In the Blink of an Eye

by Wendy Corsi Staub

  This can’t wait any longer. He was waiting to surprise her, but looking into her sunken face, he fears that she might not be able to hold on much longer without something to keep her going.

  She looks at him, expectant, too exhausted to voice a question.

  “You’re going home, darling,” Rupert tells her.

  The expression that filters into her eyes isn’t the spark of joy he was anticipating. Rather, it is a somber, knowing look. He realizes, in horror, what she thinks he’s telling her.

  “No, Nan . . .” He shakes his head, his voice catching in his throat. “I mean . . . I mean, I’m taking you home. To Summer Street. To our home, darling. You’ll be much more comfortable there.”

  Still it doesn’t come . . . the spark of joy.

  She moves her head slightly on the pillow, a negative gesture.

  “What’s wrong, darling? Don’t you want to go home?”

  “Can’t . . .” She fights for breath. Tries again. “Can’t . . .”

  He leans down and kisses her forehead gently, holding back the emotion that threatens to rise and take over, to make him lose control.

  “Of course you can, darling. I’m going to make it happen. Just wait another day, Nan, maybe two, and then I’m going to bring you home.”

  Another day.

  Maybe two.

  Rupert strokes his wife’s forehead beneath the turban.

  Wait, Nan. Please, wait . . .

  WHEN JULIA WALKS up the front steps at Iris’s, she can hear Paine’s voice coming from the parlor inside. He sounds angry.

  She knocks on the screen door, then steps inside.

  “Julia? Is that you?” There’s Dulcie, standing in the hallway in front of the kitchen doorway.

  “Yes, it’s me, Dulcie.”

  “I heard you coming.” She stifles a yawn, gesturing at the parlor. “Daddy’s in there, on the phone with somebody. He’s really mad.”

  That’s obvious. Julia hears Paine’s voice harshly asking, “Well, how long do you think it might take?”

  A pause.

  “That’s unacceptable!” Paine says. “I plan to be long gone by then.”

  Another pause.

  “Fine. Fine. See what you can do and call me back.”

  Julia hears the beep of a cordless phone being hung up, followed by a muttered curse.

  “Daddy, Julia’s here,” Dulcie calls sweetly, childishly unfazed.

  Paine appears on the threshold of the parlor.

  “Is everything all right?” Julia asks. He looks as bad as she feels—as though he didn’t get much sleep last night, either.

  “Is everything all right? Not really,” he says shortly. “In fact, things couldn’t be more not all right.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Howard Menkin just called. There’s been an unexpected complication.”

  “What kind of complication?”

  “Apparently, he just heard from a lawyer representing Edward Shuttleworth.”

  “Kristin’s half brother?”

  Paine nods, saying grimly, “He’s contesting Iris’s will.”

  “But how can he do that? He and Iris were barely on speaking terms.”

  “Exactly. But apparently, Anson Shuttleworth died without a will. Since Edward was of legal age when it happened, under New York State law, Iris inherited everything he had. She, in turn, left it to Dulcie since Kristin predeceased her.”

  “How can Edward contest that?” Julia asks, aware of Dulcie standing between them, listening intently. “And why only now?”

  “Anybody can contest a will,” Paine tells her. “But apparently, Edward has stumbled across some relevant information that might threaten Dulcie’s inheritance.”

  “What kind of information? Did he find that Anson had a will after all?”

  “The lawyer confirmed for Howard that it wasn’t that, but he wouldn’t tell Howard anything else. He wants to meet with us tomorrow. I don’t have time for this,” Paine bites out, shaking his head. “Rupert doesn’t have time for this.”

  Julia rubs her tired eyes with the fingertips of both hands. This is shaping up to be the worst day she’s had since . . . since . . .

  Since you found Iris’s body.

  Which wasn’t all that long ago.

  What’s happening around here?

  Why do I suddenly feel as though Lily Dale isn’t safe? As though nobody in it is safe? As though I’m not safe?

  She only wants to go home and crawl back into bed. And she would have, after stopping to run a few errands in Fredonia on her way back from the hospital, if her house weren’t crawling with tool-wielding men in work boots.

