An Angel to Die For (18 page)

I drove home by a route so complex and dizzying, I almost got lost myself.

“Are you sure it’s Sonny’s father?” Mom wanted to know.

“Who else could it be? I’m not expecting anybody with a beard.”

“How old a person was this? Did Donna Appelbaum tell him where he could find you?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know . . . I don’t know.”

Mom sighed. “Oh, Prentice, you didn’t ask her? Why not?”

“All I wanted to do was get away from that woman before I said something I might regret,” I told her. “Besides, I guess it kinda shook me up to know this—this spooky bearded guy is right here in Liberty Bend.”

“I wish Wally would hurry back,” she said. “He could tell us what to do.” Mom grew up with Wallace Turner who practices law in Atlanta and handles her legal affairs. “He and his wife are in Europe and won’t be home for another week. I have no idea how to reach him.”

“He has several partners, doesn’t he? Couldn’t one of them advise us?”

But my stubborn mother shook her head. “They might not understand. I’d rather wait for Wally.”

“Then I think we should find another place for Joey,” I said. “I hate to keep moving him from here to there, but we’re isolated out here, Mom, and who knows what that man might do?”

My mother started to answer, then held out her hand for silence. Joey was crying upstairs. I was learning his signals already. This one meant he was already hungry and working up to being mad.

“Bottle time!” Mom smiled and started for the stairs.

“Where’s Ola?”

“Joey was running low on diapers, so I asked her to pick up a few groceries in town. Prentice, we need to talk about Ola,” she whispered. “Something’s not right. I’m worried about her.”

I nodded. Augusta had said almost the same thing.

Mom changed Joey’s diaper and reluctantly allowed me to give him his bottle. Earlier, under Ola’s supervision, the two of us had bathed the baby in the same big plastic pan my mother had used for Maggie and me, only I think we got wetter than Joey did.

“I guess you’ve noticed how much time Ola spends at the cemetery,” Mom said, reaching out to pat Joey’s fat knee. “For some reason she feels responsible for Maggie’s death.”

“I know. I think she believes she could’ve stopped her somehow, kept her from going with Sonny. Whatever it is, it’s eating her up inside.”

“It isn’t doing a lot for me, either,” Mom said, shaking her head. “And it can’t be good for Joey.”

Soon after our arrival at Smokerise, Ola had asked me to take her to my sister’s grave. Once there, I could see she wanted to be alone. I left her kneeling beside the stone while I walked past the old homestead and along the creek bank to the place where I had found the trench in the hillside. It was hard to see through the now-greening woods, but it looked as if the grave—or whatever it was meant to be—had been filled in. With
dirt only
, I hoped, and didn’t waste any time getting back to the cemetery to collect Ola on my way to the house. I had found her crying there with her arms wrapped around the stone angel.

“She makes me uncomfortable,” my mother said. “This morning she asked if I’d mind if she broke off some dogwood blooms and a few blossoms from that
early white azalea for Maggie’s grave. And of course I don’t mind! Maggie could have every flower on this farm—but it’s something I’d like to do myself.”

I knew how she felt. Finding a comparative stranger weeping over my sister’s grave had annoyed me as well. This woman had only known Maggie for a few short months. She had no right to grieve as we did!

I tried to think what Augusta would say. “Maybe it’s just something she has to get out of her system,” I said. “If it goes on, one of us needs to talk with her.”

“But how?”

I didn’t know, but I did know that when Ola returned from the store we were going to have to decide if or when to leave Smokerise.

But Ola herself decided that for us. “Somebody’s watching this place,” she said, dumping an armload of groceries in the middle of the kitchen table. “He’s parked across the road in sort of a clearing under some pines—but back a few yards like he doesn’t want anybody to know he’s there.” She twisted her hands as she spoke and seemed ready to cry if somebody said “Scat!”

“How can you be sure he was watching us?” I asked, although I had a hunch she was right.

“I noticed him when I left to go to the store, and he was still there when I came back.” Ola sat abruptly at the table, and the pocketbook that had been hanging by a strap from her arm slid to the floor. “It’s him! I know it’s him—Sonny’s father! Oh, dear God, what are we going to do?”

“First, we’ll ask the sheriff’s department to send somebody to check on him,” I told her as I called the now-familiar number. “Maybe it’s just a bird-watcher.”

