“Your mama planted a vegetable garden here the last summer she lived here,” Ella said. “Of course, it’s been left to go to seed, but there’s no reason you can’t pull out the weeds and turn the soil over. Gets good sun and it’s tucked out of the way, so when you’re sitting on your patio, you don’t have to look at zucchini and tomatoes. You’ll also want some flowers. I’d suggest that you start with a couple of whiskey barrels. I’ve got a diagram that tells you what plants to buy so you get season-long color and contrasting heights.”
“Whiskey barrels?”
Ella nodded. “Distilleries sell the whiskey barrels to garden centers, who in turn cut them in half. They make lovely rustic planters.”
“Rustic. I like the idea.” I swatted away the fifth mosquito in as many seconds. “Let’s get back inside before we become bug food. They seem so much worse up here than in the city.”
“More trees and water, less concrete. It’s one reason why my late husband, Eddie, built us a screened gazebo,” Ella said as we headed back indoors.
“Your late husband? Did he die recently?”
“It will be five years this August. Hit by lightning on the golf course, if you can believe that. Apparently Eddie ignored the warning horn, wanted to putt out. Well, he did that, the stubborn old fool.”
“I’m sorry.”
Ella waved away the sentiment with a weathered hand, although I noticed she was still wearing her wedding band.
“Do you have any other questions, Callie? I’d be happy to answer them if I can.”
“I suppose you’ve been in this house a few times, over the years, living next door and all. Did you get to know any of the tenants?”
“A lot of people have come and gone through that front door over the years.” She pursed her lips again. “Some nicer than others.”
“I gather you didn’t approve of all of the tenants.”
“Wasn’t so much about approving or not approving, it was more like some people thinking they were too good to mingle with others.” Ella sniffed loudly. “Every tenant with the exception of one invited me over, not that she stayed long, good riddance. Claimed to be a tarot card reader. Last I heard she was doing readings at that new-agey place at the back of the organic whole foods store on King. I’ve never been in there, but I understand they sell dream catchers and crystals and beads with the evil eye, all under the guise of helping folks find peace. Parting fools with their money is more like it.”
“I assume you mean Misty Rivers, the last tenant?”
“Good heavens, no. Misty is the real deal. She gets visions from the spirit world that she shares to help others.”
I decided not to mention that Misty had already been to see me with an offer of ‘help,’ or that my father had started to fall for her story. Besides, in all likelihood Ella already knew that.
“Tell me a bit about the old days, Ella.”
“You mean, tell you a bit about your mama.” Ella leaned forward and patted my hand. “I know, dear, that you were left without a mama when you weren’t much bigger than a bud on a rose bush. Fair devastated your papa, and why not? If there was ever a man who loved his wife, it was Jimmy Barnstable. Why if your mama got so much as a cold, he’d start acting all crazy, as if she had one foot in the grave. He didn’t want you to see her sick, either. He did everything he could so you wouldn’t.”
A memory floated over me. Was that Ella’s lap I was sleeping in?
Once again, Ella seemed to read my mind. “Your folks hired Eddie and me to babysit you more than once, all because your mama had a touch of the flu. I understand as a young child your papa had seen both his grandparents succumb to cancer. The memories of them dying continued to haunt him as an adult.”
I nodded, finally getting it. My dad had been the same with me whenever I was sick, protective almost to the point of panic. Until now, I’d never understood why. He’d never told me about losing his grandparents, and I’d never questioned their existence or lack thereof. We simply didn’t talk about the Barnstables.
“My dad never talked much about my mother. I always wondered if he truly loved her, or if he only married her because she was pregnant.”
“Nonsense, dear. You get that thought right out of your head. The Jimmy Barnstable I knew would have married your mama, expecting or not. He worshipped the ground Abigail walked on.” Ella shook her head. “I never did believe all those nasty rumors.”
I decided to play dumb. “What sort of rumors?”
Ella blushed. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Except you did. You said there were rumors. I’d rather hear them from you, someone who knew and liked my parents, than some stranger on the street.” Never mind that Ella was pretty much a stranger to me.
She bought it. “I suppose if you went to the library and read reports from the Marketville Post way back when you’d find out anyway.”
I made a mental note to visit the library. I only hoped they maintained archives of the Marketville Post—and that my brain could remember all the mental notes I was filing into it.
“Go on.”
“The day your mama left, your papa called the police and reported her missing. He insisted she would never have left you behind. I have to agree with his logic. From what I could see, your mama doted on you, Callie. Besides, best as we could tell, she hadn’t taken anything with her. Who leaves without at least taking a suitcase full of clothes?”
I shook my head, but I was thinking: who leaves an envelope with five tarot cards and a locket under the carpet? Someone who thought they’d be gone for a while and didn’t want those things found? Or someone who didn’t expect to come back? What about the signed Calamity Jane poster she’d left behind for my sixth birthday, two and a half months in the future?
“What did the police do?”
