Twillyweed (35 page)

“I'll stop by sometime when I have my tools and put it up for you.”

“Right. Thank you.” I bobbed an awkward curtsy.

He knocked the chair over again. Suddenly I remembered that crack Paige had made about me and the buttons in my ears. “Oh,” I said, “wait just a minute. I have to show you what I've done to your mother's button collection!” I started toward the button safe, but he held me back.

“Please don't,” he murmured. “I don't want to see them. You can have them.”

“Oh, God. I didn't mean that!” The kitten was at the door, scratching, indicating her needs.

“No, really.” He turned his back. “Take them. Take them all. It's not that big a deal.” He took his plate and moved tiredly over to the sink and then stood there just holding it, a man with a plate. “Don't you get it? They pain me to look at, each one a hurtful memory, see?”

I gave a sly look into the button chamber. If I emptied it out, I could hook up the sink and turn it into a darkroom. I said, “Look, you might find one day you won't feel the same …”

Again he held my eyes. “I'm afraid I'll always feel the same.”

I took the dishtowel from him and wiped the few plates and put them up on the shelves.

“She used to sit there fingering them at night,” he remembered, “in that chair, when she was thinking of
him
. What she would wear if he came back. Like other people would watch television.” He shook his head ruefully. “I used to hate it. I knew who she was thinking of. Always waiting for him. A man who wouldn't think enough of her to come to her funeral.” He spat the words then wiped his mouth. “And there was I, the never enough.”

“I'm sure that wasn't so.”

“That's what it felt like to me. I was the one who'd ruined her life, if you want to know the truth. Stole her blamelessness. That was something very important to her, a religious woman. Before my sin, she was uncorrupted by guilt.”

“Morgan, it was an accident, not a sin! You can't think that way.”

“But I do. And it's all in the perception, isn't it? I loved both my parents, but they loved me too much, wanted me to see their way. I was the rope they pulled in either direction.”

“Morgan. Why are you telling me this? Why don't you tell—”

“Who? Paige? You think she cares about my mother's thoughts? She just wants her wealth. She doesn't understand that my mother's wealth was in wanting good for others. Do you see? She can't understand past the material, Paige. At least that's how it is between her and me. How would you like it if the person you were bound to couldn't bear the touch of you? Didn't want to be too friendly when you were alone because he thought it would lead to what he couldn't bear! How would you like that?”

Oh no. I shrank into myself. This was the worst thing he could tell me. It hurt me so much to think he desired her with all his heart and she didn't want him at all. This crushed my secret hopes; it meant there was no room for me. “Then why—” I almost said
why do you love her?
But I couldn't. The unfinished words hung in the air. If he told me she was
his
moon and stars, if he said it, we wouldn't be able to be friends. I couldn't bear it. And I suppose I'd rather remain just friends with him if only to be around him. That realization shut me up. I gathered my wits and crossed the room and put the kitten out. When I came back, he was sitting in Noola's old chair, his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. I poured myself another glass of wine, emptying the bottle, and drank it down. Without warning Jake sprang half up on top of the table and swiped what was left of the cheese. “Get away from that table, you rat!” I cried, chasing him. I was furious, but Morgan laughed so hard and so long that I refrained from smacking Jake with the paper. “Just don't do it again!” I shouted.

“He was waiting for his chance the whole time!” Morgan roared with laughter.

Jake eyed us both from under the hassock. He looked so pleased.

“Morgan.” I turned and said, “Do you know who killed Patsy Mooney?”

He wiped his eyes. “It wasn't me.”

“Good.”

He looked up at me, realizing the seriousness of my intent. “No, I'm saying it really wasn't me.”

My head wagged. “Double good. I'll eliminate you, then, from my list.” It was something in my pronunciation of that tricky eliminate that alerted him.

The corner of his mouth turned up. “Are you drunk?”

“Yes. A little.
Hic
.”

He stepped carefully over the carpet, “So, while you're nice and supple, you won't mind
me
asking you a few personal questions?”