“And we’re sitting ducks,” my mother said. “I don’t feel safe here, Prentice, even if this does turn out to be somebody perfectly harmless. Until we know we have a good chance of keeping Joey, I believe we should take that baby someplace else.”

I tried to give her the “be quiet or else” look she used to give Maggie and me, but it didn’t work. Meanwhile, I could see Ola was getting more and more agitated.

The dispatcher at the sheriff’s office wanted to know what kind of car it was and if my friend could see who was in it. The car looked sort of blue, Ola said, but she couldn’t make out who was behind the wheel.

While I was on the phone with the police, I asked about the trench on the hill behind our house and was told the sheriff had it filled in. Still, this didn’t help to ease my anxieties. We needed to get out of here—and soon.

“But where on earth can we go?” I wanted to know.

“Elaine’s family owns this old place outside of Savannah,” Mom said. “Belongs to an uncle, I think, but nobody lives there now.”

Elaine Fuller is Mom’s old friend from college who had invited her to share her home in Savannah until she could get her life back together after Maggie died.

“What do you mean, ‘nobody lives there’?” I asked,
picturing a crumbling old mausoleum of a house somewhere on the edge of a swamp.

“It’s really just a guest house. The main house—Ellynwood, I think it was called—burned years ago. The place has been in the Hathcock family for years . . . Elaine was a Hathcock, you know.”

I said I knew, but wasn’t Elaine off cruising around Alaska somewhere? And didn’t we need her uncle’s permission?

She looked at me as if that was a “given” and if I had any sense I would’ve known it. “Well, of course. Just let me find my itinerary. Maybe I can catch up with her at that hotel in Anchorage.”

While my mother made the call, Ola hurried from room to room, window to window, until she’d checked every one. Instinctively I held Joey closer. Is this how pioneer women felt as they circled the wagons for the night?

The baby slobbered on my cheek, pulled my hair, and laughed, and I kissed him and put him on his quilt to play. “He’s getting ready to crawl,” Mom pointed out. “Look at him rocking on his hands and knees.” And from the pride on her face, you’d have thought Joey had discovered a cure for the common cold.

Elaine was expected at the hotel in Anchorage sometime today, Mom told us, and she had left a message for her friend to return her call. “But I don’t think there’ll be a problem about staying at the cottage,” she added. “Elaine’s uncle Albert lives in town and rarely
goes to Ellynwood. His family only uses it once in a while when they want to get away.”

I wondered just how far
away
that was, but then beggars can’t be choosers, and until Mom could get in touch with her lawyer, Ellynwood would have to do.

When we heard a car approaching from the road, the three of us flew in different directions: Mom to lock the door, Ola to run upstairs with the baby, and me to draw the curtains. We were stumbling all over each other trying to crowd into the hall when someone knocked on the back door and called out to us. “Anybody home? Everything all right in here?”

I recognized Donald Weber’s voice and hurried to let him in. “We’re fine,” I said, “but I think somebody’s watching the house.” I told him about the bearded man who had asked about me at the library. “Normally I wouldn’t think anything about it, but after all the things that have been going on around here, it makes us uncomfortable.”

“Not uncomfortable,” my mother said. “Scared. Was the man still out there? Did you get his license?”

“Something must’ve spooked him,” the deputy said. “He was gone before we could get over here, but we’ll sure be on the lookout for him.”

“Is that
all?”
Mom was using her “I’ve just about had it with you” tone of voice. “I mean, can’t you
do
anything?”

“Not unless he breaks the law, and from what you tell me, he hasn’t done that. Not yet anyway.” The deputy started to leave, then paused and addressed my
mother. “Ma’am, I don’t blame you for being nervous, but if he comes up this drive, you’ll hear him before you see him. Give us a call if you do. We’ll be here in five minutes.”

Mom followed him to the porch. “Donald, we’re thinking of leaving tomorrow to visit relatives for a few days. I’d appreciate it if you’d keep an eye on the place while we’re gone.”

It would save the deputy time if he were to just move in here, I thought, and was grateful that he didn’t mention the midnight prowler or bathtub caper. Mom had dealt with the unidentified body and Uncle Faris’s disappearance better than I’d expected, but I didn’t want to push my luck.

