The Lemoncholy Life of Annie Aster

by Scott Wilbanks

  “But,” Auntie Liza continued, breaking Annie from her thoughts, “if you’re willing to be flexible, I’d like to make a suggestion of my own.”

  “What is it?”

  “Let’s go ice skating.”

  “In June?” Annie smacked the bedcovers in frustration. “How’s that better than kissing a boy?” she asked, not even trying to mask her suspicions. Annie knew her godmother too well. There was more to this suggestion than met the eye.

  “What’s the point in having a fabulously wealthy auntie if you can’t do things in style? And we can’t simply ice skate anywhere, you know.”

  “We can’t?”

  “No, silly. We’re skating at Rockefeller Center—tonight, under the stars, so get dressed. I’ve already packed your things and set up your lesson. The airport limo will be out front in an hour.”

  What self-respecting eight-year-old could refuse an offer like that? Boys would have to wait, Annie decided, as she rushed into the bathroom.

  The day was a deluge of firsts, from the flight—first-class—and the tour of a concrete world so vast Annie couldn’t wrap her head around it, to the indescribable grandness of Rockefeller Center. Annie was simply drenched from head to toe in happiness. Her new ice skates were sitting in a box at her feet, and she was so transfixed by the kaleidoscopic stained glass ceiling in the Russian Tea Room that she didn’t even see the waiter arrive at the table until he’d flambéed the cherries jubilee. As the brandy burned off, Auntie Liza explained that the recipe was credited to Auguste Escoffier for Queen Victoria’s Golden Jubilee of 1887.

  Annie scooped a glossy mound onto her fork and took a bite. She closed her eyes, sighing, before saying the strangest thing. “This tastes even better than the first time I turned eight.” She savored another bite. “Birthdays were never the same without you, Auntie Liza. Remember Sassafras?”

  “That gorgeous piebald Arabian horse I gave you for your tenth birthday?”

  Annie nodded, not thinking it the least bit strange to discuss something that wouldn’t happen for two years as if it were a memory.

  “I almost forgot about him. Your father was furious. Said I was spoiling you.” Auntie Liza paused with the glass of Sauternes hovering under her lips. Her eyes crinkled. “Of course I was spoiling you!” She took a sip. “Sassafras was sent to a stud farm,” she added. “I daresay that was one happy horse.”

  One by one, they took turns opening their memories together, precious little chestnuts, and Annie found herself asking, “And what about my fourteenth birthday when I insisted—”

  Auntie Liza interrupted her. “I’m afraid I was in heaven by then, dear.”

  “Oh, that’s right.” Embarrassed, Annie swung her legs under the chair and stirred crimson curls of cherry puree through the melting ice cream. She smiled, her lips angled slyly, one eye half shuttered. “I know this isn’t real.”

  “Of course you do. You’re very smart.”

  “Then why are we here?”

  “Just a little healing, dear. You were starting to slip, you see, and we can’t have that. You have a difficult task ahead of you.”

  “What task?”

  “Life, dear. Life. Now wake up. Christian’s worried sick. He blames himself, you know.”

  CHAPTER

  FORTY-ONE

  Plan B

  With the all- too- obviously love- struck Nathaniel back in Kansas City, and word from Edmond that Annie was on the mend, Elsbeth was getting back to business as usual. She waved in the direction of the plume of dust kicked up by Amos’s wagon as he headed back down the road to Sage.

  Going inside, she began to put away the provisions he dropped off and noticed a copy of the Sun Sage in the bottom of the bin. Forgetting the remaining perishables, she grabbed the paper and dropped into her rocking chair. Bristle, never one to wait for an invitation, jumped in her lap, purring before he even settled down.

  Unfolding the paper, she read the title of the lead article and froze. After scanning it, she picked Bristle up, grabbed a quill and paper, and walked over to her breakfast table. Dropping the kitten back in her lap, she began to write.

  June 7, 1895

  Dearest Annie:

  You’ll find this article to be of interest. I have no sympathy for the man. Anyone who delights in terrorizing kittens deserves his fate.

