"Oh, Mister Carter." Her breathy voice was so low Lindsay and Frank had to strain to hear her. "I thought about working at the site like Marsha. It sounds so exciting, but my skin simply can't take the sun."
"You can always wear a hat and sun block," Lindsay said. Esther tittered and reached for her glass of lemonade to arrange it. Her eyes darted toward her mother, and she took a drink instead.
"Oh, but I am allergic to sun block. My skin is just so sensitive," Rachel explained.
"How unfortunate for you," Lindsay sincerely replied, but the expression on Rachel's face told her that she expected to be admired for this trait.
Lindsay understood that Rachel's twin sister Ruth was the mother of Patrick. No one at the table mentioned either of them. Marsha had explained to Lindsay, when she asked why Patrick's last name was Tyler, that Isabel had made Ruth change his name when Ruth's husband divorced her.
Jacob Tyler sat to the left of his mother so he could be near if she needed anything, he said, and cast a glance at his sisters, who glared back. The sheriff sat on Isabel's right, looking ill at ease.
Marsha had told Lindsay that all of Isabel's children were divorced or had died, and that all of the exspouses lived in other states. She had also told her that Rachel had one daughter who had committed suicide and a son in an institution. "I am only telling you this so you won't ask Rachel if she has any children. As you can imagine, it is very painful."
"Your son, Mickey, took some portraits of me to give to my family for Christmas," Lindsay said to Esther.
She smiled broadly. "He is so good, isn't he? I taught him to be orderly and exacting. My teaching has served him well. He is in much demand. He's such a good son. He has never been on drugs or anything like that. I have never had a minute's trouble from him." She cast a sideways glance at her sister, who sat in stony silence. Lindsay wondered if she could bring up any topic that wouldn't lead to competition between the sisters.
Jacob had a son and daughter. The daughter, Lindsay was told, was married and lived in California. His son, Jarvis, sat at the far end of the table next to Mickey. He was a skinnier version of his father. Already his hair was thinning on top, and he had the same large hands. Lindsay shivered as she thought of Patrick's large hands.
"What does Jarvis do?" she asked.
"He helps Mickey in his studio sometimes," Jacob said. "He is quite a good photographer himself." Jacob glanced at his sister Esther, who ate quietly, pretending not to be listening to her brother. "He's thinking about going to the university to study film," continued Jacob proudly.
"That sounds very interesting," Lindsay said. Jarvis appeared about the same age as Mickey, in his early thirties. She wondered why he was so late in embarking on a career but decided not to ask.
"The university has a good film and drama department," Frank muttered, taking a large bite of barbecued pork.
Lindsay relaxed a little, finally believing Patrick was not there. She turned her attention to the bone structure of Isabel's face, trying to draw her into conversation so she could scrutinize it without being obvious, but Isabel was reticent. She preferred to watch her guests talk or to monitor her adult children's behavior. Or perhaps, Lindsay thought, she was piqued at her for bringing Patrick's behavior to the attention of the sheriff.
"That is a lovely pin," said Lindsay about the redrose porcelain pin at Isabel's throat, making another effort to draw her into conversation. "Is it Dresden?"
"Yes, it is. My father gave it to me. Sixty years ago today, actually." She fingered it and seemed suddenly lost in thought.
Finally, thought Lindsay, some topic she is interested in. "I noticed one of the leaves is broken off. I can give you the name of someone who can repair it. Her work is flawless."
Isabel looked at Lindsay for a moment and almost smiled. Then she must have remembered who she was talking to. "I've been told it can't be repaired." She turned her head, dismissing any further conversation.
Dessert was home-churned peach ice cream. It was fresh and good, qualities that seemed so incongruous with the Tyler family. After dessert, the guests were invited to admire the house and gardens or they could watch Jacob do a few of his magic tricks for the children, play croquet on the lawn, or play softball in a field farther from the house behind a copse of trees.
Frank whispered to Lindsay that he was about ready to go back to Earth and went looking for Marsha. Lindsay found Derrick. "Not a bad barbecue," he said to her.