We were finishing dinner when Elaine Fuller called to say that as far as she was concerned, we were welcome to use the guest house at Ellynwood, but she’d have to confirm it with her uncle and let us know. A short time later she phoned again to give Mom directions and tell us where to pick up the key.

“Elaine says the place hasn’t been used in a while, so it’s going to need a good airing,” Mom said. “Cleaning too, no doubt,” she added with a sigh.

If only Augusta could lend a hand, I thought. Yet I knew she was near, and from time to time drew from the strength of her presence. I only hoped my angel would follow us to Savannah.

We decided to leave in the morning by the back route using the old cemetery road, in one car—Mom’s—hoping that whoever was looking for us would
be fooled into thinking we were still at Smokerise. I phoned Suzie Wright and arranged for her to feed the cat—this time we’d leave Noodles outside—and we spent the rest of the evening packing.

When the telephone rang earlier, the three of us agreed to ignore it. It might be Pershing Gaines. It might not. But why challenge fate? Maybe he would think we weren’t at home. Twice more that night it rang, and the persistent caller let it go on and on for what seemed like forever before finally giving up. None of us was expecting any important messages—or any we wanted to hear—so I had turned off the answering machine.

It was almost midnight when the telephone shrilled again and I heard Mom shuffle into the hallway. “I’ve had about enough of this!” she said. “They’re going to wake that baby.

“Who is this? Don’t you know what time it is?”

This was followed by a pause and I expected her to hang up the phone in a panic. Then, “Who? Oh . . . that’s all right. Yes, she’s right here . . .”

I sat up in bed and tossed back the covers. It was probably Dottie, a dyed-in-the-wool night owl who never seemed to realize there were others who weren’t.

My mother met me in the doorway and shrugged. “It’s Rob. I think he’s calling from London.”

“Sorry if I woke you,” he began. “Prentice, I need to see you.”

How could I tactfully tell him his timing couldn’t be
worse? “Rob, something’s come up. We’re leaving for Savannah in the morning.”

“Is there any way you can hold off on that? Listen, I’m packing my bag as we speak . . .”

I heard what sounded like a drawer opening on his end of the line. “No, Rob, wait! I’d rather you come next week, or better still, the week after. We’ll have more time to spend together. Let me call you.”

“Prentice, what’s going on?”

“It’s too involved to go into right now. I’ll phone you from Savannah. I promise.”

“Not this time. I’m taking a few days off—catching the first plane for the States in the morning. Should be in Atlanta by this time tomorrow.” There was a question in his voice and the silence stretched until I thought it would snap in two, zing me like a rubber band.

I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned to find my mother standing there. I could tell by her expression that she understood what was going on from hearing my end of the conversation. “We’ll be all right,” she whispered. “You can join us there later. A few more days won’t matter.”

And so I promised Rob McCullough I’d meet him at the airport in Atlanta when he arrived. It would be good, I thought, to have another warm “body” on our side.

Of course that was before I stumbled across the one in our barn. And this one was dead.

M
y mother refused to leave under cover of darkness. “I’ll be darned if I’ll sneak out of my own house like some kind of thief!” she proclaimed, so it was well past dawn when they left the next morning with most of Joey’s belongings and the two women’s suitcases shoved into the trunk of Mom’s rental car. I stood on the back porch and watched them bump around the bend and out of sight on the gravel road that led to the family cemetery and eventually through what would become Daisy Dell Acres, the soon-to-be-developed “community” behind our farm. Few people knew the two roads connected. We hoped one of them wasn’t the stranger watching our house.

Just before leaving, Ola had shoved a small parcel into my hands. It was about the size of a grapefruit and
was wrapped in layers of brown paper. “I found this in Maggie’s things,” she said. “Must be something special since she kept it in a drawer along with Joey’s baby book and some pictures of her family. I think she wanted you to have it, Prentice.”

I guessed, even before I unwrapped it, what was in Maggie’s crude bundle. My sister had scribbled in ink on the masking tape that held it together:
For always, Maggie and Prentice
, and judging from the handwriting, I’d say she wrote it after she left home. Inside I found my sister’s half of the broken figurine still shrouded in the plastic grocery bag where I had hurriedly placed it so many years before.