“The kids were just horsing around,” Willowby said. “Why don’t you get Arthur another napkin?”
The cook had to step out for this, as Mrs. Marshpool stored the napkins in the linen closet upstairs. As soon as she left, Willowby grabbed one ear from both Arthur and Richie and forced their heads back. Arthur yelped in surprise and Richie tried to squirm away. The chauffeur sniffed their breath, let go of Arthur, and jerked Richie out of his chair. Then he dragged the boy into the laundry room. The running washer muffled their speech.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Richie whined.
Willowby gave him one short, fast punch to the stomach, and the boy doubled over.
Arthur and Briarly watched, dumbfounded. Richie raised his face, still clutching his stomach. “You can’t hit me like that,” the boy strained out, “I’m a kid.”
Willowby stared coolly. “If you’re big enough to smoke, you’re big enough to take a punch. You’re a little fuck, aren’t you?”
“I’m telling my mother,” Richie blazed.
“Go ahead. I’ll tell her you tried to set your cousin on fire and a lot more besides. And she’ll believe me. She’s known me longer than you’ve been alive.”
“I’ll get you,” said the boy, his face blotchy with rage.
“And I’ll break your arm,” Willowby retorted. “Don’t make the mistake of thinking I give a damn about your welfare.”
Richie saw Arthur and Briarly gaping at him, and he ran out the side door. Sheila entered just as Willowby was retrieving his sandwich. When she handed the napkin over, Arthur was too dazed to take it, so the cook placed it in his lap herself. Only then did Arthur think to see if his clothes were all right. He couldn’t find any burn marks.
“See you later,” said Willowby to Sheila. The chauffeur left by the side door, heading towards the carriage house.
Arthur and Briarly stared at each other. The boy didn’t know what to think. He had always been told no adult should ever hit a child, but he also knew Richie was not an ordinary kid. Why was it, he wondered, that none of the other grownups (except Willowby) could deal with Richie? Somehow, they never seemed to notice his misbehavior, and even when they did, they never punished him properly.
Briarly was still agog. Arthur shrugged his shoulders and ate his bacon.
Willowby was not yet free of obnoxious Boyle relatives, however. At the carriage house Lance was standing just inside a car bay, gazing down at the Mercedes-Knight with contempt.
“Hey,” said Wiley, “can this old piece of crap do anything?”
“What do you mean, do anything?” replied the chauffeur.
Lance laughed idiotically. “What the hell do you mean what I mean? I asked if this old piece of shit can do anything. Go, I mean.”
“I’ve never driven the Mercedes-Knight at top speed because it’s bad for the engine,” replied Willowby, nettled.
“Christ, what the fuck does that matter? The old geezer who owned it is dead. I bet I could make this car do shit you’d never believe.”
“I doubt that,” said the chauffeur angrily. “Antique cars operate very differently from modern ones. You need a lot of specialized knowledge of the sort I have to be able to drive this car at all.”
“Fuck, these old cars have practically no controls. I could drive this thing easily.”
“Oh yeah?” said Willowby.
A moment later, a scream came from the second floor of Rollingwood. In the dining room, people leapt out of their chairs, dropping silverware and tossing napkins aside. Colette even looked up from her couch.
Jac was standing on the stairs. “My sapphire necklace is gone!” she screamed.
At this, Phil exhaled hard and lit a cigarette. “You just forgot where you put it,” he said.
Jac’s black-rimmed eyes were starting from her head. “The closet and all the drawers have been ransacked! Everything’s on the floor! Come and look, dammit!”
Phil’s cigarette went still, and Katherine opened her bottle of heart medicine and hurriedly swallowed a pair of pills.
A suppressed giggle came from the front door, and Arthur saw Richie watching the uproar with a grin. Immediately, Arthur knew he was the culprit. But why? Richie didn’t seem worried that he’d be killed for it.
