Something Buried, Something Blue

by Wendy Corsi Staub

“Doctor Drew! And Luther!” Max lights up, seeing them. He darts down the steps and across the yard toward them.

  Turning, Bella sees that her mother-in-law has spotted Max and is on her feet. She looks elated, making a beeline for her grandson, wobbling in her pumps on the uneven ground.

  “Max! Look at how you’ve grown!”

  He turns toward Millicent and his eyes widen. “Grandma?”

  She throws her arms around him as Bella hurries over to join them. She’s been careful never to say a negative word about Sam’s mother in front of her son. Even with Sam, she kept her opinions about his mother to herself for the most part.

  “What are you doing here?” Max’s face is muffled against Millicent’s tweed.

  “I missed you. I was so disappointed when you and Mommy didn’t come to stay with me in Chicago.”

  “You were?”

  Millicent rests both hands on Max’s shoulders and looks into his earnest little face. “I would like nothing better than for you and your mom to come to Chicago, Max.”

  “And Chance and Spidey?”

  “And . . .” For the first time, Millicent acknowledges Bella, asking, “What does that mean?”

  “Chance and Spidey are his pets. Cats. And don’t forget the rest of the kittens, Max. There are seven more,” she informs Millicent.

  “You have . . . nine . . . cats?”

  Relishing the look of displeasure on her face, Bella nods. After all, it’s true, for the moment.

  “Ten, kind of,” Max tells his grandmother. “There’s a blue one who lives out here in the yard, and he wants to come in, only mom doesn’t believe me and Jiffy that he’s really there.”

  “I do now, Max. I saw him. He’s a cute little chap in a blue tuxedo with a white bowtie. Doctor Bailey says he’s a Russian—”

  She breaks off, struck by something.

  “He’s Russian?”

  “He’s a Russian Blue,” Bella says slowly. She doesn’t believe in this stuff, but . . .

  “I’m going to make that his name, by the way,” Max is saying. “Okay, Mom?”

  “Hmm?”

  “I’m going to call him Li’l Chap, like you said.”

  “What did I say?” she asks absently.

  “You said he’s a li’l chap. Where is he?”

  “He’s . . . he’s taking a nap in Odelia’s garden,” she tells him, her thoughts whirling.

  The kitten—a Blue—is suddenly hanging around here just like Blue Slayton. Can it possibly be a sign from Spirit?

  “Can he come inside?”

  “Hmm?” she murmurs, thinking that of course the cat isn’t a sign. But that doesn’t mean Blue isn’t guilty.

  Or maybe the cat is a sign from the Spirit world—and it still doesn’t mean Blue is guilty.

  Blue . . .

  Sam called her Bella Blue. It wouldn’t be the first time Bella had thought he was greeting her from beyond the grave . . .

  “Mom!”

  She snaps back to reality. “Sorry, Max . . . No, he can’t come in. Doctor Bailey thinks his mom is looking for him.”

  “Doctor Drew!” her son bellows across the yard. “If Li’l Chap’s mom doesn’t find him, can we keep him?”

  Drew grins. “That’s up to your mom, Max.”

  Bella notices that both he and Luther are keeping their distance from Maleficent. They’re still over by the chuppah, now moving rented tables around with purpose, though she has no idea what that purpose is.

  “Mom, can Li’l Chap stay if he doesn’t have a mom?”

  “We’ll see.”

  “We will? We’ll see?”

  “I mean, no! No, he can’t stay, Max.”

  “Where on earth do you keep all those cats?” Millicent asks, forcing a smile as though she finds all those felines charming instead of repugnant.

  Max shrugs, gesturing at the house. “We have a lot of space. When people are staying here, all the kitties live in mom’s room. So she doesn’t really get lonely anymore.”

  Millicent flicks a glance in Drew’s direction, then at Bella. “No, I don’t suppose she does.”

  “Do you want to meet them, Grandma?”

  “The . . . cats?” She seems to choke a little every time she says the word, as if she has a fur ball lodged in her throat.