"You missed the entertainment. I'll have to tell you about it later," she said.
"There are several outbuildings," Derrick said. "I think I'll do a little snooping."
"Be careful."
He smiled at her. "I will. You take care. Don't go wandering too far into that old house."
Lindsay went with several people to tour the downstairs portion of the house that was open to the guests. She found a large hallway with walls filled with paintings and large photographs. The paintings looked original, but she knew none of the artists. There were several wedding photographs, one for each of Isabel's children. All were formal, the women in long gowns and trains, the men in top hats and tails. It seemed a bit pretentious. The picture of Jacob Tyler in his formal attire standing by his bride looked familiar. It must have been hanging in Mickey's studio, she thought. Lindsay studied the spouses of Isabel Tyler's children, all smiles at their weddings. She wondered if they had any inkling at the time that marriage would not hold all the promise and gaiety of the wedding. Married life with a Tyler must have been a shock to them.
A large portrait of a man similar in appearance to Jacob attracted her attention. She noticed the thinning hair and the large hands.
"That's my father," spoke a breathy voice behind her. Lindsay stood aside, and Rachel came up beside her. She stared up at the picture in adoration. "I was his favorite, you know. He told me. He always said that I was his special little girl."
Lindsay looked over at Rachel's adoring face. She understood the love a daughter felt for her father, for she, too, was her father's little girl. But here in the dark hallway, standing in front of the portrait, Lindsay felt that Rachel was talking about a relationship that was wholly different from the one Lindsay had with her father.
After a moment, Rachel snapped out of her mood and turned to Lindsay. "I just met this gorgeous man from the site. He is tall, broad-shouldered, and has the most beautiful mane of hair."
"That would be Derrick," said Lindsay, smiling.
"Yes, Derrick. That was his name. Do you know him well?"
"Yes. Derrick and I went to graduate school together. Is this your mother?" asked Lindsay, gesturing to a silver framed sepia-toned photograph of a very beautiful young girl with long blonde hair held away from her face with bejeweled barrettes. The girl had a wisp of a smile on her face. She wore a lacy, high-collared dress fastened at the throat with her father's gift of the Dresden pin and a long string of pearls. The Fourth-of-July celebration in the background looked so much like the one occurring today, down to the placement of the tables and flags and welcoming 10th Annual Fourth-of-July picnic banner, it was amazing. These folks never changed anything.
"Yes, that's Mother," said Rachel. "Looks rather innocent, doesn't she?" Lindsay looked at Rachel and for the first time thought that she might be smarter than she let on.
A maid came by with some fresh lemonade and offered Lindsay a glass. She took it and wandered away from Rachel into the living room where another portrait caught her eye: a woman in English riding dress sitting on a horse. She held her derby and crop on her left thigh and her reins in her right hand.
"That is my mother. Isn't she beautiful?" Jacob asked from behind her.
Lindsay jumped. Did all of Isabel's children wander about the house admiring their parents' portraits?
"I didn't mean to startle you"
"That's all right. It is a beautiful picture." Lindsay stared at it in fascination.
"It was painted by a famous painter," Jacob continued.
"Yes, I am familiar with his work." Lindsay recognized the signature and the style of the artist.
"Are you?" Jacob smiled broadly, as if he hadn't really believed it was by a famous painter and was overjoyed to have it confirmed.
"Yes, though I am more familiar with his portraits of Derby winners."
"Derby winners?"
"Yes. Fletcher Kinneston painted the winners of major horse races in the U.S. and abroad in the '20s and '30s. My parents live in Kentucky, and my mother breeds Arabian horses. She has a portrait he did of a horse called Black Gold. This kind of portrait with a person as the subject is rare for him, which makes it very valuable."
"Why, yes, I guess it would, wouldn't it? Almost like one of a kind. I will have to tell Mother. She'll be so pleased. It's so nice of you to tell me that, and so clever of you to know."
Oh, I am more clever than that, thought Lindsay to herself as she looked up at the painting.
