Occasion of Revenge (18 page)

LouElla nodded.

“But tell me, why did you put the dolls out in the garden?”

“They
like
to be outside,” she said reasonably.

“Oh.” I digested this information while Chloe beat on my head with the flat of her hands like Ricky Ricardo at the Tropicana. “But, why are they buried up to their waists?” I inquired.

“Because otherwise they’d fall over.”

I had to double over myself to keep from laughing. Chloe used this as an opportunity to lean sideways out of the backpack, reaching for Speedo’s wet, black
nose. Here was a disaster in the making. “Help me with the backpack, would you, LouElla?”

Soon Chloe was sitting stiff-spined on the patio, her legs in a V with Speedo lounging beside her, seemingly unconcerned that his short friend had grabbed a fistful of fur and might begin any minute to suck on it rather than on her Tinky Winky doll.

I gazed around the garden. Except for the Barbies, it was perfectly normal looking. Rows of perennials stood tall along the fence—I recognized rhododendron, yarrow, and spiderwort—and annuals would undoubtedly fill the beds in front, adding splashes of color in summer. Ground ivy provided a blanket of green, and in the corner nearest the house stood a dogwood, under-planted with azaleas, ferns, and hosta. Each bed was neatly edged with oyster shells.

LouElla was saying something. “Do you get it?”

“Get what?” I asked dreamily.

“The theme, dear.”

I shook my head, uncomprehending.

She touched an oyster shell with her toe, then pointed to a set of wind chimes hanging from a polished disk in the dogwood tree. “Silver bells and cockle shells …” She lifted one dark eyebrow expectantly.

A light bulb went on over my head. “And pretty maids, all in a row?” I finished.

Her laughter tinkled, like the wind chimes.

Something magical was going on and I hated to break the spell. I cocked my head, listening as the wind played a tuneless lullaby on the chimes, then, remembering why I had come, I pulled myself together. I had just opened my mouth to ask about BWI when LouElla shrieked, “Chloe!”

I turned in time to see Speedo’s tail and the diapered end of Chloe disappear through the sliding glass door. It was a race to see who could reach the house first, LouElla or me.

My overpriced jogging shoes with a recognizable logo won out over her sensible crepe soles. I burst into LouElla’s spotless kitchen to find Chloe and Speedo doing a do-si-do under the kitchen table, Speedo on his paws and Chloe on her chubby hands and knees. “Chloe!” I watched in amusement as my granddaughter pulled herself up to a standing position by holding on to a table leg. “You little rascal! I didn’t know you could do that!”

LouElla stripped off her gloves, laid them carefully on top of the table, then removed her apron and hung it on a hook next to the back door. “Rascal, indeed! You can’t turn your eyes away for a minute! But, now that we’re inside, would you like some refreshment?”

I was thinking that a stiff shot of bourbon would be nice, but LouElla was offering milk, orange juice, or water. I took o.j. While LouElla fetched two glasses from a cupboard near the sink, I scooped up Chloe and sat down at the table. LouElla opened her refrigerator, and the light shone on spotless shelves, almost completely devoid of food. My refrigerator hadn’t been that clean since the day it was delivered. I worried if LouElla was getting enough to eat and regretted having said yes to the orange juice.

While LouElla poured juice for the two of us, I popped the question. “Something very odd happened yesterday, LouElla. I was looking for Daddy, showing his picture around the airport, and when I got to the train station, the woman at the coffee wagon said she
recognized you. She said you’d been at the train station last Sunday afternoon.”

LouElla continued pouring, the hand holding the juice carton steady as a surgeon’s. “That’s easily explained, my dear. I
was
at the train station on Sunday afternoon.” She turned toward me, a glass of juice in each hand. “I was investigating your father’s disappearance. I often did such work while on undercover assignment for J. Edgar Hoover and it pays to keep my hand in.” She set the glasses on the table, then pulled out the chair opposite me and sat down. “He had a lot of confidence in me, you see.” She leaned across the table and whispered, “My code name was ‘Medusa.’ ”

I could think of a lot of names old John Edgar might have called this woman, had he known her, but “Medusa” wasn’t one of them. “It’s kind of you to take an interest in our troubles,” I said.

“I’m concerned about all God’s creatures,” she assured me. “That’s why I wanted to adopt Speedo. Poor Virginia doesn’t need to be worrying about caring for a dog just now. She’s had enough troubles of her own.”

