by Linda Reilly
For a long moment, her aunt was silent. Finally, she rested her elbows on the table and folded her hands. “Lara, it sounds like a wonderful plan, honestly it does. I’m impressed, and truly grateful, that you’ve put so much thought into it. But I’m simply not sure it’s doable. You’ll be in Boston most of the time. Even if we find volunteers, it might not be enough. And we’d have to work closely with Amy Glindell, my vet, to arrange for neutering, shots, exams.”
“I know all that,” Lara said. “I understand there’d be a lot of glitches to work out.” Frustration was making her tone rise. “All I’m asking is that you think about it. Picture it in your mind. Imagine how it could be if we actually did make it work.”
A tiny gleam danced in Aunt Fran’s eyes. “I will think about it. I promise,” she said.
“But wait! There’s more!” Lara said, grinning this time. “Since we didn’t plan anything for dinner, why don’t you let me treat us to a pizza later? I’ll pick it up. We’ll order it with globs of whatever toppings you like.”
“Now that’s an offer I can’t refuse,” Aunt Fran said with a laugh. “But you’ve been spending too much money. I insist you let me treat this time.”
“No,” Lara said firmly. “This one’s on me.”
Big words from someone with a fast-shrinking debit account.
She had about sixty dollars left to draw from—not enough to keep her going for much longer. But, she reasoned, once she signed the new contract with Wayne Lefkovitz and collected the initial deposit, she’d be in better financial shape than she’d been in in a long time. There should also be a few checks in her mailbox when she got home from clients who’d custom-ordered.
“I just did some fuzzy math in my head, Aunt Fran. Let me take care of the pizza this time, okay?”
Her aunt didn’t argue. “You got it.”
The one thing Lara hadn’t factored in was transportation. Any future trips to New Hampshire would require her renting a car each time. She’d have to look into a cheaper way to travel back and forth.
For now, she was content to pull a Scarlett O’Hara and think about it tomorrow.
They finished their tea, and Lara put away the cookies in a sealed container. Aunt Fran announced that she was going up to her room for a while to relax and read.
As they were leaving the kitchen, Lara glanced toward the small parlor. The door stood open about three inches.
Her mouth went desert dry. Hadn’t she closed the door?
She retraced her actions in her mind. She’d worked for a while on the watercolor of Blue, after which she’d called Mary Newman. Then she had taken a break and gone into the kitchen for some cookies. That had been around the time she’d spotted Goldy in the yard with Blue.
After that, everything had happened quickly. Wendy had arrived to retrieve her cat, and then Chris Newman had shown up. Once he’d left, Lara was too agitated to paint. She’d thrown some things in the wash, then busied herself tidying the house, which included taking a few measurements on the back porch. While she’d waited for her aunt to come downstairs, she’d sat in the large parlor and brushed three of the cats.
But she was sure she’d shut the door to the small parlor. She hadn’t wanted to tempt any curious felines into investigating her watercolors.
She distinctly remembered pulling the door closed.
Had someone sneaked into the house while she and Aunt Fran were at church and opened the door?
Lara reached out with her left hand and pushed the door open wider. She peered into the room, and her stomach dropped to her knees.
Resting on the chair she’d sat in when she was painting earlier in the day was Brooke’s dreaded book—The Pickwick Papers.
And sitting atop the book was Blue, her gaze snaring Lara’s with a questioning look.
Lara closed her eyes. She took in a deep breath. Her head felt like a helium-filled balloon floating to the ceiling.
When she opened her eyes, Blue was still there. At least, now, Aunt Fran would see her, too.
Aunt Fran leaned on her cane and peered through the doorway. “Oh, look at that!”
Yes!
“I didn’t realize you’d dragged that old card table in there.” Her aunt smiled. “I guess it makes a good worktable for you, doesn’t it?”
Lara felt woozy.
Please tell me you see the cat. Please tell me I’m not crazy.
“It-it does, yes. I painted for quite a while this morning.”