  Love,

  El

  Annie was in the solarium pruning when Christian burst through the door. He startled her so badly that she dropped the gardening shears onto a bottle of fertilizer, spilling the solution on the tips of her suede shoes. Accustomed to his talent for bedlam, she simply sighed and rubbed her cheek with her forearm, leaving a bit of soil on the side of her nose.

  “You have mail,” said Christian. “From Elsbeth.”

  Annie ran to the kitchen alcove, throwing the gloves in the sink on the way. She ripped open the envelope and breezed through the note before unfolding the article.

  A new chapter has been written in what may go down as the most bizarre murder case in Kansas City history.

  The body of Ambrosius Culler was found today in the very living room where he was suspected of murdering David Abbott. It was in the early stages of decomposition, a condition much maligned by a neighbor, Evillene McCready, who’d complained to the police about a strange odor coming from the Abbott estate the day before.

  How he got into the home, and why he is dead, remain a mystery that threatens to topple a few heads within the police force, including the chief of police himself.

  The cause of death appears to be two gunshot wounds to the chest. However, there were also severe lacerations above the left ear and on the right forearm, a puncture wound in the right shoulder, and an apparent dog bite on the right leg.

  A pistol, confirmed as having been owned by Ambrosius Culler, was found next to the body, along with six expired shells and a single bullet…

  “He’s dead,” she said.

  “Who’s dead?” asked Christian as he snatched the article from her hand. He laid his hand atop his head as he read. “I can’t believe it.”

  “I can.”

  Christian looked up, studying Annie’s face. She spoke as if she’d expected the outcome. She’d been acting differently of late. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but he was fairly sure it had to do with the Culler nightmare. That seemed obvious. It was equally obvious that she was hiding something. Before he could speculate further, she handed him Elsbeth’s letter, stood up, and headed to the counter.

  He scanned it quickly, chuckling despite his concern. “The man almost kills you, and Elsbeth worries about kittens.”

  “An inside joke,” Annie said.

  Christian went back to the article. “What about Danyer?” he asked, setting it aside.

  Annie reached for her stack of linen napkins, wandered back to the breakfast nook, and sat down—looking pensive. “I don’t think there ever was a Danyer,” she said.

  “Annie, you saw the man!”

  “No.” She shook her head. “I saw someone,” she said. “And as I recall, Edmond never actually saw Danyer at the auction house. He overheard a conversation.” She started folding the napkins, while giving Christian a brief description of what she’d found at Mr. Culler’s office—his curiosity cabinet, his “collection,” and what she’d found in his closet. “Now that I’ve had time to think about it, I’m certain it was a costume beard.”

  “You aren’t suggesting—”

  “I am suggesting.”

  Christian stared at her blankly. “Split personality?” he asked.

  She shrugged, a gesture that suggested they might never learn the truth, and marched upstairs with Christian just behind her. Reaching under the bed, she pulled out her old suitcase. It was already packed.

  “You can’t be serious, Annie. You just got out of the hospital. You’re not well enough to travel.”

  She dropped it on the bed, wrinkling her nose as she inspected its contents. “I’m well enough for this,”
she said and disappeared into the bathroom.

  Christian sat in the side chair, tapping his foot nervously, but he got up and walked downstairs as soon as he heard the shower water begin to hiss. Some thirty minutes later, Annie breezed into the kitchen wearing, oddly enough, a high-waisted sundress that reached to her ankles. It was a babbling brook of a piece— cornflower blue—and so airy it rippled in the air-conditioning.

  She lowered the suitcase by the kitchen counter and wandered over to stand behind him at the breakfast nook. Before he could turn in his seat, she wrapped her arms around his chest from behind and placed her head against the side of his. “There’s one more thing I must do to close out this chapter,” she said. “I’ll be gone a few days at most. Would you and Edmond mind terribly keeping an eye on the place?”

  “But Annie—”

  “I have to do this,” she said, silencing his protest with a kiss atop his head. “Is he still acting strangely?”

