Death of an Irish Diva (18 page)

Vera, Beatrice, Jon, and Eric sat together in a row, chitchatting about the beautiful spring Cumberland Creek was having, about the ducks swimming in the rivers, and about the modern, sleek new amphitheater. Elizabeth was spending the day with Bill, which worried Vera. But he promised it would just be the two of them, that his girlfriend would be nowhere around. She caught Eric's eye, and they smiled at one another. He fit in with her family, even though he'd already excused himself once to call a patient. But because Vera's father was a doctor, she supposed she was used to that kind of thing, and it didn't worry her at all.

She scanned the crowd, and she saw Robert Dasher and his new wife, looking as if she were going to pop with the baby she was expecting. Vera sighed. She was so thrilled for Robert that he was able to get his life together after the death of Maggie Rae. She waved at them.

She also saw Emily's parents but was unable to get their attention. They were front and center to the stage, an honored position.

“Have you been sleepwalking anymore?” Eric asked her.

“I don't think so,” Vera replied. “But I never really feel rested. The medicine is supposed to help with the REM situation. But I'm not sure it has.”

“Are you still going to do the hypnosis walk-through?”

Vera felt a chill travel up her spine. “I am,” she said and swallowed. “Detective Bryant suggested that I do it. It will at least show that I feel I have nothing to hide.”

Eric shrugged. “But you don't. Anybody who knows you knows that you'd never harm anybody.”

“Damn straight,” Beatrice chimed in.

“What she said.” Jon poked at her.

Beatrice lurched back. “My, my, aren't you getting to be quite Americanized with your cocky attitude.”

Jon grinned and shrugged his shoulders, pointed to the stage, where the musicians were taking their places.

Vera felt ill at ease about even being here, since so many of her previous dance students were performers in the show today. It was like looking at her failure in a way. A failure to compete with Emily. But she had been so unprepared for it, had never imagined that another dancer would come to town, let alone one who would go to such lengths to succeed. It wasn't personal, she told herself. It was business. But it still felt personal, and it hurt.

Her students were now Irish dancers leaping across the stage to the rhythms of the fiddle and the bodhran. Even though the rhythm and form were different, she saw the ballet in them, the way they held themselves, the way they pointed their toes. She gave them that. At least. Her heart swelled.

She closed her eyes. The sound of the fiddle slowed, and it seemed to vibrate deep within her chest yet lift her spirits. She opened her eyes and looked out over the river to her mountain.
What next?

The next morning Vera woke up with the scent of eggs and ham teasing her nose. Bless her mother. She had made her favorite breakfast. As she padded down the stairs into the kitchen, she smelled the biscuits. Beatrice and Jon were already awake. Lizzie was still asleep.

“My last meal?” Vera said and smiled as she looked over the mounds of food on the table.

Beatrice grinned and answered the doorbell. In walked Annie and Sheila.

Soon enough Vera's doctor, Dr. Long, was there in Beatrice's living room. He brought in another doctor, who explained that he was certified in hypnosis and so on and so on. Vera had no idea what any of it meant. She just wanted to get to the bottom of it. She looked up at Beatrice, Annie, and Sheila, standing close by, and the detective on the other side of the room.

“Well, how the hell am I supposed to relax with all of you looking at me?” she clipped.

“Yes, you all need to leave until she is under, but we'll see you later. Wait outside. Once she's under, you can follow along quietly,” the doctor said, getting up from the couch.

Beatrice grumbled, but the others moved along to Beatrice's front porch without comment.

It took very little time for Vera to get settled in the chair in her mother's living room.

“Just relax, lean back in the chair, and concentrate on my voice,” he said, fiddling with his tie a bit.

“Oh, damn,” she said.

“What?”

“I have to use the bathroom,” she said.

He bit his lip. “Okay.”

She felt more relaxed somehow when she sat back down in the chair.

“Okay, listen to my voice,” he said.

It was a nice voice.

Had she remember to shut the light off in her bedroom?

Ten.

Nine.

Eight.

Seven.

“I hope you are feeling a little more relaxed.”

Six.

Yes, she was. But she was certainly not “under.” Just a little more relaxed.

Five.

Four.

Three.

“Vera, your arms are feeling heavy.”

She tried to lift them, and darned, they
were
heavy.

Two.

One.

