicely,” Maggie said as she looked at the barren little white room. It was so bleached out it was depressing, but Maggie reminded herself that there was no other place to stay. “We’ll only be staying for tonight. We’ve leased the Lambert place and plan on moving in tomorrow.”
Maggie saw the woman’s eyes widen and her chin drop but Mrs. Johnston—although obviously surprised at the news—made no sound. In a moment she regained her composure. She crossed her arms tightly as though hugging back any comment she was tempted to make. “I see,” she said as she straightened herself up to her full height. Saying no more, she pivoted and left Maggie and Rebecca alone.
Maggie went to the door and closed it. “She certainly is a bundle of charm.”
Rebecca looked around the room. “You can easily tell she had a hand in decorating this place. I’ve seen the inside of refrigerators that were cozier than this.”
Maggie laughed, forgetting the friction between them, “Yes, it could use a bit of color. Mrs. Johnston obviously has a ‘white’ fetish.” She sighed and put her overnight case on the bed, unsnapping the lid. “Oh, well, it’s only for one night. What do you think of the house we rented, Rebecca?”
“It’s okay. A house is a house. It’ll do for the time being. It’s bigger than I thought it would be.”
“I like it. It is rather large, I must admit, but I think we’ll be happy there.” She took out her nightgown and draped it across the coverlet. “I thought the place had a nice personality, didn’t you?”
“How can a house have a personality?”
“Places and things have moods and feelings; haven’t you ever felt that?”
“Can’t say that I have,” Rebecca answered, sounding totally disinterested in the conversation.
“You will never really appreciate all there is to life, I’m afraid. You’re interested only in the superficial, the surface aspects of people and things. You don’t take time to look beneath the veneer where the real beauty lies.”
“David mentioned taking us to dinner tonight,” Rebecca said, purposely changing the subject. “Did he say seven or seven-thirty?”
“Seven. We have time for a nap if you like.”
“I think it’s going to be hard enough falling asleep in this white snowdrift at night; I don’t think I’d be able to close my eyes in the daylight.” She went toward the door on the opposite wall. “Good Lord,” she gasped as she saw the all-white bathroom. “It looks as though somebody dipped this place into a bottle of Clorox. You can hardly tell where the sink and tub are against all this white tile. It’s so bright it’s giving me a headache.”
Maggie walked over and stood beside her. “I see what you mean,” she said as she stared at the blinding white bathroom.
“What would possibly induce somebody to go to such extremes over the color white?” Rebecca asked. “That old gal must be a little loose upstairs.”
Maggie grinned. “Maybe she has a virgin complex.”
“From the looks of Mrs. Johnston, I doubt if she’s aware that women are different from men.” Rebecca crinkled her nose. “Let’s get out of here and take a walk or something. This room is starting to get to me.”
Maggie picked up her purse and followed Rebecca out of the room. In the hall, Rebecca glanced around. “One thing about this place does please me, though,” Rebecca said. “I wonder which are David McCloud’s rooms.” She grinned. “A man like that brightens up even the drabbest places.”
“I marvel at your capacity to get interested in a man as quickly as you do. You know nothing about David McCloud.”
“What’s there to know? He wears pants, he has a nice body and a good-looking face.” She chuckled softly. “You know me, Maggie. I’m a pushover for a handsome man.”
Maggie said nothing. She remembered that night a long, long time ago when she came home unexpectedly and found her husband and Rebecca locked in an embrace. No man was sacred insofar as Rebecca was concerned.
As they opened the front door they bumped into David McCloud. “Well, where are you two off to?” he asked.
“We’re going to see the sights in your town,” Rebecca said.
“Don’t get lost. Remember, I’m calling for you at seven.” He gave a little salute and went past them and up the stairs.
Mrs. Johnston was sweeping the front steps when they came out onto the porch. In her white dress and apron, standing against the white of the building, she was almost invisible. There was a man dozing in a wheelchair at the far end of the porch.
“I trust the room is satisfactory?” Mrs. Johnston asked.
“Fine, fine,” Maggie answered. “We were just going for a stroll before dinner.”
Mrs. Johnston leaned slightly forward toward Maggie, as though intending to impart a secret. “You did say you were only staying for tonight, is that correct?”
“Yes,” Maggie answered.
“You’ll be moving into Heather House tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“I know it isn’t any of my business, Mrs. Garrison, but I believe you are making a mistake by leasing that property.”
“Why do you say that?” Maggie asked, a little taken aback.
“The house is evil,” the woman said. Her eyes went a little wild and she pulled her mouth down at the corners. “It’s a bad place. Go back where you came from.”
Maggie frowned. “I’m afraid that isn’t possible.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you. I wouldn’t be found dead in that old place.”
