“But how?”
I didn’t know, but I did know that when Ola returned from the store we were going to have to decide if or when to leave Smokerise.
But Ola herself decided that for us. “Somebody’s watching this place,” she said, dumping an armload of groceries in the middle of the kitchen table. “He’s parked across the road in sort of a clearing under some pines—but back a few yards like he doesn’t want anybody to know he’s there.” She twisted her hands as she spoke and seemed ready to cry if somebody said “Scat!”
“How can you be sure he was watching us?” I asked, although I had a hunch she was right.
“I noticed him when I left to go to the store, and he was still there when I came back.” Ola sat abruptly at the table, and the pocketbook that had been hanging by a strap from her arm slid to the floor. “It’s him! I know it’s him—Sonny’s father! Oh, dear God, what are we going to do?”
“First, we’ll ask the sheriff’s department to send somebody to check on him,” I told her as I called the now-familiar number. “Maybe it’s just a bird-watcher.”
“And we’re sitting ducks,” my mother said. “I don’t feel safe here, Prentice, even if this does turn out to be somebody perfectly harmless. Until we know we have a good chance of keeping Joey, I believe we should take that baby someplace else.”
I tried to give her the “be quiet or else” look she used to give Maggie and me, but it didn’t work. Meanwhile, I could see Ola was getting more and more agitated.
The dispatcher at the sheriff’s office wanted to know what kind of car it was and if my friend could see who was in it. The car looked sort of blue, Ola said, but she couldn’t make out who was behind the wheel.
While I was on the phone with the police, I asked about the trench on the hill behind our house and was told the sheriff had it filled in. Still, this didn’t help to ease my anxieties. We needed to get out of here—and soon.
“But where on earth can we go?” I wanted to know.
“Elaine’s family owns this old place outside of Savannah,” Mom said. “Belongs to an uncle, I think, but nobody lives there now.”
Elaine Fuller is Mom’s old friend from college who had invited her to share her home in Savannah until she could get her life back together after Maggie died.
“What do you mean, ‘nobody lives there’?” I asked, picturing a crumbling old mausoleum of a house somewhere on the edge of a swamp.
“It’s really just a guest house. The main house—Ellynwood, I think it was called—burned years ago. The place has been in the Hathcock family for years . . . Elaine was a Hathcock, you know.”
I said I knew, but wasn’t Elaine off cruising around Alaska somewhere? And didn’t we need her uncle’s permission?
She looked at me as if that was a “given” and if I had any sense I would’ve known it. “Well, of course. Just let me find my itinerary. Maybe I can catch up with her at that hotel in Anchorage.”
While my mother made the call, Ola hurried from room to room, window to window, until she’d checked every one. Instinctively I held Joey closer. Is this how pioneer women felt as they circled the wagons for the night?
The baby slobbered on my cheek, pulled my hair, and laughed, and I kissed him and put him on his quilt to play. “He’s getting ready to crawl,” Mom pointed out. “Look at him rocking on his hands and knees.” And from the pride on her face, you’d have thought Joey had discovered a cure for the common cold.
Elaine was expected at the hotel in Anchorage sometime today, Mom told us, and she had left a message for her friend to return her call. “But I don’t think there’ll be a problem about staying at the cottage,” she added. “Elaine’s uncle Albert lives in town and rarely goes to Ellynwood. His family only uses it once in a while when they want to get away.”
I wondered just how far away that was, but then beggars can’t be choosers, and until Mom could get in touch with her lawyer, Ellynwood would have to do.
When we heard a car approaching from the road, the three of us flew in different directions: Mom to lock the door, Ola to run upstairs with the baby, and me to draw the curtains. We were stumbling all over each other trying to crowd into the hall when someone knocked on the back door and called out to us. “Anybody home? Everything all right in here?”
I recognized Donald Weber’s voice and hurried to let him in. “We’re fine,” I said, “but I think somebody’s watching the house.” I told him about the bearded man who had asked about me at the library. “Normally I wouldn’t think anything about it, but after all the things that have been going on around here, it makes us uncomfortable.”
