A Rumor of Bones: A Lindsay Chamberlain Mystery (25 page)

Two young women in uniforms began serving the
food.

Rachel Somerton, another daughter of Isabel's, sat
next to her sister and smirked at Esther's frustration
while she asked Frank coy questions. Unlike Esther,
Rachel wore a white dress covered with stitched eyelets. It had a frilly scooped neckline, puffed sleeves,
and a wide yellow ribbon for a belt. Rachel also wore
pearls, but they were long like her mother's, and she
played with them, running them through her fingers.
The Edwardian manner in which her brown hair was
styled suited her attire. She was younger than her
sister. Lindsay guessed her age to be about 40, but it
had sneaked up on her so silently that she had not yet
realized she no longer was 20. She reminded Lindsay
of Delta Dawn.

"Oh, Mister Carter." Her breathy voice was so low
Lindsay and Frank had to strain to hear her. "I thought
about working at the site like Marsha. It sounds so
exciting, but my skin simply can't take the sun."

"You can always wear a hat and sun block," Lindsay said. Esther tittered and reached for her glass of
lemonade to arrange it. Her eyes darted toward her
mother, and she took a drink instead.

"Oh, but I am allergic to sun block. My skin is just
so sensitive," Rachel explained.

"How unfortunate for you," Lindsay sincerely
replied, but the expression on Rachel's face told her
that she expected to be admired for this trait.

Lindsay understood that Rachel's twin sister Ruth
was the mother of Patrick. No one at the table mentioned either of them. Marsha had explained to Lindsay, when she asked why Patrick's last name was
Tyler, that Isabel had made Ruth change his name
when Ruth's husband divorced her.

Jacob Tyler sat to the left of his mother so he could
be near if she needed anything, he said, and cast a
glance at his sisters, who glared back. The sheriff sat
on Isabel's right, looking ill at ease.

Marsha had told Lindsay that all of Isabel's children were divorced or had died, and that all of the exspouses lived in other states. She had also told her that
Rachel had one daughter who had committed suicide
and a son in an institution. "I am only telling you this
so you won't ask Rachel if she has any children. As
you can imagine, it is very painful."

"Your son, Mickey, took some portraits of me to
give to my family for Christmas," Lindsay said to
Esther.

She smiled broadly. "He is so good, isn't he? I
taught him to be orderly and exacting. My teaching
has served him well. He is in much demand. He's
such a good son. He has never been on drugs or anything like that. I have never had a minute's trouble
from him." She cast a sideways glance at her sister,
who sat in stony silence. Lindsay wondered if she
could bring up any topic that wouldn't lead to competition between the sisters.

Jacob had a son and daughter. The daughter, Lindsay was told, was married and lived in California. His
son, Jarvis, sat at the far end of the table next to
Mickey. He was a skinnier version of his father.
Already his hair was thinning on top, and he had the
same large hands. Lindsay shivered as she thought of
Patrick's large hands.

"What does Jarvis do?" she asked.

"He helps Mickey in his studio sometimes," Jacob
said. "He is quite a good photographer himself."
Jacob glanced at his sister Esther, who ate quietly,
pretending not to be listening to her brother. "He's
thinking about going to the university to study film,"
continued Jacob proudly.

"That sounds very interesting," Lindsay said.
Jarvis appeared about the same age as Mickey, in his
early thirties. She wondered why he was so late in
embarking on a career but decided not to ask.

"The university has a good film and drama department," Frank muttered, taking a large bite of barbecued pork.

Lindsay relaxed a little, finally believing Patrick
was not there. She turned her attention to the bone
structure of Isabel's face, trying to draw her into conversation so she could scrutinize it without
being obvious, but Isabel was reticent. She preferred to watch her guests talk or to monitor her
adult children's behavior. Or perhaps, Lindsay
thought, she was piqued at her for bringing
Patrick's behavior to the attention of the sheriff.

"That is a lovely pin," said Lindsay about the redrose porcelain pin at Isabel's throat, making another
effort to draw her into conversation. "Is it Dresden?"

"Yes, it is. My father gave it to me. Sixty years ago
today, actually." She fingered it and seemed suddenly
lost in thought.

Finally, thought Lindsay, some topic she is interested in. "I noticed one of the leaves is broken off. I
can give you the name of someone who can repair it.
Her work is flawless."

Isabel looked at Lindsay for a moment and almost
smiled. Then she must have remembered who she was
talking to. "I've been told it can't be repaired." She
turned her head, dismissing any further conversation.

