The Sour Taste of Suspicion

by CeeCee James

  “Yes, welcoming. That was what I needed when I was young. To be seen and welcomed.” The older woman set the biscuit on the edge of the saucer. “And then, when I married Frank,” Elise’s ears perked up. She was so curious about Aunt Myrtle’s husband. “I’d come here when he was away on business and the bed had turned into a lonely island that grew colder as the night wore on.” She sighed. “Then the children came. My little loves.” Her eyes misted at the memories.

  “Aww, how precious.” Elise fished a cookie off the plate and took a bite. The sweet center filled her mouth, reminding her of so many Shirley Temples she’d had as a kid. How funny that nostalgia is contagious.

  “I think that was another thing that made Anna jealous.”

  The cookie seemed to turn to ash in Elise’s mouth. She took a sip of tea to wash it down.“Jealous? Why?”

  “Because I had what she’d always wanted. A home, a family. She always wanted what I had.”

  Elise frowned. What an odd thing to say. I just don’t get what normal fifteen-year-old would ever be jealous of an eight-year-old? “If you don’t mind me asking, what makes you say that?”

  “She didn’t like that Papa had hired Constance, your great grandma, to take care of me.”

  “My Grandma didn’t take care of Anna, too?”

  “No, Constance was mine. All mine. She made up the most fun games. We would race out behind there,” she pointed towards the garage. “Where no one could see.” Aunt Myrtle looked at her, head tipped. “You know, I still can’t get over how much you look like her. Right here, around your mouth. And in your eyes.” Aunt Myrtle smiled. “She was the kindest person I’d ever met. It was so hard for me when she was sent away.”

  “Why was she sent away?”

  “When Anna died, nothing was the same again. Mother wanted the house shut down, and she sent everyone away. All except Cookie….” here Cookie looked up from where she was punching dough. “Not you, Cookie,” Aunt Myrtle amended. “A different one.” She squinted her eyes as she regarded the cook. “A thinner one.”

  “Oh, my goodness,” Elise murmured, cringing. She took another sip to cover her embarrassment.

  “What? I didn’t mean anything by it. I was just explaining. And that’s why the kitchen held life.”

  “Okay, go on.”

  “Mother didn’t like Constance because she defended me about the missing dollhouse chair. I hadn’t lost it, but Mother didn’t believe me. Later, Constance pulled it from her pocket and informed Mother that it had been found. Anna tried to tell Mother that Constance had stolen it, but I knew better.”

  “Why would Anna steal the chair?”

  “Because it was mine. Like I said, she always wanted what was mine.”

  “You said she came back after you had kids. How do you know?”

  “Things started to disappear. Small things. First a baby jacket, then a favorite rattle. Then I saw things in the dollhouse disappear. Just like they had when I was a little girl.”

  Elise sat straighter. “Like what?”

  “Little things. Things that Anna knew I’d admired. A plate of muffins. A few pieces of tiny silverware from the dining room table.”

  Aunt Myrtle paused and stared straight into Elise’s eyes. “Then it became more serious. She left me a message.”

  The hair on the back of Elise’s neck rose. “What did it say?”

  “It’s not what it said, it’s what she meant. Anna knew I’d understand.”

  “What was the message?” Elise watched the elderly woman’s every move.

  “It was a pair of bloody footprints that led through my room to the door. I recognized the heel print as shoes she wore as a teenager.”

  “What do you think she meant?” Freaked out, Elise could barely whisper the words.

  “Get out while you can. This house is mine.” Aunt Myrtle calmly took another sip of tea.

  14

  The next morning, Aunt Myrtle was all business. She wanted Elise ready and waiting for her by the car, at exactly eight-thirty sharp.

  Elise sent a message with Matilda she’d be skipping breakfast—cringing at the thought of enticing Aunt Myrtle’s wrath—and rushed through her morning routine. On the way out the door, she snagged a croissant from the kitchen and hurriedly took bites. She made it to the car with ten minutes to spare.

  Aunt Myrtle hadn’t arrived yet, but apparently Ernest, the chauffeur, had received the same memo. He stood by the car dressed in his suit, shiny at the knees, and a hat firmly clamped over his head.