“Not uncomfortable,” my mother said. “Scared. Was the man still out there? Did you get his license?”
“Something must’ve spooked him,” the deputy said. “He was gone before we could get over here, but we’ll sure be on the lookout for him.”
“Is that all?” Mom was using her “I’ve just about had it with you” tone of voice. “I mean, can’t you do anything?”
“Not unless he breaks the law, and from what you tell me, he hasn’t done that. Not yet anyway.” The deputy started to leave, then paused and addressed my mother. “Ma’am, I don’t blame you for being nervous, but if he comes up this drive, you’ll hear him before you see him. Give us a call if you do. We’ll be here in five minutes.”
Mom followed him to the porch. “Donald, we’re thinking of leaving tomorrow to visit relatives for a few days. I’d appreciate it if you’d keep an eye on the place while we’re gone.”
It would save the deputy time if he were to just move in here, I thought, and was grateful that he didn’t mention the midnight prowler or bathtub caper. Mom had dealt with the unidentified body and Uncle Faris’s disappearance better than I’d expected, but I didn’t want to push my luck.
We were finishing dinner when Elaine Fuller called to say that as far as she was concerned, we were welcome to use the guest house at Ellynwood, but she’d have to confirm it with her uncle and let us know. A short time later she phoned again to give Mom directions and tell us where to pick up the key.
“Elaine says the place hasn’t been used in a while, so it’s going to need a good airing,” Mom said. “Cleaning too, no doubt,” she added with a sigh.
If only Augusta could lend a hand, I thought. Yet I knew she was near, and from time to time drew from the strength of her presence. I only hoped my angel would follow us to Savannah.
We decided to leave in the morning by the back route using the old cemetery road, in one car—Mom’s—hoping that whoever was looking for us would be fooled into thinking we were still at Smokerise. I phoned Suzie Wright and arranged for her to feed the cat—this time we’d leave Noodles outside—and we spent the rest of the evening packing.
When the telephone rang earlier, the three of us agreed to ignore it. It might be Pershing Gaines. It might not. But why challenge fate? Maybe he would think we weren’t at home. Twice more that night it rang, and the persistent caller let it go on and on for what seemed like forever before finally giving up. None of us was expecting any important messages—or any we wanted to hear—so I had turned off the answering machine.
It was almost midnight when the telephone shrilled again and I heard Mom shuffle into the hallway. “I’ve had about enough of this!” she said. “They’re going to wake that baby.
“Who is this? Don’t you know what time it is?”
This was followed by a pause and I expected her to hang up the phone in a panic. Then, “Who? Oh . . . that’s all right. Yes, she’s right here . . .”
I sat up in bed and tossed back the covers. It was probably Dottie, a dyed-in-the-wool night owl who never seemed to realize there were others who weren’t.
My mother met me in the doorway and shrugged. “It’s Rob. I think he’s calling from London.”
“Sorry if I woke you,” he began. “Prentice, I need to see you.”
How could I tactfully tell him his timing couldn’t be wors
e? “Rob, something’s come up. We’re leaving for Savannah in the morning.”
“Is there any way you can hold off on that? Listen, I’m packing my bag as we speak . . .”
I heard what sounded like a drawer opening on his end of the line. “No, Rob, wait! I’d rather you come next week, or better still, the week after. We’ll have more time to spend together. Let me call you.”
“Prentice, what’s going on?”
“It’s too involved to go into right now. I’ll phone you from Savannah. I promise.”
“Not this time. I’m taking a few days off—catching the first plane for the States in the morning. Should be in Atlanta by this time tomorrow.” There was a question in his voice and the silence stretched until I thought it would snap in two, zing me like a rubber band.
I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned to find my mother standing there. I could tell by her expression that she understood what was going on from hearing my end of the conversation. “We’ll be all right,” she whispered. “You can join us there later. A few more days won’t matter.”
And so I promised Rob McCullough I’d meet him at the airport in Atlanta when he arrived. It would be good, I thought, to have another warm “body” on our side.
