Final Settlement

by Vicki Doudera

  Crouching to see into the corner, Darby let the beam of light move slowly along the eaves. She saw nothing at first, and then a shape emerged, tucked way back and practically out of sight.

  Darby took in a quick breath, wondering whether she was about to encounter a rabid roommate?

  She removed her new coat, lay down on her stomach, and began belly crawling into the space, careful not to lift her head. The attic roof was studded with ancient nails, and Darby remembered their prick from childhood encounters.

  She reached out with a gloved hand, gingerly touching the object, hoping it was not a squirrel, dead or alive. Her fingers probed something hard, and rectangular shaped—some sort of box. Darby pulled it toward her and began scooting backward, out of the eaves.

  Ouch! Something sharp grazed her scalp. She winced, thankful that her tetanus shots were up to date, and backed up slowly. Finally she stood.

  Coated with a thick layer of dust, the box in her hands was approximately ten inches wide and five inches high, and weighed several pounds. It was painted a bright red, with small brass hinges.

  Darby wiped away some of the layered dust. Charming scenes of snow-capped mountains, trees, and blue-roofed temples emerged from the grime. Japan. She felt a glimmer of excitement. This little box was Japanese.

  Darby bent down and picked up her coat, cradling the box and the flashlight as well. She shivered, the single-digit temperatures of the attic finally having an effect.

  She shuffled on stiff, cold, legs toward the stairs. Taking them slowly, she descended, closed the attic door, and headed for the bathroom. She placed the lacquered box on the countertop and turned on hot water for a shower. She wanted to open the box—just for a quick peek—and yet she was frozen to her core.

  And then she saw the blood.

  FIVE

  WHOOSH!

  Bitsy Carmichael raised the patchwork quilt up into the air and let it fall neatly onto the freshly made bed. She fluffed the two king-sized pillows, placed them at the headboard, picked up an empty water glass from a bedside table, and surveyed the room with satisfaction. As soon as Charles had left for the office, she’d scurried up the stairs to his room, tidied his closet and floor, and hung up several shirts and trousers. A quick pass with the vacuum cleaner and the space looked neat and orderly.

  She placed the glass on a table by the stairs and entered the guest room. Bitsy was staying here (temporarily, she was sure) and the room was barely big enough for the twin bed, never mind her two suitcases. She took one and tried to shove it under the bed. No dice. She wheeled it into the hallway and jammed it into the linen closet, beneath a shelf piled with sets of frayed sheets. The other she took into Charles’s room where it slid easily under his bed.

  She finished applying her makeup in the guest bathroom. Running her fingers through the spiky blonde haircut she’d adopted in Las Vegas, Bitsy thought about the day. She’d straighten up the kitchen, make a shopping list, and then go to the grocery store for a few items. She frowned. There was a problem with that scenario. She did not have a car.

  A knock on the downstairs door made her jump. She swept her lips with a dusky plum shade, dabbed on a little perfume, and scrutinized her image in the glass. She looked good, especially for a woman in her mid—okay, it was actually late—fifties.

  Bitsy heard another knock as she descended the stairs, drinking glass in hand. She peered out the living room window. A truck was in the driveway, the same truck that had transported her from the ferry dock to the house.

  Donny Pease.

  She flung open the door and there he was, wearing a red plaid woolen coat and a sheepish grin. She gave him a bright smile. “Come in, come in, Donny. Brrr! It feels even colder than yesterday.”

  “Storm coming,” Donny noted. He gave a shy nod. “Be your first since you’ve been back in Maine.”

  “You’re right,” she said, helping him out of his coat. “Let me fix you a cup of coffee and you can tell me all about your wedding plans.”

  Donny frowned. Tina had called and said she wanted to talk, but Donny wasn’t ready to capitulate to the strong-willed redhead. Let her think about it a few more hours, he thought. Let her imagine what it would be like to call off this wedding.

  Bitsy made a little noise with her throat, bringing him back to the present.

  “Here you go, sir,” she chirped. She was quite a bit cheerier than when he’d picked up her and her two zebra suitcases the day before.

