by Eva Gates
“We’re not close. To put it mildly. I hope she’ll recognize me.”
“Recognize you? When was the last time you were together?” That was absolutely none of my business, but how could I not ask?
Julia shrugged. “I’m not entirely sure. I remember that she missed my college graduation. She was touring in Europe, I think. Or that might have been the time she was in rehab.”
Theodore and I exchanged a look.
I wouldn’t say my mom and I were close, but I’d last seen her over the summer when she hurried down to the Outer Banks with the intention of dragging me back to Boston to marry the man the family expected me to.
Obviously, her plan had not worked (as I was still here), but we kept in touch via email and a weekly phone call. I’d last heard from her the day before yesterday, when she’d told me she was excited about Josie’s announcement and was hoping she and I could go shopping together for suitable winter wedding wear.
Shopping, for my mother, if not for me, was a bonding experience.
“That might be her now,” Julia said, and we all turned.
The hostess was coming onto the deck, carrying menus. A man and a woman walked behind her. Or rather, the man walked. The woman swept.
She wore a black wool cape fastened with fire-engine-red frogs. As she moved, the cape swirled around her long legs, and the scarlet satin lining flashed. Curly black hair tumbled around her shoulders. Long silver earrings hung from her ears, and a necklace of beaten silver rings flashed at her throat. Her dress was pure white and very tight, the décolletage deep and the hemline short. Four-inch high heels tapped across the deck, and I feared for the old wooden planks.
“My mother,” Julia mumbled. She stood up.
Anna gathered Julia into her arms. “My darling. Moya dorogaya. My baby. Don’t worry about a thing. Mama is here.” Her accent was deep. Eastern European, I guessed. Maybe Russian. Theodore, Greg, and I had also risen to our feet. We stared. Theodore and Greg’s mouths hung open, and I’m pretty sure mine did also.
“Hi,” the man said. “I’m Dave. Dave White. Anna’s husband.” Dave had a Midwestern accent, short gray hair, and a goatee streaked black and sliver. He was in his mid to late fifties, about the same as Anna. Whereas she looked like she was on her way to opening night at the Met, he was casually dressed in jeans and a checked shirt.
Theodore, Greg, and I closed our mouths.
“Sorry we’re late,” Dave said, “but Anna couldn’t find the necklace she wanted to wear. You’d think she’d be used to living out of a suitcase, wouldn’t you.” He turned to the hovering waiter. “Thanks, pal. I’ll have a bottle of Bud. An old-fashioned for the lady.”
Anna and Julia broke apart, Julia looking somewhat stunned.
“You brought friends. How charming.” Anna beamed at Theodore and Greg. She extended her hand, first to Greg and then to Theodore. Her fingernails were cut short, but freshly manicured and painted the same color as the lining of her cape.
Her smile faded as she turned to me. “Hello.” Her eyes were the same shade of light blue as Julia’s.
“Hi,” I said. “I’m Lucy. Pleased to meet you.”
“I’m sure you are.” She looked at the table. “Only five places set? Tell the waiter to bring another setting, Lucy.”
That puts me in my place.
Anna fluffed her cape and took the chair at the foot of the table, opposite Julia. Dave sat next to Greg, across from me, and we all resumed our seats. Greg took a long glug of his martini.
“So,” Anna said, “Jay Ruddle kicked the bucket at last.”
Greg spat out a mouthful of martini.
“Isn’t that a bit harsh?” Julia said.
“Is that not a saying you Americans use?”
“Yes, but…”
Anna turned to me. “I believe in speaking my mind at all times, Lucy. I hope you’ll agree that honestly is always the best way, particularly among friends.”
“Uh…,” I said.
“I see I am among friends. Jay Ruddle might have told lies about me to my beloved late husband, forced us apart, stolen the affection of my only daughter, ruthlessly driven me from her life, and spread hurtful rumors about me to those who laughingly call me their peers, but we will talk about all that no longer.” The waiter placed her drink in front of her. “Excellent. Thank you so much, young man.”
