Blood Will Tell

by Mary Bowers

  * * * * *

  Alone in my own home again, I realized what I should have understood before: no friend, associate or professional can make up your mind for you. You have to do it yourself.

  I felt completely unequal to the task, but it was my task. No one else could make the decision for me, or even help me.

  Damn that Taylor Verone, I thought ferociously. She’d thrown the idea out so blithely, and now she was probably happily dishing out dog chow without a care in the world, while I sat at my computer looking at the search results for, “Should I marry her or what?” and feeling like my head was going to explode.

  I was immobilized. Physically and mentally immobilized. Once the idea had been sprung on me, I was completely helpless to unspring it. When my cell phone rang and I looked at the contact photo of a radiant Taylor laughing at me, her corona of short blond hair tousled and windblown, I felt too weak to even pick up the small device and answer it.

  But I did.

  (From the typescript of Taylor Verone)

  Chapter 6

  Let’s see, the fundraiser where I met Harriet Harvey Strawbridge was on the second Sunday in May. Fortunately, a busy life puts things like her right out of my mind, and I didn’t give her another thought until she called me that Friday.

  I was sitting at my desk trying to get some work done when an Unknown Caller popped up on my cell phone, and when I answered, she was so abrupt it took me a moment to figure out who it was. I waited to be sure, hoping it was just a sales call so I could hang up and get back to work, but then she started talking about scheduling a Mystery Dinner. That’s one of the things we do to make a little extra money for the shelter.

  “Is this Harriet Strawbridge?” I said, slowing her down so I could get the Schedule of Events calendar up on my computer.

  “Of course it’s Harriet. Who did you think it was? Willa gave me your number. I called to tell you that I have decided to include my new neighbors in the tour of Cadbury House that you promised me. I have been trying to think of ways to draw the community closer together socially. Apparently, there is no capable hostess here in Santorini, and I want to get to know them all better. One needs the occasional cocktail party to keep feelings from festering among people who live close to one another. Otherwise, feuds break out. When I mentioned to Willa that we should throw a little soiree, she described the dinner-and-ghost-walk events you have there at Cadbury House. Something like that would suit my purposes admirably. Of course, we will require the entire table.”

  I was scanning the schedule. “We’re pretty booked up,” I told her. “The dinners are very popular. We only do them on Saturday nights, and every Saturday through July is booked. The first open date is in August. Are you sure you’ll still be here in August?”

  She ignored me. “What do you normally charge for the Mystery Dinners?”

  “You mean a group rate, for booking the whole table? How many people are we talking about?”

  “Eight, of course. Myself, Willa, and our neighbors. No, nine. I forgot. I have a houseguest just now. Sherman Frey. He’s an old friend, as well as being the Chairman of the Strawbridge Foundation, and he had business in the area, so naturally he came to me. He makes nine.”

  I did a quick calculation and added a hefty Nuisance Fee, which I knew was going to be warranted. “I couldn’t possibly do it for under $1,200, but you said this Sherman Frey is only visiting? Is he still going to be here in August?”

  “Of course not. You’ll have to do it on Sunday. I’ll pay you $2,000 flat. What time do you usually begin these things?”

  Thoughts collided, and I sat there open-mouthed for a moment, blinking.

  “Sunday it is, then. We’ll be there at six.”

  “Hold on!” I shouted so loud Michael heard me from outside the house. I heard his footsteps coming across the veranda, then he opened the French door to my office and stood in the doorway staring at me.

  “We can’t possibly have a Mystery Dinner this Sunday,” I told both Michael and her. He did a double-take and came into the office, closing the door behind him. “We’ll still be putting things away from the night before, and these things have to be planned ahead. The menu has to be settled, grocery shopping done, volunteers lined up . . . .”

  “The following Sunday, then.”

  “No Sunday would be good,” I said flatly. “We can’t do two of these things on back-to-back nights.”

  “I see. Then make it this coming Wednesday. You should be able to scrub down the kitchen by Wednesday. You are running a charity, are you not? Do you not need the $2,000?”

