“Happily,” Mikey said, folding up the records, “genealogy is a hobby of mine. Some of us who use liminal space are still trying to figure out exactly what makes it likely for the trait that allows conscious use of liminal space to be passed on between generations. Not all my children have it, but I’d like to know if one of their children might. In any case, it seems that Domingo still carries traits inherited from his great, great, great whatever grandfather Aldo Pincas, and that Phineas House, desperate in her abandonment as she had never been before, reached out and connected with him.”
I sat staring at Domingo. The blood connection was tenuous enough that it wasn’t even like we were real relations, but still it was a great deal to take in. Domingo wasn’t looking at me. He really wasn’t looking at anything in the room but back across time and the ebb and flow of generations. When Domingo’s gaze focused again, he was looking at Mikey.
“Could I have a copy of those papers?” Domingo asked. “My family has never been too into written genealogies, but there are old Bibles and the like. I could probably confirm at least some of this.”
Mikey bent and pulled a fat manila envelope from his briefcase. “I thought you might like a copy, so I made you one.”
I understood why Mikey hadn’t handed the copy over immediately. Domingo might have resisted knowing that he was related to the family that, in the present day, he was employed by, the same family that had not let his father over the threshold, even into the kitchen.
I wondered about that now. Initially, the restriction had seemed just another example of Colette’s snobbishness. Had she, in fact, sensed a connection, and decided not to risk attenuating her connection to Phineas House? It seemed possible, but then again, the way things were going it also seemed possible that the full-length portrait of Colette that still hung in her bedroom would come to life and begin ordering around the servants.
Right now, just about anything seemed possible, and I felt the dull throb of a developing headache. I shook it away, exasperated. So what if the universe was more complex than I had ever imagined? It was also a whole lot more interesting.
Eventually, Domingo excused himself to return to supervising the painters.
“I would rather remain,” he said in gentle apology, “but this is Friday, and I think I should make certain that they do not grow sloppy as the weekend beckons.”
We assured him that we understood, and with a slight bow Domingo rose and departed. When he was gone, Mikey looked seriously at me.
“Mira, is that door tightly closed?”
I checked, and it was. “There’s a window open behind you, though. The House isn’t air-conditioned, you know.”
Mikey nodded. “Yes. I recall. Perhaps it would be wisest if we adjourned to that upstairs parlor again. No one is working on that side of the House, are they?”
I shook my head. “No. The front of Phineas House was the first part Domingo painted—a brave face to the world or something like that.”
“Good.”
We stopped by the kitchen long enough to refill our glasses, and I excused myself to use the bathroom. As I washed my hands, I frowned at my reflection in the mirror over the sink. What did Mikey have to tell me he didn’t want overheard? For the last half hour or so our conversation had been general, so that implied it was something he didn’t want Domingo to overhear either. That didn’t please me, but I kept my suspicions to myself as I joined Mikey in the front parlor.
He was seated on one of the love seats, looking around at the elegant room where Colette had most often held court with her favorite of the moment.
“Your mother didn’t share your love of color, did she?” he commented. “She didn’t redecorate the House in full, but in her private rooms, she preferred muted colors or white.”
“It’s elegant,” I said. “So was she, and she certainly didn’t avoid rich colors in her personal attire. She revelled in them. I remember how her clothing almost seemed to sing it was so vivid.”
Mikey smiled. “It might well have, you know. Has it ever occurred to you that you are likely a synesthete?”
I knew the term. It was common enough in artistic circles where the idea that color might be heard or that sounds might have colors and shapes was a provocative one.
“I hadn’t really,” I said. “Certainly, I don’t show any of the usual signs—no colored or textured alphabets or numbers.”
“Even so,” Mikey said. “You frequently refer to colors as making sounds. I suspect that as a child you were more acutely aware of it. Apparently, synesthesia is more common in children than in adults.”
“It’s that liminal space thing again,” I said with sudden insight. “A child doesn’t draw the same distinctions as an adult does. I remember thinking quite firmly that numbers had gender—that one and five were boys, while two and four were girls.”
“What about three?” Mikey asked.
I laughed. “I don’t remember, a boy, I think.”
“So boys are odd,” Mikey chuckled. “That sounds like a healthy female attitude.”
I stuck my tongue out at him as if I were a girl, not a mature woman past her fiftieth birthday.
Mikey forbore to return the gesture. “Seriously, Mira, synesthesia is a documented phenomenon. No one doubts the reality of it—though not all who claim to possess it do. I think you are a synesthete, but rather than your brain assigning colors to abstract concepts, your colors have sounds.”
“Or did,” I said a little sadly. “I seem to have outgrown it. This room is quiet enough.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Mira,” Mikey said, almost scolding. “As I said, your own words gave me indication of your probable tendency.”
“But, that’s not why you had me come up here, is it?” I asked. “We could have discussed synesthesia downstairs as well or better than here. I think there’s a book or two on the subject on the shelves.”
“Interesting,” Mikey said, “but, you’re right, that isn’t what I wanted to discuss with you. It’s a sensitive matter. I even thought about asking you to take me for a drive, but I think that in the long run it’s better we air it here.”
“What is it?” I said. “Have you found something out about Colette?”
“No. Not Colette. And it’s not something I’m even sure about.” Mikey looked very uncomfortable. “It’s about Domingo.”
“More about Domingo? And this is something you couldn’t say in front of him?”
I know I sounded angry, but I didn’t apologize, nor did Mikey seem to expect an apology. If anything, he seemed relieved that I would stand up for Domingo.
