Dark Rooms: Three Novels

by Douglas Clegg

  Identified as “Deadly Baby Sitter” of Baltimore

  A woman’s body was found early this morning in the Winthrop Park section of Northwest Washington. Cause of death is as yet unknown. She has been identified as Nora Garrett, aged sixty-one, A.K.A. Winifred Stanhope, Sarah Masterson, and Mary Devine. Under this last name, she made headlines in Baltimore in late 1966 as the Deadly Baby Sitter. Working in the household of the Marrow family of Baltimore, she was held responsible in the deaths of the two Marrow children, Laura and Philip, and with the discovery of the children’s deaths came a string of other similar murders, seven in all, of former employers’ children. But by then the so-called Deadly Baby Sitter had disappeared without a trace. Authorities know very little about this woman, other than she was an illegal alien born in London, England, and that she had managed to elude them for the four years she conducted her murderous activities.

  Below this article, two photographs of the woman:

  One, in death. She lay sprawled across fragments of brick and concrete, her face upward, a raincoat laid over her body, and yet the face was clear, her mouth slightly open, eyes closed.

  The other photo, taken some years earlier, with a fifties look to the make-up and hairstyle. A small round face. Dull mousy hair, small eyes, nose almost indistinguishable from the rest of the face. Plain. Thin lips. Eyes slightly downcast, a tightness to the face as if she didn’t enjoy having her picture taken.

  And there was no doubt who the woman was, through the maze of aliases and the nondescript quality of her features.

  “So long ago,” Penelope Deerfield said to herself, “as if in another life.” It was nice to relax on a summer afternoon in the shade, nice to lean back and have a martini, a martini because her body needed it, a martini because alcohol kept her going these days—nice to just rest her bones and have a drink and reminisce about the good old days.

  When she’d had choices.

  When she’d been alive.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  HOUSEWARMING PARTY

  1.

  Two hours before the party, while Hugh was running around on last-minute errands for cocktail napkins and fresh pineapple for the piña coladas, Rachel answered the door in her bathrobe, her hair greased up and back with conditioner. “Mom,” was all she could say—she’d been expecting Hugh, or perhaps Sassy, and when the doorbell rang, she looked out the kitchen window to try and see who it was, but the view was blocked with the heavy wisteria vine that was strangling the lantern just above the porch. She’d seen the bag lady in the park again—the crazy one, although Rachel was herself beginning to think that she was the crazy one in this neighborhood. Whenever she noticed the bag lady, Rachel wondered if it really was a person or just a collection of trash bags, like an urban scarecrow. But I’d hate to think what she’s scaring away from Winthrop Park.

  “I thought it might be Sassy—we were supposed to go jogging, and I’ve tried calling her to cancel…” Rachel Adair, you are getting really good at the Let’s Pretend lies.

  Her mother asked almost sweetly, “Don’t you think that girls who have miscarriages shouldn’t jog?”

  Afraid my uterus is going to drop on the sidewalk? But Rachel merely smiled pleasantly. “You’re early.”

  “Invite your mother in to see this townhouse of yours,” her mother said. She was dressed in a beige skirt and lavender blouse, her light brown hair, fresh from the hairdresser, only slightly frazzled with the humidity. She looked mildly beautiful, as mom always did.

  They went upstairs, and Rachel gave her a brief tour of the first floor.

  “Lovely, lovely,” her mother said as she followed Rachel room to room, but there were obviously other things on her mother’s mind.

  Finally, Rachel said, “I’m glad you came by, but you’re here for a reason, I guess.”

  “No reason. It was a pretty afternoon, I had my hair appointment, I was dressed, I knew your soiree would be starting up soon, so I thought I’d give you a little warning about tonight. Rachel, I am bringing a date tonight and I am scared—shit, I’m terrified.”

  The shock of hearing her mother use bad language was not as great as the shock from that word date. Moms don’t date, even if moms have been widows for two years. Moms stay moms eternally.

  “Fantastic,” was all Rachel could muster. “Who?”

