by Chassie West
“It has quite a history, but I’ll leave it to my grandmother to spell it all out for you.”
Which was exactly what happened. The candles on the tree were lit and the aroma of freshly baked cookies perfumed Ritch Manor. Both grands were home, having skipped the parade, since Granddad was still coming to grips with using a quad cane. Tall, with skin the color of cocoa and my dad’s intensely dark eyes, he was a gorgeous old dude, hair graying solely at the temples despite the fact that he had to be nudging eighty.
He was, at the moment, champing at the bit to get back onto the golf course and knew that was some months away.
“I hate the damned thing,” Granddad grumbled, glaring at the cane. “I keep kicking it when I’m walking, and it’s a pure nuisance going up steps. I’m getting so I don’t need it, but a certain someone raises hell if I don’t use it.”
Elizabeth ignored him, having found another avid lover of antiques in Clarissa. I settled down in a back parlor with him while my grandmother took Clarissa on a Cook’s tour of the first floor.
“You’ve lost weight,” Granddad observed, ever the M.D., retired or not. “And you look tired. You feeling okay? Want me to check you over?”
Since Granddad was an OB/GYN, I passed. No way did I wish to peer at him from between spread-eagled knees. “I’m fine, just running myself ragged. Aside from your complaints about the cane, how’s your knee coming along? Are you sure you’ll be able to walk me down the aisle of Arundel Woods A.M.E. on the twenty-sixth?”
“So our cousin, the reverend, got hold of you, did he?” A knowing grin lit his handsome features, and I began to suspect that Nunna and Duck’s mother weren’t the only co-conspirators in on the scheme to see me married in a church. “I’ll be fine and raring to go,” he said. “Might even manage a dance with you afterward at the reception.”
I jerked upright. “What reception?”
By the time my grandmother and Clarissa joined us, I’d come to the realization that not only had I been outsmarted and outfoxed, the wedding was now completely out of my control. A part of me was touched that my new family cared enough about me to want to make it such a special event, but the major part of me was extremely annoyed and dismayed. I didn‘t know what to do about it.
Thoroughly distracted, I lost the thread of the conversation, belatedly picking up on the fact that the subject had become the house and Clarissa’s and my itinerary for the day.
“I’m looking forward to seeing it,” she was saying, “although we probably won’t stay long. Leigh has to meet her aunts and get measured for her wedding dress.”
My grandmother’s disappointment was obvious, which I couldn’t understand, given the attitude she’d exhibited about the furnishings.
“What a pity,” she said. “The first floor is full of treasures you need to see at leisure. The top floor, well . . .” She wrinkled her patrician nose. “And it should be more comfortable now. I had Amalie stop by and turn the heat up a bit more.” Inexplicably, her face cleared. “Leigh, dear, why don’t I take Clarissa to the house? You can go on and spend as much time as you need with Frances and Bonita.”
Head lowered, Granddad squinted at her over reading glasses in grave danger of dropping down onto his top lip. “Have you forgotten that you’re expecting guests, Lizzie? Any time now,” he said, for my benefit, “this place will be wall-to-wall elves and band members. After the parade, they come here for hot punch and cookies. Tradition, don’t you know.”
Elizabeth looked greatly put-upon and sighed. “He’s right, heaven forbid. Every year I swear it’ll be the last, and every year, I give in, bake enough cookies for an army, and pray no one breaks anything.”
“Mind you,” Granddad added, a twinkle in his eye, “it’s not fractured arms or legs she’s concerned about. I’ll go with you, Clarissa. Leigh can drop us off and pick us up when she’s done being fussed over by Frannie and Bonnie.”
“But the steps,” I said, Elizabeth’s protest a beat behind mine.
“You can stay long enough to watch me, if it makes you feel better. Besides, going up is a breeze. Coming down, now, that’s another matter.”
Ashamed at taking advantage of his generosity, but still relieved at having a few moments to myself to deal with my growing resentment about my wedding, I agreed. “But only up to the first floor, Granddad. I’ll take her up to the second when I get back. Deal?”