  Instead, uncertain where else to go, she came here. Now she wonders if this was such a good idea. Being here might help to take her mind off what happened to Lorraine, but everywhere she turns in this house, there are reminders of Iris, and Kristin.

  “Julia? Do you want to see what Daddy found in the attic?” Dulcie pipes up.

  Julia snaps out of her dismal thoughts, glancing at the little girl’s sweet face. “Sure, Dulcie,” she says, telling herself that this is why she’s here. For Dulcie. Because Dulcie needs her. “What is it?”

  “It’s an old”—Dulcie pauses around a huge yawn—“doll. Daddy says she probably belonged to Mommy.”

  “You’re exhausted, Dulcie,” Julia says. “Didn’t you sleep well last night?”

  “No.” Dulcie hesitates, as though she wants to say something more. She glances at her father. Paine’s eyes are concerned, but he says nothing.

  “Daddy found the doll on the floor in the attic,” Dulcie goes on, “wrapped in a blanket, way back in a corner under the . . . under the . . . what is it called, Daddy?”

  “Eaves,” Paine supplies.

  Dulcie is already leading the way to the kitchen, her hand clasping Julia’s as Paine trails behind, still clutching the phone.

  “A doll, hmm?” Julia is trying to quell her doubts. “Let’s see her.”

  Kristin never played with dolls. Never. She said dolls were for sissies. Julia never played with dolls, either. She was too much of a tomboy. As the only two girls in the elementary school who weren’t into dolls, Julia and Kristin found their first common ground when they initially bonded so many years ago.

  Dulcie feels around on the kitchen counter, her fingers closing over a pink-wrapped bundle. She hands it over to Julia. “Here she is. See?”

  Julia unwraps the blanket and peeks at the doll inside. It has a porcelain face, not vinyl, as did most of the dolls that were around when she and Kristin were kids. Julia can easily see what Paine, as a male, obviously did not: this doll is part of an earlier era.

  “I don’t think that was your mommy’s doll, Dulcie,” she says. “It must have belonged to some other little girl who lived in this house.”

  “Oh.” Dulcie sounds disappointed. Julia is prepared to offer solace, but Dulcie quickly recovers, saying, “Well, Daddy found lots of baby clothes that for sure belonged to my mommy, and a bunch of pictures of her, too. Plus some of her old board games. I get to keep all of it and bring it back to California with me when we go.”

  “That’s great, Dulcie.”

  “Knock, knock, Julia.”

  “Who’s there, Dulcie?”

  “Rupert and Nan have a daughter, don’t they?” Paine asks abruptly, behind them.

  “Daddy! I’m in the middle of a knock, knock joke,” Dulcie admonishes.

  Paine falls silent.

  Dulcie turns back to Julia. “Say ‘who’s there?’ again, Julia.”

  “Who’s there?”

  “Ozzie.”

  “Ozzie who?”

  “Ozzie you around.” Dulcie cracks up. “Get it, Julia? Ozzie you around. I’ll see you around.”

  Julia forces a laugh but her eyes are on Paine, who is preoccupied.

  “Rupert and Nan have a daughter,” she tells him. “Why?”

  “Do you think that’s where the doll came from?”


  “Maybe.”

  “Will you stay with Dulcie for a little while, Julia? I was going to bring her with me—I’m going over to Chautauqua to say good-bye to Stan. She could come along, but she’s so tired and I thought if she stayed here she could take a nap . . .”

  Even as he speaks, Dulcie yawns again, and rubs her eyes sleepily.

  “It’s okay,” Julia says. “I’ll watch her.”

  “Can I have the doll?” Paine holds out his hands. “I have to stop by Rupert’s on my way and tell him what Howard said. I’ll bring the doll along. He’ll probably want to give it back to his daughter if it was hers.”

  “YOU DON’T KNOW me,” Pilar tells Katherine Jergins. “I realize this is a bit awkward. But I have something very important to tell you.”

  “Is it about my husband? Or my sons?” Katherine’s gray eyes are worried. Behind her, framed on the walls, are a series of portraits. A boy and a girl. Obviously Katherine’s daughter and son, progressing from toothless infants to gap-toothed schoolkids to slightly gawky teenagers. At least, the boy is gawky. The girl, a pretty blond, looks like her mother. And—Nan, again—her grandmother.

