Winter House (26 page)

C
hief Medical Examiner Edward Slope spent his lunch hour on a tree-lined street in suburban Brooklyn, conversing on the freak warmth of October, and lifting his face to the sun. Yes, he agreed with Rabbi David Kaplan that every day of Indian summer was a gift. They both turned their attention to the mystery crate at the center of Robin Duffy’s garage, while they waited for this charter member of the floating weekly poker game to join them.

„One more time, David.“ The doctor regarded the crate with grave suspicion. „It was dropped off the back of an unmarked truck in the dead of night… but you don’t think Kathy stole it?“

The rabbi shook his head. „No, and neither do you.“

In Edward Slope’s opinion, the rabbi was too gentle to see the worst in others. He also believed that this gentle man regularly beat him at cards by sheer luck and not by the cunning of a born poker player. And, in truth, neither did the doctor believe that Kathy Mallory had stolen the crate, but she might delight in this accusation.

Perverse brat.

And if the truth were fully told, Edward Slope, her principal detractor, loved her unconditionally.

A screen door slammed, and they turned to see a short bulldog of a man walking toward them and grinning widely. „It’s all settled,“ he said. „Charles thinks the game was canceled.“

Edward Slope was still grappling with the concept of a surprise poker game. He faced the open garage, his eyes passing over all the discarded hobbies of Robin Duffy’s experiment in retirement from his legal practice. What a failure. The walls were lined with tools for home improvements, a half-finished canoe from the boat-building class and the potted remains of a dead herb garden.

Kathy Mallory was another one who did not deal well with drastic life changes. She had grown up in this neighborhood and lived across the street with her foster parents. The old house had burned down, leaving a messy hole in her landscape until another house had been raised on the same footprint of land. Every fourth week of the poker-game rotation, Edward had remarked on the progress of the builders, and, now that it was done, he could not claim to be shocked.

In the early stages of construction, he had recognized something familiar in the raw timbers, the bones of the house. The completed structure was exactly the same in every maniacal detail. This week, the shrubbery had been added, evergreens shaped the way Helen Markowitz had always pruned them. The young tree recently planted in the yard was different, of course – or was it? No, that tree was the same size when Kathy was a little girl. He recalled the night when Louis had come home with a birthday present for Helen, a genuine baby felon caught in the act of robbing a car. What a surprise. And the following week Edward had helped Louis to dig a hole and put a sapling into that same ground. This had long been the custom of the Markowitz family, planting a tree when a child was born – or snatched off the street during the commission of a felony.

Robin stood beside him now, admiring Kathy’s handiwork, as if what she had done was a normal thing. „The mailbox is the original. She saved it from the ashes.“

„What about… inside the house?“

„Just a few things,“ said Robin, „but the kid’s still working on it. Took her months to find Helen’s wallpaper pattern. The company went out of business, but she tracked down some rolls to a hardware store in Montana. The furniture’s a problem, too – all family heirlooms. Some of it dated back to the twenties. What a perfectionist, huh? Every piece has to be
exactly
the same. So she goes to estate sales on her days off.“ He glanced back at the crate in his garage. „That’s how she knew where to find the table.“ Robin entered the garage and selected a crowbar from the tools on the wall. „She says we can uncrate it to fit it through Charles’s door, but we can’t unwrap it yet. I think she’s afraid we’ll ding up the wood.“

Edward Slope had lost all interest in the surprise poker game. He continued to stare at the house across the street. He tried to imagine Kathy in there, restoring the furnishings of the dead to make her ghosts feel more at home. Or was it an act of pure defiance – creating this illusion that death had never come to her house? Either way, it was quite mad, but also tender, and this argued well for a human heart.

„
C
onfidential?“ Mallory was outraged – genuinely this time – as Charles dragged her by the arm, and they moved inexorably down the hall to the elevator. „You don’t
have
patients!“ she yelled.
„No
practice!