“Are you ready to order?” he asked.
“Certainly not,” Anna said. “I have only just arrived. I will inform you when I am ready to order.” She took a long sip of her drink. “Jay Ruddle has gone to what my grandmother would have called…” She finished the sentence in a language I didn’t understand.
“What does that mean?” Theodore asked Dave.
“Haven’t a clue. The only Russian I speak is what’s called pillow talk.” He laughed and lifted his beer bottle in a salute. “Cheers!”
“You and Grandfather had your differences,” Julia said. “He would have interpreted his actions a different way. I hope you’re not here to gloat.”
“Gloat! Certainly not. I am here to provide you with comfort and to help you through the grieving process.” Anna almost gritted her teeth. “I know you and Jay were … uh … fond of each other.”
“I loved my grandfather a great deal.”
“And so you should. Regardless of all his faults—”
“Anna,” Julia warned.
“—he loved you.”
“Thank you.” Julia relaxed fractionally.
“Although he loved no one else, and few loved him. It would appear that at the end of his days, there was someone who didn’t love him at all.”
“What do you mean by that?” Julia asked, her voice rising.
“Someone killed him, didn’t they? Those were not the actions of a friend.” Anna sipped her drink. “Although sometimes they can be that of a lover.”
“Do you know something about Jay’s death?” Greg said.
“Me? I know nothing that is not common knowledge. We were stuck at the airport in Atlanta for a ridiculous amount of time. Something about a storm in the Midwest. Aren’t they always having storms in the Midwest? Why the airlines haven’t allowed for that by now, I do not understand. The news was playing on the TV in the bar in which we took shelter. Tell these nice people what we saw, David. I am far too upset to repeat it.”
He put down his beer. “The news report said your grandfather had been murdered, Julia. And it also reported that, I’m sorry to say, you’re a person of interest in the police investigation.”
“Gross exaggeration,” Theodore said.
“If they don’t withdraw that insinuation, we’ll sue them for all they’re worth,” Greg said.
“Imagine, my own daughter on the TV,” Anna said. “Like a common criminal. Next time, Julia, try to fix your hair before the cameras arrive.”
“I’ll remember that,” Julia said.
“Do you have a lawyer?” Dave asked.
“The firm arranged one,” Greg answered. “He’s arriving tomorrow.”
“I hope he is the best,” Anna said. “Never mind the expense.”
“Easy to say when you’re not paying his fee.” Julia opened her menu. “I’m starving. You might have arrived late, Anna, but we’ve been here for ages, and I’m going to order.”
* * *
Dinner passed without further incident. Anna did most of the talking. And she talked mostly about Anna. She had been in Europe, I understood, touring. I attempted to ask what she was touring as (it had to do with something musical I guessed), but I soon came to realize that I was expected to know that.
Dave and Greg talked to each other about sports. They both seemed to be fans of the New York Islanders and were looking forward to the upcoming hockey season. Theodore, who was no sports fan, attempted to participate in the men’s conversation but was soon left far behind.
Julia stirred her food around on her plate and said little.
At last the waiter brought the bi
ll. He hesitated for a moment, unsure of whom to give it to. Dave jerked his head in Julia’s direction.
“Where are you staying, my darling?” Anna asked.
“The Ocean Side Hotel.” Julia picked up the bill. Theodore reached for his wallet, but she said, “Dinner’s my treat. You’ve all been so kind, it’s the least I can do to say thank you.”
“Such a lovely establishment,” Anna said. “Much nicer than the unpleasant place David found for us.” She named a run-down hotel that wasn’t much above the level of a motel on the interstate. Anna turned to her husband. “It is too late tonight, but we will move there tomorrow.”
“You don’t have to,” Julia said.
Anna waved a hand. “I only wish to be close to you, moya dorogaya, should you need anything. Paying hotels is so tedious. David, be sure they put our charges on Jay’s bill.” She pushed her chair back and rose to her feet in a sleek red, white, and black wave. “This has been such a pleasure. We will meet tomorrow for breakfast at the Ocean Side at 9:30. David, be sure and set the alarm.”