Dessert was home-churned peach ice cream. It was
fresh and good, qualities that seemed so incongruous
with the Tyler family. After dessert, the guests were
invited to admire the house and gardens or they could
watch Jacob do a few of his magic tricks for the children, play croquet on the lawn, or play softball in a
field farther from the house behind a copse of trees.

Frank whispered to Lindsay that he was about
ready to go back to Earth and went looking for
Marsha. Lindsay found Derrick. "Not a bad barbecue," he said to her.

"You missed the entertainment. I'll have to tell you
about it later," she said.

"There are several outbuildings," Derrick said. "I
think I'll do a little snooping."

"Be careful."

He smiled at her. "I will. You take care. Don't go
wandering too far into that old house."

Lindsay went with several people to tour the downstairs portion of the house that was open to the guests.
She found a large hallway with walls filled with paintings and large photographs. The paintings looked
original, but she knew none of the artists. There were
several wedding photographs, one for each of Isabel's
children. All were formal, the women in long gowns
and trains, the men in top hats and tails. It seemed a
bit pretentious. The picture of Jacob Tyler in his
formal attire standing by his bride looked familiar. It
must have been hanging in Mickey's studio, she
thought. Lindsay studied the spouses of Isabel Tyler's
children, all smiles at their weddings. She wondered
if they had any inkling at the time that marriage
would not hold all the promise and gaiety of the wedding. Married life with a Tyler must have been a
shock to them.

A large portrait of a man similar in appearance to
Jacob attracted her attention. She noticed the thinning
hair and the large hands.

"That's my father," spoke a breathy voice behind
her. Lindsay stood aside, and Rachel came up beside
her. She stared up at the picture in adoration. "I was
his favorite, you know. He told me. He always said
that I was his special little girl."

Lindsay looked over at Rachel's adoring face. She
understood the love a daughter felt for her father, for
she, too, was her father's little girl. But here in the dark hallway, standing in front of the portrait, Lindsay felt that Rachel was talking about a relationship
that was wholly different from the one Lindsay had
with her father.

After a moment, Rachel snapped out of her mood
and turned to Lindsay. "I just met this gorgeous man
from the site. He is tall, broad-shouldered, and has the
most beautiful mane of hair."

"That would be Derrick," said Lindsay, smiling.

"Yes, Derrick. That was his name. Do you know
him well?"

"Yes. Derrick and I went to graduate school
together. Is this your mother?" asked Lindsay, gesturing to a silver framed sepia-toned photograph of a
very beautiful young girl with long blonde hair held
away from her face with bejeweled barrettes. The girl
had a wisp of a smile on her face. She wore a lacy,
high-collared dress fastened at the throat with her
father's gift of the Dresden pin and a long string of
pearls. The Fourth-of-July celebration in the background looked so much like the one occurring today,
down to the placement of the tables and flags and
welcoming 10th Annual Fourth-of-July picnic
banner, it was amazing. These folks never changed
anything.

"Yes, that's Mother," said Rachel. "Looks rather
innocent, doesn't she?" Lindsay looked at Rachel and
for the first time thought that she might be smarter
than she let on.

A maid came by with some fresh lemonade and
offered Lindsay a glass. She took it and wandered
away from Rachel into the living room where another
portrait caught her eye: a woman in English riding dress sitting on a horse. She held her derby and crop
on her left thigh and her reins in her right hand.

"That is my mother. Isn't she beautiful?" Jacob
asked from behind her.

Lindsay jumped. Did all of Isabel's children
wander about the house admiring their parents' portraits?

"I didn't mean to startle you"

"That's all right. It is a beautiful picture." Lindsay
stared at it in fascination.

"It was painted by a famous painter," Jacob continued.

"Yes, I am familiar with his work." Lindsay recognized the signature and the style of the artist.

"Are you?" Jacob smiled broadly, as if he hadn't
really believed it was by a famous painter and was
overjoyed to have it confirmed.

"Yes, though I am more familiar with his portraits
of Derby winners."

"Derby winners?"

"Yes. Fletcher Kinneston painted the winners of
major horse races in the U.S. and abroad in the '20s
and '30s. My parents live in Kentucky, and my mother
breeds Arabian horses. She has a portrait he did of a
horse called Black Gold. This kind of portrait with a
person as the subject is rare for him, which makes it
very valuable."