One moment she was completely relaxed. The next, she was asleep and dreaming. Walking. She was wide awake and accompanying the doctor down the streets of Cumberland Creek. Everything had been planned according to the doctor's instructions. They would walk her through her evening the night of the murder in hopes that her relaxed, “hypnotic” state, along with the physical triggers, would help her to remember something useful. Emily's studio door was already unlocked, since they were certain she'd lead them to it.

Walking and walking. Dreaming and walking.

“Is this the street you walked along from the parade to your home?”

Vera looked up at the sign. It was blurry. She blinked. “Walnut, yes.”

“What do you see?”

“The girls look so pretty all dressed in green. Everybody is going home. The streets are littered with glittery green confetti,” she said.

“Where do you go next?”

Vera turned and walked toward her apartment.

“Where is your bag?” the doctor asked.

“I have it around my shoulder.”

“Are you certain this is the street you walked along?”

“Yes, but wait—”

“What?”

“I decided to cut across Main Street here,” she said. “I heard a strange noise coming from Emily's studio.”

“What kind of noise?”

Silence.

“Vera? The noise?”

“It was a . . . a . . . muffled scream,” she said. “And I ran for Emily's studio. Someone needs help.”

They entered the studio. A low, guttural sob escaped from Vera. She felt like she couldn't see.

“Vera? What is happening?” a male voice said to her.

“Where are the lights . . . ?” Her hands searched around the walls. Her bag dropped.

Trying to see in the darkness. The mirrors. A sudden glint of light. That horrible gurgling sound. Eyes looking up at her. A slice of light. Then gone.

“Who's there?” Vera said, almost out of breath.

“Look closer,” the doctor said. “We are in the studio the Friday of Emily's death. What do you see?”

A hand stretched out to her and dropped to the floor with a thud.

Where were the lights in this place? Her hands went to the walls once again in search of the switch. The shard of light captured the face again.

The face looked up at her.

It was the face of evil.

Vera felt fear shoot through her, every cell in her body lit. Something deep, primal in her became unleashed. It rose and twisted inside of her. Sweat poured from her. She was so frightened that she could not move.
Feet, move,
she told them. But they betrayed her and stood firmly rooted.
Lungs, breathe,
she told them, and suddenly she could no longer breathe.

“Air,” she said before collapsing on the floor of Emily McGlashen's studio.

“Good God!” Beatrice screamed and ran to a sobbing Vera, cradling her. What had her daughter seen that night? What horrible act had she witnessed? No wonder she behaved like a wounded animal.

“Step back,” the doctor told the others. “She needs air.”

He crouched over and spoke very softly. “Vera, remember I told you that when I clap, you will awaken and will remember everything.”

“Really?” Beatrice said. “Does she need to?”

“I'm afraid so, Bea.” Bryant stepped forward.

The doctor clapped three times, and Vera's eyes flew open. She looked around the room and buried her head in her mother's lap. Beatrice's heart raced. Jon was behind her, his hand on her shoulder.

“Vera, darling,” Beatrice said, having trouble finding words, “you need to pull yourself together.”

But when Vera looked back up at her, Beatrice barely recognized the look in her only child's eyes. Haunted? The light and vibrancy that usually came from her had vanished

“Doctor, what the hell?” Sheila yelled.

“Has something gone wrong?” Annie said at the same time.

“Calm down,” the doctor said. “Sometimes this happens. What she saw was devastating.... She's remembering and sifting through repressed images. It could take some time. A few hours at least.”

“But what did she see? I mean, I was having a hard time figuring it out,” Sheila said.

“She saw Emily McGlashen's murder,” Annie said after a moment, then turned to the detective. “Does this clear her?”

Bryant frowned. “Is that what you heard? Because I'm not so sure . . . Doctor?”

“It's hard to say at this point. Let's give her some time,” the doctor said.

“Indeed,” Beatrice said, helping Vera to stand. “Now, get out of my way. I'm taking my girl home.”

Beatrice and Vera left the studio. The others trailed behind them. Once they reached the house, Beatrice and Jon helped Vera up the stairs, and she fell into bed with all her clothes on.

A few hours later, Vera came down the steps of the home in which she'd grown up, looking a little tired, but that haunted look was gone. The detective, the doctor, Annie, and Sheila were all still there, milling around, playing cards, watching the digging in the backyard.

“So, what happened?” she asked them. “Did we find out anything at all?”

Dr. Long stood. “You mean you don't remember anything?”

Vera looked at him with a blank expression. “No. I'm sorry. But you taped it, right?”

He nodded. “But I'm not sure it will do you much good to listen to it. We'll try it tomorrow. Sometimes listening to it triggers the memories. How does that sound?”

