by Mary Deal
“Could have sworn I heard someone walking around the property when I first moved in.” She rolled her eyes. “Buck says it's my imagination.”
“The spookiness won't stop till you leave the place.” Underneath it all, Daphine seemed to enjoy the mystery surrounding Talbot House.
“No chance. I'm staying.”
In the front yard, Daphine said, “Every old mansion has one of these.”
The tip of the flagpole poked up as high as the winterized branches of the tall old Pin Oaks. Stone steps between the trees led up to the mailbox at the top of the levee. Next, they walked around the north side of house, passing the wrap-around front porch.
“Hey, look at that,” Daphine said, pointing at the ground level basement windows.
Sara bent in closer. Pry marks rimmed the window frame. “Someone must have gotten locked out at one time.”
“Those look fresh to me,” Daphine said. “See the difference in the wood tones?” The artist in Daphine would notice that.
Sara looked again. The window frame was old, weathered and gray, while morning sunlight across the interior of the marks exposed a light brown. “Would be hard to say how old those are,” she said. “With the house standing vacant so long, the curious, or the homeless, might try to get in.” She motioned for Daphine to follow. “I'm replacing all the windows anyway.”
Daphine gasped. “Wait!” She stooped down quickly and ran fingertips across the concrete. “What are these?”
Sara turned to look where Daphine pointed and only recognized the old concrete walkway. “So?”
“Fresh marks,” Daphine said. She say her coffee mug beside a mark.
“Marks?” Sara asked, amused. “What marks?”
“I'm not kidding, Sara. Look.”
The concrete had been hit with something that formed a fresh scar with a gentle crescent shape that showed whiter concrete underneath the surface. Daphine ran her fingers across the mark again and then found others. “Why here? Why outside these windows with the pry marks?”
Sara bent down. “What do you suppose made those?”
“Clearly, a shovel,” Daphine said. “Someone pounded a shovel down in anger when they couldn't get inside. The marks are fresh. Look, here's a chip of concrete that the wind hasn't blown away.”
Sara remembered Buck's admonishment and wasn't sure she wanted to hear any more. “Maybe the cleaning people made the marks.”
A lawn of weeds struggled to grow around the back, over the house pad and down into the field. Without having had regular care, the ground felt hard-packed and dry underfoot.
“With those marks on the concrete, maybe you really heard someone,” Daphine said.
“Ghosts?” Sara asked, playfully reversing her suspicions. “Maybe we should go hear the details straight from Esmerelda Talbot herself. Isn't that when people say the ghost stories began, when her husband went missing?”
“Hey, I'm game,” Daphine said, grinning ear to ear. “Let's go visit Mrs. T.
Chapter 8
Sara and Daphine had planned to go to breakfast and then view some new art Daphine was to hang in her gallery. Sara hoped to find some paintings of the Delta for her new home, but visiting Esmerelda seemed the more exciting thing to do.
Daphine left her van parked in Locke. On the way, they stopped at a small shop on the levee in Walnut Grove and bought a bouquet of purple tulips. They passed through town on the east side of the river and then crossed over.
“If I remember correctly, this is called the Miller's Ferry Swing Bridge—“
“Over Georgiana Slough,” Daphine said. “We're on the back side of Andrus Island now.”
The morning mists had cleared but they still needed to have the heat turned on. From atop the levee, they had a three hundred sixty degree view of the horizon, all the way to Mt. Diablo to the southwest. On a clear day the tallest peaks of the Sierras came into view in the east. In the distance, flocks of migrating birds darkened the sky.
“Won't we be barging in?” Sara asked. “Shouldn't we have called?”
“No need. I've already met her a couple of times. Well, some time ago. She may not remember me.”
“Then we should call.” Sara reached to pull her cell phone from her waistband.
“Nonsense,” Daphine said, touching her and stopping her. “Rumor has it Esmerelda's a lonely old woman who welcomes visitors.”
Certainly being in the seventies was not old. “She doesn't get out?”
“Usually real busy with her facility there, but I understand she's slowed down some.”
