She walked in and untied the bow under her chin. With an unimpressed expression, she looked around the store and then finally at me. “Delilah Iverson, I presume?”
“Yes. May I help you?” I smiled at the sunlit figure.
“I was just getting to know your brother at the carpentry shop. We haven’t been properly introduced. My name is Claudette—Claudette Page.” She didn’t offer me a hand of friendship or even a smile. She held her bonnet to her as if she were afraid that the dust might soil her hat beyond repair. As she stepped out of the light, I could see her features more clearly now. She had pale skin, carefully curled black hair and full lips. I imagined at one time she had been an attractive woman but never one prone to smiling.
“Miss Page, nice to meet you. May I help you?”
“Are you or are you not Delilah Iverson?” So the swords were sharpening, were they? Miss Page did not know me if she thought I would be cowed by her unfriendly attitude. I knew who she was but not why she was here.
“That depends on who you ask, Miss Page.”
“You have the look of your mother,” she said as she stared around the room at the crates and boxes.
I didn’t know what to say. Who was I to argue with such an observation? I had never laid eyes on my mother. I felt my chin rise and I clung to my broom handle, fighting the urge to hit her with it repeatedly. “The nature of your visit confuses me, Miss Page.”
“Oh, I just wanted to have a look around.”
“I see,” I said.
“You know, I wrote to your brother while you were in Canada. I offered to buy this place so you wouldn’t have to come all this way. I mean, the economy here isn’t what it used to be. You might find it difficult to turn a profit, Miss Iverson. Mobile already has a sundries shop. Do we really need two?”
“A little competition is good for the economy, at least that’s what I’ve read. Do you have a different theory?”
“Yes, I have a theory. I think you’re an opportunist, Miss Iverson. Your coward brother ran from the war, and now the two of you are back to exploit the hardworking people of Mobile. But I won’t let you do that!”
“How dare you talk about my brother in such an offensive manner! My brother is no coward!”
“So you see how it is then.” Her voice was like sharpened steel. “I care for my brother as you care for yours. Why sully Hoyt’s name now that he’s gone, now that he’s dead. Let sleeping dogs lie, Miss Iverson, and I’ll do the same for you.”
“Are you threatening me, Miss Page?”
Another shadow appeared in the back door. It was Adam!
“Come now. Do I need to threaten such a sensible girl as yourself? Lay down your claim to my brother, and I will do the same for yours.”
Adam walked into the shop from the stockroom, shock written all over his face. “What? What claim are you referring to, Miss Page?”
“Isn’t it interesting that when the war came to our fair city, you were nowhere to be found?” Adam’s face turned beet red, and he walked to the half-open door and held it open. “If Miss Iverson leaves her ridiculous claim at the courthouse door, I will keep my opinions to myself. No one has to know that you were a coward, Adam.”
“How dare you!” My voice rose in anger. “Get out of my store! I will make no such promise! Who do you think you are that you can come here and threaten me—threaten us? Get out!” She stomped out, leaving us alone. I turned to Adam, but the damage was already done.
All his hopes were dashed now—his male Norwegian pride crushed like flowers under a bootheel. His worst fears were realized. The gossip had begun—Adam Iverson was a coward. Adam Iverson was yellow. I could hear his imagination at work already.
“Adam!” I called after him, but I didn’t see him until late that evening. And so it was for two weeks until I heard again from my attorney…
I forced myself to close the small, worn book. I didn’t have time to focus on another mystery like what happened to Delilah Iverson. Detra Ann was fighting for her life, and the gravity of the situation became very real to me. I needed to help my friend.
Finally, I knew how I could do it.
Chapter Sixteen
Cynthia Dowd walked out of the tiny hospital bathroom and gasped.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. How is she?”
With a worried expression, she glanced at her comatose daughter and whispered, “I think she’s doing better. See, she’s got color in her cheeks this evening. I think she knows we are here, don’t you?”
