That first blast of anger had calmed down enough so that I was beginning to question the wisdom of accepting an invitation to break bread with a man I neither liked nor trusted. “Yes,” I said. “You’re lucky to have faithful friends like Dakota and Shannon. I understand that Dakota thinks of you as something of a mentor. With his painting, of course.” I gave him a sidelong look. “Not that other thing you do.”
“Did,” he stated flatly. “The thing I did. No more. Learned my lesson. Jail is not fun.” He gave a puzzled glance in my direction. “I’m beginning to think that you don’t like me much, Lee.”
Maybe I’m being a little too obvious. Tone it down.
“I don’t mean to offend you, Mr. Madigan,” I said. “All I know about you is what I read in the papers.”
Solemn nod. “I understand. Can’t blame you for that.” We pulled up in the parking lot next to the diner. “Let’s have a nice breakfast and talk about the wedding, the weather, the state of the union. Okay? We can try to get along if only for the sake of the kids. And that damned crow.”
It was my turn to look surprised. “Poe? You don’t like him? He seems like a remarkably intelligent creature.”
“I’m sure he is.” Sean hurried around the car and opened my door. “But the guest room where I’m staying at the Dumas place is right next to the aviary. Damned bird talks all night. ‘Who loves ya, baby? Here comes the bride. Pretty pretty. Shiny shiny.’ Babbles on like that for hours. Seems like hours anyway.” I ignored his proffered hand and got out of the car unaided, walking a couple of steps ahead of him toward the curvy, chrome-trimmed door leading into the vintage diner–styed restaurant.
The place was uncommonly uncrowded. “Looks like we have our choice of seats,” he said. “You have a favorite spot?”
“We must be late for the early birds and early for the breakfast regulars,” I said, looking around, not seeing a single soul who looked familiar except Jenny, the waitress. “One of the small booths next to the windows will be fine.” I walked ahead of him and slid onto the red vinyl upholstered seat, being careful not to leave enough room for him to sit beside me.
Jenny hurried over, handing each of us a plastic-covered menu. “Hi, Ms. Barrett. We have a nice fresh batch of those cheese Danish you like.”
“I’ll have one of those, Jenny, and coffee, please. Have you been here before, Mr. Madigan?” I didn’t wait for an answer. “Everything is good.”
He seemed to be studying the menu, then ordered the two-egg, two-pancake, two-sausage special and coffee. “Yes. I came here after the commencement ceremony, after I missed seeing you. Had a cheeseburger. Those little pastries they served up in the Trumbull suite weren’t very filling.” Another smile, this one more genuine than his previous attempts. “You missed a funny scene when the pastry chef tried to pull the tablecloth off the banquet table without disturbing the dishes.”
“That would be The Fabulous Fabio,” I said. “Great baker. Terrible magician. Did he break anything?”
“No. Fortunately, Mr. Pennington intervened in time.”
Our coffees arrived and I took a sip and decided to say what was on my mind. After all, what did I have to lose? This guy meant nothing to me. After the wedding I’d never have to see him again. “My aunt tells me that you’re acquainted with her old friend Claudine Bagenstose.” I leaned forward, looking him straight in the eyes. He had brown eyes, the kind you can’t see behind. “Is that right?”
Again, the look of mild surprise, then a frown. “I’ve met the lady, yes. I’m surprised if she discussed our relationship with your aunt, though.”
I surely didn’t want Mrs. Bagenstose or my aunt to get on the wrong side of this man. I hurried to correct that impression. “Oh no. There was no discussion. My aunt happened to mention that she saw you together at lunch one day recently, that’s all.”
He leaned back in the booth, brown eyes narrowed, body language suggesting negative feelings. About me. Maybe I’d pushed too far. It occurred to me that maybe this wasn’t the kind of man one should push.
My anger had suddenly been reduced to a cold, hard lump in the pit of my stomach that felt a lot like fear. I forced a happy face. “So, tell me, Mr. Madigan, have you ever been a best man before?”