  “Only one is a cat. Chance. The rest are tiny kittens. They were tinier before, and they’re still tiny now, but not as tiny.”

  “Yes, well . . . that seems to happen with boys, too. I would love to meet your pets, Max. Will you make the introductions?”

  “Yes, only they don’t speak English.” Max is earnest.

  To her credit, so is Millicent when she responds, “And I don’t speak feline. But I’m sure we’ll manage.”

  As Max grabs her hand to lead her into the house, she glances over her shoulder at Bella.

  Fully expecting to see her looking smug, Bella is shocked to see that she isn’t.

  She just looks . . .

  Happy.

  Like any grandmother doting on a grandson.

  They disappear into the house.

  A lump of emotion seems to have lodged in Bella’s throat and another has made her eyes so moist that if she blinks, tears might spill down her cheeks.

  It’s been a long time since she cried over anything. Even Sam.

  If he were here, he’d be glad to see his mom bonding with Max and glad to see Bella tolerating her presence. He’d probably be amused by the cult assumption and . . . everything else. He’d advise his wife to lighten up, about everything.

  For his sake, she vows to try.

  She turns to Luther and Drew, who have given up their urgent table-arrangement pretense.

  “Guys?” she calls, heading toward them. “I could really use a quick hand with this wedding stuff, if you’re willing.”

  Drew meets her halfway on the lawn. “Whatever you need. I’ve got about fifteen minutes before I have to get back to the animal hospital.”

  “My tennis game isn’t until this afternoon, and I’ll do anything except hair,” Luther tells her. “I don’t do hair. I barely have hair.”

  “And here I was going to ask you to do a French braid twist for the bride.” Bella manages a smile at him as if nothing is amiss, because maybe, hopefully, nothing is.

  She busies Drew hosing out several large coolers that were used last night and asks Luther to help her with the flowers.

  “What’s going on?” he asks in a low voice as soon as Drew turns his back.

  Beneath the rush of spray from the nearby garden hose, she tells him first about the note. He doesn’t seem particularly concerned, even after she explains that the bride has a spurned lover lurking in her past. In fact, he nods knowingly at that news.

  “Happens all the time. Whenever a couple gets married, chances are there’s a jealous, jilted ex. Or a lovelorn friend with a crush,” he goes on, ticking them off on his fingers, “or a relative who’s convinced the bride or groom can do better—a father who thinks his baby girl is marrying a gold digger, a mother who has no desire for a daughter-in-law . . .”

  Naturally, Bella thinks of Millicent. Fair enough. But even she didn’t resort to trying to sabotage Bella’s wedding to Sam.

  “I wouldn’t give this a second thought. For all you know, it’s just some kid playing a prank,” he says so mildly that she wonders if she’s overreacting, even to the gun.

  She wonders if he’d change his mind if she mentioned the missing wedding ring. But before she can break her promise to Parker and fill him in about that and everything else, Drew reappears to say that the ice chests are ready, and he’d better get back to the animal hospital.

  “I’ll come back after office hours, though, to see how things are going.”

  “Do you mean with the wedding?” she asks, surprised.

  “The wedding and the upstairs plumbing. I never had a chance to look. And I’ll check on little chap out back, too. I’ve been keeping an eye out for his mama, but there’s n
o sign of her. If he’s on his own, he’ll need some help. There are foxes and bears around here. I know your hands are full, so I’ll see what I can do.”

  She probably should protest, but she doesn’t. She wants to see him again, and not purely for the kitten’s sake.

  “I’ll head out with you,” Luther says. “I’ve got some stuff to do.”

  “Isn’t it a little late for golf?” Drew asks.

  “Not for tennis. I’ve got an indoor court reserved this afternoon. Do you play?”

  “Me?” Drew shakes his head. “No time for playing these days. I’m just going to go grab my toolbox and then I’ll walk out front with you.”

  “No time for playing,” Luther says in a low voice as they watch Drew disappear inside, “but time to help a pretty lady with kittens and broken screens. I like his style.”

  “Luther, it’s not like that.”

  He gives her a sideways glance. “Not like what?”

