Bliss House: A Novel

by Laura Benedict

  Seeing her house made Rainey like Bertie even more than she had before. The simple colors of the flowers and the lack of pretension showed a restraint Rainey couldn’t have imagined before.

  She parked in a gravel-covered rectangle off the main part of the driveway, and stood for a moment beneath one of the spreading oak trees. It was peaceful here, just like out at Bliss House. But it was a different quality of peace. Where Bliss House emanated lonesomeness and dignity, Bertie’s house spoke of contentment.

  On her way up the steps, she saw a small tabby cat sitting pressed against a sidelight window.

  “Hello, kitty,” she said. “How pretty you are.” She went over to scratch it behind one ear. Maybe Ariel would like a cat. They certainly had the room for it. Bertie had said to expect field mice in the late fall.

  The cat meowed and twisted its head to nip at her fingers.

  “Hey, that wasn’t very nice,” Rainey said.

  The cat jumped down the few inches to the floorboards and ran to the front door. It looked up at her expectantly.

  “Now you want to be my friend? That’s just like a cat.”

  Rainey pressed the doorbell, and a faint series of chimes, notes from a classical piece whose name she couldn’t remember, came back to her. The cat meowed, impatient. No one came. Rainey hesitated to ring the bell again. She didn’t want to seem rude. She listened for footsteps. Heard none.

  The cat rubbed the length of its body against her leg.

  “Okay,” she said. She rang the bell again, and waited. It was twenty minutes before eleven.

  She was about to tell the cat that they were both out of luck, when the door opened. A sleep-tousled Jefferson, clad only in boxer shorts, answered the door.

  But there was something much more alarming than sleepiness in his face.

  “What’s wrong?” Rainey said.

  “My mother. I found her,” he mumbled. “I have to call somebody.”

  Rainey pushed open the door, making him step away. He stared out into the front yard as though looking for someone.

  “Bertie?” Rainey called. She was weighed with the same dread that she’d experienced when she’d gone to tell Ariel about finding Karin’s body. It was worse than déjà vu. This felt too, too real.

  “Jefferson! Where is your mother?”

  He turned without speaking and headed down the hallway that ran through the center of the house. Rainey barely noticed the fine rugs they crossed and the antique family portraits and photographs crowding the walls. She had an impression of cheerful, expensive clutter.

  The hallway ended at the doorway to an enormous kitchen that was bright with sunshine. Inside, they passed a stone fireplace that was tall and deep enough for several people to stand in. She caught the scent of old cooking fires and animal fat. Outside the windows along the opposite wall, crowded, colorful spikes of foxglove filled the glass. Their brilliance reminded Rainey of one of Bertie’s colorful skirts. No, I have to focus! She realized she was trying to think about anything except the words “I found her.”

  Please, God, don’t let Bertie be dead.

  There on the floor, not far from the kitchen sink, lay Bertie. Rainey gasped, dropping to her knees, heedless of the blood around her. Bertie’s eyes were closed, which seemed to Rainey to be a good sign.

  What does that mean? A good sign? Perhaps she isn’t dead. God, she looks dead!

  “Go call 911,” she said to Jefferson. “I need to see if she’s breathing.”

  This time, Jefferson responded immediately, sprinting for the telephone on the other side of the room.

  Rainey leaned down to place her cheek close to Bertie’s bruised face to listen for her breath. Hearing nothing, she grabbed for one of her friend’s well-fleshed wrists. At first it was hard to distinguish between her own mad heartbeat and whatever pulse was coming from Bertie. But she willed herself to breathe. To concentrate. Then she felt something beneath her fingertips. Not anything very strong, but definitely something.

