Blood Will Tell

by Mary Bowers

  Since Harriet was a Strawbridge, don’t-you-know, I assumed she was wearing some famous designer and had somehow gotten out of the boutique with something totally inappropriate. Portly women can get away with wearing bright, pretty colors, but not in a fluffy, wooly fabric, and not in a severely-tailored cut. Whoever the designer was, he didn’t know she was out there flashing his goods around or he would have hunted her down and stripped her.

  She carried herself across the lawn like an ocean liner breasting the waves. A lime green ocean liner. Breasting waves of startled people.

  Willa, still beside me and watching Harriet’s progress, was wearing a Target-clearance-rack white shirt and dark slacks over turquoise Nikes. A turquoise pendant and earrings picked up the color of the shoes. Noticing them, I felt a rush of affection for her. She usually didn’t wear jewelry, and she had put these things on to mark a special occasion: our fundraiser. Sweet.

  I always had to restrain myself from telling Willa to throw her shoulders back and stand up straight. She really wasn’t bad looking. In fact, if she had carried herself with even a little confidence and paid more attention to her wardrobe, she could have been a beauty.

  “I want to thank you for bringing her today,” I said, still thinking of the imaginary checkbook.

  “Oh, she was excited to come. She was here when she was a little girl, you know, visiting the Cadburys.”

  “She told me. She even recognized Vesta’s old bedroom – and tried to get into it.”

  Willa cringed. “I’m sorry about that. She’s kind of a force of nature. There’s just no stopping her.”

  I considered Willa for a moment, thinking of the similarities between her Aunt Frieda and Cousin Harriet. For the first time I began to worry. Willa had been completely under Frieda’s thumb. She had no natural defenses against people like Frieda and Harriet.

  “How long will she be staying?” I asked.

  “Oh, I don’t know.”

  “Just until summer? I know it’s May already, but they’re still having cold weather up in New York. She’s from New York, right? That’s where the rest of the family lives, as I recall.”

  “Well, there really is no rest of the family anymore, as a matter of fact. Harriet and I are the last of our generation. Her brother Frazier died a couple of months ago, and none of us had any children.”

  Something hung in the air between us, and when Willa didn’t go on, I hazarded a guess. “She’s here to stay, isn’t she?”

  “She hasn’t said. And of course, I haven’t asked, so I’m not sure. We haven’t really discussed her plans . . . .”

  “Is she staying with you? In your house, I mean?”

  “Oh, no.” She’d been looking off into the distance, sort of disconnected, and now she looked directly at me. “She’s staying in Frieda’s house. After all, it’s just standing there empty, and it is a lovely house, so somebody might as well be using it . . . .”

  “You’re letting her use Frieda’s house? Why?”

  “Well, we didn’t discuss it exactly. She just told me to give her the key and the security code and, well – ”

  “And you gave them to her, just like that. She’s here to stay, isn’t she.” It wasn’t a question.

  “I think so.” She returned her gaze to the middle distance, trying to act like it didn’t bother her. In a moment, she raised her hand and waved. “We’re over here, Cousin Harriet!”

  The walking lime approached us, smirking. “Letting everybody know you’re related to me?” she asked. “Of course, by now they all know I’m a Strawbridge.”

  I began to notice more whiffs of Frieda about Harriet: the lofty sneer, the cock of the head, the throaty voice.

  Willa tried to rally. “It’s nice to have a cousin, after all these years. All throughout my life, I haven’t had much family around me, and it’s nice to think we’ve got one another, at least. I was just telling Taylor, here, that now that Frazier’s gone, we’re the last of the Strawbridges.”

  “Well, there’s really just me, if you want to be technical,” Harriet said, hiking her big leather shoulder bag. She turned to me. “I’m the last of the Strawbridges. You’ll notice Willa doesn’t carry the family name. Not because she’s on the distaff side; she’s illegitimate. Her father was Frieda’s brother, Winston, one of those lovable black sheep that all important families seem to produce. Her mother was just a maid, I believe. My parents refused to discuss it with me, but you know how it is. Sooner or later, the family secrets percolate through to the children, no matter how protected they are.”

  “I know the story,” I said stonily.