“I can’t wait to dive into the new book I’m reading,” her aunt said, looping one arm through Lara’s. She moved away from the doorway to head upstairs. “It’s one of those sagas that begins during World War Two and jumps back and forth to the present.”
“Sounds really good,” Lara said, taking the hint. Aunt Fran was clearly anxious to go to her room and read.
Lara’s heart suddenly sank. In her mind, she saw the Aunt Fran she’d known as a child. She’d had pep in her step, to coin a cliché—an endless supply of energy. Now, thanks to a horribly debilitating condition, she’d aged far beyond her years.
No matter what Lara did to help the cats, nothing short of surgery was going to fix her aunt’s knees. If Aunt Fran wanted a shot at a normal life again, she’d have no other choice.
Her spirits low, Lara helped her aunt get settled upstairs, then went back into the small parlor. This time Blue was nowhere to be seen.
But good ole Pickwick was still there.
She snatched up the book that seemed to travel the room on its own. “Gotcha now!” she said with a wicked laugh. The laugh of a madwoman?
The book bore traces of the soda Brooke had spilled, although this book had escaped with only a few purple blotches staining its edges.
It was a clear, sunny autumn day. Maybe if she lugged the book outside to her favorite spot against the curved rock, she could flip through it and try to figure out what was happening. Was something hidden inside the book? Something that made it levitate?
Maybe Charles Dickens himself would stop by and drop off a clue.
“Yeah, sure,” she told herself, tapping her head with a finger. “And then I’ll jump into a spaceship and visit Mars for the afternoon.”
She slipped on her jacket and headed into the backyard. The air felt crisp and clean, tinged with the seasonal scents of apples and dried leaves. She sucked in long breaths. Her lungs needed a good airing out, especially after being trapped in that confessional, for—oh, gosh—at least three solid minutes.
She trod over to the curved rock and stared out across the meadow. Everything looked peaceful, with no sign of Blue. For a long time Lara stood there, turning things over in her head.
She dropped to the ground and snuggled against the curve of the rock. Her legs stretched out before her, she began flipping through The Pickwick Papers. She wondered why Brooke had opted for the hardcover of the lengthy classic instead of choosing a paperback.
As she flipped through the beginning pages, she realized that the volume contained some wonderful illustrations—delightful depictions of the Dickensian characters the author’s works were known for.
Fishing through the pages, Lara found herself giggling at the names. Mr. Blotton. Doctor Slammer. Miss Bulder.
The more she skimmed the volume, the more the prose sucked her in. Nearly every sentence was a charming concoction of old-fashioned verbs and clever humor. She didn’t think it was boring at all.
Nonetheless, she understood Brooke’s reluctance to finish reading the volume. The size of the book alone was intimidating.
Riffling casually through the book, Lara was nearing the halfway point when she noticed some writing in the margin of one of the pages. Large block letters, scrawled in so heavy a hand they’d nearly torn their way through.
MAKE HIM PAY!
SUE HIS BUTT OFF!
Lara frowned. Harsh words, coming from a young teenager. Why would Brooke have written something like that?
Wait a minute. What had Brooke told Lara
that day, when Lara asked her what the book was about?
A band of lame old dudes who roam all over England …
Something like that, anyway. But there was something else.
Some ditzy landlady sues dumpy old Pickwick for not marrying her….
Lara felt a tingling in her stomach. For someone who’d proclaimed the book boring, Brooke had sure gotten riled over it.
Did Brooke have anger issues? Could they be related to her feelings toward her absentee dad?
Going back to the book, Lara turned another page. Her insides roiled with nausea.
Graphic images of a realistic-looking heart had been etched into the margin with a ballpoint pen. The blade of a knife, superimposed over it, suggested the kinds of torture the illustrator would like to inflict on it.
Her heart smacking her ribs, Lara turned the page again. This time she nearly vomited.
The organ in question had been slashed to threads, images of blood drops flying everywhere. The artwork was mediocre, but the message as clear as glass.
Lara closed the book hard.
She couldn’t keep this to herself. Brooke’s mom had to know so she could get her daughter some help.
