Another Stab at Life

by Anita Higman

  I realized the time had risen to its fullest to execute my plan. The broken window stood only feet in front of me. You can do this, Bailey. So, I strode. I reached. And then I stuffed my pillow in the opening like a cork in an attic bottle. Mission accomplished.

  Like a detective who’d just cracked an unsolvable case, I gave a loose-necked nod and grinned. Yes, the bat’s sonar would get confused signals, and then they’d fly off dizzily in search for another attic to haunt. My musty, dusty loft was now officially unavailable.

  As I exited the scene, I noticed a narrow opening in what appeared to be the underside of the roof. Out of curiosity, I stepped up on a pile of boards and flashed my light into the hole. Someone had created a hiding place by making a fake wall. Clever. Just how many hiding places did this house have? A metal tank sat in the space along with some bluish papers. I stacked the loose boards into a mega pile and stepped up higher for a closer look. I tapped the container but couldn’t tell what it was, except it had a rounded top and looked quite old. The tank also had a curved pipe coming out of the top like the neck of a swan.

  In a mystery novel I’d once read entitled Kingdom of Fools, the antique dealer lured the antique-obsessed criminal into his shop with his unrivaled collection of stills. Yes, this pot certainly looked like the still described in that book. It made sense, but why hadn’t the bootleggers hidden the evidence better? And didn’t the bootleggers just sell the stuff rather than make it? My history lessons were failing me. Then I suddenly wondered if any of their descendants had known about the house. Were they after me, too?

  The word Volstead came to mind again, but I wasn’t sure why. Perhaps a quick visit to my library would reveal some answers. My goodness. I actually have a library. Without wasting a minute, I dashed down to the first floor. I shoved open the double doors and entered the domain of my library. I switched on every light I could find, but it did little to brighten the oppressive feel of the room’s dark oak shelves and paneling.

  My gaze drifted upward. With the extra light, I could now see the ceiling better, which was slightly domed and covered with a faded mural. I could make out a distant castle, dark horses, and men with swords who seemed to be caught up in a life-and-death struggle. What a surprise in this house. And restoring that painting would cost me a fortune. Oh well. Back to the matter at hand. I busied myself, searching for some reference-type books.

  After fifteen minutes of going through rows and heaps of hardbound books, I finally found an old set of encyclopedias. I dragged down the correct tome, opened it, and blew off a coating of dust. Without thinking, I breathed in at the wrong time. I coughed and choked, which seemed to stir up even more dust.

  Finally, after I’d calmed my hacking and my eyes had cleared, I opened the book to the letter V. With my fingers, I scanned down the page. Va-. Ve-. Vi-. Okay. Vo-. Finally. The word was actually listed there. Volstead. Oh, my goodness. I remember studying the Volstead Act in high school. The famous act had also been called the National Prohibition Act of 1919. But why would bootleggers give my house that name? Wouldn’t it only draw more attention to the house? Or had the title come later, after they’d gone?

  I eased the book shut and returned it to the shelf. I guess you were right in your letter, Granny. There are a great many mysteries in this house. But why did you choose me to solve them?

  Later, after I’d gotten all snug on my real bed with a real mattress, I began to feel quite peculiar. The room slowly began to gyrate. I saw things on the walls that I knew had not been there before. I felt giddy and feverish and then finally dizzy. What’s happening to me? Think, Bailey. After going to the bank, I’d eaten a late lunch with Dedra. Had I gotten food poisoning? No, it’s too late.

  Then even in my grogginess, I vaguely remembered the same symptoms happening to the heroine in a mystery entitled The Saffron Veil. The young woman had been given an old book from an antique store. When she handled the book, she later became delirious from a fungus that had been growing on it. The mold had worked like a hallucinogen, and the villain had then whisked the heroine away without a struggle. But I am my own villain here. I did this to myself. Didn’t I? What should I do? Call an ambulance, or should I try to sleep it off? God, help me. I couldn’t think straight. As I tried to get up, I fell back, groggy and ill.

