Gretchen stared at the sheet of paper. “This was typed on my machine. I can recognize that crooked w. And someone has copied the silly way I sometimes sign my notes. But I didn’t write this. I would never have threatened my father—no matter what I suspected.”
“Not even if it could have stopped him from sending Vasily away?”
I half expected outrage at my words, but she answered me openly. “I might have tried. I meant to try. But not this way. Besides, it’s foolish. Dad wouldn’t have been afraid of anything like this. Jarrett already knew about Pam and my father. I think he was trying to decide what to do at the time Pam died in the car accident. Afterwards, it didn’t matter enough any more, when there were so many big issues to keep him here.” Gretchen looked at Vasily. “What do you think?”
He didn’t touch the sheet of paper, but he leaned forward to read the words again. “Your mother?” he said to Gretchen.
“Maybe. I’ll show it to her.”
“I’d rather do that myself,” I said, and picked the note up to slip it into the handbag I’d brought downstairs with me.
Gretchen made no effort to stop me. “Why would Brett try anything like that?” She was still speaking to Vasily. “It’s too silly. Too weak.”
“Perhaps not,” he said. “Brett was here on the grounds that night. She was here in the house.”
I caught him up on that. “When? At what time?” This was the question I should have asked Brett myself, when Jarrett and I came upon her that night.
Vasily shrugged delicately and returned to stand beside the window. Either he didn’t know, or he didn’t mean to say.
“There’s no reason why my mother would do this,” Gretchen said to me. “Dad paid her a lot of alimony. He even loaned her money to start her shop. Indirectly, that is. She didn’t know for a while that it came from him. Anyway, he would never have given her a cent more for anything—let alone blackmail.”
“On the day before your father died,” I said, “I found some letters that had been left on my dressing table. In one of them—”
“Oh, so you read them? I thought you would.”
“Was it you who put them there?”
“Of course. Vasily didn’t want me to. He thought I was being too mean to you and—”
Her husband broke in. “I felt that you were really on our side, Sharon. I saw no reason to try to hurt you.”
“But I wanted to hurt you!” Gretchen cried. “And that was a good way, wasn’t it? All those drippy letters Dad wrote to Ysobel Hollis!” She turned back to me. “I wasn’t sure you’d read them, but I hoped you’d see that he never loved you.”
“I didn’t read them.” Somehow I managed to speak quietly. “I only read a snatch here and there, to see what they were. But when I came to one that mentioned Brett’s name, I did read that part. Ross wrote my mother that he held some sort of weapon over Brett’s head. In case she became a threat to him. Apparently you didn’t read the letters yourself.”
“Of course not—except to see what they were. But Brett knew about them. He was writing to Ysobel even while they were married. She knew that Ysobel used to send them back to him, and that he kept them in his bedroom safe. So one time when he was away, she took them. She said they might be useful sometime. Anyway, I thought it a good idea to give them to you now.”
“Then your mother would have known that Ross might call in that note he held any time he chose?”
“Of course she knew that. She found out quickly enough, but she never tried to do anything about it. What could she do, except hope that he wouldn’t call it in before she was ready?”
I didn’t speak aloud the thought in my mind—that Brett Inness might have come to see Ross in those early-morning hours in order to threaten him. Yet if, as Gretchen believed, this note hardly made a strong enough threat, then this theory was probably wrong. I let it go for now.
“There’s something else I’ve wanted to consult you about,” I said. “Do you think your grandmother would like to be moved back into her own rooms at Poinciana? Do you think we should ask her?”
Gretchen’s face could take on the look of a small, impudent monkey when she grinned. “Of course she would. I’ve already thought about that and discussed it with Brett. It isn’t up to you. She’s my grandmother.”
I had been properly snubbed, and I could feel a flush rise in my cheeks. Gretchen was right. It wasn’t up to me to make arrangements of this sort, even though I was supposed to be the owner of Poinciana. Yet it was important to my own sense of justice that I make the effort first.
