The Trap (3 page)

Carefully, I searched the dusty cement slab below the stairway. I couldn’t find anything. There was no trace of nails, or fishing line, or whatever might have been on the stairs.

Had something really been there that made Uncle Gabe trip and fall? I tried to discount the suspicion, but I actually could answer
yes.
Someone might have tried to trip Gabe at the head of the stairs. Who would do it? Why? These questions without answers made me uncomfortable.

I didn’t tell Glenda what I might have found. First, I needed to think about what it meant.

Everyone at the luncheon was dressed in frilly, flowery cotton prints, so that Mrs. Barrow’s large living room resembled a florist’s shop. I had seen some of the women that morning at the pool, only now their hair was teased and curled and no longer hidden by swim caps.

Before we’d arrived at the goodbye luncheon, Glenda had told me about the Crouches and what had recently happened. While Betty Jo Crouch had been shopping in Kerrville, her husband, Albert, had apparently lost his balance and fallen to his death from their back porch into the ravine below. Mrs. Crouch and her visiting cousin had found him when they returned. “Just a little over three weeks ago on a Wednesday,” Glenda had said. “Poor Betty Jo.”

Betty Jo Crouch was dabbing at her eyes and complaining that she should have insisted Albert go shopping with them, as had been planned. She shouldn’t have let him use the excuse of that teeny little argument to stay home. She managed to smile at Glenda and the other women, who—sherry glasses in hand—had circled her protectively.

“My daughter and four beautiful grandchildren and all my lifelong friends live in Beaumont,” Mrs. Crouch bubbled. And she went on about how active she’d been in her garden club and her Gray Lady work in the Beaumont hospital’s gift shop. “Of course, I’ll get involved again, the very minute they sign me up,” she said, unable to hide her eagerness to leave.

She reached for another glass of sherry from a tray being passed by a woman whose plump body was encased
in a dark blue dress and a ruffled white apron. Her dyed orange hair was pulled taut to the nape of her neck and fastened with a rubber band.

“Thank you, Millie Lee,” Mrs. Crouch said, and sighed.

“Brenda will be here soon to help me pack, thank goodness,” Mrs. Crouch continued. “She’ll help me find everything—”

“What do you mean, find everything?” Dorothy Templeton, the lady to her left, interrupted.

Mrs. Crouch blushed. “Oh, I suppose it’s my age. At least that’s what Albert kept telling me. Sometimes I forget where I put things for safekeeping.” Her voice dropped. “Like the blue topaz ring Albert gave me for our last anniversary.”

“And you misplaced your gold and diamond watch,” Mrs. Templeton added. “You pinned up a notice on the board by the swimming pool.”

“I can’t imagine where I left that watch,” Mrs. Crouch said. “I’d been at the pool and put my things on the table down at the far end.” Again she sighed. “I just can’t remember if I had my watch with me. That’s the problem.”

“It’s not age,” Mrs. Barrow said. “Everyone mislays something once in a while.”

Donna Anderson said, “Maybe it’s because we live out here on the ranch. Our lives are so totally different. We don’t have dressy occasions to go to. I can’t remember the last time I wore my favorite opal and diamond pendant.”

She suddenly looked sheepish. “For that matter,” she almost mumbled, “I don’t even remember where I put it.”

Mabel McBride, who had introduced herself to me
earlier, sighed loudly and added, “This ranch life may suit some of you, but as for me, I’d like to be back in my old neighborhood, near my children and grandchildren.”

Ann Barrow picked up a heavy brass paperweight with an oil company logo on it. “It was so nice when Eugene was still a CEO and liked his job and kept busy at it,” she said sadly. “We’d go to the Broadway road shows when they came to Houston. We never missed a symphony. And we had yearly subscriptions to the Alley Theatre.”

She thumped down the paperweight and frowned. “I keep this on the table by the fireplace to remind myself of what life used to be like.”

“Ralph always points out that our ranch investment was a marvelous financial opportunity.” A tiny woman with a bad permanent spoke up timidly.

Mabel laughed and said, “Along with cow patties on our front walks and rattlers in our woodpiles and a ten-mile drive to the nearest grocery store.”

“Rancho del Oro has its good points, too,” the timid woman said. “In the early morning, from the top of our hill, you can see the mist rising from row after row of purple hills, a benediction in the early sunlight.”

“Oh, hush, Lila,” somebody said.

Ann Barrow turned to me, a wry twist to her mouth. “Lila Grady is an artist,” she said. “She doesn’t see things the way we do. She keeps telling us that beauty is all around us.”

Millie Lee was called to bring more sherry, but she cut off the request by announcing that lunch was served. The mood of the party didn’t improve. I was hungry, so I wolfed down the chicken salad. My aunt hinted that I
should help Millie Lee clear the plates and serve the chocolate mousse. So I did.

As I scraped the plates in Mrs. Barrow’s kitchen, Millie Lee said, “This isn’t the first time the ladies have let go about feelin’ sorry for themselves. Believe me, they don’t quit rememberin’ what life was like before they moved here. Them bein’ on this ranch is like a bunch of mice caught in a trap. Often, when I clean their houses, they confide in me. Ain’t nothin’ I haven’t heard before.”

She pulled a large pitcher of iced tea out of the refrigerator as she said, “I can sympathize. I know how they feel about livin’ where they don’t want to live because I got shunted around from place to place, through no wish of my own. My husband, Jimmy Don Kemp—may he rest in peace, though I doubt he will—was an oil-field driller, and we spent our whole married life on the move. It wasn’t a picnic, always leavin’ friends and havin’ to make new ones, and he never understood why I’d sometimes cry into my pillow late at night. Everythin’ had to be his way or nothin’.”