“Deal. Although I’ll miss getting another look at that upstairs bedroom. It’s a corker.” He grinned at his wife. She was not amused.
I said my good-byes to her, kissed the offered cheek, and helped my grandfather down the front steps, even though he appeared to manage them with little difficulty, tongue caught between his teeth. He made appropriate admiring noises about the Cadillac and made himself comfortable in the front seat.
At the house, I followed him up the stairs to the first floor, Clarissa trailing us. He unlocked the door using a key on a ring full of them. I should have known he had one, since he had keys for half the houses in the compound, all contributed by the owners so he could check on retirees and have access to rental properties.
I left them to it and made the drive to the home of my Aunt Frances at as leisurely a pace as I could and was not particularly surprised when no one answered the door. She’d been one of the taller elves in the parade and would probably be going to my grandparents’ with everyone else, including her sister, my Aunt Bonita.
Purely for form, I drove to Bonita’s. No answer. I’d lucked out. I could enjoy some time alone and return later. I got back in the car and returned to Ritch Road. It occurred to me that if I parked in front of my future neighbor next door, I might be able to sneak up to the top floor and spend a few more moments in solitude. If I were quiet enough, Granddad and Clarissa would never know I was there.
Easing the Cadillac onto the edge of the adjacent lot, with my left eye glued on the ditch between the tarmac and the grass, I parked. I’d be facing oncoming traffic, but that was a common practice here. I closed the car door quietly and hurried along the driveway on the left side of the house. I tiptoed up the stairs, hesitating at the first-floor landing, but there was no way I could be seen. The windows on this side of the great room were clerestory, tucked up under the floor of the loft.
I made it to the upper floor, relieved that the stairs didn’t creak. I let myself in and just stood there. It was the first time I’d been in the space alone, and I wanted to get a sense of its ambiance, its spirit. There was a serenity about it, perhaps because of the neutral color. The walls in daylight didn’t strike me as a cold white. There was a softness about them, the paintings and rugs contributing just enough vibrancy to be pleasing to the eye. I would be content here. This could indeed become my home.
I tossed my purse onto the nearest sectional and felt a twinge of annoyance from my bladder. After all, it had been a while. I dispensed with my coat and started for the bathroom. As I approached its door, I heard a series of muted thuds from directly below, even felt the vibrations in the soles of my feet. What in the world were they doing?
I saw no sense in braving the cold to go downstairs with a far more convenient means to get there at my disposal. In the utility closet I fumbled around until I located the latch and opened the door to the stairwell. Evidently we’d left the one below either open or ajar; there was a patch of gray at the bottom but it was still far too little illumination for me to see, and I had no intention of taking these steps ass over teakettle.
I was patting the wall to find the light switch when I heard my grandfather roar, “Open this door, do you hear me?”
Ah. Granddad was stuck in the bathroom. I groped for the light switch a little more frantically and finally found it when I heard a response to my grandfather’s demand.
“Just shut up, you old fool! I’m busy!”
I knew that voice, knew it well, and it damned sure wasn’t Clarissa’s.
21
HOW THE HELL HAD SHE GOTTEN IN? AND HOW long ha
d she been here?
My heart hiccupped and my pulse went into overdrive. I had tasted panic on a number of occasions, but in this instance it was more than a taste, it completely consumed me. Michelle, triple murderer, nuttier than a Baby Ruth, and with, as Evans had reminded me, nothing to lose, was down there with my grandfather and Clarissa. I could take some comfort that Granddad was still alive, but what about Clarissa? Michelle had already killed her twin. If she hurt Clarissa, if she harmed one hair on my grandfather’s head . . .
Between one second and the next, the panic was gone. What followed was what I can only describe as an other-body experience, an instantaneous metamorphosis into someone I didn’t recognize, a cold, calculating entity who knew what she would do. Calling for help was out; the cell phone was in the car. If Clarissa and her granddad were to survive this, she would have to kill Michelle. And she just might enjoy doing it.