Virginia had seemed fairly calm and composed to me, so I wondered what her “troubles” might be. “She mentioned that her husband and daughter had died,” I said. “Such a shame.”

“Oh, but that wasn’t the worst of it. Dear me, no.”

I swiveled away from the table and jounced Chloe on my knee as she was threatening to play junior magician by yanking the tablecloth out from under the glassware, sugar bowl, and salt and pepper shakers. I stared at LouElla. “Why? What happened?”

LouElla leaned close and looked right and left
before she whispered, “Virginia’s daughter took her own life.”

I gasped, thinking about Emily. Losing my daughter under any circumstances would be more than I could bear, but by suicide? “How terrible! Why did she do it, do they know? Was she distraught over her father’s death?”

LouElla shook her head. “This happened
before
Harry died. Virginia thought she’d never get over it, and then Harry …” She paused and took a sip of her orange juice. “I’m not sure how much of this I should be telling you.”

I considered telling LouElla that I had worked for J. Edgar, too, and that my code name was “Minotaur,” but I was afraid she’d think I was mocking her. The woman might be slightly daft, but she certainly wasn’t stupid. “Have no fear,” I said. Using a zipping motion, I drew my fingers across my mouth. “What you say will go no further than this table.”

With a sly look at Chloe, as if the baby might be concealing a listening device in her diapers, LouElla continued, “Remember that British agent who died of a poisoned umbrella tip?”

I didn’t, but I nodded sagely.

“Well, that’s what got Harry, too.”

I shook my head. “Poor Virginia.”

“Poor Virginia, indeed,” she agreed. “He collapsed and died right on her kitchen floor.”

“Could it have been a heart attack?” I asked.

“There are heart attacks and then there are
heart attacks.
” LouElla took the empty glass from my hand and walked to the sink with it. While her back was turned, I stood and jiggled Chloe on my hip, inching my way over in the direction of the living room. Through the
open door I could see a well-worn sofa, a threadbare carpet, and faded drapes, all in gaudy floral patterns that warred with one another. Like the kitchen, the room was scrupulously clean.

As I passed the pantry, I stole a look inside. Familiar red-and-green boxes of pasta, large bottles of spaghetti sauce, row upon row of Campbell’s soup, and boxes of whole wheat crackers stood in orderly ranks on the shelves. Not much variety, but I needn’t worry. LouElla wouldn’t starve.

But it was the case of chocolate-flavored Ensure that made me gulp and look quickly away. She must have fed the nutritional supplement to her gravely ill son. How could she bear to keep such a poignant reminder of his suffering around? I felt as if a black cloud had descended on this house. No, not on this house. On this block. On Chestertown’s own little Bermuda Triangle, where so many hearts needed healing, and not the least among them was mine.

chapter
13

Ruth’s attitude didn’t help anything when
Captain Younger showed up at Mother Earth on Thursday morning, just before Christmas. I was going to lunch at McGarvey’s where I planned to have a word with Darlene’s son, Darryl. According to Virginia, he had been one of the last people to see my father the night of the party. Perhaps Daddy had said something to his future—ugh!—son-in-law that might give me a clue to his whereabouts. I had hoped to drag Ruth along with me, but Ruth was short-staffed and the little bundles of incense sticks she’d done up as stocking stuffers seemed to be selling like Pokémon, so she nixed the plan. I was heading out the door on my way to the restaurant when I saw Captain Younger double-park his cruiser on Main Street directly outside the shop, and switch on the flashers.

I rushed outside to meet him, slamming the door behind me so hard that the bells hanging there nearly jingled themselves off their bow. I caught Younger before he could open the cruiser door. “Officer Younger! Do you have news? About our father?”

Younger tucked his sunglasses into a breast pocket and squinted at me through the open window. “I’m afraid not. I was hoping to see your sister Ruth.”

My heart went into free fall thinking about the bottle of schnapps. Surely he wasn’t going to arrest her? “She’s in the store,” I said. “I’ll tell her you’re here.”

While Younger uncoiled himself from the driver’s seat, I hurried inside to warn my sister. “Batten down the hatches, Ruth. The Chestertown police are here.”

“Oh, glory hallelujah.” Ruth rested her forehead for a moment against the top of the cash register. “Just what I need.”