You
can’t
claim protected status!“

„Yes, I can.“ Unperturbed, he pushed the button to bring the elevator.

He was so calm, as if forcibly dragging women around were an everyday thing with him. He would not release her arm while he waited for the elevator doors to open. „Nedda’s my patient,“ he said. „Anything she tells me is in confidence.“

„You’re making this up,“ said Mallory. „You don’t treat people. That’s not your line of work.“

„It is today.“ His head lifted to watch the lights of the elevator. „I think it might be my true calling. Who knows?“

„No, it’s just a stunt. You’re holding out on me – obstructing justice.“

„Well, that’s too bad.“

Something had gone very wrong with her day. Charles was turning against her, and Nedda Winter was responsible for this. Yes, it was Nedda’s fault, and he would see that once she had time to explain, to make up some new lie that he could believe in.

Mallory’s anger shut down, as if a switch had been thrown, a circuit closed. Charles’s hand was lightly covering hers, enclosing it in warmth. His grip tightened as he pulled her into the elevator with him, and she did not mind this. Human contact, flesh to flesh, was so rare in her life. She did nothing to encourage it, but when it came her way, her eyes closed to the slits of a purring cat. The elevator hummed with mechanical clicks and whirrs – her own song of the machine.

And the doors opened too soon.

He pulled her along toward the street door, maybe heading for a quiet cafe down the block. They would talk, and he – „Next time you drop by the office,“ he said, „you might give me a call first. I can’t have you running into my patient in the hallway.“ He let go of her hand, opened the door and put her out in the street – like a cat.

The door slammed.

She looked upward at the sky, and her lips parted with nothing to say. A car pulled up behind her and Riker derailed her thoughts of abandonment.

„Hey, Mallory!“

She turned to see a police cruiser with a uniform behind the wheel and her partner at the rear window, grinning, saying, „It’s a raid, kid. You wanna come?“ He opened the door in invitation, then waved a folded sheet of paper. „I got a warrant for the Winter family trust – all the documents we can carry.“

Behind the cruiser were a police van and two more vehicles driven by uniforms. The cherry lights were all spinning, engines revving up to tell her that it was time to take this road show uptown; they had lawyers to menace, files to pillage, a mess to make, real carnage – what a party.

N
edda was standing at the stove, adjusting the gas flame, when Charles walked into the kitchen, lured there by the aroma of Colombian coffee.

„You know,“ he said, „you and I might be the only people in town who know how to brew coffee in a percolator.“

„I’ve never made it any other way.“

And with those words, this woman, thirty years his senior, had won his heart. He had not lied to Mallory. Nedda would be his patient, and every fear of subsequent damage to himself was put aside. She had inspired him to be a braver man – a better one. And so he picked up their cups and led her back to the library. Over the next hour, her eyes brimmed with tears, and
he
felt the anguish. He also took over her sense of isolation, and her great fear of being alone. And when she told him of her plan to find a place of her own, he could not bear the idea. He was drowning in Nedda’s loneliness.

„
T
ell me how you got that warrant,“ Mallory demanded. „I went to three judges, and they stopped short of spitting on me.“

„You didn’t pick the right one, kid.“ And, fortunately, Riker was not a graduate of the Kathy Mallory Charm School. He turned to watch the cityscape flying by his window, then looked back to see his own personal caravan cutting through traffic and ignoring red lights. „I’ve been saving this judge for a rainy day. He used to be a civil-rights attorney. Loves the poor, hates the rich. God bless his liberal, left-wing ass.“

No, I don’t think so,
said the look on her face – smart kid – there had to be more to it than that.

„This judge,“ said Riker, „he’s a real
old
fart. Should’ve retired years ago. He remembers when this town was turned upside down looking for Red Winter, and he’s been waiting fifty-eight years for the end of that story.“

„You
told him
who Nedda was?“ Unspoken were the words
You idiot.

