Reflection (31 page)

But what if that person was your oldest, most precious friend?

He had barely come to a stop in front of Helen's house when Rachel was at his car window.

“I've been thinking,” she said. “Maybe we shouldn't just lay this on her. She seems a lot stronger lately, on a physical level at least, but I don't know how this might affect her.”

Michael gingerly lifted the sheet of paper from the seat and got out of the car. “We have to talk to her, Rache.” There was no way he could keep their discovery from Helen.

She nodded reluctantly. “Gently, though. I have a bad feeling about it. It's so strange.”

“Well.” He took her arm and started toward the porch steps. “Let's go see if we can get some answers.”

They found Helen reading in the library. She looked up when they walked into the room, a broad smile on her face.

“Michael!” she said. “It's good to see you.”

He bent low to kiss her cheek. “Good to see you, too, Helen.” He knew her happiness was linked to seeing him together with Rachel. Helen had a keen sense of how the universe should be ordered.

Rachel pulled the ottoman in front of her grandmother's chair and sat down. “We have to talk to you, Gram,” she said. “We found something.”

Helen frowned. “Found something?” she repeated.

Michael sat down on the sofa. “Rachel went to see Marielle Hostetter a few days ago,” he began.

Helen turned her frown in Rachel's direction. “You did?” she asked.

Rachel nodded, and Michael continued. “For some reason we couldn't figure out, Marielle gave Rachel the key to her house. She said something about a ‘land thing' being in her Bible. We went to her house tonight and found the Bible, and inside there was an addendum to Peter's will.”

He glanced at Rachel, hoping she wasn't upset at him for plowing ahead this way, but her expression was one of apprehension rather than objection. He held the codicil out to Helen, but she drew back from it, the smile gone from her face.

“Shall I read it to you?” he asked.

“I think I know what it says,” Helen said.

He exchanged a quizzical look with Rachel before he began reading. ‘”The land which I inherited from my parents, bounded by the town limits of Reflection on the north, Colley Road on the east, Spring Willow Pond to the south, and Main Street to the west, has been home to the Hostetter family for generations,'” he read. ‘”Marielle Hostetter may continue to live on that land until her death, at which time the property shall pass to her heirs, or she may dispose of the land as she sees fit, and retain the proceeds from any sale. The foregoing will be void, however, if my last work,
Reflections
, is delivered to—and publicly critiqued by—Karl Speicer. If that condition is met, the property will be made a gift to the town of Reflection, to be preserved as parkland, and Marielle Hostetter shall instead receive any royalties resulting from the sale of that work.'”

Michael was still astonished by the unorthodox message, although this was the fourth time he'd read it. He looked at Helen, whose face was nearly the same shade of gray as her hair.

“I remember that part of Peter's will, yes,” she said quietly.

She'd known about this chance to save the land and said nothing? Michael was about to speak, and none too kindly, when Rachel sent him a look of warning.

She wrapped her hand around Helen's. “Are you all right, Gram?” she asked. “Is this upsetting you?”

“I'm all right.”

“This Karl Speicer,” Rachel continued. “He's the pianist we'll be seeing Friday night, isn't he?”

Michael was surprised. He hadn't made that connection.

Helen didn't answer. She was staring into the darkness outside the library window. “Peter's been dead ten years,” she said, “and I'd truly forgotten about that part of his will. But to answer the question I'm sure you're both dying to ask, there is no piece called Reflections.”

“Wait a second.” Michael stood up from the sofa, frustrated. “Back up, please, Helen. First of all, the land was Huber land?”

“It was in Peter's family for a long, long time—generations—and he inherited it from his parents. Which means it is not mine. I have no say over what happens to it. Do you understand that?”

They nodded like admonished children.

“But why would he leave it to Marielle?” Rachel asked.

“Because he took pity on her. Peter was a caring, generous person. His family had allowed her family to live in that cottage for as long as anyone could remember, so everyone always assumed the land was Hostetter land. And now it is. There's nothing we can do about it.”