  “You know exactly what I mean.”

  “And you know exactly what I mean. It’s all good. Now how can I help you with this wedding? Because I’d be glad to run a couple of errands for you while I run a few of my own.”

  Flustered, she comes up with a couple of things she needs for the wedding. Not only can she use the help, but she doesn’t want to hear any more about her little flirtation—if that’s what it is—with Drew. Only a minute later, when the two men have walked away, does she remember she wanted to tell Luther about the ring and the gun.

  Should she chase him down?

  No. He’ll be back a little later, and she can pull him aside. Or maybe everything will have been resolved by then.

  Stepping back into the house, she finds the first floor still deserted. But the guests are stirring overhead. From the foot of the stairs, she can hear water running, a hair dryer blowing. Footsteps creak the old floorboards, descending from the third floor. A moment later, Virginia appears in the hall at the top of the stairs. She starts down, catches sight of Bella, and pauses slightly before continuing down.

  “Hello again, Bella.” Everything about her is casual—her tone, her expression, her posture, even the way she’s holding a fresh pack of cigarettes in one hand, slapping the end against her opposite palm, packing the tobacco.

  But there might be a barely perceptible note of tension in the air. Or is it Bella’s imagination?

  “Going outside for a cigarette?” Bella asks, completely casual as well.

  “I am. And then I’m at your service. Whatever you need.”

  “Thanks.”

  About to step outside, Virginia pauses with her hand on the doorknob. “Oh, and Bella? It was so sweet of you to make up my room with all you have going on. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  She knows, Bella thinks as Virginia steps outside, closing the door behind her. She knows I found the gun under her mattress.

  Or is that just more paranoia?

  Thoughts muddled, Bella is rooted to the spot, staring absently upstairs. There’s a gun up there.

  There’s also Max, mingling with Millicent and the kittens.

  Tempted to check on them, she puts her foot on the bottom step.

  What if Millicent starts talking to her about cults in front of Max?

  What if Max has already been brainwashed by Millicent and asks if they can move to Chicago after all?

  What if Millicent asks Bella point-blank if she’s involved with Drew Bailey or has any intention of dating him, or anyone else, ever?

  Now isn’t a good time to discuss any of that.

  Max is fine. Of course he’s fine. She shouldn’t go up . . . should she?

  Sunshine spills through the stained-glass window on the stairway, casting a rainbow across the landing.

  Sam’s voice pops into her head.

  Radiant, isn’t it, Bella Blue?

  He’s only in her imagination, of course, but it’s what he would say.

  Wait a minute.

  I love snow and all the forms of the radiant frost . . .

  Snow and frost are radiant, according to Sam, and Percy Bysshe Shelley.

  But the prism on the stairs is also radiant, Bella thinks, toying with the tourmaline pendant around her neck. Again, she hears Sam’s voice, but he isn’t talking about rainbows.

  Don’t go up there, Bella. Max is fine. Let him be. Let them bond.

  As much as she longs to believe Sam is here, talking to her, she knows better. It’s just her own inner voice, sounding like Sam. But she should listen to it.

  Her foot comes down off the step, and she starts to turn away, toward the kitchen.

  Something catches her eye, and she turns back.

  Was that . . . ?

  For a second, she sees nothing and is certain she was mistaken.

  Then she tilts her head, and the angle of the sunlight changes, catching gossamer strands of silk.

  About halfway up the stairs, a large, delicate web is strung from the banister to the wall, with a small, black spider at its center.

  Not unusual in an old house, by any means. But the design is so intricate that it must have taken a long time to spin.

  Virginia descended that stairway a few minutes ago. How can it be intact?

  Maybe . . . maybe she somehow didn’t shatter the web?

  No, that would be impossible. It’s like a net stretched across the steps, waist-high and so close to the stair tread that you’d have to limbo beneath it to avoid breaking the lowest strands.

  Well, then, maybe the spider is just . . . an exceptionally fast web-spinner?

  Anything is possible.

  Yet, staring at it, Bella can’t help but remember Odelia’s spider vision.