Of course that was before I stumbled across the one in our barn. And this one was dead.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
My mother refused to leave under cover of darkness. “I’ll be darned if I’ll sneak out of my own house like some kind of thief!” she proclaimed, so it was well past dawn when they left the next morning with most of Joey’s belongings and the two women’s suitcases shoved into the trunk of Mom’s rental car. I stood on the back porch and watched them bump around the bend and out of sight on the gravel road that led to the family cemetery and eventually through what would become Daisy Dell Acres, the soon-to-be-developed “community” behind our farm. Few people knew the two roads connected. We hoped one of them wasn’t the stranger watching our house.
Just before leaving, Ola had shoved a small parcel into my hands. It was about the size of a grapefruit and was wrapped in layers of brown paper. “I found this in Maggie’s things,” she said. “Must be something special since she kept it in a drawer along with Joey’s baby book and some pictures of her family. I think she wanted you to have it, Prentice.”
I guessed, even before I unwrapped it, what was in Maggie’s crude bundle. My sister had scribbled in ink on the masking tape that held it together: For always, Maggie and Prentice, and judging from the handwriting, I’d say she wrote it after she left home. Inside I found my sister’s half of the broken figurine still shrouded in the plastic grocery bag where I had hurriedly placed it so many years before.
Upstairs in the silent house, I took my half of the china girl from the lunch box on my closet shelf and fit the pieces together. Someday I would have the keepsake professionally repaired for Mom. As for myself, the mending had already begun.
The house felt empty, oddly vacant. Except for Noodles, who was just beginning to tolerate me, I was alone. Really alone because Augusta had gone to Ellynwood with the others, only they didn’t know it, of course.
Unable to sleep late, I had come down early planning to prepare an edible, if not substantial breakfast to start them on their way. I couldn’t cook as well as Augusta, but I could scramble a few eggs, and have been known to stir up a batch of pancakes now and then if there’s a box of mix handy.
But Augusta beat me to it. The warm homey smell of just-baked bread wrapped itself around me and drew me into the kitchen where Augusta, enveloped in a posy-sprigged pinafore, lifted a crusty loaf from the oven. “A little something to start the day,” she said. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“I mind terribly,” I said. “I hate your cooking, Augusta. Is that hot chocolate I smell?”
“With just a whiff of cinnamon.” She poured me a cup, then quickly whisked eggs and cheese together and paused to listen for footsteps upstairs. “I expect they’ll be down in a minute. I see you’ve decided to stay.”
I nodded between sips of chocolate. “For a day or two, but I’m worried about the others. I hope I’m doing the right thing.”
“I wish I could assure you, Prentice. I can’t. We just have to make our choices and do the best we can.”
“What do you mean, we? This is my mother we’re talking about! My nephew. What if something happens to them?”
The angel heated butter in a pan. “I believe your mother wants you to wait for your friend Rob. She seems to feel responsible for your turning him down before.”
“I know . . . well, she was in a way. But I couldn’t go running off to England and leave her here alone after Dad died.”
I took blue-rimmed plates from the cabinet and set three places, put out Joey’s small bowl with the kittens on it. “This place—this Ellynwood—I don’t know anything about it. It could be in the middle of nowhere! I just hope they’ll be all right.”
Augusta spoke softly. “Would you like me to go along?”
“Would you? That would be great!”
“As you know, I’m limited as to what I can do, but perhaps I can be of some help.
“I believe your pan’s ready,” she said, putting the bowl of eggs into my hands. “Stir it quickly or it’ll burn.”
“What’s that heavenly smell?” My mother stood in the doorway. “Prentice, did you do this? You must’ve been up all night.”
I looked behind me, but of course Augusta was no longer there. “Pull up a chair and dig in,” I said.
Now I took my time rinsing the dishes, wiping off the table, sticky with honey. Noodles curled about my feet and I treated her to a saucer of milk. Soon Rob would call from London to let me know when to expect his flight.
