Gilt

by JL Wilson

  I smiled blandly. "Dan mentioned that he wanted to experience small town life, so I figured Tangle Butte would be just the ticket." I brushed a kiss onto Mom's cheek and reached into the car for my roller bag. "How's Aunt Portia doing?"

  Mom's preoccupation with bringing me up to speed on my aunt diverted her attention from Dan as he extracted his bulky nylon overnighter. I muscled my bag up the three porch steps and rolled into the house, breathing a sigh of relief as central air conditioning mitigated the humid morning we left behind us.

  Mom bustled ahead of us. "She's out of intensive care and into a regular room, which is a relief. Although I have to admit, Intensive Care wasn't as bad as I thought it would be." Penny paused in the foyer and regarded Dan. "Drop your bag there and I'll give you a little tour. I've got coffee and a snack ready, and I thought we could have sandwiches later." She cleared her through slightly and gave me an inquiring look. "Do you want to rest before visiting Portia?"

  I frowned. Rest? I saw her covert glance at Dan, leaning on his cane. I decided to nip any questions in the bud. "Dan's leg was amputated years ago. He uses the cane for balance. I'm hungry. How about you?" I leaned my bag near the stairs and Dan dropped his next to mine.

  "A snack sounds good." He nodded to my mother. "Lead on."

  Mom toured the main floor, updating us in her inimitable train-of-thought way as she went. "Here's the dining room," she said, leading the way to the room immediately on our left. "The doctor said Portia can probably go home tomorrow. Did I tell you Amy called? She expects to get in to Winona at around four this afternoon so she'll be here by six tonight, maybe later. She's renting a car. I suggested she stay with us tonight and she said she'd think about it. There's a dance tonight you kids might want to attend. It's at the courthouse. You remember how they always have a dance twice a week in the summertime in the square? Through here is the kitchen." Mom waved a vague hand toward the back of the house. "Help yourself to anything in the fridge." She went into the hallway, heading back the way we came.

  I absorbed this blitz of information as Dan leaned into the kitchen and gave it a fast once-over. Most of the house had oak floors scuffed by years of use, with throw rugs or carpet runners in spots, and white crown molding that highlighted the nine-foot ceilings. The kitchen, though, had black and white linoleum tiles that contrasted with the white woodwork and cabinets, all shining faintly in the light coming in the side windows. "I may take you up on that offer of a fridge raid," he said.

  "I hope you do. Portia is mainly wobbly now. But the doctor said it was a near thing. Those were his words. A near thing. Here's the living room, and my bedroom and bathroom are back there, across from the kitchen." She once again gestured toward the rear of the house.

  "Has Mrs. Winslow been able to tell the doctor what happened?" Dan asked, following Mom to the maple staircase. Penny looked back at him, surprised. "Genny told me about it. I'm glad we were able to come to visit earlier than planned." He smiled again, dimples appearing at the corner of his mouth and his dark eyes warming. "It's nice to be retired like this." He touched my arm quickly. "Or semi-retired, like Genny is."

  "You look too young to be retired," Penny said, hand on the banister. "Of course, when I was younger, people didn't retire until they about dropped over. Now folks can quit working whenever they feel like and do whatever they feel like doing." She shot me a disapproving glance, reminding me that she thought I acted foolishly to quit a hundred-thousand-a-year job.

  I sighed. "Aunt Portia?" I prompted. "What happened?"

  Penny sighed, too, deprived of her opportunity to question my sanity once again. "Portia told me she gave herself an insulin shot, like always. Almost immediately she felt awful, all dizzy and weak. Myra Jones called her because they always play cards on Tuesdays and Myra was checking to see who was driving. I thought you might want to stay at Portia's tonight, but I got a room ready for you in case you want to stay here." Penny went up the steps, moving slowly. Gone were the days when she scurried from one floor to the other, laundry basket balanced on her hip. "I thought Mr. Steele could use Sammy's room."

  "Please. Call me Dan." Dan paused with Penny on the landing that was halfway up the twelve-step staircase. "I appreciate the offer of a room."

