by R. L. King
She sighed. “Fine,” she said. “I don’t know how much I can help you, though.”
“Thank you so much.” He leaned forward. “Do you remember anything odd leading up to Miriam’s disappearance? Did she say anything to you that sounded strange, or that indicated she might be considering making a move?”
Winifred Padgett shook her head decisively. “Nothing. The police already went over this with me, shortly after she disappeared. She didn’t say a word that was unusual. The week before she left, she came by for her usual Saturday-afternoon visit. She came every Saturday, you know.”
Stone nodded. “How did the visit go?”
She shrugged. “Fine. She brought me some flowers, a box of biscuits to share with Thelma—Miriam loved to cook and bake—and some new yarn. I was knitting her a scarf.”
“And you just talked about normal things? Nothing out of the ordinary?”
“Nothing. She told me about her work at the shop, and we watched a little telly. She was going to take me out to lunch, but I was feeling poorly that afternoon so we stayed in.”
“And then…the following week she didn’t show up?” he asked gently.
She shook her head, and her eyes glittered. “No.”
“No message?” He thought of the lazy girl at the front desk. “Is it possible she might have left one for you with the staff, and they forgot to deliver it?”
“No. The calls all get recorded. The police checked, back at the time. Nothing. Mr. Townes, I don’t see—”
Stone wasn’t sure he did either. It was obvious he was upsetting Winifred with his questions, and it hardly seemed worthwhile to do it for no good reason. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “I know this disturbs you. Could I just ask you two more questions, and then I promise that’ll be all?”
Her hand fluttered. “You might as well, I suppose.”
“Thank you. This one might be a little harder, and if you don’t remember, I understand. But can you tell me the date of her last visit?”
She looked at her lap again. “I don’t remember the exact date. My mind gets a little fuzzy with dates. But it was at the very end of July, a year ago. That much I do know. And it would have been on a Saturday. It was always on a Saturday.”
“Good…thank you so much, Mrs. Padgett. And my last question: I talked to Miriam’s old employer at the shop earlier today. She told me she sent Miriam’s last check to you, because you were her only living relative. Did anyone send you anything else of hers? From her home, I mean?”
A tear ran down Winifred’s wrinkled cheek. “They did. Most of her things got sold, because she didn’t pay her rent and her landlord took them to get back some of the money she owed. But he sent me a couple boxes of sentimental items that weren’t worth anything. Photos, little things from her childhood, items she made…that kind of thing.”
“Do you…have them here? Could I take a look at them?”
“They’re under the bed. You’ll have to dig them out—I can’t get on my knees anymore.”
“Do you mind?” Stone was beginning to form an idea. It probably wouldn’t work, but at least now it might be possible.
“No, I suppose not. I still don’t understand what you’re after, though.”
“Just…catching up with my friend, I suppose.” He got down on all fours and peered under the bed. Aside from dust bunnies and an old pair of slippers, he spotted two cardboard boxes near the wall. He dragged both of them out and carefully set them on the table to avoid sending up a cloud of dust. “May I look inside?”
“You might as well. I suppose I’d like to see them too.”
Stone opened the first box. It was stacked with papers, photo albums, and what looked like childhood art projects.
Now that the items were on display, Winifred showed new enthusiasm. She became downright chatty, narrating each item as Stone pulled it out. He left her paging through a yellowing photo album while he opened the second box with magical sight active.
This box was full of old toys and folded sewing projects. He set each on the table, examining them. None stood out.
“Oh!” Winifred spoke up when he pulled out a fancy, deep-red doll dress with lacy details and embroidery on the front. “I remember that. It was one of the first things Miriam made after she learned to sew. She was so talented. She did all the needlework herself. She was so proud of it.” She smiled, and once again her eyes glittered with tears. “I really should get rid of all this stuff—it’s just taking up space, and they don’t like us keeping things under the bed—but I can’t bring myself to throw them away.”
“Mrs. Padgett,” Stone said carefully, holding up the dress. “If you’re thinking about that…would you mind if I took this?”