“Nothing at first. Made your papa wait forty-eight hours. But eventually the officers in charge tracked her final days and hours and interviewed everyone in the neighborhood. Nobody had seen her since the morning of Valentine’s Day. I remember it was a Friday, and Eddie had made reservations for dinner at the Thatcher House. It’s closed down now, couldn’t compete when all the chain restaurants that started moving in during the nineties, but back then it was about as fine a dining spot as you’d find in Marketville. Anyway, your folks were supposed to dine with us, but given that it was a Friday and Valentine’s Day, they couldn’t get a sitter.”
“So you didn’t see her that day.”
“Oh no, I did, only it was in the morning. She was walking you to school—she walked you there and back every day, no matter the weather, none of the laziness you have today where everyone drives everywhere. No wonder so many kids are fat.” Ella stopped as if waiting for me to chime in. I didn’t. After a few moments of silence, she started up again.
“That day you were carrying a little red purse with Valentine’s Day cards in it. I know it had valentines in it, because the two of you stopped by my house and you gave me one.” Ella beamed. “Meant a lot to me, especially since Eddie and me were never blessed with kids of our own.”
I tried to remember walking back and forth to school. Nothing came to mind, but maybe if I walked there and back, slowly, using the same route we did all those years ago…
“Do you happen know the route we took, Ella? Because I’d like to remember that, and for some reason I don’t.”
“As a matter of fact, I do, because on a few occasions, when your mama was sick, she asked me to take you. The first time I did, I took a different turn. You were very quick to correct me.” Ella giggled at the memory. “It was Snapdragon to Trillium to Coneflower. Follow Coneflower to Primrose and you’ll wind up at the school. Right hand turns all the way.”
I got a paper and pen and wrote that down. It was a different way than I’d run the day before. Another thought occurred to me.
“You said my mother walked me to school and back every day. Did she pick me up that day?”
Ella shook her head.
“That was the first clue that something was wrong. When your mama didn’t come to pick you up, they tried calling her. Nobody answered. They called me next. I was listed as the secondary contact, seeing as your daddy worked construction and could have been anywhere. Remember, this was before cell phones. I went right over to the school and walked you home. I stayed with you until your papa got home from work.”
“What did he do when he found out my mother wasn’t there?”
“At first, he couldn’t believe it, even after I told him we’d searched the house and backyard. He just ignored me, ran around the entire house like a madman, opening closets and calling your mama’s name. Then he went outside and searched the yard. Not that there was anyplace to hide, though I suppose she could have hidden inside the shed.”
“I take it there was no sign of her.”
“Not a trace. It was as if she’d vanished into thin air. Your papa jumped into his pick-up truck and drove around the streets like a man possessed. He called the police the minute he got home, but, like I told you before, they told him he had to wait forty-eight hours before filing a missing persons report. Maybe they thought she was off somewhere with a lover, given it was Valentine’s Day.”
“But my father didn’t believe that?”
“I’m not sure what he believed, Callie. Only he could tell you for sure, and he isn’t with us any longer. All I know is that once the police got involved, they seemed to think your mama’s leaving might not have been her own idea. They must have come by the house a dozen times, asking your papa the same questions in a hundred different ways. I know, because he told my Eddie.”
The same questions a hundred different ways. Easy to slip up.
Ella seemed to read my mind. “Your papa never changed his story, not once. You’d have thought that would have cleared him, but instead it made the police even more suspicious. As if he’d memorized his story instead of telling the truth.”
“But why would the police think he had something to do with my mother’s disappearance? What did he do to make anyone think that?”
“There was a woman from the food bank, Maggie Lonergan—or should I say Magpie Lonergan. She insinuated that your mama was having an affair. As if I wouldn’t have known about it. Maybe I didn’t volunteer at the food bank, but I knew your mama.”
I stifled a grin. It sounded as if Maggie Lonergan and Ella Cole were rival gossips in the same small pond. I wondered if Maggie still lived in Marketville. I was about to ask when Ella continued.
“Maggie’s loose lips added fuel to the fire, and she wouldn’t let it go. She told anyone who would listen, and plenty of folks did. You and your papa moved to Toronto just before school started. He wanted you to have a fresh start in a new place, bless his heart.”
“What about the police? Do you know what they did with the case?”
“I suspect it’s what the police call a cold case. It’s doubtful that anyone has looked into it for years. No reason to without a body. As for your papa, I never heard from him after he moved, that is until three months ago, when he dropped by for a visit with me. He said he was thinking of moving back in. I’ll admit I was surprised, but it wasn’t my place to pry.”
I almost choked on my tea. It might not have been Ella’s place to pry, but you could be darned sure she would have, given half a chance. I decided to stretch the truth. “Maybe he thought if he came back to Marketville, my mother would finally come back, too.”
“If that’s what he believed, Callie, then he was a gosh-darned fool.”
I felt my spine stiffen, heard myself blurt out the words before I had the chance to bite them back. Now that was the real Barnstable curse, the not knowing when to zip it. “I never thought of my father as a fool, Ella. Even, and I’ll admit the possibility, if he had been decidedly foolish in his love for my mother. Who among us hasn’t been a fool in love?”
“You misunderstood my meaning, Callie. I never meant to imply that your papa was a fool for loving your mama. What I meant was, he was a fool if he was waiting for her all these years.”
