5 Death, Bones, and Stately Homes

by Valerie S. Malmont

  She passed the baby to the black woman and stood up. She looked scared. "1 didn't know where else to go," she said.

  In two steps I was at her side, hugging her, while tears soaked both our faces. Then I took the baby and clasped him tight to my chest, paying no attention to what he might be doing to the silk and sequins.

  We sat close together on the couch, while Tyfani explained how her trusted servants had helped her escape. It had involved tunneling out of the American embassy, a moonlit trip across a river in a canoe, hiding in caves, and eventually seeking sanctuary in the embassy of another country, which had secretly arranged for their getaway flight. "These people saved my life," Tyfani said, indicating the four Africans with a sweeping gesture. "if they stayed behind, their lives would have been in peril. I knew they had to come with me."

  "Where is my father?"

  "He chose to stay. He said it was his job to be the last man out. He's in hiding and safe. I can't tell you where."

  The pain and worry I'd lived with for weeks rushed from my body so fast it left me shaking. Tyfani placed her hand on mine. "I'm so glad to finally meet you," she said. "Your father talks about you all the time."

  I wanted to believe her.

  Ethelind, who had been beaming down at us through all the emotion, now spoke. "Do you have family in this country? Some place you can go to?"

  Tyfani shook her head. "Nobody."

  "Then you are going to stay here. No arguments. I have plenty of room."

  "Thank you," Tyfani said. "I'll take you up on it. Finding a place for five people and a baby to live isn't the easiest thing in the world."

  Even as I felt joy at finally getting a chance to know my stepmother and baby brother, I also felt a tremendous sense of loss. My dreams of a little house to call my own had flown out the window I could not move out of Ethelind's house, leaving her with my family.

  Tyfani then introduced us to her entourage: the amah, who was married to the young man who was the gardener; the chauffeur; and the oldest man, who was the cook.

  "I will cook for you wonderful meals like you have never had before," he said, and I noticed his accent was French.

  "Oh my," Ethelind sighed. "I can't wait."

  I thought French and African cooking would be a nice change from Ethelind's usual British fare.

  "Look at the time," Ethelind said, bringing us back to the moment. "We've got to get going to the wedding. Let me show you your rooms. We'll buy a crib tomorrow. In the meantime, I think there's an old bassinet in the attic you can use for the baby" Still talking, she led the adults out of the living room, while I held Billy and gazed into his face trying to recognize familiar features there.

  Because there was no church in Lickin Creek large enough to hold all of Greta's and Buchanan's friends, their wedding was to be held at the Social Hall of the Lickin Creek Volunteer Fire Department. When I pulled in to the parking lot, a full hour before the ceremony was scheduled to take place, there were already fifty or sixty cars there.

  I went, as previously directed, to the back door and knocked twice. One of Greta's many Great-aunt Gladyses opened the door a crack, determined I was not a spy from the groom's camp, and admitted me.

  After a lot of hugging and kissing, we were given a quick orientation by Greta. Then I was assigned my position in the lineup according to height. Greta made a few last-minute adjustments to her dress and refreshed her makeup, and at last the portable keyboard in the hall struck up "Here Comes the Bride." The double doors burst open, revealing a huge crowd of people sitting on metal folding chairs, their backs to us. But there must have been a secret signal because they all turned as one to watch the bridal procession.

  I was second in line, right behind Buchanan's niece, the sixyear-old flower girl, so I had a perfect view of the makeshift altar and the wedding party. And who loomed larger than anyone else in the room? Not the groom, who was at least six-six, with an Afro that made him look taller. Not Judge Fetterhoff, who was as thin as a rail and appeared even taller than his six feet. No, even though he was shorter than both men, it was Garnet I saw. Garnet, who never took his gaze off me as I came down the aisle. He was thinner than I remembered and sported a deep tan and sun-streaked hair. I thought he looked a lot like my favorite late-night TV series hero, Don Johnson in Miami Vice.