After nearly three miles of winding levee road, a green and white sign along the levee shoulder appeared with the name…
River Hospice
An earthen ramp angled down off the embankment and opened into a parking lot at the back of the main patient facility to the left. A private home and separate parking area stood to the right. Sara stopped in the middle, momentarily surprised by the lush grounds, with farm fields over-wintering in the background beyond a canal.
Tall oaks and elms sheltered white buildings. Trees lined the main walkways. Expansive lawns beyond the main building offered sitting areas with benches or tables and chairs under more shade trees. Winter flowers, like freesia, anemone, and irises put out color spots everywhere.
“Looks like Esmerelda really needed our bouquet,” Sara said with a chuckle.
“Well, I don't see any tulips growing,” Daphine said.
Several Mexican laborers wearing blue work clothes began wiping morning dew from the furniture.
The dark green house on the right stood on numerous, crisscrossed two-by-fours and other supports so that the living area was equal to the height of the levee. A squirrel scampered out of the weeds underneath. Many of the houses close to the levees were built up high in case the levees sprung a leak. Even the patient facility was elevated four feet, though the cottages, some of them newer, were barely a foot off the ground.
The green house had what looked to be a recent add-on deck with outdoor furniture. Trees also sheltered that house and the nearby garage. The smell of coffee invited.
“May I help you, ladies?” a rugged looking man in a white uniform asked as he approached from the main building. Traces of an accent said he was originally European. He ran his fingers through his tousled blond hair. Sunlight illuminated patches of gray at the temples.
Daphine leaned down to see out of Sara's side. She straightened as the man bent down to lean on his arm at the opened window. “We heard Mrs. Talbot welcomes visitors,” Daphine said, smiling.
“I'm Sara Mason.” She offered her hand.
“Fredrik Verner here,” he said with a warm smile, shaking her hand. Then he stuck his face inside and offered his hand past Sara. He seemed European prim and proper, all class and protocol. He noticed the flowers lying across Daphine's lap and smiled out of the corner of his mouth. “You're Daphine. You have one of the galleries in Locke, right?”
Daphine seemed pleased. “Yes, I do,” she said modestly.
“I remember you,” he said, pulling himself back out of the window though he still leaned. “I tried to buy a painting from you… at least ten years ago.”
“Ten years?”
“A surreal, supernatural looking piece. Fleeing Hell was the title on it. It was signed 'DEW' and you wouldn't tell me who this 'DEW' person was.”
“Not authorized to divulge personal information on the artists,” Daphine said. Her eyes twinkled as if she enjoyed the mystery of it. Quality sold most art, to both visitors and locals.
“I tried to find that artist and never could,” he said, shrugging. “I still remember that painting.” He stepped back and pointed. “Park over there.”
They pulled into the driveway behind the house. The garage appeared to be the original structure with sagging eaves and timbers and double doors that manually opened outwards. Only the residence had been remodeled. Fredrik sprinted up the tall flight of stairs as another car pulled out of t
he parking area on the other side and headed toward the levee. As Sara climbed out of her SUV, she thought she recognized the man in the car but wasn't sure. He was too far away and she caught only a glimpse of him from behind as his head jerked back quickly, as if he wanted to see something he had missed.
Fredrik was already on the deck as Sara and Daphine climbed the stairs. The door opened and a woman stepped out as they reached the top. She wore a green Chinese lounging robe and silk pajamas with short-heeled transparent slippers. An impeccably groomed black standard poodle followed behind her. The poodle's coat was the same color as the woman's hair.
“ET, you have guests,” Fredrik said.
“ET?” Daphine asked, blurting it out. “You call her ET?”
Esmerelda had a throaty laugh. “Esme, Mrs. T, ET,” she said, putting a hand to her chest. “I've been told I'm from another planet.” Her voice was lusty with age, but every bit feminine, even sweet. In addition to the bevy of huge diamonds in her wedding ring set, on her right hand ring finger was a band about half an inch wide, encrusted with fiery gemstones.
“For you,” Daphine said, handing her the bouquet. “From us.”