CHAPTER 25
The remainder of that breakfast date was uncomfortable—probably for both of us. Mostly, we concentrated on the food, avoiding eye contact and speaking only of, as he’d suggested, the weather—beautiful—and the wedding—a wonderfully happy occasion and, yes, this was his first experience as best man as well as my first as maid of honor. We agreed that the food in the diner was good. We didn’t discuss the state of the union, wisely avoiding politics altogether.
After what seemed like hours, but was in fact only an agonizing forty-five minutes, we returned to the Toyota and started for home. “Pretty street,” he said, as we passed the Civil War monument on the corner of Winter Street. “Nice trees. One of the things I missed most in jail was the green things.” The simple statement, delivered so sincerely, surprised me. He parked in front of the house; politely walked with me to the front door; said, “I’ll see you at the wedding rehearsal”; hurried down the steps; and drove away without a backward glance.
O’Ryan waited for me just inside the front door, as usual, and seemed extra pleased to see me. Had he been worried about me? Why not? I’d been worried about me too. By then, though, I was no longer worried, nor angry, nor frightened. Mostly, I was confused. Was Sean Madigan a sneaky snake-oil salesman? A hardened criminal? They say jail changes a person. Had he simply been behind bars so long he didn’t know how annoying he was? Or were my first instincts correct? Jail or no jail, wedding or no wedding, art thief or not, I don’t trust the man. I don’t like him. And that’s that.
As I passed through the foyer on my way to the stairs, I heard the whirr of a blender coming from Aunt Ibby’s kitchen. I cut through the living room and the dining room and, not wanting to startle her, called her name. “Aunt Ibby! It’s me. Got a minute?”
The whirring stopped. “Maralee? Come on out to the kitchen. I have something to show you.” As soon as I rounded the corner of the dining room and stepped into the kitchen my morning brightened. There, leaning a bit crookedly against the pantry door, was Aunt Ibby’s scarecrow.
“It’s wonderful,” I said. “Absolutely wonderful.” And it was. The floppy yellow hat, accented with a few plastic roses, topped its smiling pink pillowcase face. A bright red scarf blossomed from the breast pocket and yellow rubber gloves formed hands. She’d added red-and-green-striped socks to the wing-tipped shoes, and the traditional straw stuffing was just enough to give an authentic look to the whole project.
“Do you think he’ll scare the crows?” she asked.
I shook my head and laughed. “No. He’s much too friendly looking. But he’ll definitely give the garden a touch of New England nostalgia. He’s a beauty!”
“Looks like he scared O’Ryan.” She pointed toward the cat, who was in his belly-to-the-ground, ears-flattened crouch position. She picked him up and carried him closer to the scarecrow. “See, big sissy cat. It’s okay. He’s not real.” O’Ryan gave a genteel sniff in the direction of the red scarf, then jumped from her arms and stalked from the room. “I’m sure he’ll scare the crows too. I’m calling him Theodore.”
“You could be right,” I said. “Speaking of being scared, got time to hear about my breakfast date?”
“I didn’t know you had a breakfast date. Wait just a sec while I finish mixing my banana–peanut butter smoothie.” She tossed a few ice cubes into the blender and it whirred again for a moment. “There. It’s a new high-protein recipe. Would you like one?”
“Sure. Why not? I’ve already had breakfast twice. What harm can one more do?”
“Oh? Two breakfasts? And you said something about being scared?” She poured the frothy drink into two stemmed goblets, motioned for me to sit down at the kitchen table, and took the chair opposite mine. “Tell
me all about it.”
“I got a phone call this morning from Sean Madigan. He invited me to breakfast.”
She put her smoothie down so quickly a little of it splashed onto the table. “I’m surprised that you accepted. You took your own car, I hope.”
“I didn’t. He was so sure I’d accept that he was already parked in front of the house. Can you imagine the nerve?”
“Oh, Maralee. You must never get into a car with a stranger!” She repeated the same admonishment she’d given me when I was a teenager. I had to smile.
“I know. But he was so condescending, so sure of himself, such a phony baloney con man he made me mad! Really mad. I just wanted to storm downstairs and put him in his place. Know what I mean?”
“I think so. Did you do it? Put him in his place, I mean?”
I sipped my smoothie and thought for a few seconds. “I don’t know. I wasn’t very nice to him, I guess.”
“You said you were scared. Why?”