I blinked, startled, and felt more like myself again. But that other person was still in there, and for the moment, she was welcome. I would need her. She’d sit on my emotions, help me stay focused.
I examined my options. The only other means to get into the downstairs unit was via the front door. Unlike this floor, there was no access to the outside from the master bedroom. The matter was decided. Leaning against the washer and dryer, I pried off my dress boots, ditched the page boy wig and the lashes, paring myself down to just the essentials. As quietly as I could, I hurried back to the kitchen. I needed a weapon, and the knife rack on the wall offered a wide variety of gleaming, sharp blades. Bypassing the largest of them, the cleaver and the butcher’s knife, I selected one I could hide easily in the sleeve of my sweater. I might inadvertently slit my own wrist in the process of removing the damned thing, but it was a chance I’d have to take.
Returning to the utility closet, I took a deep breath to steady myself and started down the steps, hands against the walls, as if that might reduce my weight on them. The pocket door at the bottom was indeed partly open. Amalie must have left it when she’d come to turn up the heat, because I distinctly remembered Duck closing it. Unless Michelle had found it. I had to hope that she was no more observant than I’d been when I’d seen the utility room the first time.
Praying that the hidden door would move soundlessly, I eased it open just wide enough to step through. It probably wouldn’t have been heard in any event. Granddad was attacking the bathroom door again. Which made me wonder how the hell he’d gotten trapped in there in the first place. Didn’t bathrooms lock from the inside?
“Goddammit!” Footsteps pounded toward me.
I froze in front of the washer and dryer. The folding door shutting the utility room off from the hall was open about halfway, the bathroom directly opposite. If that was Michelle’s destination, all she had to do was glance in my direction and she’d see me, or at least the left half of me. No fool, she’d know that there had to be a right half too. If necessary I could take her then and there, the problem with that being I had no way of knowing what kind of weapon she might have, what I’d be up against. Better to wait and find out. Of course, if she opened that bathroom door to so much as slap my grandfather, all bets were off.
Instead, she kicked it. “I’m warning you, old man! Anybody with as little time as you have left might want to make peace with his Maker. Keep that up and I’ll deal with you first instead of this devious old bitch out here!” She stomped away.
I exhaled, peeked around the folding door, and saw Granddad’s problem with his. A cord, probably from the blinds, was stretched tightly between the bathroom doorknob and the one on the door of the adjacent guest room, anchoring both of them closed. The temptation to slip across the hall and cut the thing was appealing, but I quashed it. While he might be trapped, for the moment he was safe, leaving just Clarissa and eventually Michelle to worry about—that is, if he kept quiet and didn’t aggravate her. I had to let him know I was here.
Along with laundry-related products, the shelves above the washer and dryer held plastic baskets containing odds and ends: a sewing kit, balls of string, thumbtacks, rubber bands; one held a yo-yo, three Matchbox cars, a few marbles, tiles from a Scrabble game, and, glory be to God, a box of Crayola crayons. Most in the box had been worn to nubs but, evidently, whatever child had left them hadn’t had much use for black.
I needed paper. The only things available to write on were sheets of fabric softener. I laid one on top of the dryer, hoping it wouldn’t tear under the pressure of the crayon. I kept the message short and sweet, going over the letters a second time so they could be easily read:
Granddad
I’m here. Keep quiet!
Leigh
I hoped getting it to him would be as simple.
Concerned now for Clarissa, I risked a peek toward the great room and saw her sitting on the chintz-covered couch, part of a conversation area clustered to the left of the window wall. Michelle had made the most of what was available. Clarissa’s hands were tied with a match of the cord holding Granddad prisoner in the john. Most of the bottom half of her face was hidden under a blue print scarf used as a gag. There was no trace of fear in her body language, but even from where I stood, I could see the loathing in her eyes.
They widened when she spotted me. I pressed a finger to my lips, silly given the circumstances, but she lowered her gaze and shifted position, as if trying to get more comfortable. Her wrists were secured right over the left, right palm down, left facing up. With a move that had to hurt, she twisted her right wrist to a position perpendicular to the left, raised her thumb, and extended her forefinger. After a second, she curled the forefinger back, twice.