I swung an expansive arm. “Go right ahead.”

“Good. Because, I'm confused. Are you still in love with your fiancé?”

I scowled. “No. It's like he never was. Like he was a respite from real life.”

“And what about the ex-husband? Are you still in love with him?”

I didn't answer as quickly. I decided to be honest. “I'll always love him, somehow.” I shrugged. “The kids' father. That's important.”

“And I suppose he's handsome?”

“He's the handsomest man I ever saw.”

“I see. I guess that leaves me out,” he teased, but there was disappointment in his eyes.

I was both taken aback and touched by his vulnerability. “What! You, so beautiful! You shouldn't care about handsome. Just look at your wrists.” I leaned over and took hold of one of them, feeling powerful beside his doubts. “Such magnificent wrists.” I held one up and wished my lips pressed to it. But I wouldn't do that. Not after what he'd said about the one he loved. I felt his pulse beat against my finger and our eyes met. He pulled back in alarm.

“Oh, listen to me! Never mind,” I said. We stepped apart and I heard myself say in exasperation. “See, I think of myself as this slender young romantic figure, and I'm not anymore!” It surprised me that I was crying but I'd started now and couldn't quit. “I'm a big hefty woman who stomps into rooms with a big foolish smile and—”

“Stop!” he demanded angrily. He took hold of my face. With his thumbs he wiped away the wet streams. He leaned and kissed me tenderly on the side of my neck. I don't know about you, but for me the side of the neck is key. That feather at the core of me began its seductive niggle and I felt its resonance to my toes. But then I sensed, rather than saw, the light next door in Mrs. Dellaverna's window go out and the room changed somehow. She could see in. I lifted my head and then like a reply in a song, took a deep breath and, like an idiot, said, “Don't do this.”

And of course he listened! He raised his head and tipped it, romantically, watching me. He looked so good, so rugged and everything a man should be. But that knowledge of being observed brought me back to myself. And even swept away by passion and wine, I had to ask. I had to know. I said, “Remember you told me about moon dials?”

His breath was coming faster. “Yeah?”

And then I said, “If I told you about one, would you be interested?”

“A moon volvelle?” His eyes, blurred with passion, became alert. “A real one?”

“Very real. Very old.”

“I'd be the one who'd be interested, yeah. An ancient lunar volvelle might be worth a great fortune. Have you seen one?”

“No,” I admitted, turning away. “No, I just— I haven't.”

“But you've heard about one? A stolen one?”

I didn't answer.

“Because there are unscrupulous collectors who've been known to cover their tracks, who'd be delighted to take a piece like that off your hands, you know.”

“But then a collector would have to stay underground. Never be able to give claim to owning it outright.”

“Oh, aye,” his said, green eyes glimmering, “but many a real collector wouldn't care.” Suddenly and in one quick movement he stood and turned away. “
Ach
. I'd best be getting on.” He sort of limped to the door and I realized with a thrill that he'd become erect. “I'll thank you for your hospitality.” He gave me a wry smile. I moved toward him, meaning to shake his hand and feel again his almost predatory maleness. But he backed away as though he couldn't bear to touch me and at once he was gone. In that moment of ravaging nearness there'd been a palpable heat between us. I hadn't imagined that. His broad shoulders and ropey arms. I'd felt them almost as though they'd encompassed me. You could tell he might have a punishing temper. Hadn't he admitted as much? But was it enough to murder someone? And this time he'd held his impulses in check. Was I to be flattered? I was. I stood there at the door watching the spot he'd left, sobered at once by his leaving. Oh!
Why
did I feel so attracted to this
engaged
, possibly dangerous man?

Halfway down the path he stood still and turned slowly back toward the house.

Oh, my God
, I realized with horror and delight,
he's coming back!

He pressed his nose against the screen. “You'll not believe it. I forgot the reason I've come!”

I cracked the door a hopeful inch.

His hands were on his hips. “I've got your dole.”

“Huh?”