Captain Younger entered the shop, glanced around, and greeted us cheerfully. “Morning, ladies.” I relaxed. He didn’t seem in a hurry to arrest anybody. He examined a few of the New Age greeting cards Ruth had displayed in a rack near the door, turning them over to check the manufacturer before sliding them back into place. I could practically hear the gears grinding and meshing in his head—he must have been comparing them to the poisoned pen cards that Darlene had received.

He acknowledged me with a nod. “Mrs. Ives.” His eyes Ping-Ponged from me to Ruth as if trying to detect a family resemblance. It’s there if you’re looking for it: a determined chin, a certain twist to the mouth when we smile, and an upward tilt of the eyes. Ruth is a slightly older (and grayer) version of me.

Ruth stepped from behind the counter. “I’m Ruth.” She held her hands clasped behind her back. Evidently she didn’t intend to shake his paw. “Hannah says you want to talk to me?”

Younger’s eyes slid from me to Ruth. “Is there someplace we can go?”

Ruth shrugged. “I have an office in back, but it’s no bigger than a phone booth. Why can’t we talk right here?”

Younger shook his head. “Privately?”

“There’s nothing you can say to me that Hannah can’t hear.”

“Very well, Mrs. Gannon—”

“It’s
Ms.
” The way she buzzed the “
s
” like a “
z
” was embarrassing.

“Very well,
Mizz
Gannon.” Clearly two could play that game. He took a notebook from his pocket, licked his thumb, and flipped the pages over one at a time until he found what he was looking for. “I wonder if you would describe for me the bottle of schnapps you gave Mrs. Tinsley.”

Ruth looked at the ceiling, the furrow deep between her brows. “Let me think. I got it at Mills …”

“The liquor store down the street?”

Ruth nodded. “I remember there was a choice between a bottle with mint leaves on the label and one with candy canes. Being that it’s Christmas, I’m pretty sure I picked the candy canes.”

“Hiram Walker,” Younger said.

“If you say so. I don’t remember.”

Younger made a check mark in his notebook, then turned to me. “Does that agree with your observations?”

“The bottle Ruth gave me to take to the party was gift-wrapped. I don’t know what it looked like underneath the wrapping.” I sent a
so sorry
look in Ruth’s direction, hoping that I wasn’t getting her in trouble. But I hadn’t seen the bottle before Darlene unwrapped it. Besides, who knew how many bottles of schnapps Darlene might have had lying around the house, with
or without candy canes on the label? The bottle I saw standing open on her kitchen counter might not even have come from Ruth. I wondered if that had been the bottle with the clonidine in it.

Younger shifted gears. “How did Mrs. Tinsley and your father get along?”

“Daddy thought the sun rose and set on that woman. He was positively smitten,” I told him.

“Did they argue?”

I shook my head so emphatically that my silver and brass earrings chimed. “Absolutely not. Quite the opposite. They—”

Ruth interrupted me. “They were so lovey-dovey it made me want to puke.”

“Ruth!”

“I’m not as circumspect as Hannah,” Ruth observed, stating the obvious. “I see no need to candy-coat the situation. That woman had our father wrapped around her little finger. She was an opportunistic bitch. End of story.”

Younger stared at Ruth intently. “Would it be fair to say that you’re not particularly sorry that Mrs. Tinsley is out of the picture?”

“You could say that.”

“Do you know anybody else who might feel the same way?”

Ruth laced her arms over her bosom like a pretzel. “Not really. But she was married three times. There could be a long line.”

“You might talk to her children,” I suggested. “Deirdre lives in Bowie. Darryl’s up in Glen Burnie somewhere, but he works as a waiter at McGarvey’s. Down the street and to the left,” I added, ever helpful, just in
case the officer wasn’t familiar with Annapolis. “In fact, I’m heading over there now.”

Captain Younger grunted. He consulted his notebook, then skewered Ruth with his eyes. “I understand you’ve been house-hunting.”

I opened my mouth to ask what house-hunting had to do with bottles of peppermint schnapps when Ruth surprised me. It was a subtle thing, just a small step backward, then a hand laid almost too casually at the edge of the counter. “I was.”

“Was?”

Ruth nodded. “I made an offer on a house in Bay Ridge, but the deal fell through.”

“There was a contingency clause in the contract,” I volunteered. “The sellers pulled out at the last minute.” I glanced over at Ruth, trying to gauge her reaction, hoping I wasn’t playing fast and loose with the truth.