"Why, yes, I guess it would, wouldn't it? Almost
like one of a kind. I will have to tell Mother. She'll be
so pleased. It's so nice of you to tell me that, and so
clever of you to know."

Oh, I am more clever than that, thought Lindsay to
herself as she looked up at the painting.

Jacob wandered away, Lindsay supposed, to
receive praise from his mother for the information he
had learned from her. Only a few people seemed to
be in the house. She heard a little boy ask a maid for
directions to the bathroom, and she thought she heard
Marsha and her grandmother. Alone, she tried a
couple of doors that looked like they might lead
either down or up but found them locked. To keep out
people like me, she thought, and smiled to herself. As
she walked into the large hallway and passed the
parlor, Lindsay saw Isabel Tyler grab onto a little
boy's arm. He looked about five and was clearly terrified.

"And just what were you stealing?" she asked in a
raspy voice.

"Nothing ... nothing. Just looking for the bathroom."

"Don't lie to me. Do you know what I do to little
boys who lie to me?"

The child tried to pull away, but the old lady held
tightly to his arm. Lindsay walked into the parlor.

"Perhaps I can help," Lindsay said. "I heard him
ask the housekeeper for directions to the bathroom.
When you're five, getting lost in a big house is really
easy." Isabel looked up at Lindsay as if she was a cat
trying to steal her mouse. "I'm sure you don't realize
it," continued Lindsay, "but you're hurting his arm."
Isabel stared at her. Lindsay could feel Isabel willing
her to leave them alone.

Lindsay said firmly. "You are wrong. He was not
stealing anything. He just had to go to the bathroom.
Let him go. If you don't, you are going to scare him,
and he will go all over your Oriental carpet."

Isabel released his arm, and the kid ran. "Young
woman," said Isabel, "this is my house, and I don't
tolerate interference."

"I do apologize." Lindsay smiled her most gracious
smile. "I would like to ask you a question. That portrait in the other room of the young woman on the
horse. Is it you or your twin sister'?"

Lindsay could only describe what came next as
blind rage. Isabel Tyler shook from head to toe and
gave Lindsay a look of absolute malevolence.

Suddenly, it seemed as if everyone had gravitated
toward the parlor, for the large double doorway was
filled with people. Jacob rushed in.

"Mother! Mother! What happened? Are you all
right? What happened?" He put an arm around her
shoulders and helped her to a chair. "What happened?" he looked up at Lindsay.

"I'm afraid it must be my fault," she said. "I mentioned her twin sister, and she became upset. I didn't
realize it was a sensitive topic."

"Her twin sister?" Jacob looked confused. The two
daughters rushed up to their mother's side.

Lindsay walked over to Derrick, who put an arm
around her shoulder. Frank looked a trifle annoyed.

"I'm perfectly fine," said Isabel after a moment.
"Get away from me. all of you! You are smothering
me." She waved her cane, and her children slunk
back. "I'm going up to my room. Say goodbye to my
guests for me." She marched out, trailing her children
in her wake. Everyone cleared a path for her.

"What is this about, Lindsay?" Frank asked.

"Just what I said. I would like to show you something." she whispered. She walked toward the living room. Frank, Marsha, and the sheriff followed her.
Everyone else went back to the patio.

"I hope this is good" His voice was angry.

Lindsay whirled around and looked at him.

"It is," she said.

"I think we can trust Lindsay," Derrick defended
her. Frank and his eyes locked for a moment, then
Frank blinked.

"All right, show us."

Lindsay led them to the painting of the woman on
the horse. "I know this artist. He mostly painted horses,
and he paid particular attention to the bone structure,
which is important in race horses. He actually takes
measurements, and he is very accurate. This is supposed to be Isabel, but the only way it could be her is if
she painted it herself by looking in a mirror." Lindsay
looked around and saw that no one could see it. "This
picture is a mirror image of Isabel. Look at the lack of
symmetry in the brow ridge and cheek bones and compare it with Isabel's face. Hers is just the opposite.
Can't you see it?" Lindsay realized that they couldn't
perceive the fine distinctions in the features, and if they
could, they had not scrutinized Isabel's face the way
she had. "Isabel is left-handed. The person in this
painting is right-handed. See how she is holding the
reins? If you have to control your horse one-handed,
you do it with the hand you have the most control
over." Lindsay looked at them. "I guessed that the picture is really of a twin, a mirror twin, and I asked Isabel
about it. That's when she became irate."