“Why, thank you, ladies,” Esmerelda said. She seemed deeply moved, paused a moment, then said, “I see you've met my director.” She patted Fredrik's shoulder. “He runs the place.”
The yaps of puppies came from inside the house.
After introductions, Fredrik excused himself to continue his rounds.
Esmerelda grabbed his arm. “Tell the aides for me, will ya? Don't let old Jonas piss in Tripp's irises again.”
Fredrik smiled politely and walked away, accepting the remark like it was all part of the day. He seemed to have sophisticated mannerisms and might have hidden his embarrassment behind the smile.
“Glad to see new faces,” Esmerelda said. “A lot of sightseers out these days.” She gesturing toward the levee road and seemed dismayed. “Not too many come to see us though.” She turned and looked out over her property. “This is a place for the old and dying and I heard that townspeople stay away because of my groundskeeper.”
“I've seen him around,” Daphine said. “Wears his pants high up under his armpits with his nuts hanging halfway down his leg.”
Sara gasped. She and Daphine shared a lot of naughty girl-talk as youngsters. Nothing said went any farther. That's why she trusted Daphine, but being reunited might throw Daphine back into that old naughty habit.
Esmerelda slapped Daphine's shoulder. “I adored you when we first met. Where the hell've you been keeping yourself, girl?”
Sara breathed easier. Daphine really hadn't changed. At times, her ability to slice and dice the conversation knew no restraint.
The pups continued to whine inside the screen door.
The poodle stood poised at Esmerelda's side. “This is my girl, Mimie,” Esmerelda said. “Mimie la Jolie.” She stroked Mimie's back. Mimie whined low noises of approval and her tail, with a coiffed puff on the end, flicked back and forth in a blur. “Come on in,” Esmerelda said.
As she opened the screen door, two very young pit bull puppies ran out; one a deep chocolate brown, the other, coffee with a hint of cream. They wiggled and squiggled and Esmerelda, holding the bouquet, couldn't catch them. Just as they neared the stairs, Sara scooped up the chocolate one. “Get that one, Daph!” She did, and still the pups wiggled and licked and yapped.
“Feisty little kids,” Esmerelda said. “Just two months old and they already know how to recognize a friend.”
Chapter 9
Esmerelda's home was over-decorated but adorable. Her antique furnishings told of a woman with taste. Sadly, her life was reduced to a crowded two-bedroom farmhouse with a sun porch to make up for the small living area. It was no comparison to the size and grandeur of Talbot House.
The sideboard in the dining area was loaded with fancy dishes on display stands and a few framed photos. In the front was a wedding photo of Esmerelda and Orson. He was tall and very thin, she, a classic beauty in her youth. On the left was a photo of a younger Orson, maybe a college photo. On the right was a photo of Esmerelda when she, too, was young, though she had changed some with age. Her hair was lighter then. Perhaps she dyed it now to hide her gray. Sara had to smile. Maybe that stylish woman dyed her hair to match her poodle.
“Have you named them?” Sara asked, focusing on the pups again.
“Was hoping to find a home for them,” Esmerelda said, motioning for them to sit. She pulled her cell phone off her waistband and turned it off, and then went into the kitchen and returned with the flowers in a vase. “Let their new owners give them names.”
“Puppies need names right away.” She smiled, somewhat embarrassed. “I studied a little about dogs,” she said, trying not to sound braggy. She wanted to have another pet, but hadn't made up her mind since she also wished to travel a bit.
“I call them 'Babies' or 'Sweeties'.”
Sara checked both pups. The dark brown one was a male, the lighter one female. “What about…?” She pursed her lips.
“What have you got?” Esmerelda asked as she sat down.
“Choco for the male, Latte for the female.”
“Choco… Latte…?” Daphine asked, laughing.
“Magnificent!” Esmerelda said. “Why couldn't I come up with something cute like that?”
After they called the pups by their new names a few times, Choco begged to get into Sara's lap and then resumed licking her face.