  "Oh, not a bother at all. Of course, Myra shouldn't be driving because her eyesight is worse than Portia's, but I swear, people see that pink Chevrolet of Myra's and they get out of the way. That's one of the benefits of living in a small town where everybody knows everybody's business. People know when the old folks are driving and get off the street." Penny continued her trek upward, puffing slightly, unmindful of the amused glance that Dan and I exchanged. Old folks, indeed, I thought. "Make sure to watch your head," she said, gesturing upward. "The top floor used to be the attic and the ceilings all slope. Sammy's room is at the back of the house and it's nice and quiet."

  "All the rooms up here are nice and quiet, Mom," I commented, pausing by my old bedroom door at the top of the stairs, on the left. "The only disturbance around here in the summertime is the stock car races on Sunday night at the fairgrounds on the other side of town."

  I followed Mom and Dan down the short hall. The top floor of the house was divided into fourths like the main floor, with my room in the northeast corner, next to what used to be Jimmy's in the southeast. Sammy's room was in the southwest, and the northwest corner had been a playroom and was now storage space.

  "Here you go," Penny said, opening the white painted door to Sam's room.

  Dan preceded her into the room. I watched as he evaluated the space, the windows facing south and west not yet drawing in sunlight like they would later in the day. I made a mental note to check the setting on the central air conditioning. Penny tended to keep the house warm, and these upstairs rooms could turn into cookers in the summertime despite the shade from the trees that surrounded the house.

  I wondered what Dan thought as he glanced around the room. Like the rest of the house, this was a plain room, with white enameled woodwork and simple cotton curtains on the windows. This room was pale green. Mine was pale yellow, Jimmy's was blue, and the playroom was beige. Mom had drawn the line at pink, although her bedroom downstairs was a dusty shade of lavender, painted that way after Dad died and could no longer object.

  As though sensing my curiosity, Dan touched the old footlocker at the foot of Sam's single bed. "It's a pleasant house." He peered through the window at the maple tree in the back yard. "It would be a nice place to raise children."

  "Do you have children, Mr. Steele?" Penny asked politely. Then she smiled. "Dan."

  I turned away and went back down the hall. I recognized that tone of voice. Penny was going into Mom Mode, gathering intel about the Man in my Life. I heard them chatting as I opened the door to my room. The ceiling slanted to the two dormer windows on my left, the ones that overlooked Maple Street in front of the house.

  Nothing had really changed since I graduated from high school. Landscape pictures were on the walls, a bookcase held a few mementos, and the closet, tucked under one of the eaves, was still claustrophobic and tight. I started to go back downstairs, thinking I'd grab my bag and hang up a few blouses.

  John stood near the windows, the summer sunlight making a halo around his turnout gear. I took a step backward, bumping my head on the sloping ceiling. "Ow," I muttered angrily. "Can't you warn me before you drop in?"

  The dark streaks of dirt on his face curved upward with his lips. "Sorry. I don't mean to scare you. Sometimes I'm not even sure when I'll appear."

  "I wasn't sure if you knew I was here. At home, I mean." Penny and Dan's voices drifted toward us, their voices muffled. They were probably inspecting the bathroom at the end of the hall. "I tried to tell you I was coming here but I don't know how this ghost stuff works." I thought about my conversation with Paul. "Did you hear what Paul told me? Were you there when Michael came to the house?" I had a brilliant idea. "Can you eavesdrop on Paul and Michael?"

  "I don't think s
o. You're my entry, I guess you could call it. I can't drop in and see anybody unless you're around." John smiled, looking around the room. He and I used to sleep here when we came to visit. The double bed was barely large enough for the two of us and his feet always hung over the end. We used to laugh about it.

  "Rats." I went to the desk built into the wall overlooking the street. I spent many a high school night there, dreaming about my future. I never dreamed that the ghost of my dead husband would stand there and stare at me. "It would help a lot if you could spy."

  "Sorry." He reached toward me and I stilled, waiting for his touch. All I felt was a cool breeze with a faint smell of smoke. "You don't have to do this."

  I turned away. "Someone killed you and those others. Whoever did it should pay."

  "Tell Tinsley whatever Paul told you."

  "They need evidence. Paul can't testify." I thought of Paul's desperate face, his frightened, tense voice. "It's too dangerous. We need to find evidence."

