Twillyweed (25 page)

It was the sky that had gone crazy, not him. He almost laughed at the churning, whipping treetops, dense and black as pitchforks against the starry sky. And that music. What lunacy! Oh, she was someone he was going to have a lot of fun with.

He tromped easily through the bush and heavy pine, the steep hill propelling him down and along. He hadn't counted on that dog. That was a surprise. But dogs were no problem. Cats were the sly ones.
Sinister
, he thought with a smile,
like me.

Unconcerned and hatless, he kept on down through the heavy undergrowth. He was just beginning to enjoy himself and then suddenly—foraging through his pocket and remembering he'd forgotten his glove—he slammed to a halt. His shoulders tightened and hunched, his breath came short and rapid. Fir branches swatted and shushed the moldy stone along the Irish fence.

But it wasn't important, he soothed himself. He'd get it back. And then he'd have to go underground for a while. But just for a while. …

Jenny Rose

Jenny Rose sat dwarfed in the blue flowered easy chair. She lit up a cigarette and tried to smoke, but it made her feel sick. She stuck it into a soggy tea bag and listened to it go
sss
. Her mother's family all lived these entire lives and here she'd never known them, never been part of their holidays or meals or any of those things they took for granted. They probably never even thought of her. Never. You could see it on their smug faces when they posed for Christmas pictures. No one thought
If only Jenny Rose were here
. No one had longed for her. She leaned her chin against the windowsill. The paint was so old it was probably lead. And yet … she remembered today and her grandfather's face.

She'd turned to see him watching her while she'd trimmed the fruit and their eyes had met. He hadn't looked away as though he were loaded with guilt. His eyes, so much like her own, had said something nice. A little bit like love, she thought. He was her own grandfather, wasn't he? She rocked with a fair dose of pleasure. Her own precious blood.

Claire

It was morning. Jake sat politely before me, his head cocked, his drool forming a puddle to his left on the floor. “Hello,” I said, “have you eaten the kitten?” I looked around. There she was, up on top of the fridge, sound asleep. But as I spoke to Jake, one little ear of the kitten stood up to listen. I'd stripped the windows before I'd gone to bed and now I rose, eager to see what had become of the delicate curtains. They looked all right. They hadn't shrunk, anyway. I opened the screen door and let Jake out, hoping he wouldn't frighten Mrs. Dellaverna. The kitten streaked past us and with equal measures of hope and fear I thought,
Oh, boy, I'll never see her again
. The curtains were still damp so I put them in the dryer for a short time and then laid them out flat on the table, now blessedly empty and scrubbed to a sheen. I lugged the ironing board out and touched them up, then the embroidered dishtowels. Those ironed up so prettily, I hung them over the sink window with fish hooks I found in a bait box and stood back to admire my work.

When I went to let Jake back in, I remembered the glove from last night and looked to the mailbox. It was gone. That was odd. Jake lumbered happily over, ready for breakfast now. “What did you do,” I said, rumpling his fur, “hide it?” Oh, well, I figured, it'd turn up eventually. We went back in. I navigated him through a bowl of water and wiped his muddy paws, then gave him a dish of dry food livened with Mrs. Dellaverna's leftover manicotti. He devoured this with gusto and when he'd finished, he mopped his snout this way and that on the old Turkish carpet. He came back to me with that drunken sailor gait of his and pressed the side of his warm body against my leg. I stood there for a moment just being with him. One of the bulbs in the pretty hanging lamp over the table gave a notifying flicker and went out. I knew I had plenty of bulbs and went to the closet to fetch one, then stood on a chair and peered into the bowl of stained glass while I had the pack in my hand. My heart sank. Six dead bees. I don't know what it is about me and bees, but to see so many of them dead in there, it just made me feel horrible. I reeled and held on to the lamp and climbed down. But I'm a modern woman and I don't bother with omens. I went into the bathroom and washed my hands and face and brushed my teeth. We were going to visit Radiance this morning and I wanted to organize my thoughts. I fixed myself a percolated cup of coffee and opened the window to the cold and sat down with the view. The clean smell of the salt air wafted in. I didn't know what I'd done right in life to have that view for me alone, but there it was and here I was. I wrapped myself in Noola's old shawl and hugged my hot, milky coffee to my chest and listened to the screams of the gulls and—Was that him? Yes. The man with the doll. I'd behaved terribly. He might be crazy but no one deserved to be made to feel like a monster! I leaped to my feet and raced out the door, hoping to catch him, to apologize.

