Phantoms Can Be Murder: Charlie Parker Mystery #13 (4 page)

Chapter
4

Sunlight brightened the windows
that faced the front of the hotel. It was my first clue that I was in an
east-facing room. I stretched and savored the warmth of the covers, up to the
moment it became evident that my bladder wasn’t going to let me stay in bed
much longer. Back from my quick trip to the bathroom I parted the sheer curtain
and looked out.

A flurry of traffic moved through
the lot, mainly young mothers releasing uniformed kids to begin their day. I
hadn’t realized there was a school nearby. I pressed the button on the coffee
maker, remembering that breakfast was included in my room price but not quite
having the energy to get dressed just yet. From the glimpse I’d caught of the
restaurant with its high ceilings and dark woods, I had the feeling this wasn’t
one of those places where you should show up in sweats with your hair in
sleep-tangles.

Voices drifted upward, excited
kids meeting their friends and heading for class, while I sipped at my coffee
and thought about the past few days. Louisa with her bright smile and ready
laughter, her openness to unconventional ideas as well as to me—the unknown
niece that she welcomed as if we’d known each other for ages—her airy clothing
and ballet-style shoes. I’d never had a friend quite like her.

A friend. Is that what this new
family member would become?

Only time would tell, I reminded
myself. I pulled myself away from the window and set my cup aside, determined
to make the most of the morning on my own. I showered, but decided the hair was
going to be hopelessly bushy. It seemed to be doubling in volume in a
purposeful effort to soak up as much moisture from this new climate as
possible. I gave up attempts to style it and ended up pulling it back into a
ponytail.

I thought of home. It would be
good to check in with Ron at some point, make sure that things were under
control at the office. Meaning that I hoped he wouldn’t trash my office in an
attempt to find a file or something that would, in fact, be buried on his own messy
desk. I could also reassure him that Louisa seemed quite content without money
from me. And then there was the longing to hear Drake’s voice again. But a
quick calculation of the time difference told me that this was not the hour to
waken either of them.

Downstairs, the restaurant was
bustling with people in business attire who seemed to be downing their final
cups of coffee and heading out to important appointments. A willowy young
server dressed all in black greeted me and I decided to treat myself to a full,
traditional English breakfast. I won’t sugar-coat this—I’m not one to stress
over healthy eating. I tend to have what I want, and I’m lucky enough in the
genetics department that I don’t normally gain much weight. Either that or my
tendency to run through life at a NASCAR pace keeps the pounds off. I gave this
only about two seconds’ thought as I cut into the first of the plump sausages
on my plate.

A familiar shape approached, clad
in waves of purple flowers.

“I thought I might catch you
here,” Louisa said. She slid into the chair opposite me but waved off the
server’s offer of food or drink. “I got a call early this morning. The woman
who was to take the afternoon shift at the office is down with some kind of
bug. I’m going to have to work all day.”

“That’s okay,” I mumbled through
the bite of toast that I’d just popped into my mouth. “I can find plenty of
places to explore.”

Her brows went into a little
wrinkle. “I’m sure you’ll be fine. I just feel like I’m abandoning you, and so
quickly after your arrival.”

I patted her hand. “It’s fine.
I’ve got my camera and there are a million pictures waiting to be taken out
there.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive. Don’t worry about me.”

“I’ll be off work around four.
Come by my place and I’ll figure out something to make for dinner.”

“I can take you out somewhere,” I
offered.

“Actually, I have some lovely
fresh greens from my neighbor’s garden. How about a salad? ”

I gave a smile and a nod. After
all, I supposed I shouldn’t chow down on sausages and eggs
all
the time.
Louisa rose, her quick little movements nearly upsetting a pitcher of milk, and
she darted out the door after leaving me with the suggestion to come anytime
and we could have tea in the garden. With a whiff of some exotic scent that
matched the flowers on her dress, she was gone.

