Mother (61 page)

She pulled a folding chair out and carried it to the front yard then came back to the shed. Glancing up, she saw Frederick watching her from the open slider. “You’ll catch your death of cold in that breeze,” she called. “I’ll come up and shut that door for you in a minute.”

“Nooooo!”

Startled, she looked up again. Frederick had pushed himself onto the balcony and was glaring at her. “Very good!” she called to him. “Your speech is improving!”
 

She stepped back into the shed. “Timothy, help me remember to have Dr. Hopper prescribe some more Botox. Your stepfather’s is wearing off. It seems like my work is never done, doesn’t it?” She tugged on the folded card table and it slid easily out of its slot and halfway out of the potting shed before it caught on something. “I wish Jason would get here. I need him to help me move this.”

“Can I help you, Mrs. Martin?”
 

She whirled to see Hank Lowell standing not ten feet away.

“I heard you saying you need some help,” he said, an untrustworthy smile on his face. “I’ll carry that for you.”

She stared at him, taking in his beard and the tattoo of a motorcycle on his bicep. He was so uncouth, but at least he looked clean. “That would be lovely, thank you.”

He pulled the table out and waited while she locked the shed, then carried it to the front of the house and set it up at the curb.

“Thank you,” Prissy said. Next door, Hank’s wife, with the fire engine red hair, was setting up their own table. Two tables, she realized.
Even though they make a bad impression, at least they participate.
Still, it was difficult to be polite to such gypsies. “What are you and your wife serving today?”
 

“Homemade tamales. Crys spent two days making them. They’re amazing.”

“I’m sure they are.” Prissy wondered if the health department would approve. She certainly wasn’t going to taste anything that ethnic. “Two tables full. How impressive.”

“No, just one table of tamales. We thought we’d provide some salads, too. We made coleslaw, three-bean, and my world famous potato salad.”

Priscilla nodded. “
I’m
providing the potato salad. Everyone loves it, so you may as well put yours away.”

Hank just grinned. “We made too much to eat up ourselves. There’ll be plenty for everybody. So many neighbors have invited friends that we figured we’d make some extra, just in case.” He smiled. “Mine is hot German salad, with vinegar and bacon. What kind did you make?”

“American!” Prissy wanted to slap the man, but controlled herself, as Hank tipped an invisible hat then walked back to his yard to help his Slutty Susie wife, who was now setting up a big umbrella and a half-dozen chairs. Each table held a napkin dispenser and a stack of paper plates - and boxes of plastic forks and spoons.
What showoffs!

“I love little planes,” Steffie Banks said. She sat in the co-pilot seat, smiling.
 

The takeoff had been smooth as glass, and Paul was proud. “This plane may be little,” he said, glancing at her, “but it’s a jet, a VLJ, not a plane. Big difference.”
 

“More macho?” Steffie asked, grinning.

“Damn straight! And much faster.”
 

“Coffee?”

“Please.” Paul reached his assigned altitude, adjusted his course, then settled in. He had finally gotten hold of Jason and was glad to know he was boarding and would be on his way back to Snapdragon, too. They’d arrive around the same time.

Steffie handed him his coffee. “It’s so beautiful here, isn’t it?”

Below, the high desert and mountains spread out in uncrowded splendor. “It’s a shame to have to leave.”

Babs watched Prissy as she began her meddlesome walk around the sac. It was ten now and many of the neighbors were all set up for the potluck, but she and Carl had napped and were only getting started. He’d just wheeled his gas grill into the driveway, and now they set up a table and two chairs next to it. They’d bring the ice chest of dogs and condiments out soon.

“Look at Priscilla,” Babs told Carl.

“Do I have to?”

She poked him in the ribs. “Have you ever seen pants that yellow?”

He looked up. “I’d better slather on sunblock if she gets too close.”

Babs laughed. “No kidding.”

Priscilla had passed by the Lowells and was talking to Phyllis and Clyde Stine. They must have passed muster, because she quickly moved on to Stan and Aida’s house. Their voices floated over. Pris had tasted Aida’s chili and had given it her blessing. She chatted with Aida a moment, no doubt gossiping.

“Carl, while Prissy’s making her rounds, I think I’ll try to sneak in to see Claire. Cover for me?”

“You’re leaving me alone with that old witch?” He grinned.
 