“Why is that?”
“Because I believe your papa was right about one thing. Your mama would never have left you. At least not voluntarily.”
“Meaning?”
“That the dead don’t return, Callie. At least not in the flesh.”
Chapter 15
I stared at Ella Cole for the better part of a minute before responding. I didn’t want her to suspect the real reason for my moving in. On the other hand, I had to find out what she knew.
“I always thought she’d just left us. Are you saying my mother is dead?”
Ella nodded, her gold-rimmed glasses sliding down her nose. She pushed them back up impatiently. “Darned things are always doing that. I don’t know how many times I’ve taken them to the optometrist to get them fixed. Something about the type of hinge.”
I dug my nails into my palms and tried not to show my impatience. “You were saying that you believe my mother is dead. Why is that?”
Ella nodded again. “I told the police this, though I’m not sure they ever did anything about it. Anyway, the year before that Valentine’s Day, it would have been 1985, I remember it clearly because that was the year I turned forty, and back then forty meant forty, not like today where you see forty-year-olds and even some fifty-year-olds wearing their teenaged daughter’s clothes, not that I’m judging, though I don’t think it’s becoming for someone that age to wear sweatpants with writing on their butt. Of course, that’s a conversation for another day.”
I nodded again, determined not to interrupt Ella’s flow. If I’d learned anything from my job at the call center it was that everyone had his or her own way of telling a story. Trying to speed that up was like taking an alternate route to avoid a construction zone, only to find yourself ten miles out of your way and stuck behind a traffic accident.
“As I was saying,” Ella said, “I remember because I turned forty the same day your mama turned twenty-five. Saturday, December 14th, 1985. Eddie and Jim—your papa—threw us a party, all folks from the neighborhood, we were a closely-knit bunch back then, and Eddie and Jim were best friends, despite a fifteen-year difference. Your mama and me, we got on well enough, especially since she could feed my sweet tooth with all her baking.” Ella gave a soft laugh. “I like to say I don’t just have a sweet tooth. All my teeth are sweet.”
I gave an obligatory chuckle. It was enough to get Ella to continue.
“It was that night I first suspected your mama was scared of something, though I should have cottoned onto it sooner, what with the photographs.”
I perked up considerably. “What photographs?”
Ella put one finger on the bridge of her glasses and nodded slowly. “She first mentioned it in February of that year, I think, though it might have been before. Time has blurred the edges off a lot of things. Anyway, your mama got it into her head to put together something she called ‘four seasons of a happy family.’ Four photographs of the three of you, all taken in the same place, one during each of the four seasons. As I recall, the first picture was taken right around Easter time.”
Even if I wanted to speak—which I didn’t for fear of Ella going off on a tangent—I didn’t think the words would come out.
“In hindsight,” Ella said, “I might have questioned why she felt the need for such a thing, but at the time, I just felt honored that she asked me.”
I almost blurted out, “Why the public school?” which not only would have clued Ella onto the fact that I’d found the photos, but that I’d figured out where they were taken. I sipped my tea and waited. Thankfully, I didn’t have to wait too long. At this rate, Ella would still be here for breakfast.
“We decided to take the pictures in the schoolyard a couple blocks over. Your mama had planted a maple tree at the schoolyard the year before on Canada Day. It’s still there, if you go and look. She was real big on Canada Day, your mama was, and it had been part of some tree-planting initiat
ive in Marketville. The residents went around planting saplings that had been provided by the town.”
I was wondering why my mother would have asked Ella to take the photographs when she answered my question.
“I liked to dabble in photography, which is why she asked me. Still do, though it’s decidedly easier with digital, especially with the variety of computer software out there now. Mind you, there is a learning curve if you want to do it right, and by that I mean not just snapping madly with your phone and seeing what shakes out. Back then, you took your shot, and it wasn’t until you developed it you knew whether it would turn out okay. I was a pretty good photographer if I do say so myself, and I had a decent camera. So your mama asked me, will I take the four seasons photos, and I said, sure, why not, because it never occurred to me at the time that there was anything odd about the request. Of course, you were too young to argue, and your papa, he would have done anything your mama wanted.”
“So you took the four photos.”
“I did. We took the first one in the spring, and we were all pleased with how well it turned out. I might not have given the whole matter another thought, but sure enough, come summer your mama asked again. By the time autumn came around, I was looking forward to her asking. I’d already planned the shoot in my head, the leaves turning that pretty shade of red-gold the way they do. The last photo, the winter one, was taken on December fourteenth, the morning of our birthdays.” Ella fidgeted with her teacup and took another cookie. “There was something different about your mama that day, something skittish and edgy, though you’d never know it from the photograph I took. At the time I put it down to nerves for that evening’s birthday party. Your mama was never comfortable with a crowd, blamed it on being an only child.”
I could understand that, being an only child myself. I didn’t mind one-on-one, but I much preferred my own company to the company of a group of others. Even so, I didn’t usually get skittish and edgy at the thought of a party. “You said ‘at the time you put it down to nerves.’ Do you mean that later on you thought it might have been something else?”
Skeletons in the Attic (A Marketville Mystery Book 1) Page 7
