The Green Remains (29 page)

  There were at least thirty of them, and he judged that would be enough. Scooping them up, he popped the handful into his mouth, and when some fell out, he picked them up and stuffed them back in. He leaned forward to drink from the straw. At least this bitch kept his water iced, the way he liked it.

  Edmunde choked from drinking too fast, gagging as some of the pills stuck in his throat. He forced himself to drink more, swallowing and swallowing until the last tiny pill went into his stomach.

  Looking up, he saw his reflection in the mirror that hung over his bureau across the room. He loathed the distorted face that looked back at him, hated the shriveled man he’d become. He wanted to throw the jug into the mirror, make it break into a million little pieces to match his shattered life.

  Wheeling back over to the window, Edmunde stared once again at Julia’s grave. He’d never been religious, and he did not believe in an afterlife, which he perceived as the pathetic grasping of humanity to soften the blow of facing nonexistence. But now, waiting for the pills to make his head heavy with sleep, he prayed that somewhere, Julia waited for him.

*

2
PM

Simon knocked softly on Nora’s door.

  “Come in. He’s awake and guzzling,” she called.

  Nora sat in her chair in the alcove, feeding Sean. Simon took in the maternal picture as she threw a receiving blanket over her exposed breast and shoulder. “He’s gotten the hang of this all right, but I swear I feel like a human filling station,” she said. Her eyes looked heavy from lack of sleep, but otherwise she looked like her old self.

  Simon looked at the furniture set in place, the stack of gifts waiting to be put away. He had had no idea that babies needed so much gear.

  “Val said she picked up what you needed from your storage unit,” Simon explained. “Want me to bring it in here? It’s tiny. She and Kate have gone to Kendal to pick up the pram your mother ordered.”

  “They’ve become fast friends. I may get jealous.” Nora picked up the corner of the blanket. “No, he’s on his second side and falling asleep. I’ll come out in a minute.” Her smile was broad. “I have a feeling I’ll need to remind myself that life exists outside of this room.”

  “I’ll see you in my kitchen, then,” Simon said and withdrew, making his way across the hall to his rooms.

  He was nervous. He couldn’t wait to give Nora his gift, but he wanted to relish the moment. Simon stood by his kitchen window, looking out across the fallow garden to the lake. So much had happened, and he had no idea where he stood with Nora. Deep down inside where he didn’t want to examine it too closely lay the suspicion that they would always be good friends but nothing more. The thought depressed him.

  Simon entered his studio, where the painting stood on its easel, covered with a drop cloth. It was based on a Carl Larsson domestic scene, showing the back of a woman wearing a long blue-and-white dress, hair pinned up, holding a watering can over a bright-red rose. The rose sat on a stand in front of a large paned window with ornately painted cabinets below it. Behind the woman stood a young boy, waiting to be noticed, holding his offering of a handful of little purple flowers. On the windowsill, a puppet dressed in a suit and top hat watched the scene.

  Simon had painted over the poisonous plant he had originally included with an image similar to the rose in Larsson’s work. He didn’t intend to tell Nora that the people depicted were the artist’s wife and son. He wanted her to enjoy it purely for the image, a representation of things to come and of a son’s love for his mother. Looking at it now, he wondered why he’d chosen this particular scene. If the painting represented Nora and Sean, did that make him the puppet?

  No, that was unfair. Nora had always been honest about not being ready for a committed relationship. Still, he’d much prefer to be the rose, waiting to bloom in their lives.

*

2:15
PM

Nora thought she might get a snack while her baby slept. Her eating for two certainly hadn’t stopped, although her stomach had deflated quite a bit. She shook her hair out of its ponytail and ran a brush through it.

  When she reached Simon’s door, it was open. So was his refrigerator, as he perused the contents.

  “Come in. Want some juice?” At Nora’s nod he added, “Cran-apple or orange?”

  “Cran-apple, please. Any cheese to go with that?”

  “Hungry again?” Simon laughed. “I’ve got white cheddar and grapes, or I could go into the kitchen and poke around.”

  “No, cheese and grapes are fine.” While Simon set out their snack, she looked out at the lake. It had stopped raining, and the afternoon promised to be sunny, though cool.

  “I think I’ll take Sean for a walk when the girls get back with the new pram. I’ve heard fresh air tires babies out.”