  But she wouldn’t stop. It was obviously something that ate at her. “Why the Trustees even recognize her as a Strawbridge I can’t imagine. Personally, I think Frieda just took her in for spite. Her side of the family never did agree that our side did the right thing, getting rid of Flora Garden when Mother realized she was with child.” She turned to her cousin, whose face was now the color of oatmeal, and said, “But, blood will tell, right Willa? You have something of the Strawbridge look about you, and you definitely have Winston’s eyes. Here we are, the two of us, the end of a great line, and I suppose we could say that even if you have no right to the name, you carry the blood. We’ll stick together from now on, won’t we? No one can say I’m not broadminded. Well, come on, I’m ready to leave.”

  In a dangerously quiet tone of voice, Willa stood firm and said, “Aunt Frieda was always good to my mother and me, and I’ll always be grateful. After all, I was her brother’s only child, even if I was born on the wrong side of the blanket.”

  “How poetic!” Harriet said. “Come on, it’s hot standing around here in the sun. I want to go.”

  She pivoted and headed for Willa’s car, now one of the few left in front of the house, without looking back to see if she was being followed.

  I walked on a bit with Willa, wanting to make sure she was steady. I couldn’t think of a thing to say, but when we got near the cars, she turned to me robotically and started to say something conventional about what a nice party it had been.

  “By the way,” Harriet brayed, coming at us again, “I haven’t forgotten that you’re giving me a tour of Cadbury House. I’m looking forward to seeing the old pile again. It’ll bring back memories. You come too,” she said, looking at Willa. “You may as well see how society families like ours lived while they were roughing it – with a housekeeper, three maids, a kitchen staff and a chauffeur!”

  I stared at the woman and said, “She was living on the beach with her aunt, not in a crater on the moon. She’s been here lots of times, and she knows all about the Cadburys. And your family too, for that matter. The good and the bad.”

  We locked eyes for a moment.

  Then, unaccountably, Harriet chuckled. “We Strawbridges are a colorful lot, aren’t we?”

  “Not particularly,” I said. “Just rich.”

  She lifted an eyebrow and looked superior.

  Willa stood between us, saying nothing. Then, just as Harriet had finally thought up a come-back, Willa interrupted by quietly murmuring, “Thank you for a lovely time, Taylor,” and took her car key out of her pocket. She stepped around Harriet and walked toward the car.

  Lingering behind for a moment, Harriet shook her head. “Pride,” she said. “Maybe she’s a real Strawbridge after all.”

  Chapter 3

  Later that evening, when the party was over and everything in the house and yard was back to normal, I unlocked my office, sat down at my desk and called Ed.

  He answered abruptly, as if we were already in the middle of a conversation. “I made my donation through your website, Taylor. I’m sorry I couldn’t attend the function today, but I’m rather bogged down at the moment, and I simply couldn’t get away –”

  “Ed, it’s okay,” I said. “Thanks for the donation. You know me. I don’t hunt people down and go through their pockets; that’s not what I’m calling you about.”

  A moment of h
eavy silence followed, then he said, “You met her.”

  “I did indeed. If I hadn’t grabbed her by the neck and heaved her out of the house she would’ve been rooting around in my office.”

  “Oh, my,” he said. “You are intrepid.”

  “Not literally by the neck. I sort of do-si-do’d her out the door and released her onto the lawn.”

  “Still. Of such stuff heroes are made. I am in awe.”

  “Count on me if you ever need a bouncer. Listen, what’s the story on her? Is she here to stay? And more to the point, what can we do about it? I’m not sure how much more Willa can take.”

  He inhaled a ragged breath. “Taylor, I am quite concerned about the situation here at Santorini. All of the neighbors are. Even Dan Ryder is flummoxed. His skill set is geared toward military combat. Restraining old ladies is so much more complex, tactically.”

  “And everyone agrees that Harriet needs to be restrained?”

  “We’re a small neighborhood, and we’ve all had run-ins with her. I am very worried, Taylor. Very worried. She made it into your house?”

  “Slipped right by me and two volunteers while we were working in the kitchen.”

  I should have known what was coming next, but I was so concerned with real-world problems that I forgot about Ed’s fixation.