  "And you think you'll find it here, in town?"

  "I don't know," I admitted. "But I feel like Portia is in the middle of everything. I'll talk to her and see what she says." I eyed him warily. He seemed so solid, so real. If I touched him, what would I feel? I swallowed hard, not sure I wanted to know. "Amy is coming to town. Will you see her? Will you, I mean, will she see you?"

  He shook his head, his black hair tousled and disarrayed from the helmet dangling in his hand. "You're my tie to life, not Amy. But it's hard for me to appear when you're thinking about him." He nodded toward the hallway.

  "Dan?" I tried to inject incredulity into my voice. "He's just a cop. His wife died and he needs to know what happened."

  John shook his head. "He wants to be more than just a cop to you and you know it. Don't let me hold you back."

  His gray eyes were so full of love and understanding. I picked up our framed wedding picture that sat on the desk. "There's nothing to hold," I murmured.

  "Are you ready for a snack?" my mother asked from the hallway.

  I whirled. She and Dan stood near the door, peering into my room. John was gone. I set the picture back on the desk. "Sure," I said, almost bolting past them.

  Dan peered into the room, frowning. "I thought I saw someone." He shrugged. "Nothing."

  I led the way down the stairs, not daring to glance back lest I see John standing there. Dan walked with my mother, both of them meandering along. I think Dan was keeping pace with her, and when we reached the lower set of stairs, he confirmed this by moving quicker to catch up to me. "Are you okay?" he asked in a low voice. "You look pale."

  "I'm fine." I waited at the bottom of the steps for Mom. "I'm surprised they didn't transfer Portia to Mankato," I said, more to divert my mind from John's appearance than to discuss my aunt's hospital options. "That has the nearest big hospital."

  "I think her doctor felt it would be better to have her in town, where her friends can visit. We're lucky to have such a good hospital here," Penny said over her shoulder as we went through the hall to the kitchen.

  Dan and I took seats at the square maple table in the middle of the room. Three black coffee mugs sat in the middle near a plate holding what appeared to be donut-holes-on-a-stick. "What are these?" I picked up one and examined it.

  "Donut hole pops," Penny said with a laugh. "I saw the recipe in a magazine. All my friends love them."

  Dan picked up a chocolate-covered donut and took a bite. "Wow. Spicy."

  "That's the Mexican chocolate one," Penny said over her shoulder. "It's got cayenne in the frosting."

  I bit into a swirly one that looked like a chocolate-and-peanut-butter miniature planet. "I want this recipe," I said around a bite.

  She came to the table, coffee pot in hand. "I already made a copy. I thought you'd like it." After pouring us each a cup of coffee, she sat across from me, with Dan between us at the end of the table. She nudged the small tray holding sugar and cream toward me. "I'm so glad you came. I know Portia's anxious to see you and Amy. I think she's feeling her mortality."

  Mortality? I almost choked on my swallow of coffee. I had not really considered what John's appearance meant about a life after death, but Mom's words made me wonder. Where was John when he wasn't with me? Could he get in touch with Dan's wife? I sipped my coffee, my brain reeling with the idea that Dan's late wife and my late husband might be gossiping about us in the afterlife, maybe with an angel or two hovering nearby and laughing.

  "...by now, so she'll be ready." My mother regarded me over the brim of her mug.

  "What?" I couldn't shake the mental image of John, tsking over my behavior.

  "I said Portia is already getting bored with the hospital, so she'll be ready for company. We should probably go to her house this afternoon and get a room ready for Amy. Portia is Amy's only living blood relative in town," Penny explained to Dan in an aside. "I was thinking you and Genny might want to stay at the farm. There's a lot more room there."

  "No," I said.

  "Yes," Dan said. I started to protest and he said, "Your sister-in-law might like the company. I'm sure it's lonely, with neighbors so far away." His eyes met mine and his intent stare told me...what? I wasn't sure why, but I could tell he wanted to be there.

  "Well, maybe until Portia comes home," I conceded. "We'll keep Amy company."

  He nodded slightly. "We can go there this afternoon and get the rooms ready. I'd like to earn my keep somehow."