  Simon sliced cheese. “I know you’re sleep deprived.”

  “All part of the game. I’m fortunate not to have a day job right now. I can’t wait to see the bound book, though.” She watched a sunbeam light up the water; sparse clouds reflected on the surface. “It’s hard to believe everything that’s gone on this past month, and I’m sitting here looking at the same lake Arthur Ransome rowed. It’s still beautiful to me,” she said.

  “His boat is on display at the Windermere Steamboat Museum. Would you like to see it?” Simon asked. “Here, come and eat.”

  Nora moved to the table and sat down. “Thanks, I’m ravenous.” She chewed a grape and reached for a chunk of cheese. “That sounds like fun. Maybe when my mother and Roger are here, I can leave the baby for an afternoon.” She didn’t mention she’d need to pump breast milk to do this. Simon seemed a bit squeamish about the intimate details of life with an infant.

  “Here’s your package.” Simon handed her a small box wrapped in brown paper.

  “Actually, this is for you,” Nora said, her eyes lighting up as she tore off the brown paper. Val had tied a gold ribbon around the rectangular box inside. She handed the box to Simon. “It’s a small thank you for saving us. And don’t tell me I didn’t have to—” she added as he opened his mouth to protest. “I wanted to.”

  She watched him open the box. Carefully nestled in tissue paper lay a well-preserved book, elegantly bound in green leather, its pages with gilt paper edgings.

  Simon opened the book and read the title aloud: “
The Poetic Works of William Wordsworth
.” He looked at the publication date. “1832.”

  Nora took the book from him and closed it, then directed his attention to the long edge and carefully fanned the pages. A painting of Wordsworth’s Dove Cottage sprang into view.

  Simon leaned forward. “A fore-edge painting! Brilliant! Wherever did you find this?”

  Nora was pleased at Simon’s delight. “My father had a small collection that’s now mine. This one belongs with you.”

  Simon came around the table and wrapped Nora in a huge hug. They drew apart, and he pressed his lips to her forehead. “I will always treasure this.”

  Nora hugged him again. She broke the embrace before it could be something more.

  Simon fanned the pages once more, and the painting came into view again. He put it carefully in its box and held out his hands to her. “Turnaround’s fair play. Come with me, Mother Goose.”

  Nora frowned as she rose. “Makes me sound like a brood hen, Simon.” He laughed, and Nora followed him into his studio.

  With a flourish, Simon drew the sheet off his easel. Standing on it was a painting that reminded Nora of Carl Larsson’s technique and style. It was an indoor scene of a woman watering a rose, while a small, blond boy behind her held a bunch of violets, waiting for her to turn around and notice him. “It’s beautiful, Simon.” She inspected it carefully and saw his signature in the lower corner. “I love that you did this for me.”

  Simon looked happy. “There’s plenty of wall space in your room.”

  Nora stood on tiptoe and threw her arms around his neck to kiss his cheek. She rested her head on his shoulder a moment. “It’s absolutely wonderful. Thank you.”

   The buzzer sounded at Simon’s door, and Nora broke away. Likely Maeve with her impeccable timing. Or Kate and Val, wanting help with the pram.

  Nora stayed to examine the painting and heard Simon slide his door open. Then a man’s voice spoke.

  “Hallo! The gal out front, Maeve, directed me here.”

  Surely not? A thrill shot through her as she moved out of the studio and into the kitchen where Declan Barnes stood talking with Simon.

  “Hi there, Mum,” he greeted Nora. “You look wonderful. I was just telling Simon I came to clear up that embezzlement business with Glenn Hackney.”

  “What business?” Nora was puzzled. Declan looked taller than she recalled, and his smile was wider. She despaired that she wore her navy maternity dress.

  “When he got back to Oxford, there was a full audit of the travel agency books slated for the following week. Apparently, the befuddled Edgar Worth had a moment of common sense and ordered the audit himself. Glenn didn’t come to work the next morning and seems to have disappeared.”

  “You’re kidding,” Simon said.

  “Val always said he was smarmy,” Nora added. “Any leads?”

  “There was a sighting at the Barcelona airport,” Declan explained.

  Nora ignored Simon’s frown. “Nothing else?”

  “We think he’s a con man and embezzler known as Macavity.”