“Aye!” Mrs. Dellaverna stood at the gate barring my way. “
Buongiorno!
”

“Good morning!” I called in return, relinquishing any idea of the beach. And I got a load of what Mrs. Dellaverna was carrying: a pot of homemade gravy and ravioli, all for me. This would have to stop or I'd be big as a house. I invited her in to get acquainted with Jake and sat with her while she talked. Not once did I look at my watch.

By the time I got to Twillyweed, the sun was high in the sky. When Jenny Rose saw me coming up the drive, she burst out the door. There was no walking out the door for Jenny Rose; wherever she went it was always a bursting, the door slammed and the birds holed up in the bushes took off for their lives. I got a warm hug and a
How's the pooch?
and then she ran back in and upstairs to grab her stuff. I was standing in the kitchen waiting for her to come back down when I heard a car in the driveway. It was Oliver's snazzy red vintage Alpha Romeo. Jenny Rose sort of danced back down the stairs.

Paige came in wrapped in a perfectly ironed lavender bathrobe. She threw open the cabinet over the sink. Without greeting me she said, “Turn off that fluorescent light, will you? I have such a splitting headache! Jenny Rose, will you run upstairs and ask Patsy Mooney where the painkillers are?”

Oliver opened the back door and rubbed his hands together. “Man! It's nippy out there.”

He looked happy to see me. He was wearing a lightweight navy blue cashmere overcoat and brought the cold in with him. He looked like a diplomat, his blond hair brushed straight back. He was different when he wasn't drinking. Younger. His eyes were bright. I was glad to see him, too.

Paige pursed her lips. “And where have
you
been all night?”

He went to the sink and washed his hands. “Just over in Freeport.” He gave me a sheepish grin. “Took the casino boat.” He flicked his wrists to dry off rather than disturb the ironed hand towel, purposely sprinkling water on the potted ivy. “Claire,” he said, “I was wondering if you'd accompany me to the dance?”

Paige put in hurriedly, “We have to go. It's not a
dance
dance. It's for charity. Everyone sort of has to go.”

“When's that?”

“After the big race.”

“I'd love to.” I smiled.

Paige crossed her arms. Out of the blue, she said, “Look, Claire, I know from Jenny Rose that you're worried about the AIDS thing. I've got a friend over at St. Francis. She's a volunteer. Runs the joint, to hear her tell it. Anyway, she could get you in for a test. In and out. What do you say?”

I tried not to look at Oliver. What must he think? “Absolutely. That's so kind of you. I have insurance. I just … haven't had time to do anything about it yet. Thank you so much.”

“Not at all.” And then, knowingly, “I don't want my brother catching it.” She winked. “Oh! That reminds me. Oliver, come inside and help me pull down the crystal punch bowl. It's our contribution. They want to show it off today to raffle it. I asked Patsy to get it down yesterday and she never did.” She saw his face and frowned. “Don't look so aghast. We never use it.”

“Can't it wait?” He moved her perfunctorily aside.

“No, it can't. Mrs. Lassiter is stopping by to pick it up for the dance. I don't want her coming in and sitting down, wasting my time,” she insisted ungraciously. “I really want it done now.”

He padded halfheartedly behind her into the dining room. His toes, I was sad to notice, pointed out.

Jenny Rose trailed the rim of the sugar bowl with her finger and cocked her head at me.

“So what now? You fancy Cupsand saucers?”

“It's just a dance, Jenny Rose.”

She lowered her voice, “Did you ever notice that Morgan Donovan watches you when you're not watching him?”

I fought the coming blush with all the might of last night's resolution. “Morgan? He's nice.”

“Nice? He's worth two of that moron you're thinking of seeing.”

“Morgan happens to belong to someone else.”

“Who?”

“That ‘moron's' sister, as if you didn't know.”

“That's not the way I see it. He doesn't love her. And they're not married. Anyway, it's pretty obvious he's got a crush on you.”

I looked up, desperate to hear just these very words and yet knowing the hopes they brought with them would ultimately be dashed. Jenny Rose was just a girl. She thought a man's keen interest meant he was stuck on you. She didn't realize that in the end, commitments held men accountable. I was just the new gal in town. Besides—and this I knew for sure—I wasn't about to be anybody's last fling before he tied the knot.

Oliver came back in in his shirtsleeves and Paige, not trusting him, followed carrying the crystal bowl, then rested it on the marble countertop. “How's our boy?” Oliver said.

Jenny Rose leaned over a basket of fruit on the table. “Off to school. And,” she added merrily, “he walked the whole way.” She took a bite of a green apple with a delicious-sounding crunch.

Irritated, Paige touched her temples. “Jenny Rose. Please. The Tylenol. I'm dying.”