  "Well, that would be nice." Penny beamed at him. "I wanted to do a spot of baking this afternoon, maybe make a cake for card club tomorrow. I've got the usual group--Becky Bennington, Claire Johnson, and Delores Packer."

  "Bennington?" Dan put on a suitably innocent expression as he looked from me to Mom. "Is she related to that man I met? Michael Bennington?"

  "Yep." I turned to Penny, knowing I couldn't meet Dan's gaze while he talked about Michael. My face would give away our suspicions immediately. "Mom, I talked to Michael last night. He said he was coming home for a visit."

  "Will wonders never cease?" Penny murmured dryly. "I thought Michael had shaken off the dust of Tangle Butte. Becky constantly complains that he never comes home for visits. I have to admit, I don't really care for Michael." Penny held up the coffee pot, which was sitting on a lumpy red and blue crocheted trivet that appeared suspiciously like one I made in junior high. "More coffee?"

  Dan held out his mug. "Thanks. Why do you think you feel that way?"

  Clever, I thought. He's asking her to analyze her suspicions. He'll get a ton more information that way. I filed away that little technique for use later.

  My mother filled his coffee mug before setting down the pot and picking up her own mug, staring thoughtfully into its steam. "Michael was always sly," she finally said. "He was clever. You know how some children are very straightforward and open." Her eyes went to me. "Sam is like that. It's a charming trait. And some children appear open but they're a tiny bit sly. Jimmy is like that. And some children appear open and they're very sly. Michael was like that. I always had the feeling that if you poked at Michael, you'd see the real him behind the gloss, do you know what I mean? You needed to scratch the surface to see what was underneath."

  "That's true of a lot of people, though, isn't it?" Dan asked, regarding me over his mug of coffee. "We all hide part of ourselves, don't we? To protect ourselves?"

  I didn't want to analyze that statement. "I always think of Michael as one of those gilt angels you see in a shop on Valentine's Day. Chip at the gilt and you'll see there's only cardboard underneath. Where did I fall on the Slyness Spectrum?" I asked around a bite of donut.

  Penny smiled sweetly at me. "You're in the try-and-fail category, Eugenia."

  Dan coughed. "Eugenia?"

  I ignored his amusement at my given name. "What do you mean? I can be as sly as the next guy."

  Penny raised her eyebrows to indicate her disbelief. "Not unless the next guy is a bunny rabbit. You don't have a duplicitous bone in your body." When
I started to protest, she continued, her voice overriding my words. "Unlike Michael Bennington. He's been married three times, and each time was a bigger disaster than the last." She sipped her coffee demurely. "Of course, that's according to his mother, but I do tend to believe her, even though Becky Bennington acts like she doesn't have the brains that God gave a goose." She tipped her head toward Dan. "Becky and I play cards together quite often and I can tell you, that dumb blonde routine of hers is an act. She's as sharp as a tack and twice as hard."

  "Cards? Bridge?" he asked.

  "And poker. Every Saturday at the Senior Activity Center. I suppose Michael gets his acting ability from her."

  I was quite familiar with my mother's cut-throat poker antics but they appeared to take Dan by surprise. He gaped at her but she ignored it. "And there's the business of that investment club," Penny said. "That was bad."

  "What happened?" I considered another donut but restrained myself when I remembered how good Dan looked in his exercise clothes in contrast to me. I needed to watch those calories and if I wasn't careful, I'd be watching those calories land on my butt.

  Penny tapped one heavily veined hand on the polished maple of the tabletop. Arthritis was starting to take its toll and I felt a pang at seeing how knobby two of her knuckles were. How long would it be before she had to quit knitting, a hobby she pursued with style and passion? I hoped it would be a long, long time. "Michael formed a club with Rob Shaffer from the bank, Portia, Ike Bernstein from the newspaper, David Howland who has a farm west of town, and a couple of other people."

  "Ike?" My hand was inching toward the donut pops. I resolutely picked up my coffee instead. "He's not rich."

  "None of them are really rich, not in a city-way, but they're well enough off to toss in a few thousand dollars into a pot." Penny sipped her coffee, her amused eyes telling me she had seen my aborted foray toward the food. "I got the story from both Ike and Portia."