“But if he took pity on her, why didn't he simply say she could live there until she died and have the land convert to parkland after her death?” Michael asked.

Helen looked out the window again, and Michael feared she was going to cry.

Rachel squeezed her grandmother's hand. “We don't have to talk about this right now if you don't want to, Gram,” she said.

“Peter had his ways,” Helen said, looking from Rachel to Michael. “He had his reasons for doing things that sometimes didn't make sense to other people,” she said.

“Do they make sense to you?” Rachel asked.

She nodded. “Knowing Peter, yes. I understand his thinking perfectly.”

Michael sat down again, resting the sheet of paper on his knees. “Is this addendum legal?” he asked.

“Yes. It's legal.”

“The music must exist if he refers to it,” Michael said. “Where could it be? Could this Karl Speicer have it? Why would Peter have wanted the music to go to him?

Helen eyed him with forced patience. “Which question do you want me to answer first?”

“Why Karl Speicer?”

“Karl is a pianist, and yes, he's the pianist performing at the Kennedy Center Friday night. He's very old—my age—by now. I can hardly believe he's still performing, although…” Her voice trailed off, and she looked into the distance for a moment before returning her attention to Rachel and Michael. “He was a good friend of Peter's,” she said. “He loved playing his works.”

“Could he have a copy of the music?”

Helen laughed, and he and Rachel glanced at each other. What was so funny? “No,” Helen said. “We would certainly know about it if he did.”

“Why would Peter make what happens to the land contingent on Karl Speicer seeing that particular piece of music?” Michael asked.

“I told you, Michael, Peter had his own reasons for doing things. I can't explain them.”

“Gram.” Rachel covered both her grandmother's hands with her own. “Where can we look for the music? Where might it possibly be?”

“Nowhere.” She was beginning to sound impatient.”I looked after Peter died, Rachel, and it's been ten years. If it existed, I would have found it by now.”

“Maybe it's tucked away somewhere, though. I don't know—beneath the floorboards or something. Maybe we could find it and take it to Washington with us on Friday and give it to Karl Spei—”

“No, no, no, no!” Helen shook her head furiously. “Rachel. Michael. You
must
leave this alone!” Quick tears appeared in the older woman's eyes. They scared Michael but not as much as they seemed to rattle Rachel. She leaped up to put her arms around the older woman.

“Gram, sweetheart, it's all right,” she said. She looked at Michael above her grandmother's head.

Helen raised her arms to cast off Rachel's embrace. “You have to promise me you won't try to talk to him,” she said. “Not Friday night or ever. Promise?”

Rachel stood next to him. “I promise,” she said.

“Michael?” The older woman looked for his answer.

He nodded reluctantly. “All right,” he said, reaching for her hand. “And I'm sorry we upset you.”

Helen took his hand briefly, then dropped hers limply into her lap. “I'd like some privacy now,” she said.

Michael looked at Rachel. “I should go,” he said. “I have to pick Jace up from his youth group.”

Rachel nodded. “I'll walk you out.” She touched her grandmother's shoulder. “I'll be back in a minute, Gram.”

They were quiet until they reached his car. “What do you make of all that?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I have no idea. “

“The last thing I want to do is hurt Helen,” he said, “but if that music exists, we've got to find it.”

Rachel sighed. “Do you think the attorney might know something about it? The one who drew up the will?”

“Well, it's certainly worth a try. Sam Freed drew it up, and I know him pretty well. I'll give him a call tomorrow.” Maybe Sam could explain Peter's reasoning, if nothing else.

Rachel leaned against his car. “I had a terrible thought while we were talking to Gram,” she said. The porch light caught the gray of her eyes, and he remembered kissing her in the woods. He wanted to kiss her again.

“What's that?”

“Well, does this make any sense to you? That my grandfather would leave that valuable a chunk of land to Marielle Hostetter?”

“It's the craziest thing I've ever heard, but none of this makes any sense to me.”

“Gram is acting so strange about it,” Rachel said, “and I don't want to push her on it. She's too fragile. But do you think there's any chance that Marielle could have been more to my grandfather than just a woman who lived on his land?”