  The bride and groom read vows they had written, and swore to take care of each other, the rainforest, dolphins, and anyone who was fighting addiction of any kind. Recited in verse, it was rather nicely done, I thought. Judge Fetterhoff solemnly pronounced them husband and wife and urged the audience to applaud, which it did with enthusiasm.

  After the newly married couple exchanged their first wedded kiss, the guests jumped up and began to fold up their chairs. Several women from the locals' favorite caterer, Daisy's Bar, Grill and Laundromat, set up folding tables where the chairs had been and more long tables next to the outer wall to hold the buffet.

  Enormous containers of slippery pot pie, barbecue, pork and sauerkraut, and baked beans bowed the tables. The wedding cake was a masterpiece, topped with a stunning hand-painted scene of dolphins swimming through the ruins of Atlantis.

  While congratulations and hugs were being offered, I looked around the group to see whom I knew. I was disappointed to see thatJ.B. Morgan was present, after everything I'd told Luscious. In fact, I was disappointed in Luscious for not having acted immediately on the information I'd given him. Luscious was not here, nor was Bruce Laughenslagger, who was probably drinking margaritas in a honky-tonk in Cancun right now.

  A hand touched my arm, and I knew without looking that it was Garnet. "Why have you been avoiding me?" he asked, guiding me to the farthest, quietest corner of the hall.

  "What a dumb question," I sputtered. "You, who never wrote, never called, should know the answer to that one."

  "What the hell do you mean I never wrote or called? You're the one who never answered any of my letters. Never called me back."

  My heart dropped to my stomach. Inanely I thought, good thing my skirt is tight or it could drop right out. "I didn't answer your phone calls this week, because I have nothing to say to you. Here's the keys to your truck. Thanks for the loan. You'll find it at... Letters? What letters? Are you saying you did write?"

  "And call. Several times. You were never in, but Ethelind said she'd give you the messages."

  "Something's very weird," I said. "I wrote you right after I left Costa Rica, saying I was sorry for being so demanding of your time. But you never..."

  "I never got it. But I did write you and apologize for being so selfish and not spending more time with you. And then I wrote again and again, but I never received an answer. I never gave up, but I think I have the right to know why you didn't respond."

  "But I never-"

  "I wrote you a dozen letters at least, from Costa Rica. Are you saying you didn't get them?"

  "Nor the phone messages. I thought you were angry at me when I left, so I wasn't surprised."

  "I thought you didn't care."

  "I don't understand."

  "Neither do I." He bent down and kissed me. His lips were soft, as I remembered them. "Can we try to work things out?" he asked.

  All I could do was nod. He clasped me in an embrace that was familiar and comforting. I put my hands behind his head and pulled his face back down to mine.

  And at that tender moment, the front doors burst open. A half dozen state troopers stormed through the door, followed by Luscious and Afton. Several minutes of confusion passed, almost in slow motion, as people ran for cover and women and children screamed. The policemen tried to arrest, but then had to wrestle several guests to the floor, along with two tables of food and the wedding cake. And then, as suddenly as they had appeared, they departed, taking an unknown number of handcuffed men with them.

  As the doors slammed shut behind them, Greta collapsed, sobbing, next to the smashed wedding cake. I watched in dismay as her hand-sewn, natural, undyed, home-woven-fiber gown tu
rned red from the spilled punch. Buchanan knelt beside her on the foodstrewn floor trying to comfort her. At first there was stunned silence, followed by a cacophony of panicky voices screaming questions. "What happened?" "Who?" "What?" "Why?"

  Missy Bumbaugh, her face red, swollen and tearstained, pointed at me and cried, "It's all her fault. Damn busybody outsider."

  Garnet's arms went around me, but facing the glaring crowd his embrace gave me little comfort.

  "I have an idea," Ethelind yelled, getting the attention of the assembled guests. "Let's all go to my house for bacon and eggs. It will be just like being back in high school again. We don't need a cake to celebrate. And we'll ask Luscious to come and explain."

  Most of the people groaned with disgust and began to leave. But several dozen other faces brightened at her words.