  She had cannily brought me right back to the point I needed to concentrate on.

  “Wait,” I said, and I covered the phone and quickly explained everything to Michael. He listened intently, gazing steadily with his ice-blue eyes. He’s pretty sharp, a retired lawyer, and he got it on the first go-round without asking questions.

  “Can we do it?” I asked him.

  “I . . . I think so. At least – I’ll check with Lorenzo.” He walked out of the office, getting his cell phone out of his pocket to call our events manager.

  “I’ll have to get back to you,” I told Harriet. “We’ll try for this Wednesday, but I can’t make any promises right now.”

  “Good. I’ll go ahead with the invitations. Wednesday at six o’clock at Cadbury House. Let’s have the tour of the house after cocktails and before dinner.”

  I began to reiterate that I needed to check things out and get back to her, but she’d hung up.

  I was almost disappointed when both Lorenzo and our chef, said they’d be happy to do a Mystery Dinner on a Wednesday night.

  * * * * *

  Ed and I had come up with the idea for the Mystery Dinners one idle afternoon as we sat among the tombstones of the Cadbury family cemetery. It’s just up the hill from the barn we use for a kennel, and on a clear day you can see both the river, the barrier island and the ocean beyond it to the east.

  When the Cadbury family rented the estate to me, it was the first time it had been used as anything but a family retreat, and all of Tropical Breeze had been dying to see it. My first fundraisers at the mansion were almost out of control, so many people wanted a tour of the house. But after the first three or four, attendance dropped off to the hardcore animal lovers, and we needed to come up with ideas to draw them in again. Hence, the Mystery Dinners, which brought in tourists as well as locals.

  We sat them down at the banquet table in the great room and served a leisurely three-course gourmet meal prepared by a few talented volunteers and presided over by Lorenzo, and as the courses were being cleared and the table reset, I would take the guests outside to areas of interest on the estate and tell them ghost stories, Cadbury family stories, or anything else that came into my head. Many times, guests took over and told their own ghost stories.

  The dinners had been a big success, and once we got the kinks worked out, they ran like clockwork. We had come to depend on the income stream from them, but even when they went smoothly, they were a lot of work. I wasn’t sure Lorenzo could pull together the volunteers he needed for a second dinner on a Wednesday night. A lot of the work, I realized, was going to fall on my own shoulders, along with Michael’s and our housekeeper Myrtle’s, and if our chef, Grady, was unavailable that was the end of it.

  Ed was going to have to pitch in too, I decided. I couldn’t be in the house clearing the table and outside telling ghost stories at the same time. I reached for my phone, got up the contact listing with the photo of the screaming ghost linked to it, and sat back to wait for Ed to pick up.

  * * * * *

  “What is it now, Taylor?” he said, as if I’d been fighting with him all day. I hadn’t talked to him since the previous Sunday.

  “Ed? Is something wrong?”

  He launched. He got going on a list of things I wasn’t sure had any connection to me at all. I had never known him to be so whiny.

  I gave him ninety seconds by my watch t
o blow off steam, then I stopped him. “All right, calm down and tell me what happened.”

  “Dan doesn’t know what to do and Trixie is even worse. She wants to murder the woman.”

  “Harriet? She wants to murder Harriet? Or who?”

  “Of course she wants to murder Harriet.”

  “Why?”

  “Don’t we all want to murder Harriet? And now they’re trying to talk me out of marrying Willa. It’s none of their business, I tell you. Nor yours, either. And if you’ve got any more bright ideas, you can just keep them to yourself.”

  He hung up.

  By that time I was standing, and I quickly grabbed my purse and car keys.

  Michael was hunched over a lot of paperwork on the banquet table in the great room, and as I buzzed by him, I said, “Honey, I have to go out. Can you see what you can do to organize the Wednesday night dinner and I promise I’ll help you when I get home?”

  “Sure. Where are you going?”

  “To Santorini. Ed has lost his mind.”

  “Again?” he said mildly, and went back to making notes.