Michael almost laughed. “First of all, she's more than twenty years younger than Peter. And secondly, Peter was very intellectual. A woman like that would have held no interest for him whatsoever.”

“That's not what I was thinking.” Rachel covered her mouth with her hand. She was nearly laughing herself, and he smiled without knowing what he was smiling about. “I'm sure this is ridiculous,” she continued. “The product of an overactive imagination. But what if Marielle is his daughter?”

“Pardon?”

“Maybe Marielle's mother had an affair with my grandfather. Maybe that's why she killed herself. Because my grandfather wouldn't leave Gram. And Gram knows it all, but doesn't want to tell us. It would explain everything.”

It would—everything except the strange contingency—but it seemed preposterous. He also didn't like to think of Peter tomcatting around the neighborhood. “Even if that were the case, which seems a little extreme, it's moot. We don't really need to know the explanation. We just need to find the music and then persuade Helen to let us talk to this Speicer guy.”

Rachel looked toward the house. “I should go in to her,” she said. “She's not herself.”

He caught her hand before she could walk away. “Rachel?”

The gray eyes grew even wider, waiting.

“I love you.” He felt safe enough, in control enough, to say those words out loud. “I don't know what to do about it, but I do.”

She smiled. “I love you, too,” she said. She gave him a hug, pulling away before it could become anything more than that, and he watched her walk toward the house.

HELEN WAS IN HER
bedroom when she heard the creak of the screen door and knew Rachel was back inside. Quickly she closed and locked her bedroom door. She needed another minute to herself. Needed to still her trembling. She felt dizzy and lay down on the bed, drawing in long, slow breaths. She heard Rachel's knock on the door.

“I'm resting, Rachel,” she said. Closing her eyes, she listened to the resigned retreat of her granddaughter's footsteps.

She lay that way for a few more minutes, then opened her eyes again.

Peter, Peter, why couldn't you have left well enough alone?

He was trying to control things from the grave. She knew he was doing it for her, in his misguided way. But he should have known she would never agree to carry out his wishes. She couldn't do it ten years ago, and she couldn't do it now.

“WELL, IT'S ABOUT TIME.”
Sam Freed sat on the edge of his desk and studied Rachel and Michael with a smile. “I was wondering how long it would take someone to figure out that the land under dispute is really Huber land.”

The attorney was nearly seventy, Rachel knew, but she would have guessed him to be ten years younger. He looked very fit and lean, and he was impeccably dressed in a gray suit and blue tie.

“Do you have any idea where the music is?” she asked.

Sam raised his eyebrows in surprise. “I always assumed Helen had it.”

“She claims not to,” Michael said.

“Hmm.” Sam shook his head. “You've got yourselves a mystery, then.”

“Could my grandfather have had a safe-deposit box?” Rachel asked. “Somewhere he might have kept valuable papers?”

“If he did, I never knew about it.”

“And this addendum is legal?” Michael pointed to the sheet of paper on Sam's desk.

“Oh, perfectly legal,” Sam said. He touched the paper with the tips of his fingers. “I thought it was an odd contingency, but I knew Peter well enough to trust that he had a good reason for it. What that reason was, though, I haven't a clue.” He looked at his watch and stood up. “I'm sorry to have to cut this short, but I have another appointment to get to.” He ushered them toward his office door. “Wish I could be of more help to you, and I sure hope you can find that music somewhere. Ursula's been trying to convince me I could have a spanking new office in that building they plan to raise up by the pond, but frankly I'd rather have this old place and keep Reflection just the way it is.”

On the street outside the law office, Michael took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “I don't think we'd better tell Helen we saw Sam,” he said.

“No.” Rachel agreed. “And I don't think we should push her about the will or the music right now, either.” In the two days since they'd told her about the will, Gram had seemed withdrawn and preoccupied, occasionally a little impatient and snappish. Even the sweet, belated ears of Silver Queen from the garden failed to get her attention, and the fresh flowers Rachel had arranged throughout the house went unnoticed.