“Your wages.”

I stared at him dumbly. I'd forgotten I was due any. The both of us laughed and I opened the door all the way. He walked to the table and counted out my pay in cash. Very carefully he laid out each bill and gave a precise, out-loud account. “Now you count it again,” he instructed earnestly. This I did, feeling strange. But I'd earned it, I reminded myself, seeing the bad state of my nails as I did. There's nothing like money to cheer you up. I folded the bills into a cracked but still pretty sugar bowl above the stove and walked him to the door.

He hesitated at the screen, then, coming close, pressed his salty sea lips against mine in an ardent kiss. Rapture closed the deal. He stepped back and raked his hair with his hand and, after we gave each other one last look, he went away.

I walked around the room colliding into things. Jake watched me for a bit and then, losing patience, decided it was time for his constitutional. I let him out and stood in front of the mirror brushing my hair. Lost in thought, it was only after the fact that I perceived his frantic barks. I dropped the brush and, unthinking, flew out the door. Jake was in a corner of the yard, hunched and barking. He wasn't cowering, he stood his ground, but he was freaked out. My eyes scanned the darkness and suddenly I saw it, its eyes, glittering. A badger! It was poised and still, watching. I'd never seen anything like it. It was big as a dog, beige, almost blond, with long fur like a collie. I went rigid.

It was deciding whether or not to spring. I spoke in as calm and seamless a voice as I could, “All right, come on, Jake, we'll go into the house now,” and I went toward Jake in a straight line, moving as smoothly as I could, talking continually to the badger without looking at him, “We're not going to hurt you now, we're just going to get out of your way, all right?” and as I spoke I got between the thing and Jake and shepherded Jake to the door and into the house. “Whew!” I leaned against the inside of the house and, sinking to the ground, put my arms around Jake and held him. Trembling, I reached for the phone and put in a call to Twillyweed. It was Oliver who picked up. “Oliver! It's Claire. The most frightening thing just happened. There was a badger out my door. He was huge. Right outside my door! I was terrified it would attack Jake.”

“Couldn't have been a badger, Claire,” he said, laughing. “We don't have any badgers on the North Shore. It was a possum.”

“No, Oliver, it was huge! Big as a dog.”

“Possum can be big. Or raccoon.”

No
, I protested silently,
it
was
a badger
. It had that foxy face, a predator's stance. “And it had long blond hair,” I added, “It was … well, beautiful.”

“Yes, it's rare to see one, but possum are around. They live in the sewers and in the woods on the golf course. Just shine a light out there, he'll disappear.”

“That's it, I guess. The porch light's out again. And I just put a new one in!”

“Shall I come up?” he offered.

“No!” Afraid I'd sounded too hasty, I added, “Thank God you picked up the phone. I was so frightened. I'm fine, now, thanks to you.”

“Well. All right. If you're sure.”

“Oh, I am.”

“Call back any time of night if you're frightened again.”

There was an awkward silence as we both remembered last time we'd spoken. “I will. Thanks again,” I hung up, relieved, but puzzled. I took a new bulb from the kitchen drawer and went to the back and looked out. Of course it had vanished by now, as frightened by me as I him. I let Jake out again to finish his business and I climbed up on the porch railing and reached under the lamp cover. The old bulb hung limply on its thread. I screwed it back in and light flooded the yard. It was crazy. I was absolutely positive I'd screwed it in snugly just a few days ago. I gave it an extra turn, making sure it was tight, and we went back in the house. “Jake?”

He raised his head and tilted it.

“I am so glad you're here.”

Chapter Seven

Claire

Jake and I were inseparable now. He slept, snoring raucously, on the rug at the foot of my bed. Our relationship had deepened a notch. It was like I knew what he wanted and he knew what I wanted. I was so grateful to him for making me feel safe and he was grateful to me from rescuing him from days and days at the window in Queens. For him, this was paradise. As we walked along the cliff early the next morning, my cell phone rang. It was my old editor from
She She
magazine, Jupiter Dodd, the fellow I'd used as a reference when I'd first come. “Darling!” he greeted me effusively, so I knew he wanted something. “How
are
you?”