  “Lovely day, today, ma’am.” Ernest greeted her as she approached.

  “Hello, Ernest. Ready for a fun day?”

  “Driving is always fun with Ms. Kennington.”

  Elise laughed. “You’ve worked for her a long time. Seen her children grow up, I suppose?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Close to fifty years, I imagine.” He smiled slightly as he said that, looking both proud and sentimental at the same time.

  “Wow! That’s a long time.”

  “Yes. And my father before me.”

  “But not your kids?”

  “I had a daughter, ma’am. And she worked as a housekeeper before she decided to get married. My grandson was my last hope, but he has chosen another career.” He shifted and pressed his chest out.

  “Aww, the last of the line.” Elise patted his arm.

  “It appears that way, ma’am.”

  “What are you two talking about?” Aunt Myrtle hollered at them, looking especially crotchety this morning as she hobbled towards them. Her legs were tan with thick pantyhose and sensible brown shoes.

  “Just telling Ms. Elise that my grandson doesn’t work at the Montgomery Manor, ma’am.”

  “He works at that muscle place, right? All this generation ever thinks about are their phones and muscles. They’ve lost hold of all of our values we held so dear.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Ernest held the door open for her and offered his arm so that Aunt Myrtle could grab hold of it and get in the car. Aunt Myrtle waved him off. She fretted with her cane for a moment before finally settling on the seat with a thump surprisingly loud for a diminutive woman. With a grimace, she drew her legs inside and Ernest slowly shut the door.

  With his hand hovering a mere millimeter away from Elise’s arm, he guided her to the other side and opened the passenger door. The door was shut with the same dignity as the previous one before he climbed in the driver’s seat.

  “Where to, ma’am?” he asked, addressing Aunt Myrtle through the rear view mirror.

  “Bart’s Butcher. I’d like to get my son a nice steak.” Myrtle situated herself to be more comfortable and crossed her legs at the ankle. She turned to Elise. “Stephen always liked to have steak for his birthday, and I don’t trust Cookie with decisions when I need high-quality meat. The last time I sent her, she brought home a piece that was as tough as old shoe leather. You have to know the marbling. That’s the key.”

  “Stephen is due home, ma’am?” Ernest glanced at them in the mirror.

  “Yes he is, Ernest, and I hear your grandson is back too.”

  The old man pulled his gaze from the mirror and stared out the windshield as the car rolled out the driveway. The sun sifted through the trees and dappled the concrete. “Yes, ma’am. I expect they’ll meet up.”

  “Just like old times, eh, Ernest?” Aunt Myrtle’s face softened. “Remember how they used to play together? Where did the time fly?”

  “I don’t know, ma’am. But wherever it went, it took my hair with it.”

  Aunt Myrtle snorted, and Ernest’s face showed a hint of a smile.

  “You always were so vain about your hair. You probably greased and pompadoured it away, when you weren't doing your duties.”

  “That’s very true, ma’am.” He took the corner slowly, the Lincoln swaying like a bloated whale.

  “I remember riding down here on my bike,” Aunt Myrtle said as she watched out the window. Her voice dropped softly and Elise leaned
closer to hear. “Mother never did like me riding that bike because it wasn’t proper. But Papa had said I could, so she didn’t fuss too much when he was home.” Aunt Myrtle smiled at the memory. “I remember flying down the driveway like I was racing the wind. And at this corner here I’d always ring my bell. I tried to make it every afternoon at three o’ clock.” Aunt Myrtle’s gaze cut away to Elise. “That was when the postman came. Three o’clock sharp. Those were the days when you could depend on a person. Remember that, Ernest.”

  “Like a heartbeat, that mailman was.”

  “That’s right, and the milkman, too. Every morning at six, we’d hear the bottles rattle on the front stoop. You’ve never had anything like that cream that rose to the top. But, oh! Would Cookie get mad if it was swiped.”

  Aunt Myrtle glanced at her again. “That was Cookie One. I guess we are on four now.”

  “That sounds correct, ma’am” Ernest agreed.

  Main Street was crowded with traffic. Ernest pulled up next to the butcher shop and jockeyed the big car into the empty space.