Maggie stiffened. She resented the woman’s familiarity. “I don’t think you need worry about being found dead there, Mrs. Johnston,” Maggie said icily. She took a dislike to the woman. “At least not while my sister and I are living there.” She let the implication rest where it lay.
Mrs. Johnston gave her an ugly little smile. “You’ll be sorry, Mrs. Garrison. You’ll live to regret your decision.”
Rebecca, feeling uncomfortable, tugged at Maggie’s sleeve. “Shall we go, Maggie?”
Maggie felt like giving the woman a piece of her mind but she let Rebecca pull her away.
“What in the world was that all about?” Rebecca asked when they were out of earshot.
“Crazy old thing,” Maggie said. Yet as much as she tried to pass off Mrs. Johnston’s remarks, they gnawed away at her.
She didn’t know wh
y, but she suddenly felt afraid.
* * * *
The restaurant David chose was a nice little place with red plaid wallpaper, beamed ceilings and a blazing fireplace. It was a charming room with lots of cozy atmosphere. The food was surprisingly good, the service excellent. The dinner conversation, it seemed, was devoted almost exclusively to Mrs. Johnston.
“Is she balmy or what?” Maggie wanted to know.
David chuckled. “Yes, she’s a bit odd, I must admit, but quite harmless.”
“What’s this thing she has about painting everything white?” Rebecca asked.
“The house was once a nursing home. Mrs. Johnston and her husband ran it.”
“That old prune is married?” Rebecca asked, quite surprised.
“Her husband’s paralyzed.”
“He must have been the man snoozing in the wheelchair. Remember, Maggie?”
“Yes,” David said, “that’s Mr. Johnston. He’s a great old guy. Unfortunately Mrs. Johnston doesn’t treat him too kindly. Nobody can figure out why she ever married him, disliking him as she obviously does.” David sighed. “Love sometimes doesn’t last long, unfortunately, which is too bad.”
“Are your rooms white also?” Rebecca asked.
“No, poor Mrs. Johnston was quite upset with me at first when I hired a couple of the local boys to come in and paint my little apartment. I didn’t tell her what I was doing until it was well under way. Lucky for me she’s somewhat of a tightwad. She wouldn’t spend a nickel to have it repainted white so she more or less accepted it after she saw it. Naturally she raised my rent.” He laughed as he carved a piece off his steak. “She’s odd, all right, but it is the only place in town where you can get a room.”
“You should build yourself a motel,” Rebecca suggested.
“There really isn’t any call for one. As I told you, our tourist traffic is practically nil.” He put the piece of steak in his mouth and chewed.
Rebecca patted his arm. “Well, if old Mrs. Johnston gets to be too much for you, you can always rent a couple of rooms from me and Maggie.”
He swallowed hard, giving Rebecca the strangest look. “Yes, that would be nice,” he said. He averted his eyes and busied himself with carving another slice of meat. When he looked up he was smiling. “Of course, the local churchgoers wouldn’t look too kindly on my living in a house occupied by two beautiful and eligible women. We’d be the scandal of Pinebrook.”
Rebecca smiled. “Good. Maybe it’ll liven things up around here.”
“Rebecca,” Maggie admonished with a smile.
“Incidentally,” Rebecca said, “Maggie and I noticed something rather peculiar during our little walk around the town this afternoon.”
“Oh? What was that?”
“Everybody here seems to have a penchant for white doors. I thought old Mrs. Johnston was strange with her all-white house, but everyone seems to have a thing for white. Every house we saw had a white front door. What’s the significance of that?”
David looked sly. He bent his head and concentrated on his steak. “The original inhabitants of this area were the Maidu Indians. They were a very superstitious lot and the white doors you see around here are a throwback to one of their superstitions.”
“The what Indians?” Rebecca asked.
“Maidu. It’s believed that they migrated from Russia. From Siberia, to be exact. Thousands of years ago there was no such thing as the Bering Strait, which separates North America from Asia—Alaska from Russia. It was all one solid piece of land. Tribes looking for food and warmer climates crossed over what is now the Bering Strait and kept moving south. The Maidus were one of them, historians believe. There are still a lot of them around. They settled mostly in the Feather and American river valleys. We owe our steam baths to them.”
“Our steam baths?” Rebecca laughed.
“Yes. The Maidus and their neighbors to the north, the Pomo Indians, were very adept at constructing all sorts of buildings like dance halls and meeting houses.”
“Dance halls? You’re putting me on.”
“No, really. They used them for religious ceremonies and other rituals. They also built what they called ‘sweat-houses.’ They were made out of reeds and bark and inside the Indians sprinkled water over a pile of hot stones to produce steam. Every day the men took steam baths. They slept in those sweathouses and spent much of the winter inside them.”
“Without their women? Very interesting,” Rebecca said. “But what does all this have to do with white doors?”
