Wallpaper with Roses

by Jenny Andersen

  George scowled at him and he subsided. “So, Christine,” George said. “What happened before Violet came downstairs?”

  “Charley just came barreling through the door and slammed it shut in Casey’s face. I was so startled I dropped a whole pan of cookies. He grabbed my arm and started yelling at me because I’d set the cops on him. I tried to get to the phone, but he hit me and knocked me down. I got up and went for the phone again, and he grabbed me, and that’s when Violet came in. And she called you, and you know the rest.” Christine raised her head and looked at him, and Sarah saw the bruise coming up on the girl’s cheekbone.

  “Well, you don’t have to worry about him anymore, honey. We’ll take care of him,” George told her. “Now, I want you to let Brent here to take you over to the hospital to get checked out.”

  “Oh, no. I couldn’t.” Christine sounded alarmed.

  “Yes, you could,” Hilda and Sarah said together.

  “But I can’t pay for that.”

  “Take her away, Brent,” Sarah said. “Have them send the bill here.”

  “Sarah, you can’t do that.”

  “Of course we can. Now go.”

  Brent led a still-protesting Christine away. Hank rose and followed without a glance at George.

  George smiled. “That boy’s got it bad,” he said, heaved himself to his feet, and took his leave. Hilda excused herself, and Sarah was left on the porch with Violet.

  “Little brown ladies,” Sarah said meditatively.

  “Oh, yes, dear. They’ve been helping me for several years now,” Violet said brightly.

  Sarah almost asked if her mother knew about them, but decided she really didn’t want to know.

  Abusive exes. Little brown ladies.

  What next?

  IV. MIRANDA

  Hybrid Perpetual var. Frau Karl Druschki. Plants are big, vigorous, and hardy. Needs frequent feeding and watering to produce repeated bursts of bloom. Flowers are big (to 7 in wide), opulent, full-petaled, and have strong old-rose fragrance. Colors range from white through many shades of pink to deep red.

  Chapter 10

  “Ah, Mrs. Hogbinder. You’re looking lovely today. I hope you enjoyed the sermon.” The Reverend Mr. Dobbs bent over Miranda’s hand in a gesture that was the next thing to kissing it.

  Miranda smiled. It had taken her a couple of years to train him, but he’d come around nicely. “The sermon was excellent,” she said, “as was the one last week. Your sermons are always a pleasure.”

  Mr. Dobbs frowned. “Something else wasn’t to your liking?”

  “Perhaps we could talk in your office.”

  It wasn’t a request. Mr. Dobbs got the message. He led the way, murmuring something predictable about needing to get downstairs for the Fellowship Hour.

  She didn’t pay any attention. After the man had had the nerve to talk to her about the waiter at Miss Mary Lou’s, she made sure to keep him in his place. Imagine, daring to speak to her like that. As though her behavior would ever be up for criticism. No, no, she mustn’t let herself get angry again. Anyway, since the boy’s father was the new banker, and she was the bank’s major client, she’d heard no more about the matter. Of course, the boy no longer worked at the cafe, but that wasn’t important.

  Once she was seated in Reverend Dobbs’s office, she fixed him with her most penetrating stare. “You singled out Sarah Gault for a great deal of attention in your sermon last week.”

  “I mentioned no names, Mrs. Hogbinder.”

  “Hmph. Everyone in town knows who you meant. I found it completely unacceptable that you made such a fuss because the girl did what any child should do. It might be more to the point to find some way to force the more recalcitrant offspring to pay attention to their duties.” Miranda thought of her two children, neither of whom had even spoken to her for twenty years. “Anonymously, of course.”

  “I well certainly take it under advisement, Mrs. Hogbinder. Now, perhaps I could escort you downstairs. Fellowship wouldn’t be the same without you.”

  Miranda rose and took Mr. Dobbs’s arm. Ha. Let all those old cats eat their hearts out. She’d make it plain that Mr. Dobbs was with her.