  “Thanks.” He sat down with the coffee and took a sip. Coming here had seemed like a good idea a few minutes ago, but now he wasn’t exactly sure what his plan had been.

  “Did you work out there in Vegas?” His voice wavered a little and he blushed.

  She did not seem to notice. “Waitressing. I had a few health problems and my nursing license lapsed, but I think I might see what I can do to get current again here.” She took a sip of coffee. “What about you, Donny? How do you stay busy?”

  “Caretaking, mostly. I worked at the old Trimble place for years. Now there’s an Institute that owns the property and I work for them twice a week, keeping the old place up. The Inn has me do some maintenance work too, and then I have a water taxi business in the summer, bringing people back and forth who don’t want to bother with the ferry.”

  “Good for you. And what about Tina?”

  His face hardened a little. “She sells houses. I think this was one of the ones she was working on.”

  “Really? I didn’t know Charles was going to sell.”

  Donny squirmed. “I don’t know.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Tell me about your wedding. Chuck—I mean, Charles—is looking forward to it.”

  “It’s going to be a good time.” Provided we go through with it. He felt a surge of bravery. “Why don’t you come, Bitsy? Tina and I talked about it and she’d love to have you there.”

  A total lie, as he and Tina had barely spoken since their argument, and she’d certainly never suggested inviting Bitsy. But what the heck? Tina had all kinds of people coming to the wedding, relatives plus new real estate clients, many of whom he’d never even met. Not that he cared to.

  He gave Bitsy an expectant look. “Well? It’s tomorrow at one o’ clock at the Congregational Church.”

  Bitsy smiled. She looked a lot like the young freshman girl he’d kissed after the homecoming dance, kissed and then cuddled, and then …

  She tilted her head to the side like a curious seagull. “I’d love to come to your wedding, Donny. Just so happens I’m free.”

  _____

  Darby’s oval face was streaked with red rivulets of blood.

  I’m ready for a Halloween party, she thought, parting her sticky black hair with her fingers. Or the title role in Carrie. She touched her scalp. There it was: a gash just long and deep enough to bleed copiously. Nothing serious, but she would apply some antibiotic ointment after she showered.

  She looked at the box, wanting to take one peek before she warmed up her core temperature. It was obviously Japanese, and whatever was inside most likely had belonged to her mother. Her heart beat faster. I don’t care how cold I am, she thought. I’m taking a quick look now.

  She lifted the small bronze clasp and tried to raise the lid, but it did not pull apart as she’d expected. Darby scrutinized the juncture of the box’s top and bottom. It was sealed shut, glued together with some sort of hard, clear substance.

  Darby put the box down and entered the shower. So it’s not going to be that easy, she thought, as the warm water melted the chill in her bones. The box would need a sharp object to cut through the glue before it would yield its secrets. She let the water wash away the dried blood from her face and hair and applied a small amount of shampoo, careful to treat her scratch gently.

  When she was finished, Darby toweled off and dressed in jeans and a warm sweater. She quickly blew dry her long black hair, grabbed the lacquered red box, and headed down to the farmhouse’s kitchen.

  A small par
ing knife cut through the glue easily. Moments later, Darby undid the brass clasp and eased the top up on its hinges.

  She could tell right away that the box contained a number of different items. With trembling hands, Darby forced herself to go slowly, first exploring the beautiful box itself.

  It was lined with bright pink satin. The inside cover was a mirror, upon which was painted a peaceful little scene. In the upper left was the edge of land, dotted with a few fir trees. In the mirror’s lower right corner was a bridge, or perhaps a balcony, with a red railing. A geisha wearing a pink and black kimono stood contemplating the beauty of the water and distant shore. Overhead, several birds winged their way through the sky.

  Darby set the box on the kitchen table. She put a log in the fireplace, replaced the screen, and sat down to examine the lacquered container’s contents.

  A length of straw rope with wisps of line attached was the first item. Darby pondered its significance, knowing it must have some

  sort of meaning, or else it would not have been saved. She shrugged and placed it on the table.