Riker let this slide, still flush with the win of his warrant. He had pulled off the perfect marriage of Mallory’s love for money motives and his own bone-deep distrust of lawyers.

„Yeah, I told him everything – laid it all out, but don’t worry. This judge hates reporters more than cops. Now go back to the other day at the Harvard Club. You told Sheldon Smyth his daughter’s life was on the line, and he still wouldn’t give you a look at those trust documents. That was cold. Lawyers are almost human when it comes to their kids, but not old Sheldon. So today I got him smashed in his own backyard. Turns out he’s a flyweight drinker. I sort of accused his law firm of embezzlement. Now that should’ve pissed him off, right? But no. Drunk as he is, he says to me, ‘No warrant, no documents.’ And that’s when I know he’s got something to hide.“

Mallory’s eyes rolled up, searching the skies outside her window for winged pigs, flights of angels and other miracles. „And the judge thought that was enough for a warrant?“

„No. Can I finish my story now? So I’m in the judge’s chambers when he phones Sheldon Smyth. Figures it’s just a misunderstanding. Maybe we can settle this without a warrant. Well, the lawyer’s still drunk when he takes the judge’s call. His Honor never gets out a word about the trust fund. Something on Smyth’s end of the phone pissed him off. The judge says to him, ‘Suck your what?’ And
that
was enough for a warrant.“

„
I
recommend more rest,“ said Charles. „A nap in the middle of the day is the world’s most underrated pleasure.“

„You’re right. I haven’t had much sleep lately.“ Nedda lifted the pan so he could admire the golden brown texture of her omelet. „And tonight I plan to have it out with Cleo and Lionel.“

„Why the rush?“

„It’s time – long past time.“ She turned off the stove burner and carried her masterpiece to the kitchen table. „And I’ll have a better chance with them if we’re not sharing the same roof.“

Ah, back to her plan for apartment hunting – one of the most stressful activities in New York City. Nedda would fail to thrive in any solitary existence, for profound depression would surely follow such a move.

„Well, fortunately, I own this apartment building.“ He pulled down plates from the cupboard and laid them out on the kitchen table. „And I have a vacant apartment. I think you’d like it here. But take my guest room for a few days. If things work out well with Cleo and Lionel, you may not need a place of your own.“

When they were seated, Charles agreed that, yes, steak sauce was an interesting accent for the omelet. And Nedda asked if he had forgiven Bitty for that little shrine in her bedroom. „My favorite is the shot of your birthday party. You must’ve made quite an impression on her that day.“

„Yes and no,“ said Charles. „Bitty would’ve been ten when that picture was taken. She has obvious issues with self-esteem. So she picked the one person she might approach without fear of ridicule, someone so foolish in her eyes that she could be certain I wouldn’t reject her. Then, so as not to risk this certainty, she never even spoke to me that day. If she had, I would’ve remembered her.“

„Do you mind another theory? You were taller than all the other children in that picture. And even then you had the body of a young god. I think my niece latched onto the idea of you as a protector. And then, on the worst night of her life, you showed up. That must have been quite magical for Bitty. I saw you talking to her. It did her a world of good – your kindness. You were her hero that night. And this morning, you were mine.“

Before therapist and patient could complete this colossal blunder of trading places, Charles picked up his napkin and laid it on the table as his white flag.

B
itty Smyth had retired to her room. Hours had passed by since she had spoken to her aunt on the phone. The cockatiel entertained her by walking about in circles and reciting his entire vocabulary.

Rags only knew one word. „What?“

The bird had learned this from her. She rarely slept through the night, always rising at some point, sitting up in bed to say that word with each sound that roused her from sleep.

She knelt down beside the cage on the floor and filled the bird’s water cup. After pouring him some fresh seed, she realized that she was also hungry. Sensing no one at home anymore, Bitty ventured out to forage for food. She made her way down the stairs, creaking in all the places that made her believe the staircase was always only minutes from falling down.