Inside, she found several small jewelry boxes and two envelopes. One was marked, “Georgia”, and the other, “Marsha”.
Marsha leapt out of her chair when she saw the envelope with her name. “Give me that!”
She tore it open, and began to speed-read it with a long fingernail tracing over the handwritten words. A second later, a smile burst across her face as wide as the Grand Canyon.
“What does it say?” Georgia asked.
“If she’d wanted us to share, there’d be one letter instead of two...don’t you think?”
Georgia shook her head as she set her own letter down on her lap. Then, she flipped open the lids of the jewelry boxes. Inside, she found a small strand of pearls and sapphire earrings that she knew belonged to her great great grandmother, ElizabethCrawford, and a broach with small inset rubies in the pattern of a rose.
“Aren’t you going to open yours?” Marsha prodded.
Georgia hesitated then slid her nail under the flap and sliced it open as she leaned away from Marsha’s reach.
The first few lines brought tears to her eyes. They told her what a special granddaughter she was and that her grandmother had loved her very much.
She scanned through the rest of it, but gasped when she reached the last paragraph. Though most of the letter was typed and dated two years back, the last part was added in scribbled handwriting.
Georgia, my time now may be short, but please know that my last days have been enjoyable beyond words. I know this is a lot to ask of you, but you are the only one that I can trust to carry out my wishes. Please take our family home into your care...and take care of Alphonso. I know you’ll understand soon. And...be careful. I knew he wasn’t Henry before he told me...but I so enjoyed his company.
The last line after that stated where her Will could be found.
She laid the letter in her lap, then changed her mind and picked it up quickly before her sister could snatch it away. What did she mean...Henry...Alphonso? Henry was her dead grandfather. Perhaps Grammie had started the wording of the will before he had passed away. No. That didn’t make sense. It was too many years ago. And she had no idea who Alphonso could be. Perhaps Grammie really had gone senile in the end?
“What does your letter say?” Marsha asked.
“If she’d meant us to share...”
Marsha sneered back at her. “Touché.”
“She has a Will at the office of Erickson & Erickson.”
“Great. We can go there next. Then, we can go to the house and start going through things.”
Georgia wasn’t as excited. The dung was really going to hit the fan when the lawyer revealed that the house had been left to her. She knew that Marsha might erupt into blasphemies. With her sister in tantrum mode, they weren’t likely to feel like going through things in the house. But, she agreed to the plan just to keep the current peace.
A few minutes later, as they whipped out of the parking lot, she asked, “Do you know who Alphonso is?”
“Who?”
“Just somebody Grammie mentioned in her letter.”
“Maybe it’s that mangy cat she’s been feeding.”
“Hmmm...could be. I can’t have cats in my apartment though.”
“She left you the cat?”
“I don’t know…”
A smirk bled across Marsha’s face. “Is that all? If she didn’t give you the house, then I suppose it’s ours to sell and split...”
Georgia cast her eyes down.
“Shutup! She did give you the house, didn’t she? Son of a...”
“Why would she give it you?” Georgia asked as she folded her arms across her chest and wished she could disappear. Her voice dwindled to a mumble. “You barely talked to her all these years even though you lived so close.”
“Oh...and with you so far away...it’s not like you were her church buddy every week. What the hell are you going to do with a house in the middle of Kansas?”
Georgia’s eyes grew misty. She looked out the window, feigning interest in a group of kids on their way to school. Then, she braced her forehead onto her fist and closed her eyes.
“You’re not thinking of moving back here are you? What would you do out here? It’s not exactly a big market for fancy-shmancy paintings and statues.”
“I didn’t say I was considering it,” she lied.
“I don’t care what your letter said. You know you have to sell that house and split the money with me. It’s the only fair thing.”
“I don’t know what I’m going to do. Until we read the Will, I’m not assuming anything. And you still haven’t told me what she said in your letter.”
Marsha’s posture stiffened. “Let’s just say that she apparently wanted to make some amends.”
Chapter 25
Cleaning up blood was hard work.
The spirit found rags in the hall closet upstairs and a bucket and cleaning supplies under the kitchen sink. He muttered to himself as he scrubbed the wall next to the front door like a common servant.
The salesman had come to the door to peddle vacuum cleaners. He had cheerfully let him inside, allowing the man to loosen his tie and relax into the joyous prospect of a sale. Once the door closed behind him, the spirit leapt at the chance to absorb his energy.
In an odd turn of events, the wiry man’s eyes bulged with fright during the process, and somehow he had been able to yank the door open behind him and get a foot through.
Still in his human form, the spirit cracked a fist on top of the man’s head. Instead of the blow merely stunning him or rendering him unconscious, the man’s skull shattered like a glass jug. Bright red blood, brain tissue, and shards of bone splashed across the foyer and all the way up to the ceiling.
He didn’t understand it. He knew that he was becoming as strong as he had once been in his former life. But, that was a manly strength, born from hard labor in the gardens. He paused from his cleaning and looked down at his fist. Either, he was acquiring an unnatural strength, or the transfer of energy had weakened the shell of the man’s body.