Jacob wandered away, Lindsay supposed, to receive praise from his mother for the information he had learned from her. Only a few people seemed to be in the house. She heard a little boy ask a maid for directions to the bathroom, and she thought she heard Marsha and her grandmother. Alone, she tried a couple of doors that looked like they might lead either down or up but found them locked. To keep out people like me, she thought, and smiled to herself. As she walked into the large hallway and passed the parlor, Lindsay saw Isabel Tyler grab onto a little boy's arm. He looked about five and was clearly terrified.
"And just what were you stealing?" she asked in a raspy voice.
"Nothing ... nothing. Just looking for the bathroom."
"Don't lie to me. Do you know what I do to little boys who lie to me?"
The child tried to pull away, but the old lady held tightly to his arm. Lindsay walked into the parlor.
"Perhaps I can help," Lindsay said. "I heard him ask the housekeeper for directions to the bathroom. When you're five, getting lost in a big house is really easy." Isabel looked up at Lindsay as if she was a cat trying to steal her mouse. "I'm sure you don't realize it," continued Lindsay, "but you're hurting his arm." Isabel stared at her. Lindsay could feel Isabel willing her to leave them alone.
Lindsay said firmly. "You are wrong. He was not stealing anything. He just had to go to the bathroom. Let him go. If you don't, you are going to scare him, and he will go all over your Oriental carpet."
Isabel released his arm, and the kid ran. "Young woman," said Isabel, "this is my house, and I don't tolerate interference."
"I do apologize." Lindsay smiled her most gracious smile. "I would like to ask you a question. That portrait in the other room of the young woman on the horse. Is it you or your twin sister'?"
Lindsay could only describe what came next as blind rage. Isabel Tyler shook from head to toe and gave Lindsay a look of absolute malevolence.
Suddenly, it seemed as if everyone had gravitated toward the parlor, for the large double doorway was filled with people. Jacob rushed in.
"Mother! Mother! What happened? Are you all right? What happened?" He put an arm around her shoulders and helped her to a chair. "What happened?" he looked up at Lindsay.
"I'm afraid it must be my fault," she said. "I mentioned her twin sister, and she became upset. I didn't realize it was a sensitive topic."
"Her twin sister?" Jacob looked confused. The two daughters rushed up to their mother's side.
Lindsay walked over to Derrick, who put an arm around her shoulder. Frank looked a trifle annoyed.
"I'm perfectly fine," said Isabel after a moment. "Get away from me. all of you! You are smothering me." She waved her cane, and her children slunk back. "I'm going up to my room. Say goodbye to my guests for me." She marched out, trailing her children in her wake. Everyone cleared a path for her.
"What is this about, Lindsay?" Frank asked.
"Just what I said. I would like to show you something." she whispered. She walked toward the living room. Frank, Marsha, and the sheriff followed her. Everyone else went back to the patio.
"I hope this is good" His voice was angry.
Lindsay whirled around and looked at him.
"It is," she said.
"I think we can trust Lindsay," Derrick defended her. Frank and his eyes locked for a moment, then Frank blinked.
"All right, show us."
Lindsay led them to the painting of the woman on the horse. "I know this artist. He mostly painted horses, and he paid particular attention to the bone structure, which is important in race horses. He actually takes measurements, and he is very accurate. This is supposed to be Isabel, but the only way it could be her is if she painted it herself by looking in a mirror." Lindsay looked around and saw that no one could see it. "This picture is a mirror image of Isabel. Look at the lack of symmetry in the brow ridge and cheek bones and compare it with Isabel's face. Hers is just the opposite. Can't you see it?" Lindsay realized that they couldn't perceive the fine distinctions in the features, and if they could, they had not scrutinized Isabel's face the way she had. "Isabel is left-handed. The person in this painting is right-handed. See how she is holding the reins? If you have to control your horse one-handed, you do it with the hand you have the most control over." Lindsay looked at them. "I guessed that the picture is really of a twin, a mirror twin, and I asked Isabel about it. That's when she became irate."