“Okay.” She trotted off down the stairs.

“Why is it so quiet?” Oliver said. Brother and sister squared off and faced each other.

The atmosphere between them was so thick they seemed about to have an argument. “Well …” I stood. “I'd best be off. I'll wait out—”

“Don't be silly.” Paige raised a shoulder. “Have some tea.”

It didn't take much of a dimwit to realize I was in the way. “If I have any more tea this week, I'll float away.”

“It's the clock.” Paige stood erect. “No one's wound the clock.”

“Oh, that's it,” Oliver agreed. “Someone's walked off with the key. Wait, Claire. I'll drive you up. Car's still warm.”

I considered what to do. If I told him we were off to Radiance's, I might get Jenny Rose in trouble. Maybe her mornings weren't her own. “I really do want to walk.” I smiled insincerely at him. “But thanks.”

There was a clunking, banging sound. We all looked up. The cellar door flew open and Sam the cat shot across the room like a bat out of hell. Jenny Rose staggered into the room. Her mouth was in an O. She didn't look at us. She grabbed her throat and with a pitch to the heavens, she screamed and screamed and screamed.

“What's happened?” Mr. Piet hurried in, knocking over the avocado plant and spilling dirt across the white tiles.

“It's Patsy Mooney,” Jenny Rose gasped.

Oliver and Mr. Piet rushed down the stairs she'd come up.

“She's dead,” Jenny Rose whimpered.

They came back up.

“Call the police,” Oliver said. He was pale as a ghost. “She's been strangled.”

Chapter Five

Claire

Jenny Rose came up to the cottage after the doctor and the coroner had come and the police had cordoned off the place. She fell into my arms and I let her cry, then we sat down together on the old couch, which, at last free of clutter, was warm and embracing.

“So you gave them the stones?” I said.

“No,” she whispered, like they were listening.

“What? Are you crazy? Now they'll think we have something to do with it!”

“Well, you left!”

“Oliver told me to come here and wait. Did the detective interview you?”

“No, I said I had to go get Wendell.”

“But it was you who found Patsy! And Wendell's in school.”

“I know. I lied.”

I stared at her. “You can't lie to them. They'll find out and think you have something to hide!”

“They'll arrest me. Is that what you want? Whoever killed Mrs. Mooney was after me.”

“What! Why?”

“Don't you remember me telling you I changed rooms with her? Somebody went there to get me. And then they found her instead and killed her.”

We sat there looking at each other. Then she said, “So what should we do?”

“Being arrested is better than being killed.” I said. “Anyway, why would they want to arrest you?”

She yelled, “That's the big story in the media, illegal immigrants who kill Americans! Of course they'll think it's me. Is that what you want, me to go to jail?”

“Of course not. Just … Just … I don't know. There's a vast difference between a Dominican gang member and an Irish au pair!” But even as I said it I recognized the take a Nassau County detective would have on Jenny Rose with her hip-hop hair and blue nails and tattoos, even if they were fake. She looked like a punk. I said, “Let's just try and think clearly. You came to Sea Cliff and right away Wendell gave you the moonstones.”

“Not right away. Well, yes, right away. But it wasn't like he gave them to me. He wanted to and then Patsy Mooney snatched them from him and I demanded she give them to me—”

“Wait a minute,” I interrupted, “she had the stones in her hand?”

“They were in a scarf. He had them wrapped up in a scarf. I don't think she knew they were in there. I certainly didn't. I only discovered them when I cleaned out my bag.” She looked puzzled.

“We've got to talk to Wendell.”

Jenny Rose made a helpless gesture. “Every time I ask him he shuts up.”

“What, like he's frightened?”

“No. More like he doesn't know what I'm talking about.”

“Look. I know you don't like the idea, but this goes way beyond illegal immigration, toots. This is withholding evidence in a murder investigation, and in this country they don't take kindly to that.”

She sniffled into her hanky and pleaded, “Do you think they'll put me in jail?”

“No, of course not,” I said but without much conviction. If no one had reason to kill Patsy Mooney, the police probably would look for the nearest illegal immigrant. They'd call her a person of interest and come up with some reason to hold her. Even one night in jail was something to be avoided at all costs. I tried to think of how I could use my ex-husband's connections without getting him involved.

Someone tapped on the door, the dog howled, and we both jumped and grabbed hold of each other. But I knew that shadow. It was Mrs. Dellaverna. I got up and threw open the door.

“I just heard!” She barreled in holding her head. “I'm thinking, what's gonna happen now?”

Ignoring me and simply brushing past Jake, she sat down at the table facing Jenny Rose. “You the one who found Patsy?”