“You know, I’m not exactly sure. There’s something intimidating about him. It wasn’t so much what he said, but the way he said it.” I thought back to how Sean Madigan had responded when I mentioned Claudine Bagenstose. “I mentioned that you’d seen him with Mrs. Bagenstose and his reaction gave me a chill.”
“Did he seem angry? Annoyed? What?”
“He was cold. Polite and cold. I hope he doesn’t call me again.”
“I hope he doesn’t too. Look, O’Ryan’s back.” She patted her lap. The big cat approached, giving the scarecrow a wide berth before accepting her invitation to join us at the table. “He still doesn’t like Theodore, though.”
“I know how he feels,” I said. “O’Ryan doesn’t believe that polite smile. He knows that inside Theodore is a big fake.”
I thought about telling her that I’d had another vision. I looked at the kitchen clock. If I was going to do all the things I had planned and still show up on time at WICH-TV, I needed to get going. “I’m going to do a little investigating today,” I said. I gave her a quick rundown of my plans to visit the scenes of the tree strippings and asked permission to mention her name when I introduced myself to Claudine Bagenstose.
“Of course you can, and do give my love to Claudine. By the way, have you told Pete yet about your encounter with the Madigan person?”
“No. I came right here. I’ll tell him tonight. He’s bringing champagne to celebrate my new career.”
“He’s not going to be pleased.”
“Maybe I overreacted. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so angry. Anyway, right now I need to go and change into something more presentable,” I said, then added, “And for some reason I feel like taking another shower.”
CHAPTER 26
I decided to try for a businesslike look for my impromptu interviews. I selected an ivory two-piece silk shantung outfit I’d bought on sale at Nordstrom’s and hadn’t had a chance to wear yet. Low heels were in order if I was going to be stomping around in other people’s backyards, so I wore brown flats. After twisting my hair into a reasonably neat chignon, I added pearl earrings, tucked pen and notebook into my favorite Kate Spade handbag, and I was good to go.
I headed for North Salem, consulting Google for directions to Southwick Street, an L-shaped street just off Dearborn that made the Bagenstose and Tasker households almost neighbors.
I’d had a glimpse of Gloria’s house in her neighbor’s video and of her backyard in my vision. Neither one did justice to the real thing. “The best house in the neighborhood,” Aunt Ibby had said, and it appeared to be true. A neat white picket fence surrounded a perfectly manicured lawn. Bushes were trimmed into rounded shapes and bright tulips marched along a paved path leading to a beautiful little Cape Cod cottage, its silvery weathered shingles and blue shutters completing a real estate agent’s dream of curb appeal. The only jarring note was the quince tree, its bare, bone-like branches a stark contrast to the perfection of the picture.
I parked next to a U-Haul with Nevada plates, made sure my notebook was in my purse, and approached the front door. I pressed the doorbell, smiling when I heard chimes play “Fly Me to the Moon.” “Be right there,” came a voice from inside, followed by a brief interval of barking. The blue door opened just enough for me to see a woman with short salt-and-pepper hair and brown eyes, and enough for a very large Doberman to stick his head through. “Hello,” said the woman in a friendly way. “Can I help you?”
“Hello,” I said, handing one of my brand new WICH-TV business cards through the opening. “I’m Lee Barrett, WICH-TV. I wonder if you have time to speak with me for a few minutes about your cousin.”
Accepting the card, she pulled the door open wider and poked her head out, looking toward the driveway. “I don’t see no cameras,” she said. The dog, seeing an opportunity to get out, ran into the yard and rolled happily in the lush grass. “Come back here, Zeus,” she called, shoving my card into the pocket of what Aunt Ibby calls a “cobbler’s apron,” She clapped her hands. “You naughty boy.”
Zeus stopped rolling and walked very slowly, head down, toward his mistress, then sat obediently on the top step. She rewarded him with a treat from one of several apron pockets. “Good dog.” She patted his head, then turned toward me. “Now, what were you saying, honey? Something about Gloria?”
I repeated my name. “I’m an investigative reporter for WICH-TV.” It was the first time I’d introduced myself with the title in a face-to-face situation and it sounded strange, even to me.