“Will do.”
“It is so tedious trying to adapt to time changes.” She rounded the table and enveloped Julia in a hug. When they broke away, she smiled at Greg. “You needn’t change your room arrangements to accommodate Julia’s mother.”
He looked baffled. “Why would I do that?”
Anna laughed lightly. “Modern times, my dear.”
“Huh?”
Julia blushed to the roots of her hair. “My sleeping arrangements are none of your business. But if you must know, and in order to avoid further misunderstanding, we’re here on business. Greg is … was … Grandfather’s assistant.”
“I hope I’m more than that to you, Julia,” Greg said.
Anna turned to Theodore. “Surely not you?”
“I’m Julia’s friend. Although, I must say, in the short time I’ve come to know her, I’ve—”
“Theodore and I are locals,” I interrupted. “We live here. Nice meeting you.”
Anna pecked Julia on the cheek. She gave Greg a long hug, ignored Theodore, mumbled good night at me, and swept away. Dave followed in her wake like a dinghy attached to the stern of an ocean liner.
Julia let out a long puff of air. “Now you’ve all met my mother. And I have to have breakfast at ten thirty.”
“She said nine thirty,” Theodore said.
“Which, if I’m lucky, will be ten thirty,” Julia said. “Practically lunch time for me. My grandfather was an early riser, and that’s a habit he instilled in me from a young age.”
“What does she do?” I asked. “I didn’t quite catch it. Something about touring in Europe?”
Julia picked up her bag. “Anna Makarova is a classical violinist.”
“Impressive,” I said.
“It might have been, once. She’s been fired from more orchestras than I can name. Even as classical violinists go, she’s too temperamental and unreliable to hold down a job. By touring, I assume she was playing with a third- or fourth-rate orchestra in some former Soviet backwater.”
“How long have she and Dave been married?” Greg asked.
“I have absolutely no idea. Never heard of him before. Her last husband’s name was Edward. I think it was Edward. Maybe Edgar.”
We collected our things and began walking toward the door.
“Still,” I said, “Even though you two are not close”—to put it mildly—“it was nice of her to drop whatever she was doing and come here to offer you her support.”
“Her support?” Julia said. “As if. She’s here because she’s hoping for a share of my expected inheritance.”
Chapter Thirteen
In the parking lot of Jake’s, Theodore offered to give Julia a ride back to the Ocean Side. Considering that she’d come with Greg, and they were staying at the same hotel, she declined with a light kiss on his cheek. He stood next to his car, under the bright lights, waving until their car had merged into traffic.
“Okay,” I said. “Spill.”
“Spill what? I never for one moment thought she and Greg were … uh … rooming together. Still it was nice to have it confirmed wasn’t it? Isn’t Anna charming? Can’t beat those old-world manners, can you?”
Charming wasn’t the word I’d use, but I let that go. “You said you had something to tell me privately. I assume it’s to do with Greg.”
“Oh, right. Meeting Julia’s mother drove that completely from my mind.” He gave me a big grin: the cat that found the cream bowl unattended. “Greg Summers didn’t voluntarily leave Jay’s employ. He was fired. He might not even have another job to go to.”
“What makes you think that?”
He tapped the side of his nose. “You asked me to do some digging, Lucy. And so I did. The world of collecting is a small one. I don’t specialize in historical documents, but I know plenty of fellows, and some women, who do. I send business their way, and if they hear of an item that might be of interest to me, they—”
“Yes, yes. Get to the point, please.”
“I’m simply explaining how these things work, Lucy. I mentioned on some of the collecting list servs that I’d been offered a bound collection of captain’s logs from an eighteenth-century trading vessel and wondered who might be interested in bidding on it, and I got some queries. I asked about the Ruddle collection, and that’s where it got interesting.” He paused, waiting for me to reply.
I did so. “And?”