  Next was a four-inch, cast-metal Buddha, depicted in a seated position. Darby turned it over and saw some Japanese characters. She placed it next to the straw rope and pulled out the next item, a beautiful piece of silk in a deep blue shade, decorated with butterflies.

  She stood and held it up. It was the sash to what must have been an exquisite kimono. Had it belonged to her mother? Or her grandmother? Darby refolded it carefully and placed it on the table. The red lacquered box had given up nearly all of its secrets.

  A small Polaroid snapshot, faded with age, showed a young girl with chin-length black hair, smiling and dressed in a tiny pink kimono. My mother, Darby realized. She gazed at the pert little face, searching for similarities with the mother she still vaguely remembered. A perfect little smile, and a pointed, almost impish face. Yes, those were the same qualities she remembered of Jada Farr.

  Last was a small, leather-bound journal, full of writing that Darby could not understand. Although her mother had taught her a few words in Japanese, she had never discussed the alphabet with her American-born daughter. Darby turned the pages carefully, but it was a puzzle, as foreign to Darby as if it had been Egyptian hieroglyphics.

  She replaced the contents of the box, letting the soft silk caress her hands. She was certain this sash had belonged to her mother, as had the other items. This box held mementoes of her Japanese heritage, a culture she had willingly relinquished as the wife of John Farr. How long had the box been tucked up in the attic? Had Jada been the one to seal it shut, and why?

  Darby had little time to think as her door flew open and a breathless Tina Ames burst in.

  “You’ll never guess what I just saw,” she wailed, collapsing onto one of Darby’s kitchen chairs. “Donny was driving around that tramp Bitsy Carmichael! I saw her sitting there next to him, smiling like she was having a grand old time!”

  “I’m sure there is a good reason why she was in his truck, Tina. Where did he take her?”

  “To the police station. But they could have been all over town before that.”

  “Now come on, Tina. The Chief has only one car. Bitsy probably needed a ride and Donny helped her out.”

  “He shouldn’t be taking women in his car, Darby! Give me a break.”

  “Wait a minute. Don’t you drive men around all the time?”

  “That’s different! I’m taking them to see houses. I’m working.” She sniffed. “I suppose Bitsy could have called him for a ride. After all, he was the one who picked her up yesterday.”

  “That’s right. Did you talk to Donny yet? Are you two over your argument?”

  “Kind of.” Tina made a face. “Actually, no.”

  “Did you tell him you’d go on the trip?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Why not? Tina, it will be fun to go away together. Warm weather, sunny skies, strolling Mariachi bands … You’ll absolutely love a break from this chilly island.”

  “I suppose.” She walked to the fireplace and warmed her hands.

  “As a co-owner of Near & Farr Realty, I’m telling you to take the time and go.”

  Tina turned with a smirk. “Okay, okay.” She pointed at the lacquered red box on the table. “What’s that?”

  “I found it in the attic. It has some of my mother’s things in it.”

  “The attic? What the heck was it doing up there? Jane sold this house ages ago. No personal property should have remained.”

  Darby nodded. “It was shoved in the back, under the eaves. I think it’s gone undetected for all these years.” She pulled out the piece of straw rope, the small Buddha, and the kimono sash. “I have no idea what the straw is for, nor do I know if this little guy is anything special. But look at this beautiful piece of silk.”

  “Gorgeous.” Tina fingered the fabric, her eyes wide. “I can just see you in that color. You’d look like a goddess.”

  Darby laughed. “I don’t know about that, but check out how cute my mom was as a little girl.”

  “Aww … she’s adorable! I can see how you resemble her.” She peered into the box. “What’s in the notebook?”

  “Nothing I can read,” Darby said, pulling it out. “Maybe when I’m back in California I’ll find someone who can translate it for me.”

  Tina snapped her fingers. “There’s a guy up in Westerly who specializes in this kind of stuff,” she said. “You know, Japanese art and history. The paper ran a story on him a few weeks ago.” She fingered the kimono sash as she continued. “He’s the assistant curator at the Westerly Art Museum. Eric Thompson. You ought to bring the box up there and see what he has to say.”