She frowned. “Why? What would a man like you want with a dolly dress?”
“Just…something to remember Miriam by, is all.”
She studied Stone’s face for several seconds, then finally sighed, deflating. “I don’t see why not, I suppose. I can’t hold on to everything, and I’ve got the photos to remember her by. Take it, if it will make you happy.”
“Thank you so much.” He stood. “I should be going now, Mrs. Padgett. I told you I wouldn’t bother you with any other questions, and I meant it. I hope you have a lovely afternoon.”
She was still paging through the photo album, almost as if she’d forgotten he was there. “Mmm…” she said under her breath, pointing at one of the photos. “Ah, that was such a wonderful day…”
25
Once again, Stone had intended to return to the London house, drop off the Mercedes, and head home to California. There wasn’t much else he could do here yet—he’d followed his two leads and got as much information as he could without trying to find out what the police knew. That wouldn’t be easy, though, and he wasn’t sure it was necessary.
As he left the depressing care home in Brixton, though, his thoughts returned to Winifred Padgett, all alone in that dismal room with no one to visit her or care about her as she continued her slow, inevitable decline. It was obvious she wouldn’t be around much longer, and at least part of that was likely due to loneliness and despair over her lost daughter.
His thoughts of Winifred slowly drifted to someone a lot closer to him: Aubrey. The caretaker wasn’t as old as Winifred, but the years had definitely taken their toll on him. Stone didn’t often think about it; watching someone get older in real time wasn’t the same shock you got when you hadn’t seen them for years. But Ian’s words had brought mortality to the front of his mind in a way he hadn’t thought about for a long time.
He’d told Ian he wasn’t planning to talk to Aubrey—but then again, Ian had told Aubrey he wouldn’t reveal what he’d seen to Stone. Sometimes such promises went out the window when a loved one’s well-being was at stake. Perhaps Ian would be angry with him for what he was about to do, just as Aubrey might be angry with Ian for what he’d done.
But Stone was willing to risk it.
He drove the Mercedes back to the London house, left it there, and took the portal to Surrey before he had a chance to second-guess himself. There was no point in using ley-line travel this time, since the portals were right there and the trip took about the same amount of time. As he exited the mausoleum and trudged up toward the house under an overcast sky, he wondered if he was doing the right thing.
Aubrey didn’t meet him this time, which was a bit unusual but not completely odd. Especially during the day, he was often out tramping around the grounds, tending to the outdoor tasks he loved.
Stone entered the house through the front door. “Aubrey?” he called in a strong, clear voice. “Are you here?”
A figure appeared in the dining-room doorway. “He’s outside, Dr. Stone. Working in the garden. Shall I call him for you?”
Ah. Stone still hadn’t gotten completely used to Selby’s presence in the house. He’d been here for quite some time and had worked out very well at helping take some of the load off Aubrey, but he often made himself
scarce when Stone was around. Right now, he held a rag in one hand and a spray bottle of cleaning fluid in the other. “Hello, Selby. No—that’s fine. I just dropped by to take care of a couple of things. I’ll find him later.”
“Yes, sir. Did you need anything?”
“No, no. Don’t let me bother you.”
Selby nodded and disappeared back into the dining room.
Stone remained where he was for a few seconds, wondering if he should question Selby about Aubrey. He knew the two had developed a friendship, so likely the younger man might have seen more of what Ian had reported. But even as he considered it, he knew it would be a bad idea. Ian was a Stone, a member of the family, just as Stone considered Aubrey to be. Selby, as efficiently and ably as he performed his duties, hadn’t achieved that status yet.
He hurried to his study before he attracted any more attention, closed the door, and picked up the phone from the desk. He could stall a bit by calling Eddie and reporting what he’d learned from Winifred Padgett.
The call didn’t last long. “Interestin’,” Eddie had said when he heard the story. “Dunno what to make of it, though. You didn’t get anything at all strange from her?”