  The question was about Edmond. “A little.” Christian shrugged as he added, “I’ll see you out.” He stopped short when he saw her dress. Its color set her honeypot eyes ablaze, but it was her bonnet that made him grin. This one was another Annie classic—a lemon-colored safari hat that was adorned with a repeating pattern of pink and white roses. It was outlandish and, therefore, perfect.

  Annie pulled the brim over her ears, bending a knee coquettishly just to get a rise out of him, then reached for her handbag and hurried downstairs to the garage.

  Christian followed her with the suitcase, throwing it into the trunk as Annie turned the ignition over. He waved his hands in a vain attempt to clear the exhaust that burped from the car.

  She rolled the window down. “Three days at the most,” she said.

  “Annie?” Christian placed his hand over the top of the window before she could close it.

  The tone of his voice left her uncertain as to whether she wanted to meet his eyes. She gripped the steering wheel for support.

  “Why didn’t you end it? You know, when you zapped Culler. You had the rolling pin.”

  A shadow crossed over her face. “I was going to,” she said after a moment.

  “Why not then?”

  “I suppose, in the end, it came down to you.”

  “Me?”

  She nodded. “I was afraid—” Her voice broke, and she started again.“I was afraid you would never look at me the same way again.”

  Christian thought about the response before smiling in that particular way of his—confused, a little sad, yet deeply touched—then tapped his fist three times over his heart before pointing to hers.

  She repeated the gesture.

  As she pulled the car from the garage and disappeared from view, he pulled out his cell phone.

  “Edmond here.”

  “She’s gone.”

  “Well, you expected it. Did she say where she was going?”

  “She didn’t have to. She was wearing a sundress and espadrilles.”

  “So…”

  “So, I’m going home to pack.”

  CHAPTER

  FORTY-TWO

  Something Simple

  Christian headed upstairs to Annie’s living room, slowing when he spied David Abbott’s threadbare diary on the coffee table. It made him uncomfortable, seeing it. It could well hold the answer to everything— uniting Annie with her grandmother, providing a donor for a bone- marrow transplant, and healing some old hurts.

  He’d stared at it until he was blue in the face over the last few days and had yet to come any closer to solving the riddle of why Annie and Elsbeth’s shared bloodline seemed to make the magic of the door go haywire. He sighed, deciding to give it another go. Sitting on the sofa, he picked up the diary and began to read through the notations, focusing on the entry from the thirtieth of May, 1894, where Abbott claimed he’d solved the bloodline riddle.

  Christian emptied his head, and as he did, bits of conversations with Annie and Edmond and passages from the diary began to bump and collide until they formed a single piece— an answer. Before it could lodge itself in his brain, however, the pieces drifted apart. He clutched at the solution, trying to hold it together, but failed.

  Frustrated, he pored through the diary in the hope that the elusive thought would surface once more. Getting nowhere, he picked up Annie’s phone, put it on speaker, and leaned forward with his forearms on his knees, waiting for the familiar click on the other end of the line.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “What did you forget? Wait, did you change your mind?”

  “No, no. I had something for a split second. Now it’s gone.”

  “What? What are you talking about?”

  “I don’t know for sure. Just bear with me. It has to do with the

  whole bloodline mess.”

  Christian’s exasperation was plain to hear, so Edmond decided to pull in the reins. “Calm down and start at the top. What were you doing when the thought slipped to the surface?”

  “I was reading the entry in Abbott’s diary where he said he solved the problem of the bloodline.”

  “Yeah? So?”

  “He didn’t write his solution down. Don’t you find that strange?”

  “Well…didn’t he want to keep it secret?”

  Christian balled his fist in his hair. “Yes, but if he wanted it kept secret, why mention it at all? Why tease us by saying that the answer was within his reach and so simple?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What are we missing?”

  “Don’t know.”

  Christian let go of his hair and sighed. He repeated the words out loud. “Something simple. Something within reach.” His voice trailed off. Suddenly, he sucked in air, and his eyes widened. He started to laugh.