But it was well past noon before I heard from Rob. His flight had been canceled because of mechanical problems and he couldn’t get another for several hours. It would be sometime tomorrow before he’d arrive in Atlanta.
I was upstairs picking out tunes on the violin that afternoon when I heard somebody drive up behind the house. From my position at the window I couldn’t tell who was driving, but the car looked like the one that had followed Augusta and me when we left Ruby, Tennessee.
Give us a call if you see or hear anyone drive up. We’ll be there in five minutes, the deputy had said. But how could I be sure this wasn’t someone on a harmless errand? If I didn’t answer the door, maybe they would go away. I sidled up to one side of the window and watched a man get out from the driver’s side. It was difficult to get a good look at his face from where I stood, but he moved like a much younger man than I imagined Sonny’s father to be, and as he approached the house I saw that he had a beard. Not the long, bushy, trailing whiskers I’d imagined, but what appeared to be a neat, well-trimmed beard.
I heard his footsteps cross the porch and waited until he knocked on the door before I slipped off my shoes and crept as quietly as I could to the phone in the hallway. The sheriff’s line was busy.
The knocking came again, this time louder, and after a few minutes I heard him move off the porch. Good. He was leaving! I listened for his car to start. It didn’t. Instead the doorbell rang. The persistent man had walked around to the front. I could hear his feet shuffle impatiently as he waited. The sheriff’s line was still tied up—and so was my stomach! What if he came through a window? Battered down the door? Was this the same person who had asked about me in the library? He didn’t seem particularly threatening, but you can’t always go by appearances. He seemed much too young to be married to the deceiving woman in yellow who had tracked me to the mall near Chattanooga. Of course he could be her son or a younger brother. Or maybe this was the nephew she mentioned.
Whoever he was, I was sure he was somehow connected to the Gaineses and that no good could come of that. I had my finger poised to call 911 when I heard him drive away.
“Why didn’t you call like I asked you to?” the deputy demanded when I finally got through almost fifteen minutes later
.
“I tried. Your line was busy.” I attempted not to sound as exasperated as I really was. We needed these people on our side.
“You called 911?”
“Well . . . no. It wasn’t exactly an emergency,” I said. “But if he hadn’t left, I was going to in another minute.”
“If that man had really wanted to get inside your house, you might not have had another minute,” he told me. “He could be miles away by now, but if he tries watching your house again from across the road, we’ll find out what’s going on. We can’t arrest the man for knocking on your door.” I could tell by Don’s tone he’d probably like to put me away instead.
When Mom called a few minutes later to let me know they were safely at Ellynwood, I didn’t mention my would-be visitor. At least our crafty little back road ploy had seemed to work, as Mom said that as far as she could tell, they hadn’t been followed there.
“What time are you meeting Rob’s plane?” my mother asked.
“There’s been a delay. He won’t be getting in until tomorrow.”
“You aren’t staying at Smokerise alone tonight?”
“Probably not. Thought I might spend the night with Dottie Ives in Atlanta.” Actually I hadn’t thought of it until just then, but the idea of a return visitor after dark didn’t appeal to me at all.
“Good idea!” Mom said. “Have a good visit with Rob now, honey, and let us know when to look for you.”
“Is everything all right there?” I thought I detected a false gaiety in her voice.
“Fine. House needed a bit of airing but it wasn’t as bad as I’d thought. Elaine’s uncle must’ve had someone clean it before we arrived. And, Prentice, we found fresh fruit, pastries, and a delicious green salad waiting in the refrigerator. So thoughtful, and I don’t even know who to thank.”
I was pretty sure I did.
Dottie wasn’t at home when I called, but I knew she hadn’t gone far. Like me, she was too broke to travel. I left a message that I hoped she wouldn’t mind company for the night and went upstairs to add a few things to the bag I’d packed the night before. I tried to phone Aunt Zorah to let her know I’d be gone for a few days, but nobody answered. Probably still “reunioning,” I thought, although it was well into Sunday afternoon and those affairs were usually over by then.
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