Daisy Lane (17 page)

“We’d like to take care of you,” Doris said. “We’d like to offer you a safe place to stay.”

“That’s charity,” Grace said. “My grandpa was against it.”

“Your grandpa had a right to make that decision only for himself,” Doris said. “But you must weigh the benefits against the cost. You’re nearly sixteen years old without a high school diploma. You’re at a crossroads in your life. You could make things very hard for yourself out of pride, and miss out on opportunities for a better life. If you allow people to help you, on the other hand, you’ll be able to finish high school and go on to college. Then you will have the tools you need to take good care of yourself.  You need protection and a safe place to live; we can give you that. You don’t have to be grateful; that’s not why we help people. If you feel some sort of debt will be incurred then repay it when you’re an adult. Repay it by helping someone else. That’s what Christians are supposed to do for each other.”

Grace couldn’t speak for the lump in her throat.

“That was a very eloquent speech,” Doc said. “And I agree with every word. Let’s let Grace think about it.”

“I’m going to go, but I’ll be back to pick you up in the morning,” Chief Gordon said to Grace. “I’ll tell your principal not to expect you tomorrow. Call me if you need me.”

Doris left to show Scott out.

Doc filled a kettle with water and put it on the stove.

“Do you eat much protein?” he asked her.

Grace was taken aback by the question.

“Peanut butter,” she said. “Bologna. Hot dogs.”

“You’re a bit malnourished,” he said. “I think if we fed you half of a cow you might grow six inches.”

Grace laughed.

“That’s good to hear,” Doc said.

When Chief Gordon arrived to pick up Grace in the morning, Doris was feeding her oatmeal.

“I promised her half a cow,” Doc said from behind his newspaper.

“Oatmeal has a lot of protein in it,” Doris told Grace. “Plus it sticks to your ribs.”

“You look better,” Scott said as he sat down.

“A good night’s sleep will do that for you,” Doris said. “She slept like a log.”

“She snores,” Doc said.

“Sean!” Doris said, and flicked his newspaper with a tea towel.

“Grace, Grace, Grace,” Doc said, raising his paper back up. “What are we going to do about Grace? That’s what the whole town will be talking about today.”

“If it’s okay with you, Grace, Claire and her mother are going to take you to Machalvies to make funeral arrangements,” Scott said. “Then I’ll take you home to get your things, and we’ll go to our friend Kay’s house to talk about staying with her. I think you’ll like her.”

“Kay Templeton is a wonderful person,” Doris said. “But if you would prefer to come back here, you are most certainly welcome.”

Grace thanked Doris and carried her dishes to the sink.

“We’ll see you soon,” Doris said. “Meanwhile, if you need anything you just let us know.”

“Judge Feinman wants to be in on whatever decision is made,” Scott said. “I’ll let you know what her schedule is as soon as I know it.”

“Sounds like you’re in good hands,” Doc said, as he folded up his newspaper. “Don’t worry too much if you can help it; that’s my two cents.”

Grace came around the table and kissed the old man’s cheek.

“Thank you,” she said after she did it.

“You won’t get around me that way,” he said, but he was smiling.

Doris wasn’t about to be left out, and she gave Grace a big, tight hug before she left the house.

It was cold out and Grace shivered. Chief Gordon was not dressed in his uniform, and he was driving his own pickup truck. He shrugged off his outermost jacket and handed it to her.

“Here,” he said. “We’ll go get yours later.”

Grace put on the warm jacket, which smelled like his laundry detergent.

“Aren’t you working today?” she asked him.

“I start nights today,” he said. “I should be home sleeping but I never can that first day.”

“Chief Gordon,” Grace said. “I really appreciate all that you’re doing for me.”

“I think after all we’ve been through together you should call me Scott,” he said. “I’d like us to be friends, Grace. Appropriate friends, I mean, with the appropriate boundaries, of course, and only if you want to. I don’t mean anything weird by that.”

“I’m not worried about you,” Grace said, with a serious face, but then she smiled out the window so he wouldn’t see.

Claire and Delia were waiting outside Machalvie’s Funeral Home. Claire’s mother was tall and thin like Claire, but dressed much more casually in a cardigan, jeans, and tennis shoes. Claire, on the other hand, looked like she had just stepped out of a fashion magazine. Her hair was wound up in a deliberately messy chignon on the back of her head and her makeup accentuated her startling blue eyes and neatly arched dark brows.