  Elise grabbed her sweater, waiting for the car to park. “Whatever happened to your bike?”

  Aunt Myrtle’s lips pressed together and she shook her head hard. “I’ll tell you on the way home. I don’t want to speak ill of the dead. Now, come along. Let me teach you how to pick a steak.”

  Ernest stiffly made his way around the car to open Aunt Myrtle’s door. He extended a hand to help her out and then waited as Elise scooted across the seat. Elise slipped on her sweater as she hurried after the old woman who was already half-way up the sidewalk to the butcher’s door. Elise got ahead of the old woman just in time to open the door for her.

  The bell jingled cheerfully overhead. “Do you want to stop at Lavina’s deli on the way back?”

  “Well, I don’t know dear. We’ll see. I do need to stop for my son’s favorite cigar. I like to keep them stocked in the humidor for when he comes home. It was my Papa’s humidor.”

  “Ms. Kennington. Nice to see you today.” The butcher called from behind a glass case. He looked to be over six feet tall and held a large carving knife. His white apron was stained with streaks of blood, and on the butcher block before him lay a hunk of red meat. “What can I get for you?”

  The old woman slowly made her way to the case, her cane beating a tattoo on the worn flooring. “I’m here for a nice rib eye. You have anything fresh today?”

  “Do I have anything fresh?” The butcher laughed. “That’s like asking does a fish drink water. Of course I’ve got something fresh.” He plunked the knife down and reached into the case, patting a hunk of meat for her attention. “Just look at this baby. Check out the fat grain. It’s a beauty.”

  Aunt Myrtle looked at it sharply before nodding. “That’s fine, then, wrap it up. Along with a pound of sausage.”

  “Coming right up.” The butcher brought out a sheet of white paper and began packing up her order.

  “As I was saying in the car, Mother didn’t like me to ride my bike.” Aunt Myrtle continued. “She didn’t hold to anything tomboyish. Not like nowadays, where you can be what you want. There were rules then. Structure.” She leaned on her cane. “Anna was always so good about the structure.”

  “Here you are,” the butcher handed over the packages. “On your account?”

  “Yes, that’s right. What do you think, I’m going to start carrying one of those newfangled credit cards?” The old woman snapped.

  The butcher laughed good-naturedly. “I wasn’t sure if things had changed.” The giant man began to blush. Elise watched, fascinated. “It’s just that your bill hasn’t been paid the last few months. I’d wondered if something had changed.”

  “Not paid?” Myrtle frowned. “I’ll have my son look into it once he’s here.” She tucked the packaged under her arm.

  “No worries. I’m sure it’s just a bank oversight. Have a good day, and say hello to your son for me.” the butcher waved.

  Myrtle turned to leave, her steps shaky and the bottom of her cane clattering against the floor. She appeared too distracted to respond back. Elise returned the wave and ran to open the door.

  “Just you hurry and follow me now.” Aunt Myrtle said in a crotchety tone as they got to the street, even though Elise was right behind her. “Ernest? Ernest? Where are you?”

  The old man appeared from the front of the car and tipped his hat at the two women. “Right here, ma’am,” he said, taking the package and opening the back door. “Did you find what you needed?”

  Aunt Myrtle ignored him as she waited by the passenger door. The chauffeur quickly opened it and stood at attention as Aunt Myrtle arranged herself to climb in. Elise followed after.

  The ride home was quiet with only Aunt Myrtle instructing Ernest to take them home.. No mention was made of stopping for a cigar or Lavina’s deli. Aunt Myrtle watched out the window with a distracted look on her face.

  Ernest pulled the black Lincoln up the driveway of Montgomery Manor. Elise stared out at the Spanish moss covered trees that lined the driveway. She couldn’t get over how it continued to feel like this street of old houses was caught in a loop of time from the past. She half-expected to see little Myrtle flying up the driveway past them, knees pumping, on her bicycle.

  She glanced at Aunt Myrtle, who wasn’t caught in the same nostalgic thought any longer. The old woman’s face was stiff with anger.

  “What’s the matter, Aunt Myrtle? You seem upset?”