  Nora nodded. “The mystery cat—never know where they’ll find him.”

  Declan said, “I’m going to see if he gave the Clarendons any hint of his plans.”

  It sounded plausible enough, but Nora wondered why he hadn’t just called the Clarendons from Oxford.

  “So where’s the baby, Nora?” Declan asked. His smile lit up his eyes.

  Nora led the way to her room and into the alcove. The baby lay on his back, his tiny arms thrust out on either side of his head. He made sucking motions with his mouth. In just a few days, his face had filled out, and there was more of his downy red-blonde hair.

  Declan looked from the baby to Nora and back. “Don’t see much of the biological dad here. This baby’s all Tierney,” he pronounced.

  Nora was ridiculously pleased. “He does have Paul’s eyebrows,” she pointed out. “Would you like to hold him?”

  “Later. My gran always said to never wake a sleeping babe,” Declan explained. “I’ll be here for a few days, and I’d love to hold him when he’s awake.”

  “Wonderful,” Nora proclaimed. “Where are you staying?”

  “Right here,” Declan said. He turned to Simon. “Maeve said you had vacancies.”

  Simon cleared his throat. “Of course,” he said.

  Simon managed to sound gracious without meaning it. Only someone who knew Simon as well as Nora did would know he was not terribly pleased that Declan Barnes would be around for several days.

  But Nora was delighted.

Acknowledgments

England’s Lake District is special to me. It comprises almost nine hundred square miles of national park, the largest such area in England and Wales, all lying within the county of Cumbria. It is the most picturesque area I’ve seen in England, with the bluest skies and fluffiest clouds, and it contains England’s highest mountain, Scafell Pike, and its largest lake, Windermere. There are shallow tarns, rising fells, sparkling ghylls and every species of tree found in Britain in its woodlands. The area’s unparalleled beauty beckons lovers of nature: hikers and campers, fisherman and boaters, artists and writers.

  Ramsey Lodge and Clarendon Hall and all of my characters are fictional, yet they inhabit a very real area. Having spent time in the village of Bowness-on-Windermere and its neighboring town of Windermere, I have tried my best to describe the area accurately; any errors are my own.

  I am grateful for the kind assistance of Steve Sharpe, Cumbrian South Lakes police officer (retired), who patiently answered my questions about everything from policing to the weather, and his help has been invaluable, as has that of Evelyn Blatchley. I hope to thank them in person one day.

  My sincere thanks extend to so many others, especially: Sgt. John Stephens, Lakes Neighbourhood Policing Team, Windermere; the Screw Iowa gals: Mariana Damon, Nina Romano, Lauren Small and Melissa Westemeier; readers Maggie Mendus, Marianne Haycock and Pat Gulley; fellow writers and colleagues at Coastal Carolina Mystery Writers, Sisters in Crime and Writers Read. Special thanks to Lauren Small at Bridle Path Press for her vision and support.

  I can’t offer enough gratitude to friends and family for their love and encouragement: Barb and Mike Jancovic; the Minnesota Graffs; my two favorite librarians, Matthew and Kimberly Graff; and the newly minted Burk family: Sean, Robin, Mara, Austin and Kaylyn.

  To Giordana Segneri: Your talents shape and define my vision. It is a continued pleasure to work with you—grazie mille!

  Love to my mother, Kathleen Travia; and always, looking outward together in the same direction, my heart to Arthur.

About the Author

M. K. Graff is the author of poetry, fiction and nonfiction. She wrote throughout a successful nursing career, including feature articles for New York’s edition of
Nursing Spectrum
; her background includes working in television and motion pictures on scripts and on set for medical scenes. For seven years, Graff conducted interviews and wrote feature articles for
Mystery Review
magazine before studying literature at Oxford University, which inspired the setting for the first Nora Tierney mystery,
The Blue Virgin
. She has taught creative writing and memoir and heads the North Carolina Writers Read workshop for adults and young authors. A founding member of the Screw Iowa! Writers Group, Graff is co-author of the group’s guide for writers,
Writing in a Changing World
. She also started the Coastal Carolina Mystery Writers group and is a member of Sisters in Crime. Her creative nonfiction has most recently appeared in
Southern Women’s Review
.
The Green Remains
is Graff’s second novel in the Nora Tierney mystery series.