“Here she is,” Scott said, and introduced Grace to Delia.

Grace stuck out her hand to shake Delia’s, but the woman said, “In our family we hug,” and embraced her, patted her back. She smelled like a pretty perfume and her hug was so comforting it made Grace tear up.

Scott left and they all waved.

“I like your hair,” Grace said to Claire.

“I can do the same to yours if you like,” Claire said.

“Plenty of time for that later,” Delia said. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Peg Machalvie is the owner of this funeral home,” Claire said. “She’s a little …”

“Eccentric,” Delia said.

“To put it mildly,” Claire said.

“If you want us to, we can take care of everything for you,” Delia said.

“We’re good at that,” Claire said. “Just try and stop us.”

“What I meant was, if you need help making any of these decisions we would be glad to help,” Delia said. “Of course it’s all up to you.”

“But I can’t pay for this,” Grace said.

“The state pays for a basic funeral,” Delia said. “And the United Methodist Church has a fund to help out with anything not covered.”

“I’m not a member there,” Grace said. “I don’t go to church.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Delia said. “That fund’s for everyone in Rose Hill.”

Delia rang the doorbell at the back door and eventually someone answered.

Grace had seen Peg Machalvie before, and it would be hard to forget her once you had.

Her hair was darker than black, if that were possible, and teased out into a high and wide hairdo that was sprayed so stiff it did not move. Her face was very pale, so that the heavy, dark eye makeup and blood red lipstick she wore made her look like one of the Goths. She was skinny but her breasts stuck way out up high on her chest, like an undulating tray for her chunky jewelry. The top of her red pantsuit was cut very low, so that Grace could see the lacy black of her bra. Her nails were long and painted blood red to match her lips. Her face was motionless, and after she looked Grace up and down once, she never looked directly at her again.

“Come on in,” she said, in a tone that conveyed how unwelcome they actually were.

She led them down a long hallway to an office, where her desk chair was covered in faux leopard skin and the walls were decorated with multiple photos of herself, her husband, and their two sons. There were only two chairs on the other side of her desk, so Delia and Grace sat down while Claire stood in the doorway, her arms crossed.

Peg opened a folder and picked up a pen that was covered in fake rhinestones.

“We have the body,” Peg said. “I’m assuming this will be a state-funded burial.”

“To start with,” Delia said. “Our church is taking care of any extras.”

“I figured as much,” Peg said. “Burial or cremation?”

Grace thought of the big fire in the burn barrel, of grandpa throwing her books in one at a time. ‘I ought to burn you,’ he had said. She heard his voice so clearly in her head that she felt like everyone else should have heard it, too.

Grace felt a pain in her stomach, bent forward, and Delia grasped her hand.

“Do you want us to do this for you?” she asked.

Grace nodded.

“Claire,” Delia said. “Why don’t you take Grace outside to get some air and I’ll help Peg make the arrangements.”

Grace felt like she couldn’t get out of the building fast enough. As soon as she felt the fresh air on her face, she ran to the nearest shrubbery and threw up her breakfast. Claire held her hair back and gave her a tissue afterward. Then they sat on the stoop behind the funeral home. Grace slowly rocked back and forth, her arms crossed over her stomach, her head bent. She didn’t want to think anything. She wanted her mind to stay blank. The rocking helped.

“I was in Spain when my grandfather died,” Claire said. “I didn’t come home for the funeral. I’ve always regretted that.”

“What was Spain like?”

“Beautiful, hot, far away from home,” Claire said.

“What were you doing there?”

“I worked for a movie star,” Claire said. “Sloan Merryweather. Do you know who that is?”

Grace shook her head.

“Lucky you,” Claire said. “She was in a movie that was being filmed there. I would have been in breach of my contract if I had come home for the funeral. I cared a lot about contracts back then; more than about my family, apparently. I traveled all over the world for that job, and I hardly ever came home.”

“You’re here now,” Grace said. “Why did you come back?”

“My dad has dementia,” Claire said. “He’s had a lot of little strokes. After I quit my job I came home for a visit and realized how much my parents needed me. That was about a month ago and it looks like I’m here to stay.”