  The next morning, I woke up feeling a little tired but well again. I saw no funny pictures on the walls or felt any vertigo. I decided to stay away from the library until the books could be disposed of and the room renovated. But it was hard to forget that during the delirium the lines between reality and illusion had momentarily been confused, making even the dead cat and the library and the still in the attic seem like a dream. Get a grip, Bailey. You’re losing it. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Time to lighten up. You just need some good, strong coffee.

  I turned over toward the night table and saw my beta fish gawking at me. I smiled back at him. Sort of. Dedra had insisted on buying me a blue fishy in a bowl of red and white marbles. She’d christened the beta Liberty. I guess she hoped I’d talk to him. Make a friend. Mostly, though, Liberty just circled his tiny fins and made fishy facial expressions. I could tell he and I wouldn’t be conversing much, but I thought he looked kind of flashy as far as fish go. He crowded into the rest of my tiny world.

  Accepting the beta was indeed a positive move, though. At least this gift would keep Dedra from buy- ing me something larger. Like a dog. A yapper at my heels wasn’t what I needed. I didn’t want to fool with an animal whose sole purpose in life was to tag along behind me and see what I was up to. If I’d wanted that, I could go over to Max’s house and talk to him! Oh, Bailey. For shame. That was a pretty low one, especially since he’s never bothered you again.

  I stared back at the fishy. Did he expect breakfast, or did beta fish always have that hungry look? I sprinkled some flakes in the bowl and watched him gulp at his treat. Then he went back to his regularly scheduled fish poses. Not the most inspiring pet in the world.

  I got up and stretched, making waking-up noises like people in normal homes. I noticed a new buoyancy in my step. I threw back the makeshift drapery and took in the day below me. Sunny, steamy, and Sunday.

  This coming week, I’d make a mental note to ask Dedra about local churches. I might not be Miss Congeniality at church, but being there filled a spiritual need. I stretched my neck a bit to see down the street. No sign of Max. More good news.

  At that very moment, I thought I heard a rap at the front door. Thinking it might be Dedra, I headed down the stairs, creating dust puffs with each thud. I checked the peephole and saw only an empty porch. I guess my imagination was getting the better of me again.

  But that’s when I heard something totally different. A fluttering sound. Okay. Somebody can turn down the spook-o-meter now. I thought of all those furious bats that couldn’t find a way back into my attic. What about the flue? Had it been left open? Could they get in?

  I heard the sound again. A frantic fluttering inside the house. Right behind me. My mind raced for answers. Droplets of sweat ran down my face. A scream would be so appropriate about now.

  Just turn around, Bailey. Get it over with! I did. The fluttering came from on top of the mantle. I crept over to the fireplace, really wishing I were somewhere else. Anywhere else.

  7 – Deep-Dish Humble Pie

  I shuddered at the bizarre sight. This can’t be happening to me again. Some fiend had pinned a large blue butterfly to a piece of cardboard while it was still alive! It flapped frantically, jerking from the pain of being impaled. I watched the poor thing strain against the metal pin, but its writhing only brought it closer to death. What can I do?

  With an act of will, I unpinned the butterfly from its frantic fluttering. It fell into my hand, its iridescent wings leaving behind a powdery shimmer on the cardboard. I put the winged creature to rest outside on a rose, but it no longer moved. I wanted to wash off the image from my memory, but the vivid impression seemed branded in my min
d.

  This can’t go on. Am I now paranoid or is this demented act trying to tell me I might be the next one to die?

  Whether I liked it or not, I needed to tell Dedra and maybe even Max about the incidents. No, not Max. I didn’t want him to think I was a child who needed fathering.

  I had to find clear thinking first. Hard without coffee, but I knew for certain the butterfly hadn’t been on the mantle the previous night. Otherwise it would’ve been dead. It must have been placed there while I slept. Was someone still hiding in the house?

  My sensitivities leaped into high gear. My mind scrambled for answers, but there were none. Dedra had a key. Max was a friend of hers, and he may have retained another copy of the key. But this was crazy thinking. Dedra and Max were both respectable people. Surely they wouldn’t commit such menacing acts. My mind searched for another answer. But none came.