Vasily turned from the window. “My wife has only been thinking of doing this. I believe it would be a fine thing if you two could act together in this matter. Allegra knows that Poinciana has been left to you, Sharon, and not to my wife. There are certain courtesies that should be considered, and it would be more reassuring to her if you approached her together.”
To my astonishment, Gretchen threw her husband a wildly angry look, burst into tears, and ran out of the room. He made no effort to follow her, but took her place across the desk from me.
“You must forgive my wife. Her father’s will has hurt her deeply. She is feeling very bitter against you at the moment. I hope this will pass. You will not send her away from Poinciana?”
“Of course not,” I said. “This is her home. Much more than it can ever be mine.”
“Then perhaps you will not choose to go on living here, now that your husband is dead?”
Somehow, I thought, I was being maneuvered with these soft, apparently kindly words, and I stiffened a little. “I’m not sure what I will do.”
He smiled at me, and if it hadn’t been for that faintly lifted eyebrow, I might have been inclined to trust him more than I wanted to. He was a surprisingly compelling man, but that scar reminded me of too many things.
“Last week,” I said, “Ross told me that Gretchen knows about your former marriage.”
“Of course.” He remained unabashed. “Oh, perhaps I should have told her sooner than I did. But my wife has a temper, and I wanted to make her happy first. Then I knew she wouldn’t care so much about the past. Now she understands that my previous marriage had already ended before I met her. When her father brought it up, it only made her angry with him, and anger is an ugly emotion. Don’t you agree, Sharon?”
As I stared at him helplessly, he reached across the desk to touch my hand. “There has been too much anger and ugliness under this roof. I hope we may all live together amicably now. I suggest that you speak with Gretchen when she is calm again. Persuade her to let you accompany her when Allegra Logan is invited to return to this house. This would be a good thing for all of you.”
I could almost believe in his effort toward peacemaking. Almost, but not quite. Because Vasily Karl’s motives were never clear, and I was never exactly sure what he was after. He had a talent for being on everybody’s side. Whether I would do as he asked, I didn’t know, and I drew my hand from beneath his, resisting the charming way in which I was being manipulated.
Instead of answering, I asked another question. “What do you think about my husband’s manuscript and Gretchen’s photographs disappearing?”
He seemed to consider my words solemnly, closing his eyes as though he consulted some inner muse. When he opened them he wore a quizzical look.
“If I were you, I would check very carefully to see whether any of the netsuke collection should prove to be missing. Now, if you will excuse me, I shall go and look for my wife. By this time she will be feeling regretful over her outburst. She loses her temper quickly, but fortunately, she also recovers just as quickly.”
He stood up, gave me his quick little formal bow, and went out the door. I sat where I was, thinking about his words. That was very good advice—to check the netsuke collection to see if any items were missing. Except for one thing. Without the manuscript, the photographs, the invoices, nothing could be checked. Or at least only that portion of the collection that I had al
ready catalogued could be tallied. Which, of course, could be the reason why these things had disappeared—the reason Vasily was pointing out to me. I found the thought disturbing, and I didn’t want to accept it.
Nevertheless, I went to the shelves of tiny carvings and stood looking at them, trying to remember. But I hadn’t gone far enough with my listing. I had examined with care only those I had listed for Ross.
Last time there had been a hullabaloo about two missing netsuke, but they had turned up in Allegra’s possession. A thought that gave me no comfort now, because Allegra herself had probably not put them there. The netsuke thief was still operating, and Ross was no longer here to know what had been taken.
Idly, I picked up a carved brown ball, hardly bigger than a marble. A tiny rat was cunningly curled around itself in the wood. Every detail was perfect—ears, lacquered black eyes, sharp teeth and claws, a broad tail held amusingly in one paw. One hind foot was scratching an ear. When I turned the piece over, I could see the characters of the sculptor’s name etched on the bottom beside the curving tail. Strange to think that this small item might be worth several thousand dollars. Such a sum would mean little to Gretchen, but it might represent a fortune to someone who needed money, and could see it multiply in such tiny, easily taken objects. Where would one dispose of such things? Who would have the sophistication and knowledgeable background to find a market for them?