  “No, it’s . . .” Pilar clears her throat. She shouldn’t have come. Oh, why did she come? She casts a longing glance at the car waiting at the curb. But it’s too late to back out and leave now. She turns back to Katherine. “Can I . . . Would it be possible for me to come in so that we can talk?”

  The woman is hesitant, toying with a pair of glasses hanging on a chain around her neck. She, too, looks at the car at the curb, then shoots a questioning expression at Pilar.

  “That’s the car service I hired to drive me here from the city,” Pilar explains. “He’s going to take me back when I’m finished speaking to you.”

  Katherine nods. Yet she doesn’t move to open the screen door.

  Pilar reminds herself that this isn’t Lily Dale, nor is it the Deep South, where she spends her winters. Here in the metropolitan New York area, people are more cautious. Less likely to open their doors to strangers.

  “Listen, I can understand that you don’t want to invite a complete stranger in,” Pilar says. She looks around, her mind racing, her gaze settling on a couple of green resin Adirondack chairs in the sunny side yard. “Maybe you can come out and we can sit there and talk?”

  “All right.” Katherine pauses to poke her bare feet into a pair of leather sandals by the door.

  Pilar watches her, noticing her trim and attractive figure in cropped beige pants and a raspberry-colored short-sleeved sweater. She’s built like Nan. Even dressed like Nan, in well-tailored clothing. Everything about her reminds Pilar of her friend—except Katherine’s sharp, slate-colored eyes. Those are the mirror image of Rupert’s, as is their wary expression.

  Curious, Pilar peeks again at the inside of the house. From here, she can see most of the living room and a sliver of the kitchen. Chintz slipcovers, wall unit, coffee table stacked with newspapers and magazines, magnet-covered fridge dotted with coupons, flyers, clippings.

  The picture of middle-class suburbia. Comfortable. Lived-in.

  So different from Rupert and Nan’s place, Pilar finds herself thinking, glancing again at the framed photographs.

  It strikes her that there are no such personal touches in the Biddles’ home. Their refrigerator is bare of magnets. The surfaces are clutter-free. There are no framed family photos on the walls or anywhere, for that matter. In fact, Pilar realizes, she never even heard either of them mention having grandchildren.

  Looking apprehensive, Katherine steps outside and walks with Pilar to the chairs. They sit. Katherine is expectant. Dubious, too.

  “What did you say your name was?”

  “It’s Pilar. Pilar Velazquez.” Pilar reaches into the pocket of her blazer and takes out a business card, handing it to Katherine.

  The woman glances at it as Pilar searches her mind for the right thing to say.

  How should she start? By saying that she’s a friend of Katherine’s parents?

  A friend?

  Pilar considers the word. Friends share intimate details of their lives. She and Nan have never been close in that way. Though less guarded than Rupert, Nan has maintained a polite distance exacerbated by the seasonal nature of their acquaintance.

  Pilar settles on, “Katherine, I’ve known your parents for years.”

  “My parents?”

  “Yes . . . my cottage in Lily Dale is right next door to theirs.”

  Katherine’s rapidly chilling expression sends a chill down Pilar’s spine.

  So do her words, spoken bluntly in a flat tone. “My parents are dead.”

  PAINE KNOCKS THREE times, about to leave when Rupert appears at the door. The old man’s eyes, behind his glasses, are shadowed by bluish circles and a telltale red swelling.

  He’s been crying, Paine realizes, his fingers tightening on the blanket-wrapped bundle tucked under his arm.

  “What can I do for you?” Rupert asks, sounding a bit harsh.

  He’s entitled. Paine wishes he had opted to call instead. But it’s too late now.

  “I’m on my way over to Chautauqua, but I just wanted to stop and talk to you for a moment, about the house,” Paine says.

  “What about the house?” the old man asks sharply.

  “I’m afraid we’ve got a hitch in the plan.” He quickly explains what Howard Menkin said, watching the already grim expression in Rupert’s bloodshot eyes grow even darker.

  “I can’t have this,” Rupert says. “You and I have made all the arrangements. Nan and I are moving in before the end of the week. We can’t wait any longer.”

