A Stranger in Wynnedower (22 page)

She stopped for a
breath. “Rachel, invite people into your life.”

****

Brendan pulled up. The
headlights of his truck cut the twilight. It figured he would be the delivery
guy. Rachel went out to help him bring in the food. Daisy followed and waited
on the porch to hold the door.

His gaze slid past
Rachel, straight to the porch. “Who’s that?”

“My friend, Daisy. She
stopped by on her way to Myrtle Beach.”

When they joined her on
the porch he said, “Hello. Daisy. I’m pleased to meet you. Now I see why Jack
called and told me to bring extra and even invited me to stay to dinner. I
think I have you to thank for that.” He handed her a bag. “Let’s get the food
taken care of.”

Daisy accepted the
package and gave Rachel a quizzical look. Brendan passed, and Daisy stopped her
with a touch. “You’ve got yourself a real interesting place here, Rachel. Never
mind the house.”

****

It was hard to stay in
a bad mood when sitting around a chipped Formica kitchen table with the soft
(ever-dim) bulbs casting a gentle light that muted the garish yellow
walls—sitting across from Jack and with Daisy and Brendan at the ends of the
table. Brendan’s jokes lightened Jack’s more dour moods, and Rachel flattered
herself that Jack gazed at her more than once. Had she mistaken his interest in
Daisy?

Brendan shared his
charm equally, except that Daisy got an especially equal portion.

What had Brendan said
on the porch? Jack had called him and asked him to bring more food.
More.

Daisy was saying, “I
wouldn’t want to have to clean it, but the house is amazing. I’ve never been
inside a place like this. The Newport mansions are all pristine. They don’t
hardly look like real people could’ve lived there. But this house—gosh, it
feels almost like they’re still around.”

Brendan made an ‘oooo’
sound, a sort of spooky noise, and lowered his voice. “Like ghosts?”

Jack threw out,
“Nothing ghostly. The vandals and looters are real. Right, Rachel?”

Daisy asked, “What does
he mean? Vandals? Like people breaking and entering?”

She jumped in. “They
steal the copper pipes and downspouts and rip the paneling from the walls.” She
turned to Jack. “But we fixed that, didn’t we?”

“Not entirely, but we
made a good step forward in discouraging them.”

Daisy said, “When I
arrived, if not for Rachel’s car, I would’ve thought this place was empty. You
need to make it look lived in. Put rockers on the porch. Nothing says someone
lives here like a big fern in a pot on the front steps.”

“Have you and Rachel
been conspiring?”

She said, “I was
telling Jack the other day that he should bring some of the furniture down from
the attic. If someone peeks through the windows, it should look lived-in.”

Daisy asked, “And?”

Jack shook his head.
“The only reason the furniture is still here is because it’s locked in the
attic.”

“But you’re here now…or
are you planning to leave again?”

He shrugged.
“Undecided. Rachel is helping me figure it out.”

“You’re lucky to have
her help.”

Jack smiled at her. Not
at Daisy. Not at Brendan. He cast those dark, yet warm eyes upon her and reeled
her in over a plate of ravioli.

Rachel went up to the
attic and through to Helene’s side. She pulled the light string, switched off
her flashlight and set it on the vanity. Silence. Gentle house-creaking noises.
Warm air settled around her.

What now?

The treasure trunk was
near at hand, but she resisted pawing through the clothing again. No time for
dress-up today. Jack was away from the house and she was paying a visit.

A white rattan loveseat
peeked out from under a rose-colored cotton blanket. The blanket was draped
across one end as if left behind when its user left, intending to return soon.

Rachel ran her fingers
along the exposed arm and examined them. No dust.

Is this where Helene
sat? Not in the heat of the afternoon, surely. Was she relaxing here in her
strange hideaway while Rachel was on the other side, listing the furniture?

Helene could’ve visited
her any time she wanted. Everything Rachel had seen indicated she had free
reign of the house, and outside of the house, too. Her seclusion was
self-enforced. Knowing Helene was making her own decisions relieved Rachel of
any legitimate concern for her, of any excuse for interfering in her life.

Rachel folded the
blanket and left it on the loveseat, retrieved the flashlight and headed for
the door.

From behind her, a
whisper-soft voice said, “Hi.”

Helene stood in the
half-light near the small, dirt-covered gable window. The overhead bulb Rachel
had forgotten to extinguish couldn’t reach that far and served only to deepen
the shadows. With the window at her back, Helene’s face was unreadable.

Did she wave her hand?
Rachel couldn’t be sure.

Rachel stepped forward,
and in that instant Helene moved toward the stairs like a startled deer. Rachel
stopped, and Helene did the same, their eyes locked.

“I’ll leave the door to
the other side of the attic unbolted in case you’d like to visit.” Rachel
turned and walked away.

When she reached the
door, she looked back and couldn’t see Helene. Either she was gone or had
hidden. A brief visit, yet Rachel was pleased. It was a beginning.

****

Rachel emerged from the
attics blinking. It was easy to forget it was day while working away up there.
After the encounter with Helene, she’d stayed on her side for an hour making
additional notes. As she reached the central stairs, she heard snippets of
conversation.

A man said, “…a place.
You weren’t kidding.”

Another voice,
Brendan’s, answered, “I told you….every penny. You’ll get it….”

She followed the voices
and realized the two men were in the foyer. The front door was wide open, and
they were doing something to the hinges.

“Hey, there.”

Brendan spun around.
“Rachel.” A pause. “Sorry we disturbed you.” He nodded toward the door. “Have
to reset it. Some trouble latching. Doug’s giving me a hand.”

“I noticed that. Every
other door in this place is locked as tight as Fort Knox, but the front door
seems to unlock itself.”