Her voice sounded bitter. I was startled when it changed quickly and she suddenly went back to being good-tempered and friendly. “I’ve got a granddaughter ’bout your age who’ll be with me for the summer.” She turned to study me. “You fifteen? Sixteen?”

“Sixteen.”

She smiled, satisfied. “So’s Ashley. Maybe you and she could get together sometimes.”

“Sure,” I answered. I looked forward to having someone my own age to talk to.

“Miz Hollister worried that by coming here you’d miss your friends back home.”

“It’s okay,” I said. “We can keep in touch by e-mail. My best friend and I are on each other’s buddy lists, so we can instant-message each other as often as we’re both online.”

“I know kids love the Internet,” Millie Lee said as she nodded. “But sometimes it’s better to have people on hand you can look at and talk to. While you’re here, you and Ashley can get together. I’ll bring her to work with me tomorrow.”

After the luncheon, when we returned to Glenda’s house, I told her about Millie Lee’s granddaughter. “Would you mind if I invited her over?” I asked.

“I’d love to have the two of you make friends,” Glenda said. “I’ve met Ashley Kemp, and she’s a dear girl.” Glenda gave me a quick glance, then said, “Just between you and me, Ashley doesn’t know who her father is, more’s the pity. And every now and then her mother takes off for a couple of months, so Ashley moves in with her grandmother. She comes to work with Millie Lee, and I try to make her feel welcome because I’m not sure Millie Lee knows how to.”

“What is Ashley like?” I asked.

“I just told you. I—”

“No, Aunt Glenda. I mean is she tall or short? Does she like to swim? Does she read a lot? Does she jog?”

“Oh, goodness,” Glenda said. “I know she’s probably an inch or two shorter than you, but then you come from the tall side of the family. And she has red hair—real red, not out of the bottle like her grandmother. And freckles. She’s pretty, but she’s a little too thin, if you ask me, although I know you girls always think
you can’t be thin enough. As for what she likes to do, you’ll have to find out for yourself.”

“Tomorrow,” I said.

“That’s right. Tomorrow morning.”

Glenda unfastened the beautiful string of baroque pearls she was wearing and pulled off her pearl ear clips. “I’m going to take a little nap,” she said. “You can find something to occupy you for an hour or so, can’t you?”

I nodded. “I’ve brought my laptop. If it’s all right with you, I’ll connect it.”

“Of course,” Glenda said. “If you’d rather, you can use mine. I keep it on a side table in Gabe’s office.” She looked apologetic as she added, “It’s a few years old and I’ve never updated the modem so it’s not very fast.”

“Thanks,” I said, “but I’m used to mine.”

She smiled. “I know you’ll want to e-mail your parents and let them know you arrived here safely.”

“Oh, yes. I guess,” I said. I couldn’t help feeling a little guilty. “I was thinking about my best friend,” I said. “We instant-message each other.” Before Glenda could say anything I added, “I’ll write to Mom, too.”

Glenda just smiled and said, “You can set your laptop up on Gabe’s desk in his study. He won’t be using the study for a good long while, so you can just keep it there, if you like.” She paused at the doorway. “Later this afternoon we’ll go back to the hospital to visit Gabe and then stop for something to eat at a restaurant near the hospital. You do like Italian food, don’t you?”

I told her I did. As she shut the door to her bedroom, I quietly left the living room through the front
door and walked around the side of the house to re-examine the steps to Uncle Gabe’s observatory room. Even with all the distractions the day had brought, I’d kept thinking about those nail holes. Were they real? Or had I imagined them? If they were real, I’d have to tell Uncle Gabe about them.

They were real, all right. I sat on the top step, trying to think things through. What should I do?

I didn’t want to tell Glenda. It would only frighten her, and I had no proof of what I suspected—that something had been tied between those nails to trip Gabe. I certainly didn’t want to tell Mom or Dad about it. It would be like yelling for help, expecting them to drop whatever they were doing and come running, and they had already made it clear that their work was too important to be interrupted—much more important than anything
I
had planned.

There
was
someone I could talk this over with—my best friend, Robin. She’d be perfect. Sometimes I teased her for being such an ardent fan of mystery novels. Maybe Robin would know if what I had found meant anything. Maybe she’d know what I should do next.

When I returned to the house, I stopped off at the kitchen and took a soft drink out of the refrigerator. I glanced around the room, which was pale yellow and white, cheerful and efficient, with new-looking appliances. It had very little clutter, except for a scattering of ceramic hens and roosters on the windowsill and what looked like a kid’s bank. It was a small ceramic two-story building with
DIME
BOX
painted across the roof. In the center of the kitchen table stood a brightly woven
basket filled with fruit. I touched a shiny apple, and it was real. Good. If Glenda didn’t mind, I’d enjoy eating some of her centerpiece.

I carried my laptop into Gabe’s wood-paneled study. The walls lent their deep brown tones to the brown patterned drapes and thick brown carpeting. The desk and chairs were also brown, and I began to get the crazy feeling that I was being sucked into a dark old tree trunk. Quickly, I plugged in my laptop and the screen lit up. I went into my ISP.

“You’ve got mail,” a friendly voice announced, but before clicking on the mailbox icon, I saw Robin’s name on my buddy list. She was already online, so I ignored my mail and sent her an instant message.