“Yes.” Jenny Rose seemed very tiny and young sitting there all hunched up. Jake seemed to sense her distress and went over and sat on her feet.

“Oh, my God, what are we gonna do?!” Mrs. Dellaverna raved and the two of them started crying. Suddenly Mrs. Dellaverna reared up and squinted, gypsylike, at Jenny Rose. “It's a kind of funny. You find the girl drowning, it's Radiance; you find the body, it's Patsy!”

“Wait,” Jenny Rose cried, “you think I had something to do with it?”

“I'm not looking for a wage-a-war. All I'm saying is it's funny, that's all.”

“Fuck you.” Jenny Rose stood in a fury.

Mrs. Dellaverna threw the dishtowel she held up over her face and ran out the door home. Jenny Rose flung herself onto the bed, sobbing. Jake circled, gargling restrained submission. I called him to me and held him tight because he and I were both trembling. Then a soft tapping at the door sent him rigid and yowling with fright. I calmed him down and went to get it. It turned out to be young Teddy. I was so relieved. He stood in the doorway, his skin all flushed and rosy, looking past me to Jenny Rose. You could tell he was crazy about her. And worried. “Come on in,” I invited. Because Jenny Rose didn't care a fig for him, she hardly minded that he saw her in such a state.

“Look,” he said as he sat cautiously on the edge of the sofa, “I thought I'd better let you know. Patsy Mooney's husband is on the loose.”

“Her husband?” Jenny Rose squawked. “She doesn't have a husband! She told me!”

“Well, she does, I'm afraid. Did.” He sighed sadly. “She didn't have an order of protection against him because he was a retired cop himself. She thought the police here would have it on file and give her away. Oliver, Paige, Mr. Piet, and myself all knew. We thought he had no idea where she was. And we have no idea how he found her. We knew he was violent. Mooney is her maiden name. She didn't use his.”

This let Jenny Rose off the hook. “What's his name?” I asked, more relieved than I wanted to let on.

“Woods,” he said the name with little-disguised scorn. “Donald Woods. One of those control-freak, hooplehead cops you think you'll only read about in the paper.”

“Oh,” Jenny Rose sank back in the pillows, and cried, “that's why she said, she said, ‘
Thank
God that's over
,' about her marriage! I can hear her clear as a bell like it was yesterday! Oh, my God! I can't believe it! Maybe if I'd left her alone in her turret she would have heard him coming up the stairs! Maybe she wouldn't be dead! That fuckin' thick carpet! She wouldn't have heard a sound!”

“Now, now,” Teddy comforted her. “There's no stopping these wife beaters. It's no one's fault but his. I won't have you blaming yourself.”

I shot him a bemused look because he seemed to have affected a Ronald Colman accent. And then I remembered Mrs. Dellaverna telling me about her friend hiding out at her place. Some
shit of a husband
who'd
beat her up good
… I said, “So they're sure it was him?”

“It certainly looks like it. He was seen at the deli, asking around. We know he'd been arrested before for smashing her up. A real violent guy.” He shook his head, grimacing. “I'd give a pretty penny to know how he found out she was here.”

Jenny Rose sat up. Her expression turned suspicious. “And how he knew she was in the basement. You know, I knew someone was watching the house. I felt it!” She shivered.

I remembered last night and Jake flipping out. Had the fellow come looking for her at the cottage? “Where do they think he's gone?” I asked cautiously.

Teddy raked his hair. “That's just it. He was seen coming into town but no one saw him leaving. He might well still be here.”

“Shit,” I said.

“So I want you both to lock your doors and windows.”

“Well, he's not after us.” Jenny Rose quaked in her blanket.

“No, but he might be looking for a place to hide out for a while. You don't know. He could be in someone's garage or—”

“Or break into someone's home and hold them captive till the coast is clear!” Jenny Rose finished for him.

“I'm afraid so.”

I'd brought Jake to Sea Cliff at just the right time. I thought of that poor, demented Daniel on his own. He would be easy prey for a man like that. Obviously, someone like him would never think to lock his doors.

Teddy's blue eyes moved around the cottage, taking it all in for the first time. “I love your curtains,” he said, trying to lighten things up.

“Amazing what you can do with a little strong detergent and a hot iron,” I said, glad he was here. I was sure he'd be happy to look after Jenny Rose while I did some investigating on my own. I lured Jake up onto the bed—he knew any bed was typically off-limits—to keep him happy and left the two kids with a fresh pot of coffee and some Ikea cinnamon buns.