  Chapter 43

  Allison didn’t care what the other man looked like. She didn’t care that he never spoke to her, because she didn’t have anything to say to him. All that mattered to Allison was that the way he touched her, the way he laid with her, was never cruel. Because Michael didn’t change. He never changed. Now, soon after his worst visits—the ones that left her bleeding, or torn, or feeling completely hopeless—the other one always seemed to show up. Usually he brought something with him, like toothpaste or more candles (she was burning more and more of them since the electric light had gone away). Michael had never mentioned the absence of the light on the wall, but always made her light any unlighted candles when he came in. Sometimes the room was so full of smoke that she couldn’t breathe. And sometimes she wished that the smoke would suck out all the air in the room and she would die. But that was only sometimes.

  She still would stand on the chair to press her face against one of the grates to feel the air against her cheek, but she did it automatically, out of habit, the same way she would tie up the plastic bag in the toilet bucket after she used it, so that Michael could take it away. Or the way she would read all the ingredients on the RC soda cans or bread bags every time she thought of it. (Though, now, words didn’t always make sense. She knew that they were words, but sometimes she would fix on one and wonder exactly what the letters meant.) Or the same way she ate only one slice of bread a day if it got down to the end of the bag, in case Michael forgot to bring her food. It had only happened once, and she had been hungry for a while. But it hadn’t been so bad.

  Now, it didn’t matter how little she ate. There was something growing inside her, and she didn’t want food to take up more space. The thing needed to grow.

  It had told her so.

  It spoke most often when she finally lay down to sleep, which she seemed to be doing more and more frequently. (There were times when she would wake to Michael tying one of her arms to the bedpost. Why did he bother to do that? It made no sense to her. But she didn’t judge. Those were Hell In His Eyes days. She hadn’t forgotten that. She couldn’t remember when she first knew he had hell in his eyes. She only knew that she hadn’t forgotten it.) The thing inside her didn’t make the same sounds as whatever was in the hallway, or the rooms nearby (there had to be other rooms because she heard doors slamming). The thing inside her made gentler sounds. Friendly sounds, as though it were stroking her with its voice. She liked the idea that whatever was inside her was kind. It made her feel like she could be kind, too. It made her happy that she had the other man to be kind to. She didn’t have to be kind to Michael. She just had to cooperate with him.

  She hadn’t believed in the thing inside her at first. It was like a creature out of a movie—a really scary movie. But she wasn’t afraid of it. No! It was growing inside her, fast, like a baby might. It was alive, and had a soul. It was real.

  It sometimes woke her out of a deep sleep to tell her secrets. The first secret was that she needed to keep working on the blanket, no matter what happened. Michael and the other man couldn’t know that she’d finished it. It was important that she keep working, working, working. If she got to the end of the yarn, and they saw, they would take her away. They would take the thing inside her away. And if they took away the thing inside her, she would be alone forever.

  She regarded these things as revelations, and they were more sacred to her than anything that she had read in the Bible.

  Each time she finished the blanket, she’d quickly light a candle—she was deft enough now to crochet in the dark if she chose—and unravel the blanket to the last knot she’d worked. Then she would untie the knot and pull more stitches. And more. Until the entire thing lay in a curled pile of yarn on the floor.

  Chapter 44

  Lucas and Deputy Tim Hatcher sat parked in the space reserved for official vehicles in the lot near the hospital’s emergency room entrance.

  “I know this might be out of line, sir. But if we go in there right now
, won’t we look like major assholes?” Tim said. “They only brought the Judge Bliss’s wife here an hour ago. She might not even be alive.”

  “So we should go away and wait for her to die? Or maybe we’ll just wait until your county compadres are finished up,” Lucas said.

  “I’m just thinking about Judge Bliss,” Tim said. “He can be pretty touchy.”

  “So you’re worried about your job.”

  “It’s just that he’s kind of a big deal. One of those old family, old money guys. I’ve always wondered why he’s not a federal judge or something. Why is he stuck here in Nowhere, Virginia, and not in the legislature or in some cushy law office in Charlottesville or Richmond? Why just our little old county seat?”

  “Seems like you and I live pretty close to Nowhere, Virginia,” Lucas said.

  “Oh, I know. And I wouldn’t live anywhere else. But the Blisses were a big deal for a long time.”

  “Things change,” Lucas said.