  “I just can’t understand the missed payment at Bart’s Butchers. We Montgomerys have never been late on a payment. Never.” She shook her head, her white curls bobbing. “Papa must be rolling in his grave.” She glared up at Ernest. “You keep your mouth shut now, Ernest. Don’t you pretend to not be eavesdropping.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the driver said decorously and parked the car. He came to help them out.

  Aunt Myrtle went up the stairs, her cane thumping loudly on each tread. “What is this world coming to?” she muttered. “Matilda!” she called before she was all the way in the house. “Ring up Stephen.”

  Matilda sprang away from the doorway. “Yes, mum. Right away, mum.” The maid scampered toward the study. Aunt Myrtle followed, still darkly muttering.

  Elise watched for a second before heading up the stairs to her room.

  The blank spot on the wall gave her a mild twinge as she walked past. She glanced at her watch. About thirty minutes before lunchtime. I’ll read a bit more of the diary. I’d also like to figure out where Constance’s room was. I wonder if it's the small room I saw in the attic of the dollhouse?

  Her room was so welcoming, being situated on the sunny side of the house. Elise walked to the dresser and jiggled open the old top drawer before reaching around in search for the book. She snagged the diary and flipped it open to where she’d left off as she walked to the bed.

  Elise was just about to climb on when something grabbed her attention. A shiver of revulsion ran through her.

  Laying against the quilted pillow sham was a miniature doll. It was her, wearing the identical clothes she’d worn when she first arrived at the house.

  15

  Elise picked up the doll and studied it. Same blue jeans with a pink shirt buttoned up the front. Black sneakers tied on the feet. The doll had a painted smile and two green eyes. Its black hair was pulled into a shiny pony tail.

  A wave of nausea roiled in Elise’s stomach. With great distaste, she carried it between her thumb and forefinger back to the bureau and dropped it on top before wiping her hand on her pants. What in the world? She reached in her back pocket for her phone and quickly made a phone call.

  “Hi, Brad, I’m surprised you answered. I was planning on leaving you a voice mail,” she said when he picked up.

  “Hey, beautiful. I have a few minutes between exercises,” Brad had dragged out the first word, sounding happy. His voice automatically made her smile. “What’s shaking out at the Ghost Manor?”

  She shivered. �
��Worst timing ever. Seriously, that’s not funny. But I called to tell you I’m signing up for that class you were talking about.”

  He let out a surprised sound. “Elise, what’s going on?”

  Elise stared at the doll again. Should I tell him or not? Maybe after I talk with someone about it. I don’t want to stress him out. Maybe this is somebody’s weird idea of a gift. “It just seems like a good idea after all. Thought it might set your mind at ease while you’re at training.”

  “Awesome! Glad to hear it.”

  “And, get this. Lavina is doing it with me.”

  “Wow! How’d you get her to sign up?”

  “She doesn’t know yet. I’m calling her next.”

  He chuckled. “Good luck with that.” They both talked over the top of each other, saying their goodbyes, before Elise hung up.

  She stared at the phone for a second, trying to form a plan of convincing her best friend to join her for the class. Nothing was coming to her. Lavina was too unpredictable and never could be strong-armed into anything. It had made for a teacher’s nightmare in high school but served Lavina well as she ran her business.

  Elise glanced at the doll on the bureau and shivered. Black hair from the doll’s ponytail splayed out on the surface.

  I’m calling, and she’s coming with me. That’s just the way it’s going to be. Determined, she picked up the phone again and rang Lavina.

  Her friend’s sassy voice came through the receiver after the first ring. “Good heavens girl, it’s only…” there was a pause. “My word, are you calling me at eleven in the morning? That’s barely civil.”

  “I have a big favor to ask you. Huge even.”

  Without missing a beat, Lavina responded. “Sure, darlin’. Anything.”

  Elise smiled, knowing Lavina’s “anything” might not include getting thrown around by someone dressed like a sumo wrestler. “Want to take a self-defense class with me? It’s at Gilmore Village.”

  The pause on the other end of the phone lasted several seconds. Finally a breathy, “Okay, who are you and what have you done with my friend?”