He pulled the doll’s dress from his coat pocket and examined it. “She gave me a doll dress Miriam made when she was younger. I was thinking we might use it as a tether object for a ritual, but I don’t know. I’m sure she’s under a lot of magical protection—especially if she’s with Richter. I doubt it could punch through that even with my power behind it, and I don’t want her getting wise that we’re on to her. Not while we still have so many unanswered questions.”
“Probably right. I’ll do a little checkin’—see if I can find anything about better tracking rituals. What are you gonna do next?”
Stone sighed. “I don’t know, Eddie. I don’t want to admit it, but I’m stumped. I don’t know where they are, and we don’t even know for sure what they’re up to. All this stuff about Richter and his search for immortality is just speculation. He could be doing something completely different with those ghouls.”
“Yeah…” Eddie sounded as discouraged as he did. “Well, keep it grindin’ around in the back of your ’ead. Maybe you’ll have one o’ those middle-of-the-night brainwaves of yours.”
“One can only hope. Thanks, Eddie.”
He slowly hung up the phone, slouching in his chair.
That did it. He couldn’t stall anymore. Either he was going to talk to Aubrey, or he might as well head home and see if anyone there had come up with anything in his absence.
He considered it, but only for a moment. It was the coward’s way out. If Aubrey was going to be angry with him, he’d just have to be angry. Gods knew he’d stuck his nose into Stone’s business enough times in their lives.
He shoved the dress back in his pocket and left the study, heading back out to the main hall. Selby was nowhere to be found now. The man was an odd duck—loyal as could be but standoffish, preferring to perform his duties and stay out of the spotlight. Stone was grateful for that now. Talking to him again would just make this whole thing harder.
The day was still overcast, but the sun was starting to poke through the clouds. In mid-afternoon, the back garden looked as wild as ever, though a closer look would reveal a certain method to the haphazard madness. Stone had never been a fan of pretentious, manicured gardens like the one at Caventhorne, and Aubrey shared his view.
He paused a moment, listening, and soon heard the crunch of wheels on gravel. Following one of the meandering paths, he spotted Aubrey crouched next to a wheelbarrow full of mulch, using a trowel to arrange it around a row of twining vines.
The old man hadn’t noticed him yet. He stopped, shifting to magical sight and examining his blue aura. As Ian had mentioned, it had a few dark patches, but nothing stood out as obviously worrisome. Stone tried to remember the last time he’d looked at Aubrey’s aura. It wasn’t something he made a habit of doing.
Get on with it.
“Busy as always, I see,” he called softly, chuckling. “Don’t you ever rest?”
Aubrey started just a bit, but his eyes crinkled and his craggy face broke into a smile. “Hello, sir. Back again already? Are you staying this time?” As always, he sounded hopeful.
“No, unfortunately not. I’m trying to solve another puzzle before I’ve got to go back to work in a few days.” He nodded toward the vines. “Those are growing well.”
He didn’t give a damn about vines, and Aubrey knew it, but they both kept up the charade. “I’ve just put them in a month or so ago. They’ll have some lovely blooms come springtime.”
“Brilliant.” Stone forced himself not to pace. Instead, he toed at the gravel along the path. “I think I might have convinced Ian to come ’round for the holidays this year.”
Aubrey’s smile widened. “Oh, I do hope so. I’ve been wanting to do a proper Christmas feast, but it hardly seems worthwhile unless we’ve got enough people to share it.”
Stone chuckled. Aubrey’s primary modus operandi for anyone he loved was to feed them as much as possible. “Well, I do hope we can make it. If you like, I can see if Jason, Amber, and Verity want to come too. We’ll make a proper celebration of it. And of course you’ll be bringing Susan?”
He looked away, and his smile changed. “I don’t know if I…”
“Come on, now. You’ve got to bring her so we can all meet her properly.”
“I’ll see, sir. She might be spending the holidays with her children and grandchildren.”
“Ah, of course. Well, in any case, I’d love to meet her for more than a brief hello. Perhaps we can get together for tea sometime.”
“I’m sure she’d like that, sir.”
Stone nodded, prodding at the gravel again. Damn you, stop stalling.