  “Even back when my great-grandparents worked for them, they were weird,” Tim said. “Or that’s what my family said. But the Blisses knew lots of famous people and had big parties in that creepy house.”

  “What kind of vibe did you get from Judge Bliss’s wife when you interviewed her?” Lucas asked.

  “Mrs. Bliss? She seems really nice. Tried to get me to eat chocolate chip cookies and milk like I was a little kid or something.”

  Lucas drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “I hate coincidences. She was there for the whole party, beginning to end. There’s a chance she saw or heard something relevant that we missed. We need her to tell us more—including the name of the person who attacked her.” He leaned forward to get a better look through the windshield. “Hey, that’s the Adams woman coming out. What do you think she’s doing here?”

  “Really?” Tim said. “She got here fast.”

  “I wonder if she came in with the victim,” Lucas said. “She looks pretty shook up.”

  Rainey Adams, in her flower-covered sundress, espadrilles, and oversized sunglasses holding back her shining blond hair, was an anomaly in the collection of wilted and injured humanity entering or leaving the emergency room. They watched as she stood outside the automatic doors, digging into her large handbag, perhaps looking for her keys or her phone.

  Lucas reached for the door handle.

  “Do you think you should talk to her now, Detective?” Tim said. “She does look upset.”

  Lucas knew exactly what the kid meant, but ignored him anyway and got out of the car.

  When Rainey saw the detective coming toward her, she assumed he was there to talk to her about Bertie and was glad. She’d just left the waiting room where Jefferson was sitting, his eyes closed, waiting for news. Randolph had been picked up at the courthouse in a police car and had arrived at the hospital at the same time as the ambulance, ahead of Jefferson and her. The hospital staff had let Randolph stay nearby in the emergency room while they worked. They expected to have her in intensive care within the hour.

  Bertie had remained unconscious and had looked utterly helpless lying on the EMT’s gurney. Rainey found herself thrown immediately back to the first hours and days after the explosion that had nearly killed Ariel.

  Death had definitely followed them here.

  But she told herself that Bertie wasn’t dead. Her next thought was: At least it didn’t happen at the house.

  “Mrs. Adams?” Lucas said.

  “Have you found out who attacked Bertie?” Rainey said. She couldn’t see the detective’s eyes behind his sunglasses. He looked cool in his neatly pressed suit despite the wicked heat of the afternoon.

  “What about you? Are you all right?” he asked. He indicated the splotches of dried blood around the bottom of her dress.

  Rainey looked down. She’d forgotten about the blood. “I found her,” she said. “With Jefferson.”

  “Was he in the house when it happened?”

  “He was asleep, and found her when he woke up. Just before I got there,” Rainey said. “Shouldn’t you be asking him? He’s inside. The police who came with the EMTs already questioned him.”

  “The county is putting their own team on the investigation.”

  “So why are you here?” Rainey was genuinely puzzled.

  “I was hoping to ask her some questions.” Lucas finally took off his sunglasses.

  His eyes were perfectly clear, a pure green. She’d been too upset the two times he’d come out to the house to notice much beyond his café au lait skin color, his clothes, and the way he seemed to want to bully her daughter. But then she hadn’t been in the habit of noticing what men looked like and how they might affect her for a very, very long time. It might only have been a few seconds that had gone by, but she suddenly realized she was staring at him, and felt self-conscious. Taken off guard.

  God, what is wrong with me? She thought of Bertie lying in the emergency room.

  “You’re not going to be able to talk to her,” she said. “Randolph says it’s probably someone who wants to get back at him for something. He said things like that happen to judges and prosecutors all the time.”

  “I’m sure they’ll look closely at that. Did Mrs. Bliss say anything to you about what happened to Karin Powell? Had she been to see you?”

  “What do you mean? What does that matter?”

  “She might have . . .”

  Rainey finally understood. “You think what happened to Bertie had something to do with Karin’s death? That’s not possible. Karin committed suicide. Bertie didn’t even know her that well.”