  I have to get out of the house. Surging with fear, I ran next door and rang the doorbell repeatedly. Dedra didn’t answer. I then strode over to Max’s house and pounded on the door. Before I could hash through my impulsive reaction, Max’s front door swung open. He raised an eyebrow and leaned against the doorway. He also grew a slow kind of grin I didn’t quite approve of.

  I know now my “House of Usher” had made me lose a piece of my mind, because the culmination of all nightmares came to play on Max’s porch. I realized I stood barefoot and adorned in my tangerine PJs. They were modest, but I crossed my arms to cover up the words emblazed across the front that read Busy Sawing Logs.

  “I guess you changed your mind.” Max didn’t fully succeed at masking his chuckle. “Need help?”

  I wanted to calmly explain my predicament, but with his cheeky attitude, I changed my mind. I raised my nose high enough to rival a pig’s snout and decided to sling some blame around. “You know, ever since I said no to you the other evening, I guess you thought you could frighten me into submission.”

  In that instant, the front door swung open the rest of the way, revealing an undernourished blond who didn’t look too welcoming. I tried to brighten my face, but I think the smile came out as straight as a window blind. “Hi,” I said, wondering what sort of lion’s den I’d just been thrown into.

  Max cleared his throat. “Priscilla, this is my new neigh- bor, Bailey Walker. Bailey, this is Priscilla Nightingale. She just dropped by so we could go to church together.”

  Priscilla put her dainty hands on her emaciated hips and turned to face Max. “You know, this doesn’t look good. A neighbor comes over in her pajamas and tells you you’re trying to frighten her into submission. There’s something wrong with this scene.” She tapped her long fake nail against her freshly powdered cheek. “Well, this is Mrs. Short’s granddaughter. I’ve mentioned her to you,” Max said with remarkable composure. “I don’t get it, but you know what, Max? I don’t care enough to try that hard. . .you know. . .to get it.” Priscilla’s look heated up enough to singe hair.

  Her hot gaze turned toward me for a second, and

  I cringed.

  “And you know what else?” Priscilla said to Max in a pouty voice. “I don’t like your hamburgers on the grill. The smoke gets on my contacts. And I don’t like making homemade ice cream on patriotic days. It’s so ’50s. And like, like, you’re so obsessed with fixing up junk. I think you’d kill to get your hands on a beat-up old house you had your eye on. You should have known by now that I like new things. Pretty things—dressing up and going to galas and parties. I mean, I’ve never even seen you in a tux.” Priscilla’s mouth flew open as if she were waiting for us to gasp in horror. “In fact, the last thing I want to do is spend another minute here with you.”

  I cleared my throat. Did Priscilla actually say he’d kill to get a beat-up old house? I have a beat-up old house. It’s just hyperbole, Bailey. The woman is clearly losing it.

  “I’m sorry you feel that way.” Max calmly crossed his arms.

  “I do feel that way. I’m going. . .now. . .this very minute.” Priscilla pursed her lips like a child. “Aren’t you going to beg me to stay?”

  “No. I don’t think so,” Max said.

  “Okay then.” Priscilla grabbed her feather-festooned purse by the door and patted Max’s cheek. “It’s been. . . quaint.”

  Priscilla stepped over the threshold with her fuchsia stilettos. I could smell her fragrance as it puffed past me. Actually, the aroma engulfed me, stinging my sinuses like noxious vapors. If there were such a thing as a cologne alarm, Priscilla would have set it off. The perfume patrol would have had to come and extinguish her. I tried not to keep going with that thought. Too much fun.

  “Priscilla, don’t—,” Max said, “forget your keys.” But instead of tossing her the ring of keys, Max walked them over to her. “Are you sure?”

  Priscilla nodded her pointy little head. She said no more, which might have been considered a blessing.

  “Okay,” Max said. “I pray you find all the things that make you happy.” Max kissed her cheek and walked back to the door.

  Priscilla scuttled down the walk, her spiky heels clattering like castanets all the way. She flung her girly-girl purse into her pink convertible and never looked back.