  Two hours later, her chauffeur deposited her at the door of the Sylvester Building. She frowned at the doorman and the sign saying that the building was scheduled for demolition. The elevator was sitting empty in the lobby, and she went into it, lips pursed in distaste. So lower class to have to operate the thing herself. Just as well this building would be punished.

  But that was a sore subject. However unsatisfactory the building, the penthouse apartment, even if it wasn’t really a penthouse, just the top floor, was the best to be had in this town.

  That was another sore point. That snippy girl, that Sarah Gault, had asked, just asked right out loud, and in the middle of the Fellowship Hour where everyone could hear her, why Miranda didn’t move if she hated the town so much.

  As if she’d leave the town that her ancestors had founded and run for generations. She wasn’t going to move to any riff-raff place where people didn’t know who and what the Crowleys were.

  Miranda removed her gloves and hat. That girl. She was a real thorn in the flesh. Completely unacceptable, even though her mother was from a good family. At least Hilda hadn’t ever challenged Miranda in public the way her snippy little whelp had.

  She stamped out to the kitchen to make a pot of tea. She could take it into her newly refurbished office and indulge herself with her newest toy. That would take her mind off the way that dreadful girl of Hilda’s had insulted her. The nerve, taking Violet in as soon as it was known that the Sylvester was being torn down, and never even mentioning the idea of joining the household to Miranda.

  Not, of course, that she’d want to rent a room from Hilda. Her nostrils flared at the idea. Still...she paused, and then shook herself into hurrying with the tea tray. Still, it would be rather interesting to share a home with Violet and Hilda. They’d have to be impressed by all her things, the clothes, the jewels, and her furniture and dishes.

  The kettle boiled and she carefully poured a bit of water into her prized antique Belleek harp-handled teapot. Swishing it carefully around to warm the pot, she considered the matter.

  The Gault house wasn’t nearly what the Crowley mansion had been, of course. Room might be a problem. No, not really. Hilda wouldn’t mind getting rid of some of her things. She measured Earl Grey leaves into the pot and added water.

  Yes. Moving into Hilda’s house was a good idea. And she’d be right there to keep that snippy girl in her place. Humming happily, Miranda picked up the tea tray and carried it down the hall to the room that served as her office.

  Her brand new computer stood on the desk, its tangerine case gleaming in a beam of sunlight. She’d bought the top of the line model, and the store had sent a most charming young man to hook it up and teach her how to use it. Too bad Keith had refused to come back after the first three sessions.

  “I’ve got another assignment. Anyway, you know enough,” he’d said, practically running from her apartment. Hmph. That store didn’t know much about customer service if they took him off a job that wasn’t completed.

  Now she spent several afternoons a week surfing the net. She smiled, feeling like a cat with canary feathers sticking out of its cream-rimmed mouth. She was probably the only woman of a certain age—her smile widened as she remembered the day she’d picked that phrase, on a package tour of Europe—in Crowley Falls who was as internet-adept as she.

  Hilda and Violet, for instance. She doubted that they even knew what the Internet was. So they could just go on their little shopping trip this afternoon without even inviting her. What did she care for the silly tourist stuff downtown when she had the whole world at her keyboard?

  She’d exhausted the pleasures of eBay within the first month. Browsing an unlimited ‘store’ was enjoyable enough, but the actual purchase was too anonymous. She’d much rather buy from an actual human being. So she’
d gone on to see what else was available.

  And she’d found chat rooms.

  Now she had a list of several that she visited regularly. In each one, she had a different identity, but in each place she reclaimed the beauty that had been hers as a girl. Better, in fact, because she could make her hair any color she wanted. Even her fierce and strict father couldn’t have found any fault with this virtual—she was pretty sure that that was the word that Keith had used—hair coloring. And if she made herself a few years younger, who was ever to know?

  At least here, she could get the admiration that was her due, she thought as she logged on.

  cleopatra! ur here! i was afraid u wernt coming 2day.

  i wudnt stand u up, marc antony, she typed, and let the newly familiar feeling of completion envelop her. If she heard enough good things, it might take her mind off Hilda’s snub, and the difficulties she might have worming her way into Hilda’s house.