“Got them from the same breeding kennels where I got Mimie. Unfortunately, the woman who owns the place said these two were not the picks of the litter.”
Choco wouldn't stop licking. “Does it really matter?” Sara asked. She was overjoyed that Choco had taken so well to her. Latte lay on her back in Daphine's lap content to have her stomach rubbed.
“The owner's bitch had a litter larger than they expected, so the lady wanted to get the puppies out into the public eye.” She shrugged. “I didn't know pit bulls would be so difficult to place.”
“Sounds more like the woman was hoping you'd fall in love with them,” Daphine said.
“Well, she was right about that.” Esmerelda rolled her eyes. “But three dogs in this little house?” She paused a moment, then said, almost cautiously, “An auto dismantler in Sacramento wants them.”
“Why?” Daphine asked defiantly. “So he can turn them into junkyard dogs?”
Sara groaned. She held Choco up in the air as he kicked and squirmed playfully. The conversation came to a lull.
“I wanted to meet you, Esmerelda,” Sara finally said. “I'm the person who bought Talbot House. I'll be remodeling.”
Esmerelda seemed dismayed and happy at the same time. “You must have read my mind. I was thinking about dropping in to introduce myself.”
The ice had been broken. Sara intuitively knew that she liked this woman. “You're welcome anytime. In fact, I hope you visit often.”
“I'm glad you're restoring it. I loved that house.” Esmerelda looked away, like it was painful to discuss something that was once her prized possession. She excused herself and stepped into the kitchen for a few minutes and came back with a tray of tea and wafers with jellies and cheeses.
“You are too kind,” Daphine said. She reached to help herself soon as Esmerelda gestured.
“Nonsense. I used to entertain a lot.” She got a far off look in her eyes. “No one to cook for now.”
“How about the patients,” Sara asked.
“Too old,” Esmerelda said. “They're stomachs are too sensitive for my rich food.” She reached down and plopped a cracker into Mimie's mouth. The pups demanded one too. “Sara, girl,” she said. “When you get your mansion ready for a housewarming, how about letting me do the cooking?”
“Wha-at?” Sara was surprised at the warm proposal. “I'll have it catered. You'll be my special guest, okay?” From all that she had heard, she already thought of Esmerelda as a grand dowager of the Delta. No way would she
allow this woman to labor over her stove.
The conversation switched to Orson Talbot. Sara discreetly watched Esmerelda's facial expressions as she spoke of the past. Her demeanor indicated deep feelings held in check, not just for the loss of her home but also for the fact that her husband disappeared many years back without a trace.
“I know he's gone,” she said. “I had to stop his Social Security checks and his number hasn't been used. He wouldn't stay away. That was our dream house together.” She took a deep breath and let it out as she stared at the floor. “I've had him declared dead. It's the only way I could get extra funds to keep our dream alive.” She gestured outward toward the facility.
“What do you think happened?” Sara asked.
“They said he must have wandered too far back into the hills and got lost. He was panning for gold to make his jewelry, you know.”
Esmerelda said that Orson had raised cattle for income on the acreage behind Talbot House. After a few successful years and subsequent savings, they established River Hospice. Fredrik Verner was a nurse visiting from Sweden and had boarded with them for a month one summer. It was Fredrik who noticed the closest place for the elderly was in Sacramento, thirty miles away from Walnut Grove, and far away from family support. Orson and Esmerelda decided to use much of their retirement pensions and established River Hospice. The existing residence on the property would be their home when they became elderly and needed twenty-four hour care. Till then, Fredrik moved from Sweden and they let him live in it while the old farm buildings were being refurbished.
Sara scooted forward in her chair. She wanted to hear more about Orson. “What about bears or mountain lions, maybe vandals? Surely, lots of animals and people wander in the hills above Placerville.”
“No blood. No signs of a struggle. Nothing.” She sighed. “His truck was still there. Animals probably scattered his bones, wherever he died.” She looked straight at Sara and said, “You don't look like a person who spooks easily.”
“Nope,” Sara said. “Rumor has it, people have seen a ghost lurking in Talbot House.”