A Misty Mourning (14 page)

“Amazing,” I said for about the tenth time. I finally came to the last box and opened it, nearly forgetting in my excitement that I was on the lookout for spiders with fifty legs. In this box was a quilt. The note attached to this read: “Sampler Quilt. ‘Bridie's Secret.' Made 1920.”

“Bridie's Secret?” I asked.

Elliott took the note off the quilt and read it. “I think that's the name of the quilt. A lot of quitters give names to their quilts, like people name estates, or paintings,” he explained.

“Oh,” I said. I unfolded it and it was huge. I'd say it would fit a queen-sized bed, easily. The main colors were indigo-blue and sun-yellow, although there were three or four other colors used throughout
the quilt to accent it. “Look, each square is something different. A different pattern. And yet, the color scheme is all the same.”

“Yeah,” he said. “That's a sampler quilt. You get a sample of a pattern but not a whole quilt. Sometimes they stay in the same color scheme, sometimes not.”

“How do you know so much about quilts?” I asked as I scratched my neck. Digging around in old stuff always makes me itch. It's like the dust mites suddenly realize there's food or something.

“My mother is a blue-ribbon quilter,” he said. “I spent more days in fabric shops and quilt shows than any red-blooded American boy should have to. Or ever have to admit to.”

“You're so cute,” I said. “Help me fold this back.”

He helped me fold the monstrous quilt back into the neat rectangle that I had found it in. I put it back in the box and realized that my back was absolutely killing me. I can't get over the one long ache that I get after about the sixth month of being pregnant. Just one long backache. And once the child was here it would be an eighteen-year-long pain in the butt. I say that only because I'm pregnant. I actually adore my children.

“I want you to know that I'm going to have copies made of all of those pictures for you,” I said. “She was your great-grandmother, too. And I want you to think about what you'd like to have out of these boxes. There's plenty here to go around.”

“That's very thoughtful of you, Torie,” Elliott said to me. He took his glasses off and rubbed at one of his eyes. His eyes were so weak that it actually looked painful for him to be without his glasses. He put them back on carefully. “Come on, let's get you downstairs for dinner.”

“Are you going to stay for dinner?” I asked. “It would be nice to have an ally in the house.”

“Not tonight,” he said. “But I'm off tomorrow and I don't have any plans tomorrow night.”

“Wonderful,” I said. “Be here whenever you feel like it.”

We had started toward the steps when he stopped and turned to
me. “Why do you think Clarissa left you the boardinghouse?” he asked.

“Frankly, I believe it's because I was the only one of Bridie's descendants that she knew. I mean, I wrote to her a few times and she wrote back. I don't think she was really aware of anybody else,” I said. “I also think it's because of what I do. Being a genealogist. She knew 1 would care about the place and the stuff in it.”

“I'm a genealogist, too,” he said.

“Yes, but she didn't know about you. I really think that's all there is to it,” I said.

“Do you think she was murdered?” he asked. His expression was calm and inquisitive.

“I did find a pillow on her face,” I said. “But I guess if she was wrestling around in her sleep it could have accidentally fallen on her face. It doesn't feel right that it was an accident, but at the same time, I really don't know.”

“Are you afraid to stay here?” he asked.

“A little,” I said. And it was the truth. “Initially, I felt fairly safe because now that the local authorities are actually here and involved, I can't believe that if there is a murderer, he or she would chance attacking anybody else. Especially a pregnant lady. But since finding Craig Lewis rummaging through my suitcase, I've been thinking about taking Gert and getting a hotel room tomorrow.”

“It might not be a bad idea,” he said. “You can sleep on my floor.”

I smiled at him. “Well, thanks. I think Aunt Milly would probably let us stay with her, if it came to that,” I said. “Besides, if I ever got down on your floor, I wouldn't be able to get back up.”

“
R
udy?” I said. The phone had rung only once at my house, which is rare, and so I was a little startled when Rudy answered right away.