“Do you miss your job?”

“Not as much as I thought I would,” Claire said.

“Your clothes are so pretty,” Grace said. “You don’t look like someone who lives here.”

“Thanks,” Claire said. “My first week back I gained five pounds from eating everything smothered in gravy. After that I had a serious talk with myself and started running. I’m willing to live here but I refuse to revert to type.”

“Be in the world but not of it,” Grace said. “That’s something my grandpa used to say.”

“He was pretty religious?”

“When my grandma was alive, they went to church every Sunday. After she died, the preacher at the church said that God gave her cancer to punish her for how sinful her daughters were. After that Grandpa never went back.”

“That’s awful,” Claire said.

“I think church people are the worst,” Grace said.

“They’re just like everybody else,” Claire said. “Some are good and some are bad. I know some good church people. My mom, for instance.”

“She is nice,” Grace said.

Delia came out then and rolled her eyes at Claire.

“That woman,” she said, but did not finish.

“You feeling better?” she said to Grace.

Grace nodded.

“Well, don’t you worry about a thing,” Delia said. “We’ll take care of all the arrangements and bring you to the funeral when it’s time.”

“Thank you,” Grace said.

“Where are you going to be staying?” Claire asked.

“With someone named Kay,” Grace said.

“She’s wonderful,” Delia said. “One of our dearest friends.”

“Plus she’s running against Peg for mayor,” Claire said. “And we’re going to make sure she wins.”

At his office Scott searched online for a glass swan like Nino’s and found a dealer in New Jersey who had one for sale. The amount he wanted for it surprised Scott. He decided to call the man just to get more information.

“They’re rare,” the man said. “That’s why they’re so valuable. When the artist left Rodefeffer Glassworks in the early forties, he went back to Italy, fought in the war, and then went to work for Murano in Venice. He never made another swan that I know of. The ones that are left are all so old and delicate they break easily; not too many left.”

“Do you know any collectors of this particular piece?” Scott asked.

“There’s one crazy old cat from the Rodefeffer family who I call whenever I get my hands on one,” he said. “She has a funny first name; if you don’t mind to hold, I’ll look it up.”

“Not at all,” Scott said, thinking “one crazy old cat” perfectly described Mamie.

“Here it is,” the man said. “Mamie Rodefeffer’s the name.”

“Did you call her about the one you have now?”

“Sure did,” the man said. “Problem is the check she sent me bounced, so unless I get a cashier’s check she’s not getting her hands on it.”

“How many would you say she’s purchased from you in the past?”

“Close to a hundred,” he said. “She must have the biggest Rodefeffer swan collection of any person I know. I started this business on a bidding site back when online shopping first got popular, back in 1995. I did so well I started my own website and now I just sell direct. Mrs. Rodefeffer was one of my first customers. It was her nephew who did the purchasing for her up until the bounced check. The credit card receipts say Richard Rodefeffer.”

Scott thanked the man and wrote up the notes from this call. It was gratifying to find out Mamie was obsessed with Nino’s swans, despite her protestations, and interesting that her nephew, Richard, known as “Trick,” used to help her buy them. He would have to pay Trick a visit and see what he had to say about it.

Trick was in his real estate office playing “Angry Birds” on his tablet, an open bottle of beer on the desk beside him.

“Hey, Kemosabe,” he said. “What can I do ya for?”

“I just wanted to touch base with you,” Scott said. “I visited Mamie yesterday and got her all riled up. I didn’t mean to, but she was pretty mad when I left.”

“That old biddy stays riled up,” Trick said. “I wouldn’t worry too much. She’s always throwing things at me. Luckily her aim’s not that good.”

“I was asking her about the swans she collects,” Scott said. “I came across one the other day and found out it was made by your family’s glassworks back in the day. Worth quite a lot, apparently.”

“Oh, yeah,” he said. “She’s crazy about those swans. Must have a hundred of them; keeps them all in a glass case in her bedroom. I used to order them online for her until she kept forgetting to pay me back.”

“Any idea why she’s so keen on those in particular?”

“Says her father commissioned them for her,” he said. “I guess he told her she was an ugly duckling who would one day turn into a swan. I can vouch for the ugly part but the swan period must have been brief if it occurred at all.”