  “There’s a very strong possibility that Karin Powell was murdered. The actual cause of death was the fall, but our investigation is leading us to believe that suicide is unlikely.”

  “I don’t believe it. Not in my house.” But as she said it, she knew it was possible.

  Lucas looked regretful, but also resolute. Rainey understood that if Karin had been murdered, whoever had done it was still free to kill someone else.

  “I have to call my daughter,” she said, turning her attention back to her purse to search for her phone.

  Lucas put his sunglasses back on. “We’re doing everything we can to get this wrapped up, Mrs. Adams. I promise I’ll keep you posted.”

  “Yes,” Rainey said. “Do that.”

  To her surprise the detective turned and went back to his car instead of going on into the hospital.

  Tim shut off his phone as Lucas got into the car, leading Lucas to think he’d probably been playing some game. He started the ignition.

  “We’re not going in?” Tim said.

  Lucas shook his head. “She’s still not conscious. We’ve got plenty of other things to do.”

  As they drove out of the parking lot, he glanced at Rainey, whose head was bowed as she talked on her phone. Sunshine washed serenely over her bare arms and blood-spattered dress as though nothing was wrong with the picture at all.

  Chapter 45

  His in-laws had listened. When Gerard returned from checking on the crew he had at an apartment complex project near the community college, both Molly’s and her parents’ cars were gone from the driveway. Relief welled inside him, pushing tears into his eyes. He cleared his throat, embarrassed, even though he was alone with Ellie in the truck. Ellie watched him, panting and obviously worried, her eyes searching his face.

  “It’s okay, girl,” he said, rubbing her gently behind the ear.

  Consoled, she licked his cheek, then shifted her attention to the front window where she could see a squirrel burying something in the garden mulch. She whined to get out.

  “Girl, you’ve got a one track mind,” he said, opening his door. She scrambled over his lap to get at the squirrel, but it was long gone.

  Inside the house, it was as though Karin’s family had never been there. The kitchen was still spotless, the floors swept. The only evidence was a slight rumpling of their beds, which they’d surely made as soon as they’d arisen. They were
those sorts of people. Clean. Rule-abiding. He almost wished they’d done something bizarre, like dump the contents of the refrigerator out onto the floor, or tear down some curtains. Something childish and mean. But Ingrid had spent all her meanness on him. She’d gone for his throat in a way that reminded him of Karin when she was feeling threatened. Ingrid thought she’d been keeping Karin’s secrets, when Karin had been playing her all along. That had to sting. He wondered what her revenge on him would be. Would they really go to the police?

  But the police had beaten her to it. They had been the first ones to expose him.

  Cuckold. Asshole. Fool.

  He’d let Karin set him up. He’d set himself up.

  Why didn’t I see it coming?

  Had Karin lied to him about wanting the three of them to be a family? The evidence said she had. He was starting to see that he’d never really known her at all.

  Never trust an addict in the throes of her addiction. Everything he’d read had told him that, but he’d thought she was handling it, thought a child would change things. He’d even mentally staked out an area not far from the kitchen patio that was flat enough for a swingset.

  He stood in their bedroom. Everything about it spoke of Karin: the careful mix of contemporary and expensive antique furniture, the expansive view of the hillside framed in the window, the plush, deep carpet under his feet. Karin was everywhere.

  He wanted to hate her memory, but he couldn’t. They’d had a marriage, even if it wasn’t the kind of marriage other people had.

  There were so many things he would never know. Information and explanations that had died with her. But there was someone living who knew the answer to at least one important question.

  He remembered the phone.

  He went out to the truck, Ellie following close behind.

  When Karin hadn’t come back from the party by one o’clock, it had started him wondering. Something about that house, and how she’d looked while she was there. Like she was a part of the place, like she was the grand dame, and Rainey Adams had just been another guest who faded into the background. Karin possessed whatever room she was in. People watched her. Women either hated her or wanted to be like her. Every time the two of them had been together in Bliss House, she had seemed completely at home there, as though she belonged.