  As if waiting days for someone to ask her, her mother blurted, “Well, he’s a very nice man, and I hope you don’t mind my bringing him tonight.”

  “And?…”

  “He’s just a nice man. He seems like a nice man. I didn’t want to come alone, and Kelly and her husband can’t make it.”

  “Give me more scenario. How do you know this guy?”

  “If I asked you all these questions when you were dating, you would’ve claimed the Fifth.”

  “Mom.”

  “All right, you know him already, anyway. Mr. Martin. David Martin.”

  “As in Mr. Martin the man who lives in the cul-de-sac who dad couldn’t stand because he said he was a lout?”

  “You asked. It’s just a date. He’s a nice man.”

  “He asked you out?”

  “Well… we went out last Sunday, just to the movies. Don’t look so judgmental, Rachel, that’s a very unattractive quality in a young woman, and it’s my life anyway.”

  “Mr. Martin who used to yell at us for cutting through his yard?”

  “Well, I see you’ve grown up some in the past twenty years. You were trespassing, you tomboys all ruined his garden, and Rachel, it’s just a date. Everyone else at this party will have a date. It’s not one of these modern dates like your generation, where the word date is just a euphemism for sexual relations, it’s a date. And I am glad I dropped by after all, because I don’t want you insulting him or being rude just out of some misguided effort to preserve your father’s memory and keep me a lonely old widow in the suburbs. No one ever asks me out places, not you kids, and not my old girlfriends. David Martin asked me out, and now I am asking him out for tonight. He’s a nice man and it’s either go out with him tonight to your party or stay at home and try to outguess the people on ‘Wheel of Fortune.’ So be good.”

  After her mother left, Rachel tried Sassy’s number again, but there was no answer.

  2.

  The guests began arriving at quarter to eight, but the pains in Rachel’s sides continued unabated as the evening wore on—and her craving for a cigarette—especially since Connie and Dan Stewart, from her office, were smoking up a storm on the patio and every time she went out there both the pains in her back and stomach grew worse and her need of a cigarette became unbearable. All the smokers stayed on the patio, in fact, so Rachel did what she could to avoid going outside. Her mother arrived the earliest, with Mr. David Martin, and on the outside, Rachel said, “I’m so happy you could come. Hugh, sweetheart, see if you can’t get mom a 7-Up, and I think Mr. Martin—David—mentioned a gin and tonic.” But on the inside she was screaming: Daddy’s rolling in his grave! How could you, mom, how could you bring a man who daddy disliked so much!

  In fact, she felt as if on the outside she was being witty and cordial and polite, and on the inside she was a volcano waiting to erupt. Hugh, don’t you think you’ve had enough martinis for one night? Why doesn’t Sassy show up and rescue me from all this? Damn it, my stomach hurts—damn I need a cigarette, damn this dress is tight. But she managed to smile—she was sure it was a pained smile right now as she led her mother and Mr. Martin over to the bar with Hugh there mixing drinks, actually telling jokes with that asshole Bufu Thompson who should’ve been convincing Hugh to get ready for the legal bar rather than the cocktail bar.

  Nina McLeod, one of Rachel’s girlfriends from college, was arguing with the man she’d brought and introduced as her “lover,” a term which Rachel felt not only told too much about their relationship but also was particularly ironic at this moment. The harsh words were spoken softly, and Rachel admired their nerve but not their timing—she was
almost jealous of this display of hostile communication, in which they were both equal partners. Whenever Rachel argued with Hugh, he always caved in, leaving her feeling like the Wicked Witch. Both Nina and her lover seemed equal in their nasty comments to each other. “I saw that look you gave the waitress tonight,” Nina whispered, and her lover replied, “I don’t know how you could see anything with your head so far up your ass.”

  Rachel even smiled genuinely, and she felt suddenly like a hostess— I’m not the only one in the world with problems, and at least Hugh and I can be discreet.

  Dave and Jan Fletcher complimented Hugh on his photographs, but Hugh shrugged his shoulders and started telling jokes. It had been at Rachel’s insistence that he invite them, and Chris Shreeve, his roommate from college. Noticeably missing were most of their law school friends, but that was where Rachel had been a bit sensitive to Hugh—she knew he would feel humiliated if they all came. They would all have good jobs, and here he was, a failure in their eyes.