  “Good idea.” Westerly was north of Manatuck, about a forty-five minute journey including the ferry to the mainland.

  “Think you might go today?” Tina twirled her hair, waiting.

  “Why, you need something?”

  “Well, actually, yeah. My sister Terri lives in Westerly and she’s got some shoes for me to try on.” Tina gave a shy grin. “I know, I know, it’s all about me and my wedding.”

  Darby laughed. “You’re finally starting to sound like a bride! Sure, I’ll head up the coast and see if Eric Thompson is in. Even if he’s not, I’ll get you those shoes.”

  Tina grinned more widely. “I’ll tell Terri to meet you at the museum.” She pulled on her pink coat and carefully did the enormous buttons. “Guess I better go find my groom. I’ve got to make sure he’s still gonna marry me.”

  _____

  On the ferry ride from Hurricane Harbor to Manatuck, Darby telephoned her office in California. ET, her capable assistant, answered and assured her that everything was going fine. “Please, enjoy your weekend without worrying about us,” he urged. “Claudia is showing some property, I’m entering listings—it’s just another typical day at Pacific Coast Realty.”

  Darby laughed. “Fair enough. I’ll check in with you on Monday.” She then told ET about the red lacquered box and its treasures.

  “What an amazing find,” ET’s resonant voice held wonder. “Almost as if your mother placed it there for you to discover, all these years later.”

  Darby agreed. “I can’t wait for you to see it, ET.” She pictured him, standing ramrod straight, dressed in an impeccably tailored suit, and realized that she missed him. “I’ll speak to you soon. Be sure to thank Claudia for her good work.”

  “I will. And you—concentrate on your driving.” His voice held a touch of concern.

  “I’m still on the ferry!”

  “Good. Remember your vow to take life a little slower.”

  Darby thought about ET’s words as she cruised to Westerly. With the roads free of ice and very little traffic, she let the little Jeep’s wheels hug the pavement, enjoying the sensation of zooming around the coastal road’s corners. She remembered her promise, made in the fall after she was cited for speeding, to stop racing from thing to thing. But I like driving fast, she realized. It
’s part of who I am. She chuckled, picturing ET tsk-tsking and calling her “Speedy Gonzalez.”

  Her thoughts drifted to Miles’s arrival from California, and whether he would find the old farmhouse comfortable. She imagined his lanky frame in the living room, a fire roaring away in the fireplace. It was going to be a fun, romantic visit, and she was counting the hours until his arrival that evening.

  She turned off the highway. The road curved east and Darby followed it, catching glimpses of the bay as she wound around and down into Westerly village. Galleries, cafés, and small restaurants dotted the quaint streets, although many were closed for the season. Anchoring the small shopping district was an imposing brick building that Darby knew housed the art museum. A banner stretched across the front announced a portrait exhibition just getting underway.

  She pulled into a parking lot, scooped up the red box, and headed for the entrance.

  A slight redheaded woman with a warm smile was waiting just inside.

  “Darby? Tina told me you’d be wearing a long red coat. I’m Terri Ames Dodge.”

  She stuck out her hand and Darby shook it, smiling. Terri was a slightly shorter version of her sister, with the same inquisitive expression and long fingers ending in bright red nails. She wore cream-colored wool pants and a soft blue cashmere sweater, and tan loafers with little tassels.

  “I see the family resemblance, Terri. It’s nice to meet you.”

  “Yes, we Ames girls are all made from the same mold. You’ll see when you meet Trixie.” She handed Darby a plastic shopping bag. “Here are the shoes. Thanks for being our delivery service.”

  “My pleasure. I’m hoping to see one of the curators.”

  “Yes, Tina told me. Eric’s office is around the corner.”

  Darby followed Terri through a small maze of offices until they came to an empty one. “I’m sure he’ll be right back,” Terri said. “I saw him when I first arrived and told him you were planning to meet me.” She cocked her head to the side. “Want to see the portrait exhibition while you wait?”