“Peachy.” I reined Jake in from a squirrel's mad dash. “What's up?”

“Well, I'm weekending out in East Hampton and—you know me—I get so carsick on long drives! Can I break up the trip at your little resort B&B? I'd only spend the night.”

“Jupiter, it's not a bed-and-breakfast.” I remembered my promise to watch Wendell. Jupiter loathed children. “You'd never have to pay at my place but, no, this weekend wouldn't work for me, I'm afraid. I'm babysitting. How about next weekend?”

“What? You deny me?”

“Yes. Just this once. Sorry. Any other time, though.”

“Once scorned, never sallied …”

“Jupiter. Don't be melodramatic. You know I love you.”

“All right, I'll try some other sucker.
Ciao, bella.
”

“
Ciao, bello.
” I took Jake home and walked over to Twillyweed. When I got there, Jenny Rose was sitting at the kitchen table staring into her breakfast tea. I reached through the climbing ivy and tapped on the leaded diamond of glass. She jumped then smiled when she saw it was me. She let me in, fetched me a cup, and we sat down together. You could always count on Jenny Rose for an excellent cup a rosy. Puccini was on the radio. Wendell played on a stretched-out blanket on the floor. “I've kept him home today,” she whispered. “He's been whimpering in his sleep, the poor lad. Just feel better keeping an eye on him.”

I regarded Wendell, who was dancing tiny parts of Lincoln logs into small structures.

“Those wee bits are the people. The buildings are stores and those are the customers.”

“I see.” I nodded.

“Auntie Claire,” Wendell said, holding a log in the air, “where's Jake the doggie?”

“I left him home in case it rains.” I smiled. “He likes it there in his bed.”

He stuck one finger in his nostril and wobbled a booger. “What about the kitten?”

Distractedly, Jenny Rose handed over a tissue. “Take it out or leave it in, Wendell. Try not to play with it in company. And put your glasses on.”

“The kitten's doing fine,” I informed him. “She sleeps on top of Jake's head, between his ears, so I think all will be well. She hasn't got a name, yet, though. That will be your job, remember.”

Satisfied, he returned to his play, putting himself into a new pair of red-framed glasses. Jenny Rose said, “Wendell, do me a favor and run up to my studio and find us a chocolate bar.” He jumped to attention and was already trotting out the door. “It's next to my bed,” she called after him, “or in the drawer. You'll find it. There's a good lad.” In the distance, thunder rumbled. She turned to me, “Okay, you're not going to like this, but here goes.”

My heart sank.

She twisted a short lock of hair with a paint-stained finger. “I think I might be up the spout.”

“Sorry?”

“Preggers. I think I might be pregnant.”

“You?”

“No, the bloody queen. Who do you think?”

“But, but, you were the one yelling at me for not using protec—”

“I know, I know!”

“Oh, Jenny Rose, you idiot! Are you sure?”

“No. I'm only a couple of days late. Well. Five days—”

“Well, then, it's too soon to be sure! You've changed continents. Very likely—”

She shook her head then held it. “I been chucking up since three days. Every morning. Then I'm fine.”

“Oh.”

“I really am, I'm really fine.” She looked at me with those hazel eyes of hers and gave me a lopsided grin. “Like, terrific.” She shrugged. She did indeed look fine. More than fine.

“But … you're so young!” I lowered my voice. “Does he know?”

“Nope.”

“Aye-aye-aye-aye-aye.”

Out jutted that stubborn chin. “But”—she shrugged—“it doesn't matter, like.”

“Of course it matters.”

“No, the thing is, I'll have this baby, either way.”

“Still. You've got to tell him.”

She reached her arms up. “My mother never told.”

I froze. “Oh, Jenny Rose. Your mother was fifteen! You're not going to bring a whole new life into the world as a repeat performance! You've got to have a better reason.”