  “And Bastet? What was her assessment of the woman?”

  Bastet is my cat. Don’t get me wrong: Ed is a good guy. He just has a lot of funny ideas. I’ve tried to talk him out of them, but at a certain point I realized he was much happier having them and would have been miserable without them, so I stopped. Let the man have his fun. It’s harmless enough. It’s just that it can also be annoying, even embarrassing.

  Anyway, the cat. Her name is Bastet, like the Egyptian goddess-protectress of the ancient city of Bubastis, and like the statues of the goddess, my cat is black, beautiful, stately and green-eyed. At the same time she wandered into my life, I coincidentally also acquired a pendant of the goddess, and through a wild concatenation of circumstances completely unrelated to the cat, I helped to solve a murder.

  Well, that was enough for Ed. The cat was a goddess, (he calls her my “familiar”), and I was psychic. Or something. You can read his book about it, (of course he wrote one), if you want the details. It’s called Visions of Ancient Egypt, and I’m told it’s a bestseller at paranormal conferences. You certainly won’t find it anywhere else.

  “Bastet had no opinion on Harriet Harvey Strawbridge. She avoided her.”

  “I see,” he said pensively. “Yes, I see. Her avoidance speaks volumes, does it not?”

  “Not to me. Ed, have you ever heard the saying, ‘If all you have is a hammer, everything looks like a nail?’”

  “A hammer. No, I haven’t. What hammer? Is this a reference to the Norse god, Thor?”

  I persevered. “What I mean is, to a paranormal investigator, every cat that looks the least bit wise and secretive must be a higher being in disguise. What you don’t understand, because you don’t know any cats, is that all of them look like that sometimes, even the ones that are goofballs. And every graveyard is a portal to the Other World, and every empty house has to be haunted, especially if the former owner was the least bit off – get my drift?”

  “But don’t you see, Taylor? You’ve just explained the whole situation.”

  I closed my eyes and put my hand over them.

  “You have, you know,” he persisted. “It took me months to figure it out for myself, but when it finally hit me, I couldn’t believe I had been so obtuse. In this case, my hammer does have a nail – Frieda’s house! – and Harriet – wait for it – is living in it! You didn’t know that, did you? Now, your cat, being preternaturally aware . . . what was that? Did you say something?”

  “No.”

  He barreled on like a freight train. “I have noticed in the past a reluctance on the part of – let’s call her a cat, since you object to any other characterization – your cat, Bastet, to meddle in your problems until they have become acute.”

  “I’m not having any problems.”

  “Ah, but one of your close friends is. You can’t deny Willa is having problems, and I believe they touch upon the paranormal. Bastet’s complete avoidance of Harriet Harvey Strawbridge does not surprise me in the least.”

  “We’d all like to avoid her.”

  “Really, Taylor. Please concentrate; this is complicated. You see, Willa, like many of us here in Santorini, believes that Frieda still walks the mansion. And so, Willa has left it for Frieda’s use, and as I understand it, never even enters it herself. Having Harriet inhabit the mansion creates a dangerous juxtaposition.”

  “Like pouring gasoline on a fire? A ghost explosion?”

  “Don’t laugh. It may come to that. You’ve seen very little of Harriet so far.”

  “Oh, I’ve seen enough to get the general idea.”

  “You may not have yet seen enough to grasp the enormity of it. Even Gretel is worried.”

  Gretel Grissom, Santorini’s cleaning lady, was a tough old bird. If Harriet gave her any backtalk, she was perfectly capable of telling her to scrub her own toilets and walking out.

  “What does Gretel think of Harriet?” I asked, mildly interested.

  “Ah, yes, you’ll enjoy this, Taylor. Apparently, when they first met, Harriet rose up grandly and looked down her nose, but before she could say a word Gretel told her to get out of the way, she was behind schedule and she needed to mop there.”

  “Good old Gretel,” I said.

  “Yes, quite courageous. I see a strong, one-way trend in this; indeed, even Gretel can see it. She has no imagination at all and is not afraid to go into that house, even the master bedroom, if you can believe it. And yet even Gretel is worried. It’s just one more factoid in what looks to be a dangerous mix.”

  “Which brings us back to Willa.”