“Yes. About Domingo—and as for saying it in front of him—I wanted to see how you wanted to approach the matter. He’s your handyman, your caretaker—and, more importantly, your friend.”
This didn’t sound good.
“What is it? Something else you uncovered in your research?”
“Yes and no. Remember our discussion about how Phineas House was placed where it could ideally take advantage of the area’s feng shui?”
I nodded.
“And how,” Mikey went on, “the shape of the lot played a part in Phineas House’s effectiveness?”
I nodded again. Mikey waited a moment to see if I would say anything, then continued.
“We probably will never know for certain if the truncating of the lot was done deliberately, or merely to raise money. There might even have been a combination of motives—money was needed, and someone who hoped that changing the shape of the lot would effect Phineas House’s effectiveness prompted the sale.”
“Whatever,” I said. “That’s how it was when I was a child. The lots had been sold off. There were houses close on either side, and one along the back. We didn’t have much more of a backyard than what is the courtyard today.”
“But today you have back the entire property,” Mikey said, “because of three providential fires, and trustees who thought to take advantage of them.”
I managed a thin smile. “And I thank you for it. I can’t imagine Phineas House in its current loud paint job squashed between two other houses.”
“Nor can I,” Mikey agreed. “Mira, I was one of your trustees when the properties came up for sale. The first fire was to the property in the rear and occurred in the early eighties. That had always been a peculiarly shaped lot, and no one was really interested in it. The owners let it go rather than pay taxes on it, and we bought it from the city.
“The second fire occurred a year or so later to the house on the left of Phineas House. This house had been on the market for quite a while, and hadn’t been occupied for several years. We had considered buying it as an asset for the estate, but the asking price was quite high, especially after the owners learned that the offer came from the owner of the neighboring property.”
“So?”
“We had already dropped negotiations when the structure caught fire. It was wooden, and went up so fast that the trees closest to it were singed. Police had some suspicion that arson was involved.”
“Oh?”
“The electricity and gas had long been disconnected. There were no lightning storms that might have caused the fire. The house itself was empty—no fuel in the heaters. No piles of rags lying around. It seemed that someone might have set the fire.”
“Did the city investigate?”
“Not in any detail. The prevailing theory was that sometimes wooden houses burn for no apparent reason, especially in such a dry climate. The second theory was that some bums might have been squatting in the house, and caused the fire by accident. It wasn’t until the third fire that the city began to seriously consider there might be an arsonist operating.”
I didn’t like where this was heading, but I continued to listen politely.
“After the fire, we bought the vacant lot for the estate. It was going cheap, and the property did belong to Phineas House’s configuration. We thought about inquiring about purchasing the remaining house and lot, but we’d had to answer more than a few questions from the police after the house on the other side had burned—some bright mind thought we might have done it when we couldn’t get the property any other way. When we proved that we had been out of negotiations for over a year at that point, and noted that we had no plans to build anything on the vacant lot nor to sell it, the investigation into our possible involvement ceased.”
“After all,” I said, “what motive would you have to buy a lot adjoining a house that was vacant? If you’d wanted to build a new house there, or sell the lot at a profit, well, maybe there would be some reason, but buying a lot and paying taxes on it just to improve the feng shui of Phineas House?”
“You’re being flippant,” Mikey said, “but I think that was pretty much what the police thought. Had Phineas House been occupied immediately thereafter, they might have had reason to question again, but this was almost twenty years ago, and the House would remain empty for a long time to come.”
“There was a third fire,” I reminded him, “and you said this has to do with Domingo.”
“The third fire,” Mikey continued imperturbably, “did not occur until three years later. By this time, the structure to the right of Phineas House was no longer inhabited and was on the market. Like the second fire—like the first, if we’re being completest—it was quick burning. No one was hurt, no other property was damaged. This time, however, the police were certain arson was involved. They found tell-tale marks that showed where gasoline or some similar liquid had been poured. However, they could not find a motive for the fire, and eventually the fire was dismissed as hooliganism.”
“Were you questioned this time?” I asked.
“No. We were not,” Mikey said with a smile. “We had not offered on the property when it went on the market, nor did we offer after the fire. We finally bought it when a real estate agent, acting on behalf of the seller, came to us.”
“So,” I said, “three convenient fires … but you think there is something more. You think Domingo set those fires, don’t you?”
Mikey didn’t try to deny it. “I have no proof, Mira, but circumstances are very interesting. The early 1980s are when the Montezuma Hotel was bought by the United World College. As you must remember, the Montezuma Hotel—most specifically, the Castle—was built in an attempt to curtail the ability of Phineas House to channel local currents. I’ve done some investigating, and although the Castle was not immediately put into use, from the time the property was purchased, even after the formal dedication of the college in 1983, there was considerable construction on the property.”
“Construction,” I said, “that you think did something to negate whatever influence the Montezuma had on Phineas House.”
“If not negate,” Mikey replied, “at least ameliorate, moderate, reduce. Remember what Domingo said earlier? The early eighties is when his attachment to Phineas House increased, when he began to think of learning skills that would serve the House, when he began to define himself not as a man who viewed his caretaker position as a job that brought him a place to live and a small salary, but as his vocation.”
“That’s a little strong,” I said, “but I admit you have a point. Do you think Domingo learned that Phineas House had once had more property, and deliberately set out to rebalance the lot? I can’t believe that. Even if he did burn down all the surrounding structures, he had no guarantee that you trustees would conveniently buy up the land.”