  She frowned. There had to be some way to make them want her.

  hey. pretty woman. u still there?

  Men. So importunate. Still here. But the session was less satisfactory than usual, because she couldn’t get her mind off thoughts of Hilda and her daughter and that great big house. Finally, she shut down the computer and went to bed, still mulling over the problem.

  There had to be some way to make them want her.

  ****

  “Please step into my office, Miss Gault.” Mr. Macklin’s thin voice wasn’t made any better by the loudspeaker that blasted it through the quiet halls of Hensen, Edell, and Macklin.

  Sarah paused, letting warm water run over her hands, and looked up to meet Beth’s gaze in the ladies’ room mirror.

  Beth shrugged. “Who knows what’s got his shorts in a twist this time? I suppose you’d better go find out.”

  “I guess,” Sarah said without enthusiasm. She couldn’t imagine what she’d done this time. She’d been early this morning, as she was most days. She wore a skirt, and it was below-knee length. Her lunch didn’t contain anything with detectable smells.

  And she’d solved that odd problem with the Fleider account. She’d called Mrs. F. to report that someone was both making the occasional unauthorized deposit to the Fleider account and paying for some of the inventory. Although Sarah hadn’t been able to find out who was doing it, Mrs. Fleider had been complimentary about her thoroughness and attention. Just remembering Mrs. F.’s fulsome praise gave Sarah a warm glow. Macklin never praised anyone for anything, though, so he probably wasn’t summoning her about that.

  “Miss Gault.” He managed to look down his nose at her when she entered his office even though he was seated. “I hope you have a good explanation for this latest fiasco.”

  He’d really gone around the bend this time. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir,” she said.

  “I’m talking, Miss Gault, about your absolutely unwarranted and unforgivable intrusion into the private life of one of our clients.”

  A cold chill went down Sarah’s spine. Macklin was still a weasel, but suddenly he looked like a very dangerous one. “I still don’t understand. Mr. Macklin, I know the company rules and I haven’t violated them.”

  “I’m talking about the Fleider account. What right did you have to call Mrs. Fleider about the discrepancies you claim to have uncovered in her account? You are an interfering busybody, Miss Gault.”

  Sarah gaped at him. She was in trouble over the Fleider account? “But sir, company policy says it’s standard procedure for a senior accountant to discuss discrepancies and irregularities with the client.”

  “You were out of line.” Macklin leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.

  She certainly was not. She’d done a great piece of detective work, even if Macklin didn’t appreciate it. “But she’s grateful. When I gave her the information, she said she’d talk to Carl at the bank and find out what was happening.”

  His glare intensified. “Your work is not satisfactory, Miss Gault.”

  “That is unbelievably unfair and untrue. What about all those letters of commendation from grateful clients? They were in the folder I left on your desk.”

  “There are no such letters in your file.”

  “The file I left on your desk when I asked for a raise.”

  “I repeat, there are no such letters in your personnel file, Miss Gault. Therefore, if I may continue, your work, your behavior, plus your chronic tardiness, leaves me no option but to—”

  That did it. Outrage overcame manners, and she interrupted. “But I’m never late.”

  “Prove it, Miss Gault. Your personnel file says otherwise. I’ve documented every single instance over the last two years.”

  Ever since his two partners had retired, the sneaky little so-and-so. “Your clock was wrong.”

  He sat back with a small, mean, satisfied smile. “I repeat, prove it. You are fired,” he said with his customary precision. “Leave the building immediately.”

  Sarah went light-headed with shock. “No,” she whispered. “I need this job.”

  “It is of no interest to me what you need, Miss Gault. Or what you want, or think, or feel. You are fired and you have fifteen minutes to clear your desk. Hennessy will accompany you.” He pressed a button on his phone. “Please send Hennessy in now,” he said.

  Joe Hennessy, all six feet five ex-football player two hundred and fifty pounds of him, sidled into the office.