“Nothing actually, except that the Maidus were very big on bleaching everything white. They said it dispelled evil spirits.”
Maggie leaned into the conversation. “And I suppose there are evil spirits in Pinebrook?”
David gave an indifferent shrug. “Some think there are.” He speared a piece of meat. “As I said, the people around here are very superstitious.”
“Old Mrs. Johnston said something about evil this afternoon,” Rebecca said.
Maggie suddenly frowned at her. She wanted to forget what Mrs. Johnston had said.
“Oh?” David appeared not to be interested but, despite Maggie’s frown and David’s seeming indifference, Rebecca went on.
“Yes. She told Maggie that the house we rented was evil.”
“Rebecca. Please,” Maggie said sternly. “Let’s not discuss that.”
“I was only saying....”
“I said I’d prefer we didn’t discuss it,” Maggie said sharply.
Rebecca studied her sister for a moment. “What’s with you, Mag? You look all upset.”
Maggie sighed. “Oh, I don’t know, Rebecca. I suppose I’m just tired from the trip and all. I just feel all on edge for some reason or other. I let that old woman get to me. Forgive me, Mr. McCloud. Would you mind terribly if I went back to the rooming house? I’m afraid I’m not very good company this evening.”
“But you haven’t finished your dinner,” he said.
“I’ve had all I want,” she said, getting out of her chair. She wanted to be alone with her thoughts. Sitting next to Rebecca only served to remind her of the evil in her past. Was that same evil catching up with her again? No, she must not think of that ever again, she reminded herself.
David stood up. “Well, if you feel you must leave, I’ll drive you back, of course.”
“No, please. Don’t let me spoil your evening. It isn’t far. I can find my way easily enough. Good night,” she said quickly and turned and walked out of the restaurant.
“Do you think your sister will be all right?” David asked Rebecca.
Rebecca shrugged. “She gets like that sometimes. Don’t pay her any mind. She’s still pretty upset about losing her husband. Rod was a terrific guy.” She sipped from her water glass. “I’m actually quite concerned about Maggie. She hasn’t been acting like herself lately.”
“How do you mean?”
“Oh, I don’t know. She’s prone to tempers of late. She has always been a quiet, sensible kind of girl. Now, however, she’s turned into a stranger. The least little thing sets her off. You saw what I mean. She’s been kind of moody since she had that little talk with Mrs. Johnston.”
“What happened with Mrs. Johnston?”
“Oh, we ran in to her on the porch and she told Maggie we were making a mistake leasing Heather House...that the house was evil or something like that. Maggie got all upset about it. I think she would have really gotten rude if I hadn’t tugged her away.”
“Did Mrs. Johnston explain what she meant by saying the house was evil?”
“No, that’s just it. All Mrs. Johnston said was that we were making a mistake, that the house was evil, and Wham, Maggie got all uptight.”
“I wonder what possessed Mrs. Johnston to say a thing like that?”
“Well, if you remember, you yourself said some people believe Heather Lambert’s ghost is still roaming around in that old place.”
David chuckled. “Oh, that. Well, everyone around here t
hinks Heather Lambert is still sitting up at that tower window waiting for her beloved husband. But you can be assured, Heather Lambert is quite dead and buried. This is a small town with small people who have small minds. They invented that ghost nonsense because they had nothing to occupy themselves with. It’s like painting their doors white. It means absolutely nothing, but you could never convince the townsfolk of that. They believe a white door wards off evil, and, come hell or high water, nobody will paint his door any other color but white.”
“Is your door white?”
David laughed. “My door, dear Rebecca—if I may be so bold as to call you Rebecca—is painted a very bright red.”
Rebecca threw back her head and laughed.
“Coffee, Rebecca?” David asked as he motioned to the waitress.
“No. I think I should get back to the room and make sure Maggie is all right.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it if I were you. You two had a very long drive. You’ve spent the last month or two closing down your old life and planning to start a new one. Your sister is most likely finding it more difficult to adjust than you. She’ll be fine once she’s settled in.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Rebecca remarked.
“I don’t understand.” The waitress appeared and David asked for the check.
“I’m afraid once Maggie gets settled in that house nothing short of a stick of dynamite will get her out of there.”
“So what’s wrong with that? It really is a very fine house; this is a very nice town. I admit it is not a very thriving place, but you have only a short drive to find a major city where you can let your hair down. All in all, I think you will find Pinebrook ideal.”
“Oh, I don’t have any objections to the town or the people. It’s that house that worries me.”
“Look,” David said, taking her hand, “the house is nothing more than a house. It’s big and rambling but it is in excellent condition and it will make a lovely home for both of you. And if the ghost of Heather Lambert gives you any trouble, just call and I’ll come charging to the rescue on my trusty white steed.”