Everyone ran upstairs. At the door of his aunt’s bedroom Arthur saw that Jac had not been exaggerating. Richie had pulled out every single drawer and dumped the contents. The bureau had been emptied of underwear, and the mattress was askew as if someone had been searching underneath it. All the clothes were off their hangers, heaped on the closet floor (Arthur wondered if Richie had permission to do that, or if it were an improvisation; if not, his mother would murder him). Jac’s jewelry box was open on the vanity, jewelry spread all over the floor, but there still seemed to be quite a lot left, to Arthur’s eyes. Finally, Jac’s shoes had been flung around the room. Richie must have had fun pitching them, Arthur guessed.
At the sight of the shoes, Briarly began to cry, remembering all the straightening that had gone into them.
“Will you stop that?!” Jac yelled at her daughter. “Jesus Christ, we don’t need a scene right now! Go away if you can’t stand to look!”
“We’re going to have to call the police,” said Rose, aghast.
“I’m afraid you’re right, honey,” said Bert solemnly. “I’ll do it. Everyone has to leave this room to keep it from being disturbed before the police show up.”
Armagnac gave an involuntary hoot of laughter at Bert’s phrasing.
“Will you shut up!” Jac shouted at her brother. She seized a handkerchief and began to daub her eyes.
Cummings began to usher everyone out. “How valuable was that necklace?” he asked in the hallway.
“Quite valuable,” said Phil. “Most of her jewelry’s costume stuff, but that necklace is expensive.” Salisbury was watching his wife sidelong, for he had not been married to her for many years for nothing. Armagnac too, was eyeing his sister.
Jac turned red at this revelation about her costume jewelry and snarled, “If you had a better job you’d be able to afford the real stuff!”
“Hey, everybody,” said Bert. “Just calm down until I can call the police. Are you sure the necklace is gone? Maybe it’s lying around in that mess somewhere.”
“Yes, it’s gone,” said Jac passionately. “I kept it locked up in a case. The lock’s been torn off and the case is empty!”
“What are you up to?” Armagnac said in a low voice to his sister. “You’d better confess before the police arrive and things get serious.”
Jac wiped her nose and regarded her brother silently. Then her eyes fell on Mrs. Marshpool’s face. The housekeeper was watching Jac without sympathy.
“Look at that expression,” said Jac, twitching her kleenex in the direction of the housekeeper. Everyone stared at Mrs. Marshpool.
The housekeeper replied, “I doubt you’ll need the police, Mrs. Salisbury. I’m sure it was one of your children, probably your son, up to some little stratagem.” The housekeeper’s tone was perhaps too cool.
“One of my kids! How dare you say that!” With this, Jac dashed up to the third floor and the others followed her, startled. Jac threw open the door to the housekeeper’s bedroom and began to rummage furiously in the drawers.
“Mrs. Salisbury! I insist you leave my room! That is my private property!” The housekeeper tried to shut a bureau drawer that Jac had opened, but Jac had already extracted something from it. She was holding up a sapphire necklace. The others were just entering the room, and they saw Jac giving Mrs. Marshpool a look of deadly triumph.
“Jesus,” mumbled Bert. Both Katherine and Rose were speechless. Even Mrs. Marshpool looked momentarily rocked by the sight of the necklace emerging from her bureau. Then the housekeeper stared hard at Armagnac. Armagnac nodded at her, his expression taut.
“Fire her,” said Jac venomously to her aunt.
“Jacquelyn,” replied Katherine feebly.
&nbs
p; “Knock it off, Jac, you planted that necklace there,” said Armagnac with disgust.
“Are you insane?” Jac yelled. “Your housekeeper has just stolen my twenty-thousand dollar necklace and you’re defending her! I’m calling the police!”
“Stop this, you two,” cried Katherine. “I’m sure there’s a logical explanation for that necklace being in the bureau.”
“Jac planted it,” said Armagnac conversationally to Bert.
“I’m calling the police!” Mrs. Salisbury insisted. She shoved past and jumped down the stairs. Armagnac bounded after her, and the rest of the family followed.
As Jac began to dial on the hall telephone, Boyle unclipped the phone connection from the wall. She grabbed the cord away from him, but her hand slid along its length and accidentally stripped the plastic connector off, breaking it. Jac swore and her brother grinned. She dashed for the front door.