The curses he muttered as he cleaned up the mess would have shocked a sailor. But, he knew that it must be done. The last thing he wanted was for the property to be swarming with polizotto like it had been after Virginia’s death.
In his former life, it would have been no trouble to explain to the men in starched uniforms that he had found an intruder in his home and had dispensed with him (in a messy, but justifiable way). But, in his present situation, he needed time to establish legitimate ownership of this domain. He had a plan already germinating in his mind to ensure it...
For now, he was certain that he had covered his bases. No one except the sun’s gilded eye had witnessed him carrying the limp form over his shoulder as he trudged across the field or heard the splash as he rolled it down the bank. The man’s body would be found far downstream, and it would look as if he had fallen in and bashed his head against a rock.
Though he had used his brute humanlike strength to carry the body out there, he had flitted back over the field to the house like a meandering wave of steam. If anyone had seen him one moment and not the next, perhaps they would think that they had seen a ghost?
He laughed at the thought. For, he could hardly be called a ghost anymore. The man’s death had invigorated him further. The brilliant spark inside him now made his flesh so ruddy and plump, it almost looked as if he had spent the afternoon bathing in the sunshine. Indeed, if he snuffed the electric lights and stood in front of a mirror with only the warm glow of candles, one could not distinguish him from a mortal. And, perhaps, he was even ready to attempt a foray into town by night...if not by day?
As he scrubbed at the brownish splatters on the wall, his thoughts turned again to the murder of the paperboy and the salesman. Killing them hadn’t required much forethought. It had been instinctual. Like an animal knowing how to hunt prey and devour its flesh, there was something about this new pseudo-body that craved human energy to fulfill
its existence.
When his final time came again, he knew that he would go to hell this time for his murderous deeds and not some merely dismal black void, but he didn’t care. He was beginning to feel strong now—almost invincible. He wondered if it was possible for him to live forever. Maybe...if he kept on killing and feeding on those beautiful sparks of life?
There were so many things that he longed to do in this lifetime. Sometimes, in his boredom, he pressed the button that turned on the picture machine in the parlor. The images he saw and things he learned about this new age were fantastico! The riches and indulgences that it depicted in its stories and advertisements only whetted his appetite all the more for all the things that he would achieve in this lifetime.
He had pressed Virginia continuously for details about the new electronic devices, politics, war, and transportation.
One day, he hoped to sit behind the wheel of a new fast car. He couldn’t imagine the thrill of driving sixty miles an hour! No horse and buggy or early motorcar could have come close to that speed.
WilliamCrawford...if you could see me now! The old patriarch’s rotten bones were still in the grave, while he, AlphonsoGiovanni, enjoyed the fruits of his labors and progeny. The reversed fortunes were laughable.
After finishing his cleaning, he lay back on the couch in the parlor with his hands behind his head and said out loud, “Now, Master Crawford—I am the master of your house and you rot somewhere in your grave.”
A minute later, a whiff of perfume tickled his nostrils. It was the same sweetness that he had smelled before. He thought about the dark-haired woman again. Was it her lingering scent?
When will you come back to me, mio carmella?
He closed his eyes as he inhaled the sweet perfume and dreamt of the rose garden in its heyday. The mere memory of the countless hours that he had spent in its lush feminine scents had increased his libido. He regretted that he had never had the opportunity to take anything more than soft kisses from his beloved Margaret before she died. Many times, he had fantasized about ripping off her cotton dress underneath the brambles of a luscious pink rose bush in the back of the gardens. If she had allowed him, he could have had at least a few precious moments to partake of her fruits. And, wouldn’t her father have been disappointed to find out that the gardener had soiled his most precious flower?
The spirit startled awake from his fantasy as he heard a key turning in the front door.
Ahhh...bellissimo. She’s here...
Chapter 26
“I still can’t believe she gave you this whole stinkin’ place!” Marsha said as Georgia pushed open the heavy door to their grandmother’s house.
“I didn’t write the will,” Georgia said in her defense. “I never asked her for the house.”
“Really? Because, I’m guessing that you made some secret deal with her this summer after you realized that she was going senile.”
Georgia stopped just inside the foyer of the house and turned to glare at her sister. “And maybe you’ve got some weird paranoia thing going on?”
Marsha’s mouth gaped open as she looked into the living room. “What’s that?” she asked as she pointed to the coffee table.
She looked over her sister’s shoulder at a half-eaten pie on top of a crocheted doily beside an empty glass. As she walked towards it, several flies flitted into the air. “Euggh!” she said as she saw a film of green mold on top of the remains of the uneaten cherry filling. Georgia wondered if it was the same pie that had disappeared from the porch steps? If it was, there hadn’t been enough time for it to get moldy. And who had brought it in there?
She wrinkled her nose in disgust.
Marsha grimaced. “Gross. Where did that come from?”
She picked it up and took it to the kitchen trashcan. “I don’t know, but it’s kind of weird. Annie gave me a pie just like this on Saturday when I stopped by. I put it on the porch steps, but it disappeared before I left.”