“She’ll be a while. When she and Aida get to talking, it’s time consuming.” She shook her head. “I’ve always said that no secrets are safe on Morning Glory Circle, and that’s why.” She nodded toward Pris and Aida.
 

Carl chuckled. “Sure, I’ll cover for you. But you better step on it - she’s already heading up the Deans’ walk.”

“I’ll be right back. I just want to look in on her.” Babs took off at a fast walk but just as she approached the Sachs’ house, Prissy’s voice bellowed from behind.

“Barbara! Over here!”

Babs turned and realized Prissy had been watching all along.
Stay cool.
“Why, there you are!” she said, using everything she’d ever learned in high school drama class to disarm the woman. “I was just coming to see if you needed any help.”

Prissy eyed her. “You didn’t see me on the sidewalk?”

“No, I didn’t. Sorry, I’m a little sleep-deprived this morning and obviously not very observant. My, those pants certainly are yellow!” She fluttered her lashes, knowing butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. It worked. Prissy was staring down at her pants.

“I just bought them. I thought they went really well with my snapdragon pin. The pants are the same shade of yellow.”

Banana pants!
“They certainly brighten up that pastel sweater.”

Prissy tried to stare her down. “It looks to me like Carl may need your help, Barbara. Why don’t you go give him a hand?”

Babs gave her a tight smile and headed toward Carl, who was setting out plates and condiments. When she arrived, she glanced back.

Prissy stood in place, staring.
Making sure I stay far away from Claire.
Babs sighed.
Jason, where are you?

Behind the bedroom drapes, Claire sat up in her bed, staring straight ahead into the darkness. She saw nothing, heard nothing, and felt nothing. Wherever her thoughts were, they weren’t here, they weren’t now.
 

In the back of her mind, something niggled, trying to make its way to the surface - something important. Something she needed to know. Something she needed to
remember.
But like a knock on the door of a vacant room, it went unheard and unheeded.

Potluck Surprise

There was no parking on Morning Glory Circle, and Father Andy didn’t find an open space on Daisy for a block and a half. The potluck looked to be the most crowded he’d ever attended. Prissy always asked him to bless their flowerbeds, and he always did because no other street in town had such good chow.
 

But this time he’d only come because of Babs Vandercooth and her concern for Claire. When he’d told Dave Flannigan his plans - to help Babs get past Prissy and visit Claire - the old priest had voiced concern, then volunteered to come along. He wasn’t sure if Dave was coming to help him get in to see Claire or to protect him from Priscilla Martin’s priest-eating appetite. Probably both.

He and Dave walked to Morning Glory Circle; and when Andy saw the barricade closing off the street, he shuddered.

“Someone just step on your grave?” Dave asked.

“There was a barricade like this the day Burke Collins murdered his family. It brings back memories I’d just as soon forget.”

Dave patted his shoulder. “Understandable. But today, we have a mission: to visit Priscilla’s daughter and then to eat lots of free food.” He spoke lightly, but something in his eyes was deadly earnest. His clerical collar spoke of business as well.

“Indeed.” Andy started up the north side of the cul-de-sac, heading for Babs’ house, but paused in front of the first residence on the corner, where a goateed man and an attractive young woman in a sweatshirt and short-shorts tended a table loaded with water, sodas, coffee, tea, and more.
 

They approached and the young woman smiled. “Coffee?”

“I’d love a cup,” Dave said.

“Do you have any hot chocolate?” Andy had a craving.

“Of course. Here you go, Father.”

“Why Ace Etheridge, you old son of a gun, how the heck are you?”
 

The goateed man looked up, then grinned and stood. “Dave Flannigan, I haven’t seen your ugly mug in a decade! I’m great. How the hell are
you
?”

“I’m good.”

“What are you doing here?”

 
“Just seeing to it that my replacement is praying over the food in a proper manner.”

“I’m Iris,” the young woman told Andy while Dave and Ace talked. “Father Dave presided over my parents’ wedding about a zillion years ago. They used to golf together.”

Dave and Ace had gone up to the front porch and were sitting down in wicker chairs, obviously talking over old times. “Would you tell Dave I’ll be right back, Iris?”

“Sure.”
 

Andy started toward the Vandercooth house, when he heard Dave call his name. The priest was trotting, red-faced, in his direction. “Trying to ditch me, are you?”