“What are you doing?” Armagnac yelled.
“I’m driving to the sheriff’s office!” She opened the driver’s side door to the Lincoln.
“Stop!” commanded Boyle, placing himself in front of the car to block its path. The rest of the family was pouring down the marble steps, and Katherine joined Armagnac in front of the car, waving frantically at her niece.
Jac rolled down the window. “Get out of the way, dammit!”
“You’d better change your mind!” Armagnac shouted.
Katherine grabbed the glass of Jac’s window. “There must be some mistake,” the old lady insisted. “Mrs. Marshpool wouldn’t steal anything! She’s worked here for years!”
Jac’s furious eyes rolled. “Look,” she said to her aunt in a lower tone, “I’ll make you a deal. Fire her, and I won’t report her to the police.”
Katherine drew back, befuddled, and Jac said urgently, “Listen to me, Aunt Katy, you’re going to lose the whole damned property to her, house and all, if you don’t fire her.”
“I heard that!” Armagnac yelled. “Come out of that car and I’ll tell you something, sister!”
Mrs. Marshpool whispered in Armagnac’s ear, and Boyle’s eyes widened. Then he stalked around to the car window and inserted his face. “Come out of there, Jac,” he said smugly, “and quit bluffing. You can’t leave because you don’t have your car keys with you.”
Jac glared at him. Then she threw the car door open and stepped out to confront her brother.
“As master of Rollingwood, I won’t put up with any of this nonsense about firing,” Armagnac woofed. “Now get back inside that house and behave yourself.”
This was not the thing to say to his hot-blooded sister.
“Oh, you’re in charge?” sneered Jac. “Let me explain to you, my stupid brother, that our father has several heirs, including me as well as our aunt. I have as much right to fire anyone on this property as you do.”
“And I have the right to veto you!” Armagnac retorted.
“And I’m going to the police!”
“Mrs. Salisbury,” said the housekeeper. Jac turned, enraged.
“If you do so, you realize you must give forensic evidence, to make your charges stick.” The housekeeper spoke with surprising calmness. “It is well known that you would like to get rid of me, and nothing is stopping any one of us from making the countercharge that you placed that necklace there, and pointing out that your fingerprints are all over it, and mine aren’t.”
Jac paused. She gazed silently through her heavy eyelashes at the sapphires in her hand, wearing the expression of a woman who had overlooked something.
“You filthy bitch!” she shrilled at the housekeeper, getting her second wind.
She was interrupted by the Mercedes-Knight squealing around the corner. The Lincoln was in its way, and at the last second before the collision the Mercedes-Knight veered into the front flowerbed instead. Pink petals went up like confetti as the antique car made for the marble steps. Everyone scattered.
“Oh God, what now?” shrieked Jac.
The Mercedes-Knight halted just short of the front steps. Lance was at the wheel, and an alarmed-looking Willowby was sitting beside him.
“Hey,” Lance hooted, “scared you, didn’t I?” He laughed stupidly.
Katherine’s hands were clutching her heart as she stared at her once-beautiful peonies.
“Jesus. Christ,” said Jac slowly and menacingly.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Armagnac shouted at Lance. “Willowby, get out of that car! What’s he doing at the wheel?”
Just then Heydrick came around the corner, nose pointing downwards like a dog following a scent. He halted at the sight of the floral carnage, then went over and faced the two culprits. The gardener smiled vengefully at them, his eyes overflowing with promise.
“Uh, Heydrick,” said Willowby, “it was an accident.”
“Jesus God,” said Bert to Arthur, “I think they need to fire everybody on this place.”
Just then a Honda came motoring up the circular drive. The new car parked behind the Lincoln, and a young man jumped out of the passenger seat. He was wearing a black T-shirt, black leather pants, a long black leather coat, and a Zorro hat on top of his long blonde hair. A rubber dragon dangled from a shoelace around his neck.
“Hello there!” Bradley shouted, beaming. “I hope you’re all having a wonderful time! Doesn’t everyone just love these family reunions?”