I wondered, too, how large an allowance Vasily was given. Had he amusements, indulgences that were expensive and of which Gretchen might not be fully aware? Or might want to discourage? How disarmingly innocent he would seem in suggesting to me what would become obvious soon anyway—that some of the netsuke could be missing.
But I didn’t want to think this. I didn’t want to believe that Vasily would steal from Poinciana. To some extent, he had won me.
I put the carving aside and picked up Allegra’s favorite, the Sleeping Mermaid. Perhaps this could be given to her now, as Ross had given it long ago, and on second thought had taken it back. It might please her to own it, and this was a small thing I could do for her. But not yet. It didn’t belong to me yet, and I mustn’t tamper with the collection until it was really mine.
How still the house seemed with all the commotion of the last few days quieted. How empty of everything except its memories. Strange how strongly I could feel Ross’s presence in this room. I could see him clearly at the desk where he had worked, almost hear his voice admonishing me. An odd little quiver went through me, and I recognized in distress that it was once more a feeling of relief. But how could one feel relief over a death? This was a totally unacceptable emotion.
“Mrs. Logan?” a voice reached me, and I turned to find Mrs. Broderick in the doorway, looking more worried than I had ever seen her.
“Has something happened?” I asked.
“I’ve been looking for Mrs. Karl. She would know what to do. No one has told me—we weren’t prepared—
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t understand. Perhaps I can help?”
A look which doubted that flicked across her face. To Mrs. Broderick too, Gretchen was the real mistress of Poinciana.
“Mrs. Allegra is moving in upstairs,” she continued reluctantly. “But her rooms aren’t ready. I was not told this would be happening. When I tried to object—”
I broke in, smiling. “But that’s wonderful! She’s taken things into her own hands at last. Mrs. Karl and I were thinking of arranging for this, but she’s a whole move ahead of us.”
“Mrs. Allegra is not the same person she used to be,” Mrs. Broderick said, thoroughly disapproving. “Mr. Logan would not have allowed this to happen.”
“I will allow it,” I said, keeping my tone pleasant. “Let’s go upstairs and see what we can do to make her comfortable.”
The emotions that crossed Mrs. Broderick’s usually passive face made me smile again. I could read them so clearly: That I had no right to give orders in this house. That Ross Logan’s wishes were still to be obeyed. That if anyone made changes, it should be Gretchen Karl.
“Come along, please,” I said. “We’ll need you to see to the new arrangements.”
There was nothing else for her to do, and she followed me upstairs, stiffly forbidding and displeased, but not yet in open rebellion. I felt astonished that I had been able to give an order and have it obeyed. That she was still trying to tell me something, and that I wasn’t listening, didn’t come home to me until later.
Chapter 14
When we reached the upper hall, Mrs. Broderick tried to speak to me again. “Mrs. Logan, there is something you should know—”
Unfortunately, I still didn’t listen. I had the bit between my teeth, and short of open rebellion, I knew now that she would do as I said. Which gave me a heady feeling. I was delighted that Allegra had taken action herself and returned to the home where she belonged.
Aware that I was paying no attention to her, Mrs. Broderick gave up and opened the suite’s bedroom door, stepping aside, every inch of her exuding disapproval.
I burst into the bedroom, eager to show my pleasure—and stopped in surprise, barely across the sill. Brett Inness was unpacking a suitcase on the bed, and behind me Mrs. Broderick made a further clucking sound of disparagement. She would have told me, if I’d given her a chance.
Brett glanced around in mild surprise at my abrupt entrance. She looked as elegant as ever, in a light pullover and pants of saffron silk. There were gold bangles on her bare, tanned arms, and a gold skewer thrust through the knot on top of her head.