  * * * * *

  I make it a practice never to talk on the cell phone while I’m driving, but I can’t help but look to see who’s calling. When I saw that it was Willa, I stopped the car and answered. I was still on the long dirt road leading from Cadbury House to Old King’s Road, so even though I was blocking the narrow passage, I wasn’t in anybody’s way.

  “Taylor, I am so sorry,” she said. “Harriet just told me she scheduled a Mystery Dinner on short notice, and you were going to accommodate her, even though it’s on an off day of the week. She said something about you being so lazy you didn’t want to do it, even though she was overpaying you for it. I can only imagine how she treated you.”

  “You don’t need to apologize for your cousin,” I told her. “She’s a grown woman.”

  “I had no idea when I described your Mystery Dinners to her that she’d decide she had to have one of her own.”

  “Well, she said she wanted to get the neighbors together anyway. I suppose this way you won’t get stuck doing all the work for that cocktail party she was talking about, and the shelter can make some money at the same time. It’s nice that she wants to get to know everyone better. That’s a good sign, isn’t it?” After a moment, I said, “Willa? Isn’t it?”

  “She never mentioned wanting to get to know the neighbors better.”

  “No? She told me she thinks neighbors should spend some time socializing or they’ll be at one another’s throats. Projecting, as the shrinks would say. Anyway, she said she wanted to get to know everybody better, and was thinking of throwing a little soiree. She would use words like ‘soiree,’ and not be joking.”

  “She never said anything about it to me. But you’re right,” she added, sounding a little relieved, “it is a good sign, her wanting to get to know the neighbors.”

  “So . . . she is planning to stay.”

  I heard a quiet exhale against the phone and pictured her standing there in her kitchen, holding the handset with the curly cord. “How easy it is to allow someone in,” she murmured.

  “Yes.” I didn’t finish the thought we were both having: that once they’re in, it’s hard to get them out again. “Well, don’t worry about it. I’m glad you’re going around bragging about the Mystery Dinners. We need people spreading the word.”

  She chuckled sadly. “Not that I really know anybody to spread the word to.”

  “Well, you spread it to Harriet, and now we’re going to make $2,000 we wouldn’t have had otherwise; she’s giving us a bonus for having it on an off-night.”

  “Really? Well, that’s wonderful. How nice of Harriet to be so generous. So you’re not mad at me?”

  “Of course I’m not mad at you. Why would you think that? I’m grateful.” It wasn’t an outright lie, just sort of a lie. And she sounded so much happier that I felt happier myself.

  We signed off and I put the car in gear and headed toward Santorini, wondering if I should have congratulated her on her engagement to Ed. He had made it sound like a done deal. Strange she hadn’t mentioned it, though.

  Chapter 7

  Ed was posed in the doorway, glaring at me when I switched off the engine. He’d seen me from his office window and gone to the door as soon as I’d pulled up. When I was two steps away from him, he silently turned back towards his office and left me to come in and close the door.

  I walked into his office and took a seat across the desk from him. Around the walls, I could feel the presence of his spirit photographs and paintings, as always. I don’t know why they creep me out so much, but I can never gaze around the office and look at them; they’re all looking back.

  Ed, unfortunately, wasn’t. He was way less engaged with me than the ghosts hanging on the wall, and inside the thin casing of his skin, he was pulsing all over, about to go nuclear.

  “So,” I began tentatively, “What’s up? You’re going to marry her?”

  He blew out some air and looked exasperated. “I suppose I have to. Everybody knows but her, by now. I told Dan and Trixie I was thinking about it. Dan will take it to his grave, but Trixie is probably getting her megaphone out right now.”

  “You didn’t swear her to secrecy?”

  “What would have been the point?”

  “So why did you tell her?”

  “She was groping me. I suppose it was an effort to hold her off by putting another woman between us, if only figuratively.”

  “Oh, Ed. Have you even discussed this with Willa yet?”

  “No.”

  “That could get tricky. You’d probably better let her know yourself before Trixie does. Do you love her?”