“And that began an entirely different thread. Jay Ruddle, so I was told, no longer wanted the responsibility for his collection, nor did he want it to remain in private hands. He decided, very admirably, I thought, that it should be available to the history-loving public. He was searching for a home for it. His curator, Greg Summers, was assigned to assist in that search and told he’d no longer be needed once the collection had moved.”
“That’s not being fired,” I said. “He was told his job was being made redundant, but he was given plenty of responsibilities in the meantime. He wasn’t kicked out onto the curb.”
“Greg lied.”
“He told a story to save face, more likely.”
“Don’t you see, Lucy? If Greg didn’t leave his position voluntarily in order to take another job, then we have to ask if he had reason to want Jay Ruddle dead. The collection might not be given away after all. Julia now has control of it. Presumably, she’ll need a curator. I wonder if she’s aware of the real story. Should I tell her, Lucy?”
“Absolutely not. Yes, we’re trying to help her with the matter of her grandfather’s death, but you don’t want her to think you’ve been poking into her family’s affairs. Remember when I said don’t hover?”
He nodded.
“That’s worse.”
He nodded again.
“Good night, Theodore,” I said.
“Do you think it’s important? What I learned? About Greg, I mean. I told you he couldn’t be trusted.”
I didn’t answer. I said good night again and went to my car.
Did I think it was important?
Absolutely.
Chapter Fourteen
The driveway to the lighthouse is long and dark, but I’m always cheered by the light over the door and the intermittent flash of the 1000-watt bulb welcoming me home.
I parked my car by the path and got out. I held my keys in my hand and walked slowly, thinking about what Teddy had told me. Greg had jumped to the top of my suspect list. If I had a suspect list. Which I did not.
Sam Watson was always telling me not to interfere in his investigations, but that was proving as impossible in this case as it had the other times. What Detective Watson didn’t understand was that I heard things by virtue of not being a cop. Watson wouldn’t hang around book collector message boards, gathering and spreading gossip, and he wouldn’t be invited to dinner to meet Julia’s mother. It’s possible Julia wouldn’t even tell him about the relationship (the non-relationship) she had with her mother, and Watson might
not think to ask.
The night air was crisp, cool, and fresh. I took a deep breath. Something in the corner of my eye caught my attention, and I glanced toward the boardwalk that wandered through the marsh.
I sucked in a breath.
Where I stood, in the shadows of the lighthouse, the air was clear. In the distance, mist, as delicate as gossamer wings, spun through the air, and colored lights—green, blue, and yellow—hovered a foot or so above the ground. There might have been ten of them; there might have been twenty or more. The lights faded almost to nothing and then grew strong again. The mist swirled around them.
No cars other than mine were in the parking lot, and these weren’t flashlights at any rate. No hands held the lights, and the glow they cast was soft, almost insubstantial.
I took a step forward. And then another. The lights retreated. Another step. The lights retreated some more. The mist grew stronger as I ventured close, until I was walking through it, and the ground was soft, and I could no longer see where my feet touched the solid earth.
The lights drifted on the mist. The distance between us didn’t decrease, even though I was walking toward them.
Another step forward. The lights beckoned to me.
Bracebridge Hall. The story of the marsh candles. Corpse candles, they were sometimes called, or will-o-the-wisps. Luring the innocent to their death.
I gathered every bit of courage I had, and I turned and ran. The bright white light over the front door shone clear and strong and welcoming. The lighthouse lamp came on, and I could see the path laid down in front of me. I stumbled up the steps and reached the door. My hands shook so badly, I could barely get the key into the lock. At last the door opened, and I fell into the library. I slammed the door behind me and stood with my back against it, heart pounding.
Charles strolled out from under the desk. He stretched mightily and then eyed me. His fur lay flat across his back, and his spine wasn’t arched. He turned around and headed for the stairs, knowing it was bedtime.
I tiptoed to the window and peered out. The light high above me was in its dormancy period, and I saw nothing but darkness.
Ghostly lights. Will-o’-the-wisps. No such thing.