“This is the one thing that doesn't speak of reason. A miracle it is.”

Wendell trotted back in, tripped, and came over. He clapped two big Cadbury raisin and nut chocolate bars on the table in front of her. She stared at him. “I said one, not two. Whatever are you wearing? Where did you find the red glasses? Those aren't yours. Go put on your own spectacles!”

“They're mine. I found them.”

I looked at him. Where had I recently heard of red-framed glasses?

“Well, put them back where you found them. You'll ruin your eyes wearing someone else's specs. You'll be tripping over your own two feet!”

Obediently, he marched across the kitchen and stood before the grandmother clock with his little back to us and stuck his pointer finger into the keyhole. It occurred to me with not a small amount of malevolence that my sister Carmela would have to face not only motherhood now, but grandmotherhood, all in one fell swoop. The low cabinet door swung open with ease and a hoard of glinting things was revealed. Wendell took the glasses off and placed them on the ledge, then foraged around in the pile of sparkling things to find his own. He placed them on his nose and looped the wire ends neatly over his ears, turned, and gave us an obliging smile.

Jenny Rose and I were still, our mouths dropped. On the ledge sat a box of glimmering jewels—its open lid an incandescent lunar volvelle.

At the Tre Sorelle, a cozy place in town where we knew we might talk uninterrupted, Jenny Rose and I sat across from each other. We'd dropped Wendell off at school and now we sat together in the window. The rain came pouring down. I remember hoping Jenny Rose was simply late and not really pregnant. But she looked longingly at the menu and couldn't make up her mind if she would have the Calamari Sicilliano or Tartufo or both, so it didn't look good. It was still early and the place was empty but for us. The waiter slipped behind us and we jumped like thieves.

“Just bring us a cheese plate to share and two cups of soup, please,” I said.

“What soup would you—”

“Any fucking soup!” Jenny Rose barked and he hurried off.

We both chewed our nails. I said, “So Patsy Mooney
was
up to no good.”

“Looks like it,” Jenny Rose agreed. “Or Mr. Piet. He's always skulking about.”

“They could have been in it together.”

“You're right. Meanwhile here's Oliver going mad looking for the bloody little red key so he could open the clock and wind it, then furious because the police have it as evidence so he still can't open the clock, and all the while it's open!”

“Yeah. Unless he knew it all along.”

We sat there in silence. She said, “I don't think so. He's too stupid.”

We both had a laugh. Then I said, “Why is the key red anyway?”

“Patsy Mooney painted it with her nail polish so it wouldn't get mixed up with the others. When I met her, she was wearing it around her neck. Now I know why.”

I had the heavy bag of valuables under the table at my feet. We'd placed everything in a backpack of Wendell's and lugged it with us. The waiter arrived with two plates of heavenly Tortellini in Brodo and a board of fragrant cheeses. I held my temples. “Let's think this through. Obviously they're the family jewels. They must be. Paige talked about emeralds. But the box is from the rectory in Broad Channel. And where does Annabel fit in? Did she steal them and someone took them from her? Or maybe this proves she didn't take the jewels at all.”

“Or maybe she was murdered for them?” Jenny Rose said.

“But if she was murdered, where's the body?”

“I think she's dead, Auntie Claire. She wouldn't leave Wendell to fend on his own. I just can't fathom it!”

I said, “So who was the thief? Patsy Mooney? The thing is, it didn't have to be her. It could have been anyone and Patsy could have come across it and was blackmailing him—or her.

Jenny Rose nodded. “You're right. That scenario seems more likely. I can't see Patsy lumbering through a church and banging a priest on the head, but I can make her out acting cute and turning events to her advantage. She might have thought she could get in on a shady deal and make some cash.”

“And it cost her her life. She might well have come across the loot and stashed it in the clock for safekeeping. No wonder she wore the key around her neck. The thief might have played along with her attempt at blackmail while he planned to kill her, then called the old boyfriend up to get him to come around. He keeps the jewels and the boyfriend goes to jail for the murder.”