  I watched Priscilla as she sped off. What have I done now? I knew looking at Max would be much harder than all of my travails put together. Yes, I’d been served a slice of deep-dish humble pie.

  I rubbed my neck, swallowed what felt like an elephant in my throat, and looked up at Max. His charming brown eyes weren’t as sad as I’d expected. Maybe he’d fallen into denial. Or maybe he thought about having me put away somewhere. I opened my mouth first. “I am sooo sorry. I had no idea your. . .Priscilla stood just behind the door. And I’m in my nightclothes. I never, ever do that. I’m so embarrassed, I may never leave my house again.”

  “Well, that’s always an option.” Max grinned at me. He raked his chunky hair back. I noticed he wore washed-out jeans that would have looked scruffy on anyone else. Max had instead created a new appreciation in me for denim pants. Striking. Was Max staring at me, or had I been caught staring at him?

  “Why don’t I get you a robe and some coffee, and you can tell me what’s going on?” Max said.

  I smelled some heavenly brew wafting out the door and wanted some badly. My need for caffeine answered for me. “Yes. Thanks. But I don’t want to keep you from church.”

  “I think I’d better see what’s wrong first. You had a real panic in your eyes when I first opened the door.”

  I couldn’t argue with him, so I let Max escort me into his house and into what was most certainly a man’s world. Men always decorate so differently than women. He had no bear rug on the floor in front of his fireplace, but his furniture had sharper lines and deeper colors. The rooms had no sign of knick-knack junk or a decorator’s pricey urns or perfectly tossed throws. Just good, solid, well-built basics. Perhaps a reflection of the owner. “By the way, I know I shouldn’t be asking you this, but. . .shouldn’t you be upset? I mean about Priscilla? I just witnessed the worst breakup scene in history.” Oh brother. My mouth is just as unfastened as Priscilla’s.

  “And how many breakups have you witnessed? Or should I say ‘caused’?” Max winked. “I’m teasing.”

  I added a wince to my smile. “Mostly I’ve just seen breakups in movies, and those aren’t real, of course. But shouldn’t you be a little angry?”

  “Well, I knew our dating was coming to a closure. I just didn’t expect it right now. But as you know, a funny thing happened. This new neighbor lady came over and took care of everything.” He grinned.

  “I’m sorry. But why did you continue to date her if you felt that way? Never mind. I’m out of line for asking that.” I have no right to question his dating life. Nor should I care. Should I?

  “I don’t know. Habit can be a powerful thing. Too powerful if it makes you do the wrong things.”

  “She wasn’t your type.” Those four words spewed out of my mouth like a broken water main. I shoul
d have capped it sooner. I had other business here. But as I sat on his kitchen stool watching him, my mind drifted away from my present troubles.

  “I promised you a robe,” Max said. “I’ll go get it.” I wondered if I’d changed my mind and decided to let Max help me now—to be my big brother and watch over me like Granny Minna wanted him to. What have I got to lose? Really? If Max became a super- pest, I could just tell him to get lost. Of course, that could be a problem as he would never be truly lost since he only lives two doors down. But if I would agree to some restrained help, life just might get easier.

  Max came back a moment later and handed me a big brown robe. I put it on and secured the tie. It felt like a bear hug. And I caught a pleasant whiff of some manly man fragrance when my nose brushed the soft collar. Stay focused, Bailey.

  Max poured two coffees and handed me a mug. I cradled the ceramic cup in my hands and let the steam rise to my face. I glanced around the kitchen. Granite countertops and a slate floor. What is it with guys and rock anyway? But I liked the look. Smart and masculine.

  I watched him over the rim of my mug, wondering if I should spill the beans now about my house tribulations. “The coffee is good. Thanks.”

  “So, who is my type?” Max asked.

  I couldn’t believe he asked me that. “Well, you know, someone who’s willing to kill to get a beat-up old house.” Maybe I should have kept that to myself. Oh dear.

  Max laughed. “Priscilla likes all things new, as I’m sure you gathered.” He motioned for me to continue. “Please go on. Now who exactly is my type?”