She set the book down on the grass. When she pulled her hand away, her sleeve caught the corner of the cover. She nabbed a glimpse of the owner’s name, written inside in the upper right corner.
And in one horrifying instant, the tumblers fell into place.
It wasn’t Brooke who’d scribbled in the book, because the book wasn’t Brooke’s.
A shuffling noise behind Lara made her gasp. She whirled her head around and saw someone moving toward her at a surprisingly fast clip.
“Hey, there! What are you doing out here all by your lonesome? Catching up on your reading?”
“Um, not really,” Lara said, in a voice that came out like sandpaper. “I’m just enjoying what’s left of this lovely afternoon.”
Dora Pingaree laughed, not an ounce of mirth in her tone. Her right hand was tucked slightly behind her. “I guess you should enjoy it while you can,” she said flatly. She moved closer, until she stood barely three feet from where Lara had left the Pickwick book.
Lara tried to swallow, but it felt as if a giant hair ball was lodged in her throat.
“I should have known you’d look inside the book,” Dora said coldly. “If that stupid, clumsy girl hadn’t spilled her drink, it never would have ended up in her bag. By the time we got through wiping the grape soda off all the books, the school-bus driver was tooting for her out front. She snatched up all her books and stuffed them into her backpack. I didn’t realize she’d taken mine, too.” Dora’s smile chilled Lara to the bone. “Not until you mentioned it in church today.”
Chapter 29
Lara felt her insides gurgle. She didn’t know what Dora was hiding behind her back, but felt sure it wasn’t anything good.
“Oh, heck, Dora,” she said with a laugh, trying to act clueless. “Anyone can spill a drink. I do it all the time. I’m the klutziest—”
“Shut up. You talk too much. This is all your fault. None of this would’ve happened if you hadn’t shown up in town.”
A shard of anger ripped through Lara. “My fault? How do you figure, Dora?” Every muscle in her body tensed. She wanted to leap to her feet and face the woman, but something told her to bide her time, and wait for the right moment.
“You brought Fran to the coffee shop for lunch. She hadn’t been there in a rat’s age.” Dora stared hard at Lara, her eyes blazing with rage behind her tinted glasses.
“Your point is?” Lara said, willing herself not to tremble.
“My point, missy, is that I was on a fast track to becoming Mrs. Theo Barnes. Didn’t you see him kiss my hand that day? Didn’t you see him kiss my left hand?”
“I… I guess I did, Dora. I didn’t know it meant that.”
“And then he saw your aunt,” Dora spat out. “He loved her once, you know, and she loved him.”
“I know all about that,” Lara said. “But it was a long time ago. My aunt had no feelings left—”
“I told you to shut up. You don’t get it, because you don’t listen and you think you know everything. Theo wanted your aunt’s land, but she refused to sell it to him. She was doing that to hurt him, to get back at him for the way he treated her when they were engaged.” She glared out over the meadow as if poisonous weeds were sprouting from it.
Lara tried to swallow, but her throat felt frozen. “That’s…not the way I heard it, Dora. Theo wanted to build condos on the parcel.” She lifted one hand toward the pristine meadow. “Think of all the small animals that would’ve been disrupted—”
“God, you are a chatterbox. You know nothing about progress, do you?” Her right arm twitched behind her. “If your aunt had done the right thing and sold him the land, she could’ve made a pretty penny. Enough to feed all those creepy cats she keeps taking in. How does she even live in that place with all those things?” Dora wrinkled her nose.
Lara tamped down a retort.
“That day, when I heard Theo tell Fran that his proposal still stood, I knew what he was doing. He wanted one last shot at getting her to marry him, even though he’d practically proposed to me. And mark my words, Fran would’ve caved. No one could resist Theo’s charms.”
“You misunderstood him, Dora. He was talking about his proposal to buy the land, nothing more.”
Dora’s face fell, and she shook her head back and forth. “No, I—”
“Admit it, Dora. You got it wrong.” She lowered her voice. “Is that why you asked Theo to meet you near the park bench that night?”