“Is there…anything else I can do for you, sir?” Aubrey tilted his head. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, of course.”
Now it was Stone’s turn to look away. He examined the toe of his boot and sighed. He was usually so straightforward and direct—why was this so hard?
Of course he knew why.
“Sir?” Aubrey was looking at him worriedly. “Is something wrong?”
He swallowed. “Aubrey…there’s something I’d like to talk to you about. And I’m hesitant to bring it up, because I think it might make you angry.”
“Angry, sir?”
“I…spoke with Ian recently.”
Aubrey had been about the plunge the trowel into the load of mulch. He stopped it before it got there. “Oh?”
He’d tried to sound casual, but Stone had been watching his aura. A startled red flare blossomed at his words.
“Yes.” He sighed again. “Please don’t be upset with him, Aubrey. He cares about you, and so do I.”
“I asked him not to tell you, sir. It’s nothing. I didn’t want you to worry.” Aubrey didn’t meet his gaze. Instead, he picked at the bits of mulch stuck to the trowel.
“Of course I’m going to worry.” Now Stone did begin pacing. “Come on, Aubrey—how can I not worry, especially when I barely know anything about what’s going on? Wouldn’t you worry about me, if the situation were reversed?”
Aubrey bowed his head. “Of course I would, sir.”
“Well, then…” He spread his hands. “Listen. Your health is your own business. I’ve got no right to pry into your affairs. I can’t make you tell me what’s going on. But…”
Aubrey waited, silent and watchful. Clearly, he wasn’t going to make this easy on Stone.
“Are you going to make me say it?”
“Say…what, sir?”
Stone rounded on him. “Damn you, you stubborn old coot. I care about you, all right? If something’s wrong, I want to make sure you’ve got the best of care.”
Aubrey didn’t look angry. His expression was half-kindly, half-sad. He regarded Stone for several moments, then sighed and dropped the trowel on top of the mulch pile. “I can’t be angry at Ian, sir. Hones
tly, I’m surprised he took this long to tell you. And I can’t be angry with you for worrying.”
Stone nodded. He hadn’t missed that Aubrey hadn’t reassured him there was nothing to worry about. “All right,” he said. “All right. I’ll mind my own business. If you don’t want to tell me what’s wrong, I won’t make it difficult. I…just want you to know I do care.”
“I know you do.”
This hadn’t gone anything like Stone had hoped it would. He sighed and turned away. “All right,” he said again, wearily. “I’ll butt out. But…take care of yourself, Aubrey. Promise me you will.”
“Sir…”
He didn’t turn. “Yes?”
Aubrey sighed. “I...I’ve been ’round to see my doctor, a few weeks ago.”
Now Stone did turn, facing him from a few feet down the gravel path. He said nothing, but merely waited.
The old man smiled. “It was Susan who encouraged it. Said she’d seen my hands shaking a bit, and she wanted me to have it looked into.”
Still, Stone said nothing.
“He did some tests, and I got the results back a few days later.” He picked up the trowel again and wiped it on the leg of his stained work trousers. “It’s…Parkinson’s, sir.”
Stone froze. “Aubrey…”
“Now, don’t you go getting worried. We caught it very early, and it’s quite treatable with medication and exercise. I’m already taking something for it, and right now I barely notice it.” He held up his hand. “See? No shaking.”
Stone didn’t know what to say. His mouth had gone dry, and he felt like an electrical jolt had shot through his body, rooting him to the spot.
Aubrey came closer, reaching out to grip his arm. “Sir…please. This is why I didn’t want to tell you. I promise—I’m fine. Many, many people live for a good long time before it even starts becoming a problem.” He chuckled. “Look at that American actor. He’s had it for years and he’s still doing films.”
It was as if something had severed the pathways between Stone’s brain and his mouth. Sudden thoughts spun in his brain, but none of them made it out. That was probably for the best, given their nature. “Is there…anything I can do?” he finally managed. “We can look into it—find you the best doctors in the world. What’s the point of having all this money if I can’t—”