  “What?”

  “It can’t be that easy,” he said to himself. “But I think it is!” He took the phone off speaker and held the receiver to his ear. “Listen, do you remember what that crazy shaman specter said to you?”

  “Of course. I’ll never forget that.”

  “Good! Stay put. I’m coming over!”

  “What’s up? What are you thinking?”

  “I’m thinking”— Christian paused to stare at the diary— “you’re a lousy translator of Cherokee.”

  CHAPTER

  FORTY-THREE

  Periwinkles and Sunflowers

  Annie knew what she was going to do the moment she read the letter from El. Like Edmond, indecision was foreign to her nature. While not certain her plan of action was wise, she wasn’t swayed in this particular case by wisdom. Annie was interested in closure.

  She found herself on a plane bound for Kansas City while

  considering the hubris of Oscar Wilde. I can resist everything but temptation. Like him, she had chosen to succumb to it.

  After picking up her luggage from the carousel at Kansas City International, Annie walked curbside and grabbed a shuttle to the rental car station. A half hour later, sitting in the car, she pulled out a notepad with notes scribbled over several pages and a map. At the top of the fourth page was a set of simple directions. She studied them before pulling out of the lot to follow the street signs to the on- ramp of the freeway where she was soon put into a trance by the metrical pulse of passing telephone poles. The sign for exit ramp 168 took her by surprise, and she churned up a little gravel from the soft shoulder while exiting onto the feeder road.

  She pulled up to a stoplight and turned left onto the main street of a small roadside city. Welcome to Sage drifted across the marquee for a drive- through bank on the right. A neighborhood of brick, ranch- style houses to the left looked like a slice of Americana. Each was encircled by a chain- link fence and boasted one or more of the following—a Slip ’N Slide, swing set, trampoline, or inflatable pool. In one yard, an explosion of freckles, pigtails, and high-octane squeals played freeze-tag in a brazen choreography of youth.

  Driving past a strip mall, Annie pulled into a Sinclair gas station where she
idled the car to speak to the mechanic.

  “East?” he said. “I don’t think there’s much of anything out there but wheat. Sage Road is just past the next rest stop, but the entrance is blocked. You can’t drive it.”

  Thanking him, she returned to the car and drove a few miles before pulling into the rest stop.

  Parking her car by some picnic tables, Annie reached into the rear seat to grab her backpack. Hoisting it in place, she popped the floral-patterned safari hat on her head, secured the chin cord, and started walking in an easterly direction on a little-used dirt road. Unnoticed, a tiny flicker of black—a tear in the daytime sky— streaked overhead. It croaked once, and Annie looked up. Circling her in a lazy pattern, the crow broke off, flying east. Five miles due east of Sage as the crow flies, she thought, following it.

  After a hike of half an hour, Annie stopped to slip the pack from her shoulders. She pulled out a bottle of water and a granola bar, scanning the landscape. The stark beauty of the wheat waving in the sun was broken by a grove of trees and the plume of dust kicked up by a tractor some half-mile from the road. She was thinking about the heat and the enormity of silence when an unearthly sound broke her reverie.

  Another crow, easily as big as a terrier, sat on a barbed wire fence not ten yards away, cocking its head sideways to stare at her. It flapped its wings several times while bobbing up and down on the wire before majestically lifting into the air. Annie never thought she’d admire a crow, but the bird was striking, with its silky, black feathers carrying a hint of violet in the reflected sunlight. It too flew east, and she scrambled to keep up, shoving the bottle and wrapper in her backpack as she walked.

  Just as the unchanging vista started to become tiresome, Annie found herself gazing at a sign atop a post in the distance. She picked up speed. Arriving out of breath, she found a wooden pole with a sign atop it. It read: Welcome to Pawnee County, Kansas. Population 23,076. Five Miles Due East of Sage as the Crow Flies. A rendering of the state of Kansas sat above the wording with the perimeter of Pawnee County outlined within.