“Yeah. Torie?” he asked. “How are you?”

“I'm fine,” I said. I stood in the great room of the boardinghouse, looking out across the river and the storm clouds that were slowly, but surely, moving our way. In fact, the front had nearly reached us and I could no longer see the sunset. “How are you?'

“Good,” he said. “I thought you were your father calling.”

“Why?”

“He and I are going fishing tonight. You know the fish bite better at night,” he said.

“So do the snakes,” I answered.

He ignored my remark. “Your mom said that you've run into some misfortune on your trip. That the old lady actually kicked the bucket while you were there,” he said.

“That is incredibly insensitive,” I said.

“Sorry,” he said. “I just thought it was weird that she would call everybody together for the reading of her will and she wasn't even dead. Maybe she planned this. Maybe she knew that she was
going to die, so that there could be an actual reading of the will. With a corpse. Like there is supposed to be. You know, your grandma Keith knew.”

“I know,” I said. He was referring to the fact that my father's mother all but predicted her own death. She called and told us all goodbye and everything. It is the most seriously creepy thing that has ever happened to me. “I don't think that was it, though. Maybe.”

“Otherwise things are okay?” he asked.

“Yeah. What did Mom tell you exactly?”

“Just that Clarissa had died.”

“Hmm. Well. . . do you miss me?” I asked. I don't know what it is about mileage, but put it between me and Rudy and I become this really insecure schoolgirl. Ridiculous, I know, but there nonetheless.

“Of course,” he said.

“Don't forget to feed the chickens,” I said. “And Fritz has a vet appointment tomorrow. That's why I was calling. To remind you.”

And to hear your voice.

“Tomorrow? I'm playing golf—”

“Again?” I asked, a little perturbed. Rudy had taken the week off so that my mother would not have to bear the brunt of watching the kids while trying to plan a wedding.

“Again,” he said. “I'm only gone a few hours. What's that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” I said.
It's just that you're so busy having fun that I don't think you really miss me.
Admit it. We've all felt this way at some time or other.

“So,” he said. “Gert's keeping you in line?”

“Yeah. Yeah, she's keeping me . . .”
Crazy
was the first word that popped out into my head. “On the straight and narrow.”
Path to insanity.

“Good,” he said. “Well, honey, I don't mean to cut you off but your father is supposed to be calling me.”

“Oh.”

“I love you, sweetie,” he said.

“I love you, too,” I answered.

“Be good. Stay out of trouble.”

I
tried to ignore everybody at the dinner table while I read the newspaper articles that Elliott had copied for me. I intended to be rude, although I've never understood why reading something in the presence of others is considered rude. Reading is a staple of life, like bread or water. Or chocolate. Anyway, I really didn't want to be drawn into any conversation with Clarissa's family, and besides, Craig Lewis still had my bra.

“So, did you get what you wanted from my mother's attic?” Prescott Lewis asked me.

“She wasn't your mother,” I said, without looking up.

“She was my mother-in-law for more years than you've been alive,” he said. “She was just like my mother.”

I thought about that. Having a mother-in-law for that long. I said nothing and went on reading. Gert had been extremely tired today and already had gone on up to shower and relax for the night. So I sat, without an ally, eating as fast as I could and trying to ignore everybody.

“So?” he asked. “Did you find everything?”

“They were my great-grandmother's things,” I said. “As much as
you feel that I am not entitled to Clarissa's things, so I feel that you are not entitled to Bridie's.”

One more word from him and I was going to finish my dinner upstairs, in my room with my grandmother. Dinner was fried chicken and mashed potatoes, with beets, peas, and homemade biscuits. It would not carry well, but I'd take that chance rather than have to suffer through this dinner with him in the same room.

Maribelle decided to try and change the subject. Prescott was her husband. I don't know why she didn't just tell him to get lost or take a cold shower or something. It seemed as though he spoke all the time and she never heard him. Not one word. “Danette,” Maribelle began. “Why don't you tell Torie what you found.”