The woman tottered, but quickly regained her composure. “I wrote him a note on fancy paper, pretending I was Fran. It was easy to copy her handwriting. I’d saved all the notes she’d written me over the years. I knew Theo would come if he thought it was her.” She gave out a demented laugh. “But when he saw me there, waiting on the bench, he got really mad. He knew I’d tricked him.”
Lara slowly let out a breath. “Did he hurt you, Dora?”
Tears filled Dora’s eyes. “He shoved me away when I told him I wanted to marry him. I told him I’d love him so much more than Fran ever could. I wanted a ring, Lara. For the first time in my life, I wanted to be a wife!” She sucked in a furious breath. “You know what he said? He said I must be smoking dope if I thought he’d ever marry an old bag like me.” Her right arm jerked again. This time Lara saw what she was holding—a knife. A long, scary-looking knife.
Bile crept up Lara’s throat. Her vision blurred.
“He had no right to treat you that way, Dora. Let’s face it, Theo was not a nice man. You’d have been miserable married to him.”
“Like you’d know,” she spat out. “I don’t see a man hanging off your arm.” She swiped at her eyes with the hand holding the knife.
Fear clutching her in a vise, Lara looked toward the house. She saw no sign of movement.
Maybe if she could catch Dora off guard, she could knock the knife out of her hands. “H-how did you ending up killing him?”
“He was so mean to me. He didn’t like being tricked, so he threatened to blackmail me.”
Blackmail?
Something poked Lara’s memory.
Oh, God. That was it.
She should have seen it sooner, but she’d been too paralyzed by dread to snap the final piece into place.
Dora was moving like a normal person, without any sign of her injury.
Lara shuddered. Dora’s bad back had been an act. All along, she’d had everyone fooled.
“You mean about the accident, Dora?”
“I couldn’t have him screwing things up for me. Everyone gives me special favors and free stuff. So what if I have to wear that awful brace when I’m in public? It’s a small price to pay for the sympathy I get. And for the insurance settlement—which wasn’t bad, all things considered.” She smiled, and Lara saw the insanity dancing in her eyes.
&n
bsp; Lara plastered on a grin she felt sure made her resemble a clown. “Dora, I have to admire you. You truly are a clever one. I’d never have thought of letting a TV fall on me.” She gave out a chuckle of fake admiration.
“Who told—” Dora twisted her lips into a scowl. “It doesn’t matter. That clerk deserved it. Like a slob, he’d left that screwdriver right there on the shelf after he tightened the bolts. I’m pretty handy with tools. I knew I could make that TV fall on me and act like I’d wrecked my back.”
“But…you had X-rays, didn’t you? Or an MRI?”
“Of course. Nothing showed up, so I played the pain card. At the hospital, I screamed with agony. They kept me longer than they would have, gave me all sorts of medication. They finally sent me home, shrieking from the constant pain.” She gave out a malicious laugh. “They prescribed a back brace, said it should help over time.”
Lara wanted to throw up. How could she have ever thought Dora was a decent human being?
“Once I was home, I called one of those ambulance chasers who advertise on TV. He managed to squeeze a settlement out of the insurance company. It wasn’t a fortune, but it’ll keep me going for a while. I think the fools settled just to get rid of me. I was one of those nuisance cases.”
At the corner of her vision, Lara thought she detected a shadow flitting past her aunt’s bedroom window. “You said Theo threatened blackmail. How did he find out?”
Dora’s face pinched with fury. “I got careless. A few months ago, he drove by my house when I was getting into my car. It was obvious I was moving with the agility of an athlete. After that, he’d drop snide little comments whenever he saw me, just to let me know he knew. That’s another reason I wanted to marry him. A husband can’t testify against his wife, right?”
“I don’t think it works that way, Dora.”
“Shut up! What do you know?”
“Dora, didn’t it ever occur to you that a man who treated you so callously couldn’t seriously have wanted to marry you? Don’t you think you deserved better?”