  And that is why a procession of SUVs, pickup trucks, and station wagons drove through the rusty gates of the Moon Lake Colony and parked in side streets when Ethelind's circular drive was filled.

  Twenty-Five

  Ethelind assigned me the job of whipping eggs in a copper bowl, while Alice-Ann was ordered to start coffee perking in a thirty-cup urn that had mysteriously appeared in the kitchen. That alone should have made me suspect that Ethelind had planned an impromptu post-nuptial gathering all along. Why else would she have ten cartons of eggs in her refrigerator, twenty loaves of bread on the counter, and enough bacon to give coronaries to half of Lickin Creek? She also had several cases of nonalcoholic sparkling cider for Greta and her many AA friends. The only difference between Ethelind's idea of an after-the-wedding party and the reality of the occasion was that her celebration was taking place hours earlier than planned and had to replace the wedding feast.

  Friends and relations of the bride and groom filed into the kitchen to heap their plates with food, then carried them into the front parlors. Others, whom I was beginning to think of as my friends, stayed. Alice-Ann was there, of course. So was Maggie Roy, with her fiance in Civil War uniform, as usual. P.J. and Cassie were there from the Chronicle. My realtor, Janielle Simpson, had stayed, even after I'd told her I would not be buying a house after all. The surprise presence at the kitchen table was Big Bad Bob. Cleaned up, he looked almost normal. Even though his hands shook badly, his eyes were clear. Nobody seemed to recognize him.

  When everyone had been served, I poured a cup of coffee, walked over to where Garnet was sitting, and placed my hand on his shoulder. He covered it with his. "I think we both deserve an explanation," I said. "And I think I know where to get it. Wait here a minute."

  Ethelind was sitting in the parlor. I walked in, slammed my cup down on the coffee table so hard it almost shattered, and jerked my finger at her. "My Royal Doulton," Ethelind murmured. Then she saw the look on my face and followed me back into the kitchen without another word.

  "Sit down," I ordered, pointing to the empty chair Garnet had saved for me. Ethelind perched next to Garnet and tried to make herself look small.

  "Why didn't you ever tell me Garnet had called?" I demanded.

  When she began to make excuses, I held my hand up. "Tell the truth, Ethelind. It will be easier that way."

  She gave a barely perceptible nod. "He doesn't deserve you. I thought if I intercepted your letters and kept the two of you from talking, eventually you'd realize he wasn't the man for you and find someone more appropriate."

  All along, I'd felt Ethelind cared too much for me, had tried to mother me when I didn't need or want another mother, but this... this was beyond belief.

  "What happened to the letters I wrote to him?"

  "I took them out of the mailbox after you left for work. I've got them all upstairs, in my dresser. You can have them back."

  "And my letters to Tori?" Garnet asked.

  "Same thing. They're in my dresser."

  I think we were both in too much shock to respond, so she took our silence to mean she should go upstairs and fetch our correspondence.

  Garnet took my hand. "I should never have doubted you," he said, and his voice was low and throaty.

  "It was all my fault," I said, surprised to find myself crying. "I should have known something was wrong. I should have called."

  "I have something to tell you," Garnet said, his face close to mine. "I thought about what you said at the airport in San Jose, and you were absolutely right. I was letting the job take over my life. I'm not going back, Tori. I'm staying here where I belong, in Lickin Creek with you."

  I didn't have time to absorb what he had said before Ethelind reappeared with many envelopes clutched in each hand. She placed them on the table and busied herself with washing the pots and pans in the sink.

  "I don't have to read them now," Garnet said.

  "Me either."

  The people gathered around the table clapped heartily as he leaned over to kiss me, and the noise of their applause and laughter drew Greta and Buchanan into the room. They helped themselves to coffee and joined us. They had both changed from their ruined wedding finery into jeans and T-shirts with whales on the fronts.

  "We're leaving for the Amazon first thing tomorrow," Greta announced, raising her coffee cup. "Figure we'll do better with no sleep than just an hour or two."

  "Why the Amazon?"