They all stared blankly, even Derrick. Then a voice came from the corner. It was Marsha's grandmother. She had been resting on an antique stuffed chair.
"You have a good eye, Miss Chamberlain. Everybody knew, at one time anyway, that Isabel was deathly afraid of horses. She even made Edward tear the stables down. It was Augustine who loved horses. I remember when she had this painted. Augustine was Isabel's twin sister."
"So you have a good eye," said Frank, still not mollified. "Clever, but so what?"
"Don't you see?"
Suddenly Derrick's mouth dropped open. "I don't believe it. God, Lindsay, you're right!"
"What?" asked Marsha.
The sheriff had been studying the painting hard. Then he, too, realized. "Well, I'll be damned! It's her."
"Who?" asked Frank.
"Burial 23," Derrick replied.
They were all silent for a full minute, staring at the face in the painting. The sheriff spoke first. "Mrs. Darby, do you know what happened to Augustine?"
"Why, she disappeared. Let's see, about 60 years ago. Yes, 60 years ago today, in fact. The Fourth-ofJuly picnic was the last time anyone saw her."
When Lindsay told them she had finished the facial reconstruction of Burial 23, they decided to go back to the site immediately. Marsha's grandmother was delighted to be involved in a mystery, after she got over the shock that the long-lost Augustine may have been found.
"Augustine! After all these years, I can't believe it," she said, shaking her head as they walked back to the car. "What a wonderful mystery. I get the volun teers to read me Agatha Christie and Mary Roberts Rinehart. I enjoy Miss Marple the most, but this is so much more exciting. Augustine. I can't believe it ..."
They gathered around a picnic table and waited for Lindsay to bring out the reconstruction. The site was closed, and the crew who did not go to the picnic were gone for the day. It was about five minutes before she came from her tent with the bust and set it at the head of the table so that they all could see. It was covered with a cloth.
"I smoothed out the face and worked on the features. I painted the skin, put in the eyelashes, and bought a couple of wigs, a dark one and a blonde one. I put the blonde one on a minute ago. I have put in the eyes since you saw it last, sheriff." Lindsay removed the cloth, and they all gasped.
"Augustine, it is you. After all these years, you've been found," whispered Mrs. Darby.
"Mrs. Darby," asked the sheriff, "do you remember any details of her disappearance?"
Elaine Darby smiled slightly. "Oh, yes. It was all we talked about for a long time. And it was also at the same time I met David,
Marsha's grandfather. He was a writer come down from the north to write about small southern towns during the Depression. He was part of the Work Projects Administration for writers. That was one of Roosevelt's programs to get the country out of the Depression. I was almost seventeen. Augustine and Isabel were a year older than me °"
"I remember the first time I saw David. He was so handsome. He was getting off the train with a small suitcase in his hand and a shock of black hair falling in his face. I think I fell in love with him at that moment. I remember Augustine that day because she was meeting the train, too, and I was afraid that this handsome stranger would see her first and fall in love with her, as most of the boys did at one time or another. But he walked past her without even a glance.
"Augustine had on riding clothes, and I remember that she had Gideon and Victor-those were two of her horses-tied in back of the station, so I guessed she was meeting Edward Tyler. Both of them loved to ride." "
"Let me get you something to drink, Mrs. Darby," said Derrick. He and Lindsay went to the cooler and passed around cold drinks to everyone.
I was meeting Mother," Mrs. Darby continued after she had taken a sip of the cold drink. "She had gone to visit my aunt, who had just had a baby. She got off the train soon after David, so I didn't see who Augustine met. As it turned out, Mother had met David on the train and offered to put him up at our house. We took in boarders back then. A lot of people did. You did about anything you could do. Anyway, I was so pleased with my mother that day. I had picked her up in our old truck, and I didn't even mind that she sat between David and me. I remember looking out and seeing Augustine and whoever it was with her running their horses across the field. Augustine loved to ride.
A Rumor of Bones: A Lindsay Chamberlain Mystery Page 18