“Oh yeah, sure. I don’t know how much help I can be. I hadn’t seen her for years. Want to come in? I’m Gloria’s cousin Jane. Trying to pack up her stuff to take back home. She left everything to me.” She pushed the door open. “It’s not that we were big buds or anything. It turns out I’m the closest living relative she had. Our mothers were sisters.” She pulled my card from her pocket and looked at it. “Lee Barrett. Okay, Lee. Come on in. We can talk while I finish packing up dishes.” She held the door open. “Come on, Zeus.” The dog followed me inside.
The house was just as attractive inside as it was on the exterior, even with packing boxes stacked on the floor and piled onto tables and chairs. I followed Jane through a living room decorated in muted blues and grays. Crisp white organdy curtains fluttered at an open window framing a view of pink and white hollyhocks outside. “It’s a lovely home,” I said, as we emerged into a Martha Stewart–worthy kitchen. “Are you planning to sell it?”
Jane opened a cabinet door and pulled a step stool into position so she could reach the top shelf. “Oh, she didn’t leave me the house. Just the things in it.” She lifted a teapot from the shelf and lowered it carefully to the counter. “You drink tea? You can have this if you want it.”
“Thanks anyway. It’s beautiful but I’m a coffee fiend. I’d probably never use it. Anyway, it’s too valuable to just give away.”
“I won’t use it either. Not my style.” She sighed. “I’m just getting tired of packing. She had some really pretty things. Top quality. You should see her jewelry. I’m pretty sure it’s all real.”
I’m supposed to be asking questions about Gloria. Never mind the teapots and trinkets.
“Your cousin had lovely taste,” I said.
Jane nodded solemnly. “She liked expensive things but thank goodness she didn’t leave me any bills. Her funeral was even prepaid, and one of those societies that cremates the body and puts the ashes in the ocean took care of all that.”
I wrote, “Gloria was cremated. Returned to the earth.” Jane wrapped porcelain plates in newspaper before placing them into a box. “I guess she made a good living waitressing; she always sent my kids nice presents at Christmas.”
I remembered what Aunt Ibby had said about Gloria only liking to wait on the businessmen. The big tippers. “My aunt remembered your cousin. She told me Gloria was an excellent waitress.” Well, she did say that. Right after she called Gloria a witch. I scribbled, “generous to young relatives.” “Did you know about Gloria�
�s . . . um, religion?”
“You mean the witchcraft thing?” I had no freakin’ idea. Our mothers must be rolling over. But my kids think it’s the coolest thing they ever heard.”
“How do you feel about it?”
She wrapped a teacup slowly, looking thoughtful. “You know? I don’t mind it. If it made her happy, it’s perfectly okay with me. I just hope that’s not what got her killed.” She put the cup into a box. “What do you think? Is somebody killing witches? That’s what you’re investigating, isn’t it?”
The question surprised me, though I suppose it shouldn’t have. I had, after all, told her I was an investigative reporter. “I’m doing a report on the crows,” I said. “My next question was going to be about the quince tree.”
“God. It looks so ugly like that. If it were up to me I’d chop the thing down, but like I told you, I don’t own the place.” She wrapped a stack of saucers, one by one. “It would have made Gloria sad, though. She was proud of that tree. Sent me a couple of jars of homemade quince jelly every year.” I made a note to mention Gloria’s quince jelly.
“Were you here when the crows did it? Stripped the tree?”
“I was right here in the house. I heard all the commotion. That awful screechy noise they make about drove poor Zeus crazy.” The dog acknowledged his name by moving close to Jane. She reached down and patted his head. “He barked and whined the whole time. He finally went and tried to hide under Gloria’s bed. I watched the whole thing from the window. Say, if you want to see a picture of it, that nosy old bat next door was making a movie of the whole thing.”
“No kidding! How do you know?”
“She’s not very good at hiding it. She just holds the camera right on top of the fence. I guess she does it a lot. The lady who lives on the other side of her told me the camera is aimed at her yard just about every time she goes outside to work in her garden.” She shrugged. “I was going to call the cops on the woman, but everybody around here says she’s harmless. It’s not like she puts the stuff up on YouTube or anything.”
It Takes a Coven Page 15