I leaned back in my chair and let
the waitress take away my empty plate. I didn’t see much of a change to my day;
I’d planned to tour the Abbey and gardens, visit a few of the historic
buildings, and take pictures up until lunch time anyway. With the large
breakfast, I could foresee skipping lunch and maybe grabbing a nap before
calling home sometime in the late afternoon. The kind of schedule a person on
vacation
should
have.

By three o’clock I’d accomplished
nearly everything on the list—including a tour inside the Gothic-style
cathedral given by a very nice priest, minister, vicar, or whatever his title
was. He never quite explained that. I’d managed enough photos to please the
folks back home without, I hoped, boring them to death. The lure of the nap was
beckoning as I unlocked the door to my room. I succumbed, only to be awakened
by the phone’s funny jangle an hour later.

“Hey babe,” said Drake.

“What time is it there? I was
going to call you later.”

“It’s way too early, for sure.
But I have a flight so I was up at dawn. At the airport now, in fact. Just
needed to hear your voice.”

Aww. We exchanged mushy talk
until I could hear the whine of rotor blades in the background. The routine of
his flights had become so familiar to me that I could put myself right there in
the cockpit with him, scanning the instruments and handling the controls. This
past summer had included a little too much personal drama for me but I looked
forward to working alongside him again. Soon, I hoped.

When the phone connection ended I
realized that Louisa would be expecting me shortly. I straightened the mussed
covers on the bed, swished some mouthwash to get rid of that sleep-taste, and
ran a brush through my hair. Twenty minutes later I was again tapping the hefty
brass knocker against the plate on her red front door.

She’d exchanged the flowered
dress from this morning for a pair of stretchy leggings in lavender and a
pretty top of filmy crepe-like fabric in what I was beginning to recognize as
her signature colors of purple and aqua. This one had a pattern of tiny beads
around the neckline.

I apologized for running a bit
late, explaining about the phone call from Drake.

“It must be hard, juggling a man
and a business,” she said.

An image of myself trying to heft
my husband into the air popped into my head. “Just juggling the man is tricky
enough.”

Her hearty laugh filled the room
for a second. “Oh, you are so right about that!”

She ushered me through the parlor
and into the kitchen.

“Tea and cake in the garden, or
would you rather go straight to the wine and have an early dinner?” she asked.
“I wasn’t sure whether you’ve adjusted to the time change yet, so I’m prepared
for either.”

As tempting as the idea of a real
English tea and cakes sounded, I had a feeling I needed something more
substantial. After the big breakfast, and with all the midday activities, I had
skipped lunch.

“Can I help you with the salad?”
I asked, while she poured wine into two glasses.

“Everything’s ready here on the
worktop and it won’t take but a moment.”

“I would love to tour your
garden,” I said, peeping out the window in her back door.

“It’s not terribly fancy,
especially by English standards,” she said. “Mostly roses.”

We carried our wine glasses
outside past a small bistro set, and I trailed her along a pathway of stepping
stones as she showed off the last of the autumn blossoms, including a few
hybrids that the home’s previous owner had especially prized.

“Your mother loved roses, as I
recall,” she said, cupping a peachy bloom in one hand.

“She did. I’ve managed to keep
quite a few of them alive but I’m not really a gardener.” I’d already given her
the quick rundown of how I’d inherited the house, during those get-acquainted
conversations on the phone.

“I’ve kept a few of Arlene’s
letters. Last night after you left, I found them. Thought you might like to
have them.”

She moved on, pointing out some
flowering border plants, but I found myself wrapping my mind around the idea of
this whole other world of which I’d been completely unaware and the fact that
my mother stayed in touch with Louisa even though my father would have surely
disapproved.

We’d circled the tiny yard and
arrived at the kitchen again before either of us spoke.

“A refill on your wine?” she
asked, holding up the bottle and raising one eyebrow.

I’m rarely more than a one-glass
person but I indicated the halfway mark on the glass.

“I’ll just put the finishing
touches on the salad, if you’re ready.”