  His face went blank. It was as if I’d asked if he’d managed to figure out which planet she was from.

  “I find that I,” he began, then he fumbled it. He began again, “Upon reflection, and let me assure you, this week I’ve given it a lot of thought . . . .” He dried up again.

  “Ed, do you love her?”

  He gathered himself up. “I like her rather intensely.”

  Like pulling teeth. “So, would that be what the rest of us call love?”

  He pondered. “I read a typescript of a Regency romance novel once,” he said slowly. “Using that as a point of reference, no, I am not in love with Willa, or any other woman, nor have I ever been.”

  I smiled tenderly. “Regency romance novels may not be the perfect points of reference when defining love.”

  “Propose another.”

  “Another point of reference? Well, didn’t you ever have a pretty little playmate when you were a kid? One with curly hair and freckles? Or maybe a shy girl in high school? You’d look forward to passing her in the hall between lunch and English Lit, because you knew you’d be going in opposite directions just then, and maybe she’d look up and say hi? Even if she didn’t, you’d have a chance just to see her. You’d be looking forward to that one moment in the day, all day long, and when it was over, you’d start looking forward to it again on the next day. And then maybe, one day, she finally did look up and say hi. Did you ever have that feeling?”

  He was concentrating deeply. Finally, in a faraway voice, he said, “Marla Zaccagnetti. She had the thickest, shininest black hair, and she parted it way over to one side, so it kind of flowed across her forehead.”

  “And did she ever say hi?”

  He smiled faintly. “She always had two of her girlfriends with her. They were always talking. Several times our eyes met. But no, she never said hi.”

  “I bet she giggled. You know, when your eyes met.”

  “Perhaps. Traffic was thick in the halls, and young people are very loud.”

  “Love starts right around there, Ed. Between the eyes and the giggle. And then it goes on and on and gets bigger and bigger.”

  “It couldn’t possibly,” he said thickly. “It would kill you.”

  “Exactly. So . . . do you think you could ever fe
el that way about Willa?”

  He repeated her name thoughtfully, then reluctantly said, “No. I suppose sometimes instead of eyes and giggles, it could begin with the feeling that you want to protect her?”

  “Yes, I guess it could start there too. I think a lot of times, it does. So you want to be her hero. Do you also want to be her husband?”

  He repeated the word husband. Then he said it again. “Somehow, I’ve never felt like a husband. But I’d like to be her knight in shining armor.”

  “Do you want to get up every morning and have breakfast with her? Maybe make her coffee sometimes and bring it to her in bed?”

  I’d gone too far. I’d mentioned the bed. He started to look panicky.

  “I’ve never lived with another person,” he fretted. “Other than my mother and father, and they aren’t relevant here. I’m not sure I could adjust to living with another person. I mean . . . she’d be there.”

  “Yes. She would be there. Ed, I think you should slow down. I know you want to help her out, but just hold back a little while longer. You’re what we pop-psychologists call ‘conflicted.’ In the meantime, I need your help with something. Can we switch gears?”

  I quickly explained the Mystery Dinner that was being planned. “I’d need you to be my docent, take them around and tell them stories. You know, war stories from your career as a ghost hunter, or legends of Cadbury House. Can you do that?”

  He consulted his calendar. “Wednesday night the Pendragons are having a webinar on automatic writing. I suppose I could watch it after they upload it to their website, but I wouldn’t be able to post questions and comments at that point. Not live, anyway.”

  “Do you have any questions about automatic writing?”

  He looked at me and finally grinned. “I could teach them a thing or two. And why should I submit interesting data to their webinar? Of course I’ll help you on Wednesday night. Will I also be a guest?”

  “I’m sure Harriet intends to invite you. Don’t bother to bring a peanut butter sandwich,” I told him as I stood up. “We’ll feed you. Just make some notes on what you want to talk to them about, and if you include stories about the Cadbury family, say nice things. One of them is my landlord. I gotta get home. I left Michael to do all the work; I’m feeling guilty.”