I almost asked Teddy if I might borrow his station wagon but decided against it. Morgan would have my car back to me shortly and it wouldn't hurt me to pedal up and down these steep hills, quiet and swift. I went out to the shed, opening the creaky door with care in case Patsy's murderer lurked inside, and lugged out the bicycle. It was rusty but it seemed to work all right. I was grateful to Morgan. Morgan. His words came back to me and echoed in my brain.
I almost strangled him
, he'd confessed about the seminarian that'd molested an altar boy. I was only halfway down the path into town when my cell phone rang. I bumped onto the side of the road and opened it.

“Auntie Claire?”

“Jenny Rose. What's up?”

“Remember I told you Wendell acted like he didn't know what I was talking about when I asked him about the stones?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I got to thinking. Maybe he really didn't know about the stones.”

“What do you mean? You told me you got them from him.”

“That's just it. I assumed he was frightened about having the stones. But when I asked him about the scarf, remember I told you he was completely forthright about answering? Maybe the stones weren't wrapped up in the scarf at all. Perhaps they were already in my pocket.”

“I don't understand.”

“Maybe I swept them from Patsy when I grabbed the scarf from her.”

We were both silent, digesting this possibility. “Or,” I suggested, “maybe Patsy put them there. Or anybody. Put Teddy on the phone.”

“He had to go.”

“What? I thought he'd stay with you!”

“No, he had to open a house up on Dosoris Lane for Paige. The police are still questioning her and there's a couple waiting there to see a house. And Mr. Piet is still waiting to be questioned and no one's heard from Radiance. Teddy's going to stop off at her apartment over Gallagher's and check on her.”

“Well, I certainly don't want you there alone. We'd better meet.”

“Where?”

“Twillyweed.”

“Okay. I'll come to you.”

“I've got to make a stop or two, first. Then we can talk. Just get there quickly. And, Jenny Rose,
stay
there! Just answer any questions they have truthfully. Really, this changes everything.”

“All right,” she agreed and she sounded relieved. Little did I know she had her own plans for getting some answers by heading into town.

Meanwhile I bicycled down to the beach and Daniel's house, dead on the water. It was shabby, but you could see how all the real estate agents in town would give their eyeteeth to get their hands on it. It had charm—or it would have with a lot of money thrown in. It was one of those small cottages with a low-hanging roof that resembles a thatch. I tapped on the back door. There was no sound from within. I knocked again and the door just moved open. All right, I pushed it. The kitchen was outdated in the style of the '70s and it was damp. A fly battered itself against one of the windows, buzzing. There was an unopened package of baking soda on the table, some toothpaste, and a cylinder of Comet, like someone had gone to the store and left some things for him. “Daniel?” I called, mentally cursing myself for not telling Jenny Rose, or someone, where I'd gone. I looked out the window into the yard. A decrepit lawnmower stood leaning, suspended, in the half-finished yard. I peeked through to the next room. It was a sort of bedroom–living room, the bed covered neatly with a yellowed chenille spread, a permanent sagging dip in the middle where he must sleep. A toy lay upside down on the rug on the floor: a doll, half covered with a blanky, her arm reaching out. I resisted the urge to go in there. This was a strange and complicated place, but it wasn't degenerate. It was like an empty kindergarten classroom, fizzing with energy that's gone away, vivacious colored boxes on top shelves and viruses and moving orbs of dust in sun shafts from dirty windows. On the kitchen table beside me I noticed a list of grocery items. Something about it looked familiar to me and I skulked closer to peer at it. It was Jenny Rose's and my list of suspects! A thrill of fear ran through me. How in hell had that got here? Steadying my heart, I tiptoed in and picked it up and put it into my pocket. Frightened now that someone was watching me, I slipped out the door. Jenny Rose certainly hadn't been here. Had she? Paige? I wouldn't put it past her to go through Jenny Rose's things. Feeling safer in the light of day, I reread the list. My eye fell to the name Mrs. Lassiter, the woman who worked at the rectory. The snoop in me wouldn't mind checking her out. I got back on my bike, and as I pedaled away I heard the unmistakable clatter of a lawnmower resuming its course. Evidently I frightened old Daniel as much as he'd frightened me.

St. Greta's Rectory was a beautiful place with a mature copper beech, a profusion of birds, and a lovely, well-tended garden. I rang the bell, but it seemed to be out of order. I clopped on the heavy wood.

A bad-tempered lady threw open the door. “I heard you the first time, so!”

She was a skinny, busy lady with a whirl of graying ginger hair, a snub nose, a giant bust, and a mass of freckles all over her arms and face. Her teeth were spaced apart and separate. “Mrs. Lassiter?” I asked meekly.