  Ted Adair arrived just after nine, just after Hugh was beginning to slur his speech, just after Rachel’s mother and Mr. Martin left because they hadn’t yet had dinner and he knew a place nearby. It was a relief to see Ted.

  “Thank God, someone normal,” Rachel said, grabbing his hand and leading him upstairs to the party.

  “I wasn’t sure if I should come,” he said.

  “Well, I’m glad you did. I wish your father had come, too.”

  “I’m afraid he’s not doing too well.”

  “I’m sorry to hear it.”

  “Yeah, well, you know, you get to be that age…”

  She took him to the buffet. “Ham and turkey, but stay away from the goat’s cheese, my cousin Larry brought it and it tastes worse than it smells. But try the ranch dip, and the lady downstairs made this apple pie—she’s here somewhere, too.”

  Mrs. Deerfield was, in fact, on the back porch among the smokers, coughing and drinking, and reading palms.

  “Oh, my big brother!” Hugh yelled from the bar.

  “Hughie,” Ted said, “you’re sailing three sheets to the wind.”

  “You an emissary of his majesty the Old Man?”

  “Not tonight.”

  “Good, good. You know Bufu, don’t you? Boof, this is my big bro, Tedward Adair.”

  “Rachel,” Ted said, “could you and I talk?”

  Rachel nodded, but Hugh grabbed her arm. “Let go,” she said softly.

  “Scout,” Hugh warned.

  But Rachel pulled herself away from him. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough?”

  Hugh lifted his glass up. “Never enough, Scout.”

  “Bartender,” Bufu said, whistling, “what’s the name of the game?”

  “Thumper!” Hugh said, slamming his glass down on the bar. Gin splattered across his shirt. He chugged down what was left in the glass.

  “Why are you doing this?” Rachel asked quietly. He would not meet her gaze.

  Instead he glanced over at Ted. “Listen, you sonofabitch, I want you and the Old Man to keep your claws out of my wife.”

  Ted, pretending that nothing had been said, nodded, smiling. An aside, to Rachel: “Look, we can talk tomorrow, but we should talk soon.”

  “You’re not leaving?”

  “I think maybe I better. No point causing a scene, and Hughie and I are famous for causing scenes.”

  “I don’t blame you. But I’m sorry, Ted.”

  “It’s okay, there’s some business I need to attend to anyway.” As she walked him down the stairs to the front door, he turned and kissed her on her forehead. “A girl like you shouldn’t get such a raw deal.”

  She stood there in the open doorway. Ted walked out onto the sidewalk without looking back.

  Damn you, Hugh, damn you and your goddamn drinking! I knew I should’ve gotten you into AA last year. I knew I shouldn’t have just pretended it was going to go away. And now you’re going to drive anyone decent, even your own family, out of your life. She leaned against the door frame. Ted turned once, at his car which was parked at the end of the block. He stood still. His hands holding the keys to his car. Looking back at her.

  He’s waiting for me.

  Why? Does he feel sorry for me? Or is he the joker that Hugh says he is?

  Somewhere in the distance, the sound of faint thunder.

  You’re not going to do it, Hugh, you’re not going to do it to me, and you’re not going to do it to your brother.

  Slamming the front door behind her, leaving her own party, Rachel stepped out onto the street.

  Ted came to her.

  3.

  “What’ll you do?” Bufu asked drowsily.

  “Don’t know, no idea,” Hugh said. “Always been good with my hands, maybe I’ll do some carpentry. Ha.”

  “You fucked this house up,” Bufu said.

  The two men laughed.

  “Boof, she’s gone.”

  “No, not Rachel.”

  “Yeah, my Scout is gone. Without her, I don’t know where I’m going.”

  “What’s the name of the game, Hughbert?”

  “Damn it to hell, Boof, it’s no game.”

  “You got to stop calling me Bufu, my associates wouldn’t think it was all that funny.”

  “No game at all.”