Chapter 8
Willowby and Lance fled while Rose greeted the newcomers hastily. Heydrick went to his gardener’s shed for tools to repair the damage, and Katherine signaled frantically for Armagnac and Jac to accompany her inside the house. Once there, she hissed, “We’re going to have a truce here, understand? We’re not going to disgrace ourselves in front of our guests! We’re Boyles, remember. So behave!” The old lady hurriedly combed her hair with her fingers. “At least it wasn’t the Margaret Merrill roses. If they’d crushed the flower I was going to exhibit, I'd have died.”
Sulkily, Jac sat on the couch. With a scornful glance at her, Mrs. Marshpool went off to replace the phone cord.
“They’re coming in after us,” Rose announced as she entered with Bert. “But first they need to fetch a few things from their car.”
“Who are they?” said Jac, not meeting anyone’s eyes.
Just then the young man in the Zorro hat walked into the living room. A full-grown calico cat was lying across one of his forearms, and a kitten was squirming inside his coat pocket. He smiled brightly and said, “I brought the kitties! This is Purrball, and the kitten is Muffin.”
Bert was the first to recover. “And who are you?” he asked.
The visitor cackled loudly. “Oh, didn’t the lawyer tell you? I’m Bradley Smith, your long-lost relative. Pleased to meet you.”
Another young man was entering the foyer behind Bradley. This person was wearing a long dress coat, and he staggered under the load of luggage. His taut fists held four suitcase handles, another bag was slung over his shoulder, and he clenched a sixth bag tightly underneath an armpit.
Bradley gestured at his companion with the calico. “This is my manservant, Eric Maxwell.”
The porter halted as if thinking about dropping a suitcase on Smith’s foot. “His friend, maybe,” Eric retorted, letting the luggage slide to the floor.
“He’ll be staying here, too, as I believe you know,” said Bradley. From behind his back he produced a bouquet of white roses, and he handed these to Katherine with a smile. “A little gift.”
“Why, thank you,” Katherine replied graciously, “I just love this type of flower. They’re white--Margaret Merrills,” she added in surprise. She looked more closely at the flowers, and her face lost its smile.
Eric grimaced. Bradley had just picked the flowers outside, despite his friend’s frantically gestured no’s.
“Well, isn’t this grand,” said Smith as he pulled Muffin out of his pocket. “You have a very attractive house. Weird black color scheme, though. So what are all your names?”
“Do those cats shed?” said Mrs. Marshpool, slit-eyed.
“All cats shed,” Bradley replied proudly, smiling down at his pets.
“Won’t you two sit down?” said Katherine, trying to be civil. She was put out about the roses, but was relieved to find that the blossom intended for the flower show was not among them. “You must be tired. Let me take your coats.”
Bradley placed himself and his pets down on the I-shaped couch, since Colette was still on the other. Arthur and Briarly crowded close, stroking the cats gingerly with their palms. Richie was slumped against the wall, pained to witness all this sissy cat stuff. Eric sat next to Bradley.
“Mrs. Marshpool, bring in some refreshments for our guests,” said Katherine. “What will you have? We have wine, if you would like.”
“The fanciest bottle you’ve got would be perfect,” said Bradley.
Armagnac blanched.
“A glass of warm tap water,” said Eric gravely, “if it’s not too much trouble.”
Muffin was trying to scramble up Eric's shirt, and Arthur watched the kitten’s progress with curiosity.
“Not at all,” exclaimed Katherine, “Mrs. Marshpool, you might as well break out a couple of the good bottles from James’ stash. Since the family is finally together, we ought to celebrate with a good vintage.”
Armagnac caught Mrs. Marshpool’s eye, and the housekeeper gave a brief nod on her way out, understanding she was not to bring out the very best bottles.
“I wonder how my father knew about you,” said Jac to Bradley.
“The lawyer said a detective found me.”
“A detective? Oh great! He was probably spying on all of us. That would be exactly like Father.” Jac ignored the signal Rose was trying to give her and Katherine’s sudden frantic cough.
Mrs. Marshpool returned, rolling in a tea cart bearing several wineglasses, a pair of wine bottles in an ice bucket, and a cupful of warm tap water.
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