I nodded. She rummaged in the
fridge for something and I spotted a stack of envelopes beside the toaster.
Plain white, but they were all rimmed with the red and blue stripes that used
to be common on overseas mail.

“Are these—?” I tilted my head
toward them.

“Oh! Yes, those are the ones I
was telling you about. Take them.”

I picked up the stack, probably a
dozen of them at most. Across the fronts they were addressed in a familiar
script that sent a pang through me. In the upper left corner of each was my
address. The postal destinations changed. Nearest the top, there were a couple
with Bury St. Edmunds addresses, but farther down I found ones that had been
delivered in France, Switzerland, Italy and one in Morocco.

“You carried these with you all
over the world, didn’t you?”

She gave a far-off nostalgic
smile.

As far as I knew, Mother hadn’t
kept any mementos from Louisa. Was it from fear of my father finding evidence
of their friendship, or simply that she wasn’t much of a packrat?

“Here we go, dear,” Louisa said,
carrying two heaping plates to the table. “In honor of your being here all the
way from New Mexico, I’ve given this a little Southwestern flavor.”

I hoped that I hid my misgivings
about how well she might have accomplished that task. And it turned out that
the salad was quite good, with fresh garden greens, black beans, corn,
tomatoes, onion, a sprinkling of cheese over the top and a hint of chile-hot in
the dressing. I savored the blend of flavors and when my initial hunger abated
I finally posed the question that really had brought me here.

“Louisa, I have to ask . . . Why
did I never know you existed?”

She toyed with the lettuce on her
plate. “Bill and I were so different. Firstly, there was the age difference. He
was already in college when I was born.”

I remembered my father as tall,
not quite stern but absolutely a no-nonsense man. He was most often preoccupied
with his scientific work, an important job during the cold war years of the
’60s. Even when he was with the family he wasn’t really
with
us. His
projects were more likely the place where his inner voice resided.

“Our parents were not ready to
start over in raising another child. Funny, when I think back and do the math
they were in their forties. Your grandmother was forty-two when I was born,
your grandfather must have been forty-six. But he was one of those men who was
old even when he was young.” She cocked her head. “You know what I mean?”

I wagged my head vaguely. I
didn’t remember either of them.

“He walked like an old man,
talked like one. He certainly had the attitudes of one. I was born to an era of
rock ’n roll and poodle skirts and my father carried a pocket watch and wore a
derby hat. In the western United States, where life tended toward the casual
even then, he just seemed hopelessly stuffy.”

She sipped from her wine and
realized that the glass was empty, so she retrieved the bottle and topped her
glass.

“Mother was never a well woman
and she died while I was young. Father hired a nanny for me because he had no
clue how to interact with a little girl. The nanny was even older than he, and
I felt suffocated in that house. In my teens I have to confess I went a little
wild. Started drinking, tried a little marijuana, played the music as loud as I
could.

“Anyhow, Bill, your dad, always
seemed a lot like your grandpa to me. Bill had married and moved his family to
Albuquerque so he could take that government job. Your brothers were young and
your mom was expecting you, and then I dropped the bombshell on the family that
I was pregnant. Father hit the roof. Bill read me the riot act. Together they
planned my life for me. I would enter a home for unwed girls and give the baby
up for adoption. I could finish my last semester of high school courses in that
place then enter college on schedule with the rest of my friends. No one would
know of the family shame because the cover story was that I was going to live
with my married brother’s family and attend college there.”

“Did you? Actually live with us?”

Our plates were empty and we
pushed them to the middle of the table.

“Their plan worked up to a point.
I had no choice about the girl’s home. Father drove me there and hauled me
inside. The place actually had grills over the windows and a ten-foot brick
wall around the grounds. It wasn’t quite prison but it might as well have been.
Unlucky me, I was having morning sickness so badly that I couldn’t even think
about jumping the wall until it was way too late. So I resigned myself to stay
there those seven awful months. But I also resolved that I would never, ever,
ever go back to either my father’s house or my brother’s.”