The other man had
turned away.

Brendan’s helper wore
some sort of worker’s jumpsuit. Blue. The sole of one sneaker faced upward as
he knelt beside Brendan. She took in the details, and then ignored him since
that seemed to be his preference. Rachel reached up and touched her nose.
Strangely, it was as if something smelled bad. Not literally, but something
bothered her and she couldn’t pin it down. She shook it off and turned to
leave.

Brendan called out,
“When we’re done with the door, I have to check some pipes in the basement. If
you hear noises, don’t be alarmed.”

Rachel laughed, but it
felt hollow. An odd mood seemed to have descended upon her. “Thanks for the
warning.”  

She continued to stand
on the landing. Almost waiting. But for what? Whatever thought lingered just
outside of her consciousness, remained elusive.

Time to move along.

She wanted to speak to
Jack again about moving furniture down into some of the empty rooms on the
second floor. She felt strongly about it, and Brendan and his helper would be
perfect for the job. As soon as he returned she’d tackle him again. She’d catch
him before he got in front of the easel. That morning Jack had barely noticed
her. By now, she understood. He wasn’t in a mood—he was in the mode.

When he donned his
painting shirt and shut those dining room doors, she might not see him for
hours or until the next day. The timing seemed to depend on how his work
progressed, as did the quality of his mood.

In the meantime, she’d
run her own errands. Trotting back up the stairs to grab her keys and purse
almost felt like she was shaking free of whatever that strange feeling had
been. When she came back down, the two workers were gone, presumably to the
basement. Better them than her.

Rachel settled in the
car, fastened her seatbelt and checked the rearview mirror as she backed out.
In the mirror she saw a figure at the library window. The view was blurry, but
clear enough. Helene.

Out and about during
the daylight? Downstairs and standing at the window? Where anyone could see
her?

Rachel’s first thought
was one of amazement—that Helene would come downstairs with the two men in the
house, one of whom was a total stranger. Her second was of David Kilmer. A
protective instinct she’d thought was reserved only for Jeremy rushed over her.

She slipped out of the
car and scanned the grounds. No faces in the shrubbery, no shadows to give away
a lurker.

Helene no longer stood
at the window.

Rachel opened and shut
the front door with care and moved rapidly, but carefully, through the foyer
and into the central hall. She didn’t want to sneak up on Helene and alarm her.

Maybe Helene had good
reason to be wary of people. Maybe she, Rachel, wasn’t doing Helene a favor by
encouraging her to make contact. She looked at the dining room doors. They were
shut tight.

After a minute or two
of silence, Rachel decided Helene had returned to…wherever, and no one else was
in sight. She might as well go.

She’d like to ask Jack
for details about Helene’s condition. She should also confess about David
Kilmer.

Confess? No, not a
confession. Merely tell Jack about having met him.

As she drove through
the gates, she decided she’d tell Jack about the encounters. Jack would be
justified in asking why she hadn’t told him sooner.

When she returned later
that day, she saw Jack at his easel, the dining room doors open as if he was
expecting her.

“Jack, can we talk?”

“What?”

She’d surprised him.
The face he turned toward her showed annoyance. He saw it in her eyes. He
forced his frown to ease and consciously relaxed his facial muscles into a
friendlier expression. Or he hoped it was.

“If this isn’t a good
time, maybe we could….”

He interrupted. “Now is
fine.”

“I’d like to move some
of the furniture items down.”

“No, too much risk.”

“Not on the ground
floor, but into the empty rooms upstairs. I want to get a better view of the
groupings, plus, while it’s not fully climate controlled, it’s still a better
environment than the attic.”

He laid his brush on
the palette with the paint-covered end dangling over air. “I don’t have time
right now.”

“I didn’t mean you,
literally. Hire a couple of guys. I can tell them what–”

“No.”

“No?”

“I don’t want any
outsiders seeing the attic.”

“You didn’t mind Daisy
seeing.”

“That was different.”
He rubbed his forehead and left a streak of red behind. “It’s too big a risk.
One will say something to someone else, and before you know it there’ll be
rumors all around the region, and probably on the Internet, that there’s
treasure hidden up there among the hoard of furniture, and then we’ll really be
in for it.”

“Well, then, what about
treasure? Maybe there’s something to the rumors. Maybe we should search for it
ourselves.”

“Don’t go there,
Rachel. I don’t want to think you’re one of them.” He regretted the words as
soon as he said them.

“One of
them
?” Her
voice was cool. “You know better than that, Jack. I only want to help you and
Wynnedower, and Helene, too.”

He moved close to her,
wanting her to understand how seriously he regarded this danger, yet annoyed
that she didn’t appreciate the reality because she focused on everything except
the negative.

“No, you don’t know.
You haven’t thought it through. You encountered intruders once. You don’t
understand how crazy these people can get, how they lose all sense of
proportion. I won’t take a chance on hidden treasure rumors springing up again.
An appraiser is risk enough, but that’s it. When I have time maybe I’ll move
some of the pieces down. Maybe I’ll get Mike or Brendan to help. Maybe. And
it’ll have to wait until I have time.

 “I’m sorry, Rachel. I
appreciate your intentions and the work you’ve done, but no, not yet.” He
touched her arm. “You understand?”

“Yes, but.…”

“I know you don’t
agree. Just understand. That’s all I ask.” He shook his head. “The reality is
that Wynnedower has few assets. Forget the talk of treasure. If it’s going to escape
the bulldozer, it has to pay its way. It hasn’t been doing that, but I haven’t
given up hope yet. After the showing, we’ll sit down and go through those
estimates, deal with the furniture, and look at some real numbers.”