Quiet fell across the room and that was my cue to look up. Danette's Caribbean mop was piled high on top of her head with most of it deliberately falling down around her face and neck and in her eyes. Her eyes were lined with severe black kohl, and she was wearing one of the coolest oversized T-shirts I've ever seen, Albert Einstein's face peering out from a galaxy of stars. Does any-body actually make smalls anymore? When was the last time I saw somebody wearing a T-shirt that actually fit?

I looked around the room and nobody said anything. “What did you find, Danette?”

Danette would not look me in the eyes as she pulled a huge syringe out of her pocket and set it on the dining room table. I say it was huge, but then, all needles look twice as big as they really are. I was a little horrified at first. Germs, you know.

“What are you doing carrying that around in your pocket? Haven't you heard of AIDS?” I asked. “Or hepatitis?”

Danette just shrugged her shoulders. My gaze went from the needle to Maribelle and then to Prescott, to Lafayette, Craig, and finally Edwin. Everybody just stared at me. It seemed as though the table grew a hundred feet long and I sat at one end and they were all the way down at the other end. My jury. Them against little old me.

“That's interesting, Danette. Where did you find it?” I asked.

“Out in the yard,” she said quietly.

“Anybody here a diabetic?” I asked innocently.

Nobody answered. Sherise Tyler came sauntering in and pulled out a chair next to me, unknowingly breaking a tense moment. She must have just gotten out of the shower because the smell of rose water was intense and the underneath side of her hair was still wet. She reached for the fried chicken and spied the syringe on the table, along with everybody's accusatory stares. At me.

She looked at me, and I think I saw real pity on her face. “What's up?”

“Danette found a syringe,” I said.

“I see that. Danette, why don't you take that off the table,” she said. “Needles are a hothouse for disease.”

“Thank you,” I said. “My thoughts exactly.”

“What do you think a syringe was doing out in the yard?” Edwin asked as he leaned forward on his elbows.

“Don't put your elbows on the table, Edwin,” I said. “Why would you think I would know that?”

“You know a lot of things, Mrs. O'Shea,” Prescott said. “Don't you?”

“Actually, yes. I know quite a bit. About that syringe, I know nothing,” I said. I began to tremble slightly, and put my chicken leg down on the plate lest people would think it was still alive.

“Awfully funny how you arrive and Mom just up and dies,” Edwin said and snapped his fingers.

“Edwin. She was a hundred and one,” I said. “She didn't just up and die. You guys have been waiting for it for twenty years.”

“Who said that?” Maribelle asked, instantly defensive. “None of us have ever said that.”

“Why would you think I had anything to do with this?” I asked. “And why didn't the sheriff and his deputies find that syringe when they were out scouring for evidence?”

Nobody said anything. I looked to Sherise, who seemed to
know where I was going with this. “How long have you had it, Danette?”

Danette did not answer.

“When did you find the syringe?” Sherise pressed.

“Friday,” she said, after a long moment filled with her eyes darting around the table and her chest rising and falling in nervous spasms.

“Friday,” Sherise said. “Before Torie and Gert arrived?”

She nodded her head.

“You didn't tell us that part,” Maribelle all but hissed across the table. Gasps and groans and general noises of discontent wound around the table until a single tear ran down Danette's face.

“You didn't ask,” Danette said. Suddenly she turned to me, tears streaming. “I didn't know what they were going to do. Not until just now. You have to believe me.”

“I believe you,” I said. I stood up with my photocopies in hand. “Is that it? You all assumed when you saw the syringe that I poisoned Clarissa or something?”

“Nobody said nothing about any pizen,” Lafayette said. I knew from my grandmother's momentary slips into her accent that he meant
poison.

“Then what do you call this?” I asked. “Look, I got news for you people. It would be the stupidest thing in the world for me to have killed Clarissa. I knew nothing about the wills, either one of them. But guess what, folks? Clarissa was just returning this godforsaken place to the right family.”