“Hello,” she said. “I decided that no more time should be wasted, and that I would do as Gretchen wishes. So I’ve brought Allegra back to her own home.”
I could find no words of response. Near a window, Allegra sat in her own small rocker, still dressed in robe and slippers, looking bewildered and ill at ease. Her inner disturbance was evident in the trembling of her lips.
I went to her and took her hands in mine. “Are we rushing you too much? I meant to come down to your cottage this morning and ask if you would like to move into these rooms again.”
“Of course she wants to move into them!” Brett said. “Don’t you, darling? Look now—I’m putting your toilet things in the bathroom, where you can find them. Coxie is packing everything else for you at the cottage. I’ve sent Albert to bring up your suitcases. You needn’t lift a finger.”
Allegra’s bewilderment hurt me. “Tell me,” I said, ignoring Brett, “what do you really want to do?”
“I—I’m not sure,” she managed. “Brett and Gretchen want me to do this, I know. But I’d gotten used to the cottage. I could get outside so easily down there. Now there are stairs.”
“You must stay exactly where you wish to stay,” I told her. “I think we’ve all been in too much of a hurry to have you do what we believed you’d want. It’s time we asked you.”
“I’m tired right now,” she said. “Perhaps I could lie down on one of those beds for a little while?”
“Of course. Let me help you.”
“I’ll get her into bed,” Brett said. “I’m used to this.”
She turned down one of the spreads with its yellow sprinkling of buds, and came to help Allegra out of her robe. In a moment the old lady was snug beneath a light quilt, her eyes closing with weariness. Brett put a finger to her lips and nodded toward the adjoining parlor. I went in ahead of her, and she left the bedroom door ajar, dropping onto the long oyster-colored sofa before an empty fireplace. Mrs. Broderick followed us.
“You can go, Broderick,” Brett said. “You can fuss about the rooms later.”
“Yes, madam.” Mrs. Broderick had long been accustomed to taking orders from Brett Inness, and she went out the door, her back still stiff, but with less open disapproval than she’d shown me.
“She’s going to be hard to handle with Ross gone,” Brett said cheerfully. “You’ll never manage her. But I expect Gretchen will take her down a notch or two. Broderick’s been spo
iled because Ross has been here so little and she’s become rather a tyrant in the house.”
I said nothing. Both outrage and alarm were warring inside me. Outrage at the audacity of this woman, and alarm because I was beginning to doubt whether I could handle any of what was happening.
“I’m glad of this opportunity,” Brett said. “We need to talk. I think you’re probably right that we’ve rushed poor Allegra into a move she wasn’t prepared for. The old like what they’re accustomed to, and we should have thought of that. Of course she must come back to the house. But we haven’t been altogether sensitive to her wishes.”
I wanted to say, “You haven’t been sensitive,” but not speaking at all seemed the best defensive weapon I could use. I hadn’t seen Brett since the funeral—to which she’d come with the air of belonging, even returning to the house with Gretchen afterwards. And she had been much more at home with family and friends than I could be, since I was the suspect stranger who had probably married Ross for his money.
“There’s something I’ve wanted to ask you,” she went on, undisturbed by my silence. “Have you decided yet whether you will move out of Poinciana? I’m sure this can’t be the pleasantest place in the world for you now, and it would seem wise to leave.”
In the face of such arrogance, I found my voice. “Since it’s going to belong to me, I expect I will stay.” That might not be true, but I had no intention of raising her hopes, or Gretchen’s. Not until a number of things had been cleared up could I make a decision about Poinciana.
“Oh, dear!” I heard the mock distress in her voice. “Gretchen has been so sure that you won’t want to stay.”
“I don’t want to. But I have a few obligations. To Ross, first of all. He wanted me here. I’m not sure of his reasons, but I expect I’ll learn about them.”
“The only reason is because he was angry with Gretchen and made impulsive changes in his will. Given time, he’d have come to his senses.”
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