  4.

  They walked without talking, almost touching, almost arm in arm. Rachel was glad to be out of the smoke and noise and liquor smell. As they passed the small restaurants on the way down Connecticut Avenue towards DuPont Circle, she glanced through the glass windows and watched the young couples enjoying their evening out. “My God,” she said pausing at a Greek restaurant.

  “What is it?”

  “That’s my mother.”

  “So it is. Should we say hi?”

  “No, God, no. She’s on a date with a despicable man, someone daddy hated.”

  “And you’re out with your husband’s brother, who your husband loathes.”

  “Not the same. Hugh is not a sacred cow. Now daddy is a sacred cow.”

  “Moo.”

  “Silly.”

  “Now you’ve got me thinking about dairy products, how does an ice cream cone sound? Haagen Daz’s still looks open.”

  “So does Steve’s, and I like Steve’s Ice Cream better.”

  “That’s the trouble with life, too many choices and nobody agrees on any one of them.”

  “So this is where Hugh got his dime store philosophy from.”

  “I can see why he fell in love with you.” Ted put his arm around her waist.

  “No, um…” Rachel stepped away, pretending to watch for a break in traffic so they could jaywalk. “I better not have ice cream anyway—I’m getting too fat.”

  “Women always think they’re too fat.”

  “Look, let’s go back—now I feel bad for leaving. Hugh’s probably passed out and our friends are probably already gossiping.”

  “I’ve got to tell you something.”

  “Oh, right, we’re supposed to be talking.”

  “I don’t know how you’re going to take this.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Our father—Hugh’s and mine—has gone crazy. Whew! I haven’t told anyone, you’re the first, and it’s that easy.”

  Rachel continued walking.

  “I mean really nutso, off the deep end with no hope of coming back. And he wants me to deliver this message. And it’s crazy, but he said if I tell you this, he will agree to see whatever doctor I bring on. So, even though this sounds nutty, I’ve got to tell you, and then you can call him or write the Old Man a letter and tell him that I told you.”

  “Sounds weird but fair.”

  “Perfect analysis. He wants me to tell you to get out of the house, both you and Hugh, but if Hugh won’t go, then you, especially.”

  “What—I don’t get it, do you mean he wants the house back or something? Can he do that?”

  “He doesn’t want the house back. In fact, he’d like to burn it
down but I think he’s too scared to go near it. He thinks you’re in some kind of danger. Look, here’s what he wrote.” Ted handed Rachel a letter.

  She opened it up.

  Rachel,

  In name of everything holy get tout of the house. Its baby needs a mother, don’t you hear it crying? It’s real, it’s real and nobody can stop it, but if you get out maybe you can be safe—the Housekeeper has to do it, and you’re the one. Deal I made only I didn’t know what deal when I made it. Ted will explain rest. Not blessing on marriage, Rachel, but curse. Please forgive me.

  Winston Adair

  Ted said, “He’s really lost it.”

  “Is he all right, Ted? I mean, shouldn’t you tell Hugh about this?”

  Ted grinned, avoiding her. “Look, let’s get you back, you can call the Old Man up in the morning, and then I can bring in a psychiatrist. He’s hurt himself a bit, got stung by some wasps, but he’s physically okay—he’s living like Howard Hughes in his last days—even growing his fingernails long.”

  “It says you’ll explain the rest.”

  “He’s cracked, Rachel, my pop has cracked.” Ted said this matter-of-factly, but she could see sadness in his eyes.

  “Oh, Ted, I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah, well, I promised him I’d tell you, I can do that. All the bullshit he’s been going on about the house, about it being haunted or something, he called it ‘the screaming house,’ he’s really off—“

  “But I just read about that, the screaming house. In some old news clippings, Ted, there were some murders in the house. It spooked me at first, but I figured they happened so long ago, maybe twenty years. There were some cultists and hippies in the house.”

  “You’re kidding—maybe pop dropped a little acid back then—“

  “The way you and Hugh go on about that poor man—oh, I’m sorry. I know he’s done some horrible things, at least to Hugh, in the past…”