“Well, it looks like we may have had a pie-stealing burglar around. The Dalton County Sentinel said that a few houses were broken into this summer. God, I hope nothing is missing! I’ll have a look upstairs. You check down here.”
Before Georgia could reply, she darted up the staircase. Splitting up wasn’t the plan, she thought. They were supposed to go around the house together and make joint decisions about who would get what. Grammie had given her the house, but left the smaller things for them to haggle out between themselves.
She walked back to the coffee table and sniffed the empty glass. Gin again! She wondered if a kid or vagrant had been using the empty house as his home for the last few days, because this time, it certainly couldn’t have been Grammie’s drink! The proximity of the house to nearby railroad tracks made the theory of a vagabond intruder more plausible.
The thought that someone had been in Grammie’s house making themself at home made her angry instead of frightened. You just didn’t expect that sort of thing in the country. People here slept with their windows open at night and left their doors unlocked.
She had never experienced a break-in during her years in New York, but she had once been mugged. To this day, she still regretted that she froze and let the unshaven foul-mouthed crook run off with her purse. In hindsight, she wished that she had knocked the gun, which was probably fake, out of his hands and kicked him square in the center of his universe. If a similar situation ever arose, she swore that she would fight back.
With her guard raised, she made a quick glance around the living room. Nothing else seemed out of place. But, she could tell that someone had been lying on the couch. One of the throw pillows was out of place, and there was a round indentation on it where it looked like someone’s head had recently lain.
She walked over to the pillow and felt it and the couch where there was a remaining impression of a body. They were both cool to the touch.
As she looked around the main floor, she almost wished that the intruder was still hiding somewhere in the house, so she could give him a piece of her mind.
A couple of minutes later, she heard the sound of the wood floor creak in the hallway upstairs. Then, she heard her sister opening and closing doors and drawers in the master bedroom.
“Everything alright up there?”
“I’ve got it covered,” Marsha yelled back. “If you haven’t found anything down there, go check out the basement.”
Who had made her Inspector in Charge? But, wanting to make sure that the house was secure, she conceded to the command to keep looking. As she walked past the dining table into the kitchen, she tensed again with both hands balled up into fists. Seeing no one, she peered into the pantry and into a few drawers before noticing that the knife was no longer in the sink.
She glanced around the counter tops and didn’t see it. It made her uneasy.
In the library, there was another curiosity. A couple dozen books were pulled out from the shelves as if someone had briefly looked at them and then not pushed them back in.
She had a reluctant hand on the basement doorknob a few seconds later when she heard Marsha’s heels stomp down the staircase.
“So, everything’s okay up there?” she asked as they met in the kitchen.
“Yup. I don’t think anything’s missing. Maybe we just had a vagrant. It’s shocking that they didn’t steal anything.”
Georgia had a new theory. “Or, maybe good old Fred next door snuck over here to pig out on pie and snatch a drink out of sight and earshot from Annie?”
Marsha laughed so hard, a snort came out. She covered her mouth with her manicured nails.
“So, what do you want?” Georgia dared to ask.
“Just a few small things. I found some jewelry upstairs, and I want the silver from the china cabinet.”
“Just the things of value, I’m sure. You’re really not interested in all of these antiques?” Georgia asked as she gestured at the furniture around the room. She knew that some of them were as old as the house itself, if not older.
“You can have those. I don’t care much for that crotchety stuff.”
“Well, I guess I’ll empty the refrigerator and see what else needs to be done before we leave.”
“Fine. Don’t take too long though. I’ve got to get back to the salon. I’ll wait for you in the truck,” Marsha said. Then, she turned around and went out the front door slamming it behind her.
Georgia sighed, thinking how nice it would be to slip her sister one of her little yellow bricks. The woman could certainly use some calming. Maybe, she needed to lay off the caffeine.
As she headed for the refrigerator, she became aware of the smell of something sweet. The floral scent was pleasant, but puzzling. At first it reminded her of perfume, but as she inhaled more of its subtle complexity, she guessed that it was coming into the house from the gardens. Although, her nose detected the mingled scents of roses, honeysuckle, and lilacs that she knew didn’t bloom at this time of year. The sweetness of the air reminded her of her grandmother hard at work among the blooms with her gloves and pruners on a sunny summer day.
Oh, Grammie. What should I do? I love this house—the garden—the memories.
She began to unload the food, dumping anything that looked bad down the disposal and saving a few things to take to Marsha’s. She decided to take her time. Her pouty sister could wait a few minutes as she took care of things that needed to be done.
When she finished sorting and dumping, she stepped into the pantry to look for a bag to carry some of the jars and containers of food. But, she paused as a strange sensation came over her. There was the feeling of warm breath on the back of her neck.
As she whipped around, she saw nothing but the kitchen table behind her. She chided herself for her jumpiness. What’s the matter with me? Hot flashes already? I’m not quite ready for that.
Then, just as quickly as it had come on, the feeling was gone. She stiffened as she took a stack of paper bags into the kitchen. She was almost finished loading the last of them with a jar of pickles and a package of butter when she heard a scratching sound coming from the back door.
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