  “Hennessy, you will escort Miss Gault to her office. She is to be out of the building in fifteen minutes. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir,” Hennessy said in a wooden voice. He took Sarah’s arm and led her out of the office. “What the hell is this all about?” he whispered as soon as they were in the hall.

  The sympathy in his expression almost broke Sarah’s control. “Beats me,” she said, blinking back tears. “But he’ll probably fire you too if you don’t have me of here on time. Fifteen minutes and thirty seconds and your job is toast.”

  “Aw, Sarah. I feel rotten about this.”

  “Not your problem. Oh, look. How thoughtful. He had boxes brought up here while he was firing me. And my computer’s gone. Guess he didn’t want me stealing any secrets. Here, put this stuff in a box.”

  Working as fast as she could through the shimmer of tears, Sarah packed up the last fifteen years of her life.

  “Sarah, what happened?” Beth hissed as Sarah went past her office on the way to the kitchen to get the lunch she wouldn’t be able to eat.

  “Tell you tonight,” Sarah answered. “Gotta hurry.”

  “Two minutes, Hennessy,” Mr. Macklin called down the hall.

  “Let’s go,” Sarah said to her box-toting escort.

  “Ain’t you gonna tell that jerk off before you go?”

  Sarah looked at Mr. Macklin standing in the door to his office, arms crossed and glare turned to full on. “No. Just because he’s a jerk doesn’t mean I have to be one.”

  “But he can’t fire you.”

  “Conversation is not necessary, Hennessy,” Macklin said. “Please attend to your job.”

  Sarah poked Hennessy in the ribs. “Say ‘Yes, sir,’ dummy,” she hissed, and swept out the door.

  “Sarah, you can’t walk home with these boxes,” Hennessy said when they reached the parking lot.

  “We’ll put them in Beth’s car,” she said.

  He carefully set the two boxes on the back seat. “You shouldn’t let him do this, Sarah. You should oughta sue him.”

  “Nah. He’s put so many complaints in my file it would never fly. Not worth the effort, Joe.”

  “It won’t be the same around here without you.”

  “You’ll be fine. Beth’ll be here.”

  She gave Hennessy a hug, hefted her purse over her shoulder, and started walking. Tears would be a logical response here, but she was still too shocked. Telling her mother would be hard. Finding money to pay the bills was going to be even harder. Thank goodness for Violet. Even the little bi
t of money she was contributing to the household was going to make a big difference.

  ****

  By the time Beth’s car jounced to a stop in the driveway at five oh nothing that evening, numbness was giving way to anger. Anger and worry.

  Beth charged into the house on a wave of energy, tripping over an excited Casey and demanding “What happened? What did that idiot Macklin do? What did your mother say? Are you going to sue the company?”

  “Take a deep breath,” Sarah said, leading Beth to a chair at the kitchen table and handing her a glass of iced tea. She sat across the table and gritted her teeth. She really, really didn’t want to go through this again. Explaining to her mother had been anything but fun, and she was still puzzling over the haunted, almost guilty look on Hilda’s face when she’d heard the news.

  “But Hennessy is telling everyone you got fired, and you weren’t there. So what happened?”

  “I got fired.” The words tasted so bitter in her mouth she almost gagged. Casey leaned heavily against her and licked her knee in sympathy.

  Beth set her tea down with a thump that slopped some over onto the flowered tablecloth. “But why?” The last word was a wail. “I can’t believe it. Unless you’ve been embezzling without telling me.”

  “He said he was firing me for telling Mrs. Fleider about an irregularity in her account, and for chronic lateness, and unsatisfactory work.”

  “But that’s company policy for senior accountants. We always do that. And you’re never late. And you’re still the best accountant in the company.”

  “Not any more. And that doesn’t seem to be what my personnel file says.”

  Beth’s jaw dropped.

  “Copies,” Sarah murmured. “Keep copies of everything.”

  “What did he do?”

  “You know he’s always disliked me. He was against hiring me, but Hensen and Edell outvoted him. Once they retired, I was a sitting duck. I was lucky to last this long.”

  “He couldn’t fire you. Your work is too good.”