“I was going to come right back. I’m only going next door.” Andy paused. “You looked like you were having fun. I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“I was. I will. Don’t worry about it. I’m not letting you out of my sight today.”

“Okay.” Andy smiled. “Let’s go see Babs.”

When Paul and Stephanie stepped out of the hangar after parking the little jet, the first thing they saw was Jason Holbrook crossing the tarmac, overnight bag in hand.

“Hey, Holbrook!” Paul yelled.

Jason turned, then trotted over. “I’m glad to see you, Paul. And you must be Steffie. I’m
really
happy you’re here.”

“I am, too,” she said. Jason was a handsome young man, but right now, he looked worn down, with red-rimmed eyes that carried too much baggage beneath them.

“You don’t look so good, my friend,” Paul said.
 

“I didn’t get much sleep. And I can’t get hold of Claire. I need to get to the house right away. I’m worried.” He looked to Stephanie. “I wish I’d listened to her from the beginning. The things she was saying - I thought they were just too crazy. I was an idiot.”

“Steffie,” Paul said. “Why don’t you ride with Jason - he can fill you in. I’ll follow you guys over.”

“Sounds good,” Stephanie said. She picked up her pace and they practically ran to Jason’s Prius. A moment later, their bags were stowed and Jason pulled out.
 

“Paul knows the way,” he told her.

“Of course. Jason, Paul told me what he could about the situation. What can you tell me?”

“I thought Claire was losing it - I mean, having psychological problems - because she hates her mother so much. It got really bad when she broke her leg and had to stay in Priscilla’s house, under her care. She started telling stories I thought were fabricated. And things happened. One day, there was a teddy bear in her room with eyes painted red and she swore she hadn’t done it. Lots of other things, too, and she kept telling me her mother was behind them. I just didn’t believe her. Sure, I could see Prissy was overbearing, but I thought Claire was becoming paranoid because she kept blaming everything, including the bear, on her mother.” His voice cracked. He wiped away a tear.

“It’s okay. Would you mind driving just a little slower? We want to get there in one piece.”

“Sorry.” He slowed to the speed limit.

“Listen, Jason. Your reaction was exactly what Prissy wanted. She engineered it. She wanted to own you - she always wants to own everything and everyone and she’s so jealous that she needs to win everything, too
 
- including her own daughter’s husband. She treated me like she’s treating you - she was jealous of Tim and me. It’s all her. Trust me, Claire is
not
paranoid.”

Jason glanced at her. “I read some of Timothy’s journals last night. There were things … horrible things … “

“I know. Tim told me about his mother’s punishments after he came to Brimstone. He never said anything when we were kids, but even then I knew something was wrong. I always knew.” She paused. “Jason, when Priscilla Martin looks at you with those amber eyes of hers, even if she’s smiling, how does it make you feel?

“I’ve never thought about it. I’ve just concentrated on trying to keep the peace between her and Claire.”

“Think about it now.”

He paused. “She has dead eyes.”

“She does. She … she reminds me of some sort of demigod or something who demands sacrifices.”

Jason nodded. “I talked to Priscilla last night, very briefly. She told me the doctor said Claire had had a psychotic break.”

“What doctor?”

“A guy named Hopper?”

“Shit.”

“She tried to get Claire to use him as her obstetrician. Claire wouldn’t - she doesn’t like him.”

“Neither do I. He’s in Priscilla’s pocket. She’s got something on him.” She shook her head. “She’s got something on everybody.”

They were nearing the neighborhood and Stephanie’s stomach twisted in anticipation. She hadn’t ever wanted to come back, or see Priscilla Martin or her creepy house again. And now she was about to walk into it to try to help Tim’s little sister. She swallowed. “Jason, I need to be more specific about Priscilla.”

“Go ahead.” Mouth set in a grim line, he drove on.

“You’re familiar with the term ‘sociopath’?”

“You mean like Hannibal Lecter?”

“Kind of. Except Hannibal seemed to have empathy for Clarice; that was his only real flaw, and it made him human. That’s the difference between fact and fiction. In real life, it doesn’t happen. A sociopath is someone without conscience, no sense of right or wrong. I can’t officially diagnose since she’s not my patient, but I do know for certain that Priscilla Martin is unstable - she has definite sociopathic and narcissistic traits. Along with a few other issues. It’s all about her, all the time.” She paused. “She’s incapable of love.”