  “No it doesn’t.”

  “Ed, I’m tired of the haunted house, or whatever it is you’re trying to work out. I’m worried about Willa. I can’t see many reasons for Harriet to plant herself in Santorini like this. She’s a New Yorker. Life on a quiet St. Augustine beach must be driving her nuts. She obviously doesn’t like Willa. She insults her right to her face. I’m convinced that this all comes down to money, which is the only thing Willa has that Harriet could possibly want. She said something about Willa being unworthy to inherit Strawbridge money, which shows what she’s got on her mind. She’s already squatting in a mansion she doesn’t own, and I don’t see Willa ever working up the nerve to throw her out of there, no matter how obnoxious she gets.”

  “Exactly. We’re working towards the same conclusion, just from different directions. You’d see that if you had the patience to hear me out. From my observations, the woman is already deeply entrenched. Initially, I had hopes that Frieda’s revenant would drive Harriet out, but even Frieda seems to be checkmated.”

  “Also dead, which is worse than checkmated. In chess, you never actually take the king.”

  “Now Taylor,” he said peevishly, “you know as well as I do what power Frieda is still able to exercise over the unwary, and also the psychically gifted, like yourself. Hence Bastet’s avoidance. You see what I’m getting at?”

  I really didn’t, but I knew it would save us a lot of time if I just said yes, so I did.

  Ed knows me pretty well, and he doggedly repeated the part that he knew irked me the most.

  “Psychically gifted,” he said, “like you. Entities like Frieda are particularly dangerous to sensitives. Do I need to dig out the recording of the night you entered a fugue state in front of her portrait, in her bedroom? I can replay it for you at any time.”

  “I was tired, Ed, and you had me so worked up I was ready to see the Flying Dutchman come ashore, right there on Crescent Beach. Harriet Strawbridge is not that kind of a problem. She’s flesh and blood. Let’s stick to the real world for once. I’m really worried about Willa. What are we going to do?”

&
nbsp; He sighed deeply. “I’m not sure there’s anything we can do.”

  I was irritated with him by then, so I lobbed something hot at him, just for spite. “You could marry her.”

  He gagged.

  “I mean Willa,” I added quickly. “After all, you like one another, and you’re both very lonely. Wouldn’t you like to set up shop in Frieda’s mansion, where you could take over an entire floor for your workspace if you wanted to? A wall-to-wall view of the Atlantic Ocean rolling on to infinity, crystal chandeliers, marble floors, and your own personal resident ghost? If you and Willa got married and decided you wanted to move into that house together, there would be no way Harriet could stand her ground. And you’d be a much better companion for Willa than Harriet.”

  “Really, Taylor, you seem to think one does these things on a whim. We are not giddy teenagers. And given Willa’s marital history, she may be reluctant to take another plunge.”

  “True.” Willa had been married once. It was one of those epic events that make people say never again. But this was Ed. Despite the fact that I had recently sworn off matchmaking, (a real debacle; don’t even ask), I just knew that he and Willa would be happy together, in their own fumbling way.

  “Besides, I’m surprised you haven’t spotted the flaw in that stratagem,” he said.

  “What’s that? Frieda’s ghost?”

  “That’s not a flaw, it’s a complication. Rather a horrifying one, but still, I’d face it for Willa’s sake. But do you really believe that I would be able to drive Harriet Harvey Strawbridge out? Even Willa and I, standing together . . . ejecting this female is going to take sustained energy and grim determination, and I fear that we would wear down long before that hound of hell would.” He paused long enough that I was about to say something when he added, “However, it is an interesting concept and I will take it under advisement.”

  I sat back and blinked. He was actually going to think about it. And then, on second thought, I wasn’t surprised. He would never have proposed to her in a moment of unbridled passion, (and somewhere beneath the white crewcut, the spectacles and the lecture-hall manner, Ed did have a few suppressed passions), but he would do it in order to support her against Cousin Harriet. He wouldn’t even be after her money. He had money of his own, from a successful ghost-hunting reality show he’d gotten himself mixed up in. No, he’d be doing it for Willa, the big lug. Actually, the little lug. He’s kinda short. And slender. He forgets to eat.