I gaped at her, praying I might be misinterpreting the gesture. I pantomimed pulling a trigger and was rewarded with a nod.
Shit. Why couldn’t Michelle have waited until tomorrow? I’d have been ready for her with Duck’s Glock. As for the knife, I was no James Coburn with his lethal speed and aim à la The Magnificent Seven. By the time I got the thing out of my sleeve, I could be wearing four or five additional holes. For whatever reason, she hadn’t used the gun yet, but I couldn’t count on that lasting much longer. Come to think of it, what the hell was she doing?
Where is she? I mouthed to Clarissa.
She shifted position again to her left, fixing her gaze toward the side of the great room under the loft. Good enough. I stepped into the hall, slid the sheet of fabric softener under the door of the bathroom, then tapped lightly to be certain he saw it. In a second, it disappeared. I breathed a little easier.
It was time to focus on Michelle. I hadn’t seen a weapon; only her left half had been visible. No surprise, she was in costume again, one I recognized, and I kicked myself for having missed yet another opportunity to confront her days earlier, considering the number of times I’d seen the outfit. Today she was the Reverend Mrs. Hansberry, lady preacher sans bucket for collecting money for presents for needy children. Frizzy black hair pulled back in a bun, frumpy black dress with white collar, old lady shoes. She was into me for a buck seventy-five. I wanted it back, every penny of it.
Envisioning the layout, I figured that if I could make it to the kitchen, I could crouch behind the sideboard that served as an island between the kitchen and dining area under the loft, at least until I could figure out how best to bring her down without sacrificing Clarissa’s life and getting shot myself. The sideboard was at least six feet long, but only waist-high, if that. It was the only thing available to hide behind. Everything else was open, even the fireplace.
I gestured to Clarissa that I wanted to get to the kitchen. She seemed startled at first, then horrified, but finally gave a short bob of her head. Almost immediately she began to moan, and slumped to one side.
“Oh, no, you don’t, you old bitch!” Michelle moved into view, her back to me as she yanked Clarissa upright and slapped her, hard, with an open hand. I almost lost it.
Hey, an internal voice chided me, Clarissa’s taking the heat, distracting Michelle so you ca
n make your move. So move!
I eased around the folding door, walked as quietly as I could, and reached the end of the wall separating the hall from the kitchen. I’d taken a couple of steps toward them when Clarissa, who’d been knocked onto her right side by the blow, saw me and shook her head. She was right. Michelle would see me coming in her peripheral vision. Even more of a hazard was the revolver nestled in her left hand, her finger inside the trigger guard. I was willing to risk her taking a shot at me if she detected my approach, but I couldn’t risk startling her and causing her to shoot Clarissa by accident. Me she might miss. Not Clarissa.
I hauled ass into the kitchen, squatted behind the sideboard, relieved to see that I needn’t worry about my head showing above it. Michelle had piled her coat, suitcase, hatbox, purse, three-ring binders, and makeup kit on top of it, adding to its height. Kneeling would be hell on my patella, but I’d be able to squat rather than sit or lie on the floor.
I peeked around the left end.
“I’m not falling for that dying act again,” Michelle ranted, shaking Clarissa by her collar like a rag doll. “No coughing and wheezing this time. You fooled me once, had me thinking I’d killed you, and all the time you were just fine, probably laughing your head off.”
Pointing the ugly revolver at Clarissa’s nose, she loosened the cord around her wrists, pulled it free. “Swivel around,” she ordered. “Hands behind your back. I’ve got to pee. Any other time, I’d take you with me.” She wedged the gun under the belt of her dress. “But I’ve got my damned period, so I prefer privacy.” She tied Clarissa’s wrists together, yanking viciously on the cord before twisting her face front.
“Don’t bother trying to escape while I’m gone,” she said, backing away. “There’s no point. With your hands like that, you won’t be able to open the door, so stay put. We’ve got a lot of talking to do.”