“To tell you the truth, I don't want to do this anymore,” Vera said. “I'm sorry. I don't want to disappoint, but I just don't think I can help.”

“Vera—” Bryant began.

Jon spoke up. “If you have the evidence to arrest this woman, then do it,” he said in a voice Beatrice had never heard before. Strong. Forceful. Well, well, well. “If not, please stop harassing her.” He gestured toward her. “I'm no doctor, but Vera is certainly ill over this matter. Gentlemen, I suggest you leave.”

“I better go, too,” Annie said. “It will be time for the boys to be home soon. Vera, call me if you need anything,” Annie added and hugged her.

“Well, I'm not going anywhere,” Sheila said and plopped onto the couch as Annie, Bryant, and the doctors left.

Vera sat down next to Sheila, who reached out and took her hand.

 

 

Later, Sheila took Vera out for pie, leaving Jon and Beatrice in a quiet house with Lizzie sound asleep upstairs.

Beatrice took a sip of her chamomile tea. Her nerves were shot, seeing Vera like that. “Thank you, Jon, for getting rid of everybody today.”

“Eh,” he said. “It was nothing. She is really like a daughter to me by now.” He looked out the window. “When did you say they were pouring the concrete for the pool?”

Beatrice sighed. “It was scheduled for tomorrow. But canceled by the state. I don't know what's going on.”

“I must admit that I'm disappointed that we don't have our pool yet, but this history business is very exciting, yes?”

“Yes.” Beatrice suddenly remembered that they hadn't read over the report that Paige brought them. “What did we do with that folder?”

Jon went off in search of it as Beatrice leaned back in her chair, Vera still on her mind. What had she witnessed? Vera was a strong person, and getting stronger every day.
But when one witnesses a horrific thing, who knows how the body and mind will react?

“Bea? Are you okay, dear?” Jon interrupted her thoughts.

“Yes,” she said. “I was just thinking about Vera.”

“I know,” he said softly. “Let's think about something else, shall we?”

He forced a smile. Goodness, he was trying to cheer her. You had to just love a man like that.

He reached for her quilt and placed it on her lap. Its warmth spread through her.

“Let's look at all this stuff. It's a wonderful treasure,” he said. “Willa Rose McGlashen was born in about eighteen fifty, the eldest child of William McGlashen Jr., and Eleanor Jenkins,” Jon read.

“Jenkins?” Beatrice said. “Now, that's an old name, but I didn't think they ventured far off the mountain. Hmmm. Born in eighteen fifty. That makes her in her twenties when she dated that journal.”

Jon continued reading. “The McGlashen family ran the first inn, or ‘ordinary,' in the town of Cumberland Creek, first known as Miller's Gap. Hans Mueller or Miller and his family were among the first settlers of the region. His daughter Mathilde married a McGlashen. None of Hans's sons survived.”

“Aha,” Beatrice said.

“By all accounts Willa Rose was an extraordinary young woman. She helped her aging parents run the inn. As the innkeeper, she was in a perfect position to help during the war, and she did by passing messages for spies during the War Between the States. In one case, at great risk to her life. This was during a journey to Manassas, when she traveled as a young man with a freed slave named Ez, son of the family's kitchen helper.”

“Ez?” Beatrice said. “She mentions Ez in her journal, doesn't she?”

Jon nodded. “She mentions his death. She grieves for him. She also mentions his child, Billy. Remember? She adopted him, or whatever they called it then.”

“Billy? Ah yes. I remember. It was such turmoil after the war. Must have been awful. There were orphans, widows, young man disabled. It was horrible. What else does it say?”

“Willa never married. She spent her days keeping the inn. Historical records show that there were several deaths in the area, which could have been TB or TB related. There is a death record for Mary, Ez's mother, but no mention of the child, Billy, that Willa Rose adopted. It's mentioned in the record that Willa died at the Shenandoah Home for the Mentally Disturbed and is listed as a lunatic—”

“What?” Beatrice interrupted. “What happened to her? She had this useful life, then suddenly loses her mind?”

“Maybe it was something like . . . How do you say? Dementia?”

“But what about the child? No mention?”

“Here's a note from Paige. There was a Bill McGlashen that was listed in California in nineteen twenty. She is not sure if this could be our Bill, but she is checking. There were no other McGlashens in the state of California and one family listed in Pennsylvania, but no William there.”

“Well, that's fascinating. Emily McGlashen is from California.”