I politely agreed with her and followed her back to Detra Ann’s bedside. I sat in the noisy pleather seat and tried to be quiet. I needed Cynthia to leave—this would be dangerous, but I had to do it. Making contact with Detra Ann could only help. At least that’s what I believed. Since Cynthia was whispering, I whispered to her, “Have you seen Ashland and TD?”
“Yes, they went to grab a bite to eat. Ashland told me he wanted to bring you something too. You must have just missed him. They went to Jumpers for takeout. They’ll be back soon.”
“What about you, Cynthia? Don’t you need to eat something?”
“No, I can’t eat. Not while she’s like this.”
I sighed. “Yes, I can see that.” I sat quietly again, trying to work out how I could get her out of here. I needed to be alone with Detra Ann, and I needed enough time to fall asleep and make contact with her. I prayed that I wasn’t making a terrible mistake by attempting this.
She leaned back in the seat beside me and said with a smile, “Wasn’t it nice that the ladies came to see me this morning?”
“Yes, very nice indeed. Bette seems to truly care about you.” Bette! As discreetly as I could I reached for my phone and texted her while Cynthia sat staring at her daughter.
Bette, this is Nancy Drew. I need your help. Can you come to the hospital? I need to get Cynthia out of the room.
My “Nancy Drew” reference was an observation that Detective Simmons had made about Bette and me during the Mia incident. She’d called us Angela Lansbury and Nancy Drew. It had tickled Bette tremendously.
On the way. What do you have in mind?
Can’t share now but it’s crucial. Please help.
Roger that.
Bette added a smiley face and I tapped one back. For the next fifteen minutes, I chitchatted with Cynthia as she talked about Detra Ann’s last beauty pageant, how she’d shocked the committee by performing “Dixie” on her flute while leading her white poodle through an obstacle course. It was quite humorous to hear, and I was sure that Detra Ann would be mortified that her mother would tell such childhood secrets.
The door opened, but it wasn’t Bette. Ashland and TD were back with food. “There you are,” Ashland said. “What’s up with not answering your phone?” I checked it and noticed his two messages.
“Oops, sorry. I don’t know how I missed those,” I whispered.
“Why are we whispering?” Ashland asked me, but it was Cynthia who answered.
“Because she’s asleep. She’ll wake up when she’s ready. Now you boys go out in the hall and let her rest a while.”
“Hey, everybody!” Bette missed the speech about whispering, but Cynthia didn’t say a word to her. “How is our princess doing, Cynthia? Oh, look at her. I think I see color in those pretty cheeks. I’d say she’s on the mend. Have the doctors come in recently?”
“They won’t be in until morning.”
“You know what? You don’t look so hot, Cynthia. I mean, you look pale, darling.” I loved the way Bette said “darling.” It was the long drawn out version, “daw-lin.” It just kind of lingered there.
“I don’t care what I look like right now.”
“I’m not talking about your gorgeous face, Cynth. You can’t neglect your health right now. Not when Detra Ann is going to need you so much. When was the last time you had some fresh air?”
“I don’t know. This morning, maybe?”
“I tell you what, let’s go for
a walk. Maybe visit the gift shop and find her some flowers. She’ll like seeing those when she wakes up.”
“No, Bette! I can’t leave her. What happens if she wakes up and I’m not here?”
“You won’t be gone long, and Carrie Jo is here. You can trust her to stay, right?”
“Oh, yes, ma’am. I’ll stay. Ashland brought me some food, and I have a pillow and blanket. Take all the time you want.”
“I won’t be gone long, though,” Cynthia said, stretching her back before she walked over to the mirror. She stared at herself disapprovingly. I felt bad for manipulating her, but I needed her to leave. Ashland watched the whole thing quietly and didn’t interfere, but he knew something was up. I’d have to explain what I was doing. That would be tricky.
Bette kept her game face on as they left and didn’t give a clue that I had called her. Now that was a true friend. I would have to thank her somehow later.
“What’s up, beautiful? You’re up to something. You might as well tell me now.”