  “Believe me, Rupert, I don’t want to hold off either. The sooner I can get back to California and get back to normal, the better. I’ve got to get my daughter the hell out of here.”

  Rupert’s gaze suddenly focuses on Paine. “Why is that?”

  Paine hesitates. Should he tell the old man the house is apparently haunted? What if he changes his mind about moving back in?

  Well, if the place is haunted, Rupert must know. He lived there for years. It probably didn’t bother him. After all, he makes his living talking to ghosts. Living in a spook-filled house is probably good for business.

  If there really is such a thing as ghosts, Paine reminds himself out of habit.

  Ok, hell. Who am I kidding?

  There’s something in that house. Dulcie isn’t making this stuff up. It’s time Paine admitted—at least to himself—that he can no longer cling to his pragmatic disbelief in spiritualism.

  “Rupert,” he says cautiously, “my daughter has been seeing things. Hearing things. She seems to think there’s a ghost there. Somebody who died violently. A woman. And she’s trying to tell Dulcie something. Julia, too. Were you ever aware of this spirit when you lived there?”

  “No,” Rupert tells him, letting a heavy sigh escape. “But this isn’t the first I’ve heard about it. Is your daughter frightened?”

  “She woke up screaming in the middle of the night. Said there was somebody in her room. She tried to tell me that it was a real person—a prowler.”

  “A prowler?” Rupert’s eyes widen. “Around here? That’s not likely. Lily Dale is a safe place. Most people don’t even lock their doors at night, and many who do keep a key under the mat—which I personally believe is foolish anywhere in this day and age. Anyway, what has your daughter told you about the spirit?”

  Paine quickly tells Rupert about Dulcie’s latest encounter. The old man listens intently.

  “What do you think?” Paine asks him.

  “I think that either your daughter has a very active imagination, or she’s truly involved in something supernatural. In which case I would advise you to be very careful, Mr. Landry. This is nothing to take lightly.”

  “I don’t take it lightly. I just . . . tell me what you see as the worst-case scenario.”

  “You could be dealing with a powerful negative energy. An experienced medium kno
ws how to invoke protection against questionable entities, who are capable of not only haunting, but possessing. Your daughter wouldn’t know how to bar the threshold.”

  Paine swallows, uncertain what to believe. The skeptic in him wants to write it all off as a lot of B.S., yet as a concerned father, he can’t simply disregard his fears.

  “I have to get back to my wife,” Rupert says. “And I believe you said you were on your way out of town?” He glances over Paine’s shoulder, at the red rental car parked at the curb. “You’re not bringing your daughter with you?”

  “No, she’s back at the house, hopefully taking a nap. I left her with Julia. She’s baby-sitting.”

  “That’s nice,” the man says in the expressionless manner of somebody who’s just being polite. “Please let me know what Howard says when you meet with him tomorrow evening. What time is the meeting?”

  “Not until seven. Would you like to come along?”

  “I can’t leave Nan,” the man says simply.

  With a sympathetic nod, Paine turns to go. Then, remembering the doll, he turns back to Rupert, who is about to shut the door again.

  “I found this in the attic,” he says, unwrapping the blanket. “Julia says it wasn’t Kristin’s. I know you have a daughter. I thought it might have belonged to her.”

  “It might have,” Rupert murmurs, taking the doll, looking down at it.

  “Keep it,” Paine says.

  “I will. I’ll ask Nan about it. She’ll remember if it was Katherine’s.”

  Paine nods. “I’ll speak to you tomorrow.”

  Still studying the old doll, apparently lost in thought, Rupert shuts the door without a reply.

  DULCIE SMILES AS Julia pulls a blanket up to her chin and gives her head a pat.

  “Got your book?” Julia asks.

  “It’s right here under my pillow.”

  “Are you comfy?”

  “Mmm-hmm.” Dulcie yawns. “But don’t let me sleep all afternoon, Julia. I want to go down to the playground with you before Daddy comes back.”

  “Okay. I’ll come up to check on you every little while. If you do wake up, don’t try to come down the stairs alone. Just wait here for me. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Dulcie feels Julia’s weight rising from the mattress, hears her footsteps moving to the door.