  Spirit doesn’t like this. Not one bit.

  Chapter Ten

  When the phone rings an hour later, Bella is in the kitchen slicing still-warm baguettes, thinking about spiders and rainbows and guns.

  “Good morning, Valley View Guesthouse,” she answers as always, though she’s certain it’s Odelia at last. She’s pretty much the only one who calls the house phone postseason.

  “Good morning, Isabella,” says the one other person who regularly dials this number.

  For a change, Grant Everard’s deep, familiar voice doesn’t sound as if it’s coming from a remote part of the planet. He’s called her from mountaintops and deserts and the sea. Today, however, he’s calling from his apartment in New York City, having flown in last night from New Zealand.

  “Business or pleasure?”

  “Both, as always,” he says. “How is everything going there?”

  “Busy. The wedding is today.”

  “That’s why I’m calling. I need you to snap as many photos as you can, and we’ll use them for an advertising spread to showcase the guesthouse as a wedding venue.”

  Her heart leaps. He’s taking this even more seriously than she expected.

  “Maybe some video, too, for the new website,” he adds, as if the site is a done deal. “Got it?”

  “Got it!”

  Efficient as always, he thanks her and tells her to have a good day. As she hangs up, she realizes she forgot to mention the hot water situation. Maybe he’ll want her to hire a plumber.

  Should she call him back?

  But that would just remind him that this is an old house, and if he keeps it, the plumbing will need to be replaced, and the furnace, and the wiring . . .

  The door opens, and Odelia bustles into the kitchen with several shopping bags. Tall, paper-shrouded bread loaves poke from the top of one.

  “Sorry I’m late!” She stops short, looking in dismay at the baguettes on the cutting board. “You already got them? I thought I was supposed to pick them up.”

  “You were, but the bakery always sells out early, and I didn’t know where you were.”

  “So you went? But you have so many other things to do. I could have done it.”

  You were supposed to, but you didn’t.

  Aloud, she says si
mply, “I sent Luther. He’s also going to go buy more liquor for the wedding and drop it off later. We used a lot more than I expected last night.”

  “Well, that’s because we had more guests than we expected.”

  “It worked out well in the end,” Bella says with a shrug, not in the mood to talk about Calla’s plus-one. “Everyone had a great time.”

  “Did Johnny notice the mismatched plate?”

  “Nope.”

  “Really?” Odelia seems surprised—and disappointed. The one she’d brought over for Blue to use had been chipped, just as she’d promised, and made of inelegant brown pottery. Clearly, she hoped Johneen would put up a fuss and ask him to leave.

  Maybe her attitude toward Blue Slayton has less to do with his breaking her granddaughter’s heart and more to do with . . . something else. Does Odelia suspect him of something?

  “Where is everyone else?” she asks Bella.

  “They’re helping me,” Bella tells her, wanting to add, “Like you were supposed to.”

  Frankie and Tanya are outside arranging folding chairs into rows and tying white satin bows onto the backs. Liz and Amanda are in the breakfast room folding napkins and polishing silverware. Ryan, Charlie, and Hellerman are at the beach shoveling sand into white paper bags for the reception luminaria.

  After her cigarette and a whispered conversation with Parker in the breakfast room—undoubtedly about the missing ring, unless she was telling him about Bella snooping through her room—Virginia asked Bella what she could do. Her cheerful smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, and Parker seemed morose as he trudged back up the stairs. Bella sent Virginia to buy more white votive candles for the wedding. Those, too, ran short last night when the party ran long.

  Calla is down the street picking up the wedding cake from Paula Drumm—prominent local medium during the season, skilled pastry chef the other ten months of the year. “I used to babysit for her sons when they were little. Now Dylan and Ethan are in high school,” she told Bella on her way out the door, then added, “Hey, do you know where Gammy is?”

  “No, but she was supposed to be here by now.”

  “Maybe she’s still sulking,” Calla said.

  With too much on her mind to get involved in their private family business, Bella pretended not to know what she was talking about, and Calla didn’t elaborate.