“Yes, I am up to something.” I arranged the pillow and blanket in the chair next to Detra Ann. I reached over and held her hand lovingly. Through tear-filled eyes, I stared at her perfect pink manicured nails. She’d tried to help me, to save me from something in my house—probably Isla—and now she was trapped, trapped in another world. I had to go help her. Suddenly awareness crept across Ashland’s face.
“No, Carrie Jo. This isn’t a good idea! What happens if you make contact with her and then you’re in a coma too?”
TD broke in, “Wait! Ashland’s right. Detra Ann wouldn’t want that.”
“I have my friend’s hand, that’s all. I’m tired and am going to take a nap now. If I see her, I will talk to her, maybe get her to come back to us.”
“You can do that?” TD sounded unsure but willing to give it a shot if it brought Detra Ann back to him.
“I’ve never done it before, TD, but I would like to try. With all my heart I will try. She loves you so much. I can’t imagine that she’d want to be too far away from you.”
“Ashland, I don’t want to put her in danger, but if she can find her…”
“I know. Okay, Carrie Jo. I guess it’s okay, not that you needed my permission. I know you. You would have done it anyway.”
“I sure would have. Now turn out the light, please, and try to keep the nurses occupied for the next thirty minutes.”
“Sure, but I am going to be right outside. If I hear something, I am coming in.”
“Fair enough.”
Ashland turned off the light and held onto the doorknob for a minute. I smiled at him to reassure him and then closed my eyes. Sleep didn’t come immediately; there were too many distractions. To make matters worse, I could hear Henri’s deep, booming voice in the hallway. He’d come! But I had to focus on Detra Ann.
Detra Ann, where are you? Why won’t you come back to us?
I rubbed her hand gently, just like my mother would do for me when I was sick as a child, before she became sick herself. It had always comforted me; hopefully it would help me make a connection with Detra Ann.
All of a sudden, I stepped out of reality and into the dream world, and what I saw terrified me. I wasn’t holding the hand of beautiful, tanned Detra Ann—I was holding the hand of Christine Beaumont!
I looked down at Christine, only I wasn’t a character in a dream or some ghost from the past—I was me! Wrapped around her arms and legs were black snake-like cords that held her in place. “Help me! They won’t let me go!” I stared, but only for a moment. A disturbing sound from the hallway, like a demonic train, shook the building and threatened to bust through the wall. I began to furiously untie the cords and free her from the hospital bed. At first, I didn’t think I could release her, but suddenly the cords fell off. She sat up in the bed and put her arms around me.
“You can see me! You have to help me! He won’t let me go! Where is Hoyt? Hurry!”
With frightened fingers I untied the last tie. “I will help you, Christine—but where is my friend, Detra Ann? I have to know!” The crashing train noise ceased, and suddenly the room became foggy so quickly that I could barely see Christine. But I didn’t release her hand, and she clung to mine. She slid off the bed, her full skirts rustling as she did. The gray fog cleared and she stared at me, then recognition crossed her face. She squeezed my hand even tighter—I thought she would hug me again.
“I don’t understand how you are here, my own dearest. How I have missed you! Please help me! Oh no! They’re here, Calpurnia—run!” she sobbed. Her brow beaded with sweat, and her dark blond hair became wet with it.
I pulled on her hand. “I’m not Calpurnia. I’m Carrie Jo. What about Detra Ann? Where is she?”
“We have to go now, Isla is coming—my tormentor, the one who tied me here!” The door blew open, and the sound of a thousand angry invisible bees filled the room. It was the same sound I’d heard in the Moonlight Garden the night Ashland, TD and I defeated Isla—or thought we had.
“Christine! Where are you going? I’ve only just begun to play with you. So happy that Calpurnia could join us,” Isla purred, her perfect blond ringlets bouncing against her cherubic cheeks.
“I’m not Calpurnia!” I shouted, but who was going to hear me over the furious noise? Christine tugged on my hand, and we ran pell-mell down the hallway to the back wall. I screamed, preparing for the pain of running into the wall, but nothing happened. Instead I opened my eyes to find myself and Christine standing in the ballroom of Seven Sisters.