“Not a bad plan,” she said. “It just might be what happened. Except she never gave up where she hid it. So our thief is still around. And we've got the treasure. It is a treasure, isn't it?

“I think so,” I agreed. “All of it feels enormously valuable, especially the box.”

“And those emeralds!” She gave a low whistle and we both moved our feet protectively around the knapsack. “But who?”

“Yes, who? Everyone certainly had access. Think back.”

Jenny Rose leaned in toward me. “I have to tell you, that Teddy is a piece of work. He's my number one suspect. Do you know he tried to run over a cat? He's not all charming and respectable like he makes out!”

But she would point to anyone before Glinty. I had to say it. “Jenny Rose, it's possible it was Glinty. That is, after all, his business. Jewels.”

She reared up in anger. “It could just as well have been Morgan. He's the one who's crazy for all those antique gizmos! Look at the box, that, that—what's it called?—the moon clock thingy.”

I dropped my head in my hands. “You're right. A moon dial would be his heart's desire. He even said so. Collectors are known for their unreasonable greed. They could be in cahoots, too. But let's not count out Oliver. He certainly could use a windfall.”

“And I wouldn't put it past him,” she agreed, “what with his gambling debts.”

“And Paige. And what about Daniel? Any one of them could have. But Daniel couldn't have found his way to Broad Channel, could he have? Does he even drive?”

“He's not supposed to, but he's been known to snatch Paige's car and go over to Diane's Bakery in Roslyn. He has a terrible sweet tooth. He lies in wait when Paige takes a nap and he snatches her keys and drives off. He might be nuts, but he's sly. Just when you think he's got bats in the belfry, he'll prove you wrong.”

“How do you mean?” I asked.

“I don't know. Like, he'll out of the blue tell you what you're thinking.”

“I hate to say it, but Darlene Lassiter seems to run in and out of the picture, too.”

“No more than your Mrs. Dellaverna. She's tricky enough to do anything. You know what it is? We're back to Go. We haven't a clue. It's almost like someone's playing with us.”

“Hmm. You just gave me an idea. Suppose
we
set some sort of trap?”

“But we can't take a chance with this stuff. It's not ours to risk.” Jenny Rose paused. “On the other hand, we'll never know what happened unless we try something. What we need is a lure. We could start a rumor. Suppose we pretended to have found some valuable jewels from Noola?”

“That wouldn't work; Morgan would know it was a guise. Noola didn't collect jewels.”

“What about using these?”

“And if the thief grabs them and runs off with them? We'll go to jail.”

“All right. What about pretending some
different
antique jewels popped up in Patsy Mooney's possessions? I could have discovered them, say, in her old room … in the turret.

I nodded my head. “The thief would think Patsy had been holding out on him. That this wasn't the first time she'd got her hands on something valuable. We could let him have a glimpse, something to stir up his or her interest. Couldn't we make something up?”

“Very funny. What looks like jewels and isn't?”

Our eyes locked as it came to both of us at once. “The buttons!” Her bright eyes gleamed.

I said, “We'd have to gussie them up.”

Jenny Rose folded her legs up under her skirt and snuggled forward. “That's where I come in. I'm an artist, remember? A little smoke and mirrors …”

“We'd have to get everyone together at once. Radiance. Mrs. Dellaverna …”

“How about day after tomorrow, the night before the race? The thief will know the jewels are in the house. We could pretend we've decided to take the jewels to the police right after the race.”

I hesitated. “I don't know. It doesn't feel right. Why would we wait? Whoever it is would smell a trap.”

We thought while the rain battered down. The waiter took away our plates. Jenny Rose said, “I have a better idea. Suppose we made it known we had some expert coming to value them? You know, an Antiques Road Show kind of guy.”

“What, like from Sotheby's?”

“Why not? We could pretend we had someone coming the night before the race. Let everyone catch a glimpse of the ‘jewels' in the half-light.”