  "We're meeting a group of environmentalists in Iquitos," Buchanan said, "to hike into the rainforest with them."

  "Be sure to watch the news next week," Greta said with a grin. "We have some interesting things planned."

  A burst of chatter from the front rooms interrupted their description of their unusual honeymoon plans. After a minute the noise died down, and Luscious and Henry Hoopengartner appeared in the doorway.

  "Garnet!"

  "Luscious!"

  "Thank God you're here."

  "Man, it's good to see you."

  All they needed was the sound of violins to make the reunion complete. The two men pounded each other on the back until it seemed certain someone was going to get hurt.

  Henry greeted Garnet with less physical enthusiasm, but the way he pumped his hand made it obvious that he was happy to see him.

  "I'll get coffee," I announced.

  "Don't." Luscious blushed, and stammered, "What I mean is, I'm really here to have you tell me everything you know about this case."

  "Isn't it a little late? You've already made the arrests."

  "I have hard evidence to back my position. But I need to know how you found out what you did."

  "I don't know where to start."

  "How about at the beginning," Garnet urged. "I'd really like to know what went on tonight. One minute there's a wedding reception going on, and the next minute the judge and half the borough's best-known citizens are being hauled away in a paddy wagon. What did you have to do with what happened at my sister's wedding?"

  He was already beginning to sound like the old Garnet, the one who was in charge of every situation. Luscious brought in two chairs from the dining room for himself and Henry and looked at me expectantly.

  "Should I start with Maribell Morgan's confession?"

  Luscious nodded. "Good a place as any."

  "It was obviously made up to cover for her nephew. Anyone could see that. It was just too convenient having her dictate it to J.B. just as suspicion was pointing at him. No man, not even a close relative, is worth sacrificing yourself for..." I felt Garnet stiffen next to me "...so to find out what really happened, I visited Father Burkholder and asked him about witnessing it. He said he'd been outside in the hall when the document was dictated to J.B. He was asked in to sign when it was finished. He assumed it was a last will and testament. If you look at the last page of her confession, it reads like the end of a will. That was all he saw. That's why he signed as a witness.

  "After I'd talked to the priest, I went to see Maribell in the nursing home. I'm really ashamed of this, but knowing she was a good Catholic I used a few phrases like `immortal soul' and `eternal damnation.' That's when she told me she had not dictated any
thing to anybody, and eventually she told me the real story of what happened to Rodney and Emily...."

  Twenty-Six

  Maribell used her right hip to hold the springhouse door open while she hoisted the heavy kerosene heater across the doorjamb.

  "I was afraid it might be getting chilly in here, so I brought this heater down from the big house. Don't want you boys taking sick and your parents blaming me for..."

  The room was dim, lit only by a pale ray of light streaming through the dusty window. She vaguely made out the seven boys standing before her, and noted the looks of shock on their faces. "What are you boys up to?" she asked jovially, wanting to save her reputation as the "adult who understood kids." Her voice faded away as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, and she saw the nightmare scene in front of her. The door slammed shut behind her. The faces of the seven boys mirrored the horror she was feeling.

  Bile rose in her throat, and she struggled to stay conscious even as her head grew light and the room began to spin.

  She fell back against the limestone wall, feeling its solid coolness against her back. This couldn't be real. She closed her eyes for a moment, wishing the scene away, but when she opened them it was all still there.

  As if she were swimming underwater, Maribell moved forward, her feet making squishy noises beneath her. The stone floor was wet. Water. It had leaked in before. He'd worried about the instruments stored there. No, not water. Sticky and thick. Like the tar on the school playground on a hot September day. The smell was different though. Coppery. Sickening.

  She kept moving, kept swimming, until she reached the creature on the chair. She couldn't think of it as a person. Especially a person who had recently shared her bed. Not with that gaping grin beneath its chin.

  Not with the blindfold covering its eyes.

  Not with bloody stubs where its feet had once been.

  The woman held back the nausea she was feeling and reached for its right wrist. She tried in vain to find a pulse. But there was nothing, not even a flutter, and the skin was already cold.