A lone candelabrum provided light in the dreary blackness that surrounded us. Catching my breath—I thankfully still had breath—I noticed a figure walking toward us. It was Jeremiah Cottonwood. He wore all black except for shiny silver coat buttons that glittered in the dimness. He looked as if he were going to a funeral, and then it occurred to me that this was how he must have been dressed for his own funeral. Hoyt Page had killed him over a hundred and fifty years ago.
“Christine, daughter…how nice of you to come to my party. More guests will be arriving soon. Come closer and embrace me.” He stretched out his arms to us with a devilish smile, and I noticed that the tiny silver buttons weren’t buttons at all but spiders that fell off his velvet suit and scrambled across the hardwood floor. I shuddered at the sight.
“Stay away from us, Jeremiah.”
His evil smile vanished, his mouth opened and an unearthly scream rose—it penetrated my very bones. “I’m alive! I’m still alive,” I kept telling myself. I hoped it was true. How could I be here?
Still, Christine squeezed my hand. “We have each other now, Calpurnia, and nothing will stop us from going to our peace. Nothing! Step aside, Jeremiah! Your curse has been broken.”
He did not move but stared at us, his neck bent down, his head tilted up. The evil smile had returned, and his dark eyes shimmered strangely. He observed us like an animal would, an animal stalking its prey.
Fearlessly, Christine continued. She walked around him with sure steps, never letting go of my hand. “Remember the words you whispered in my ear the night you killed me? You cursed me. You said no one would ever love me again, not now and not for eternity.” She stepped toward him bravely, ignoring his angry, purple face and the beastly, guttural sounds he made. “You are a liar! I am loved!”
“I loved you!”
She smiled at him. “Yes, I remember how you loved me, Jeremiah. I remember how you slid the rope around my neck. I remember how you tightened it and raised me from the ground until I swung higher and higher. Oh yes, I remember your love! You exacted your revenge and stole my life, and now you think you can keep me in death too? What justice is that? I will be free!”
“What do you know of love, Christine?” He hissed at her.
“You condemned me and then killed me, but what you didn’t know was that you set me free. Free from you who cannot love!”
“Don’t speak to me about love, harlot!”
“Call me what you will, but
I have love. My daughter loves me! The power of our love breaks your curse, Jeremiah!”
“But I’m not…” I started to explain myself, but then the invisible bees began to circle me again. It was Isla, here to serve Jeremiah, to see to it that he exacted his revenge on us for all eternity. Briefly I wondered what debt she was paying by serving him in death, for I knew in life she cared nothing for him. He had been amusing to her and, like most men, a means to whatever end she imagined or schemed.
“What kind of fool do you take me for, Christine? This is not Calpurnia, your bastard daughter.”
Suddenly, Jeremiah reached for Christine with a gnarled hand and snatched her viciously from my grip with such force that I fell backward. He slid his arm around her neck. The look of fear had returned to her face, and I could see her surprise. She’d failed. How could she have confused me for Calpurnia?
Whatever the reason, I had failed Christine. And I had failed Detra Ann.
“This can’t be,” she yelled. “Calpurnia?”
“You are mine, Christine! And now another has come to join our party! Bring in our guest, Isla.” Isla stepped out of the outer darkness and with a wave of her hands made candlelight appear around the room—it looked just as it had the night of her coming-out party. Wax candles burned bright, an orchestra played in the corner of the room and black-clad dancers took their places on the floor. My skin felt cold and clammy, as if death were nearby. It was, wasn’t it? She wore a purple dress with white ribbons at the sleeves, and her invisible hemline never touched the ground.
I couldn’t be here! I couldn’t be! How is this even possible?
“Hoyt!” I heard Christine scream with all her might. “Hoyt! Help me, my love!”
I swung my head to the door and wanted to run to him but couldn’t get up. I suddenly felt heavy, as if my limbs were covered with concrete. I couldn’t move or get up—only helplessly watch whatever was about to happen. Oh my God! That’s TD! Why can’t she see it’s Terrence Dale and not Hoyt Page?
The Stars that Fell Page 14
