“I tidied up pretty well already,” I said.
Doubt flared in his eyes, but he squashed it and smiled. “Oh? Good. Less for me to do before we load the car.”
I knew he’d be out there with the Windex and dust cloth as soon as my back was turned. But I let it go. I’d lost some of the harshness that edged my personality since the days before the bird show. The sense of impatience, the willingness to snap so easily… it had evaporated.
Before I could finish my hair, Quinn put both hands on the small of my back and kneaded with strong fingers. “We still have two hours.”
***
I stripped the sheets off the bed and crumpled them into a garbage bag with our other dirty laundry. A smile played at the corners of my mouth. I hadn’t had so much loving in years, and it had never been this good. I wondered if it really was the river, or if we both had reached a point in our lives where we’d learned to shed the stress and just let ourselves go. After almost losing my mother, killing Jaworski, almost being killed ourselves, climbing a mountain, and discovering long kept secrets, we may have stretched ourselves so far that when we sprang back, we had changed. Significantly.
Quinn came into the room, planted a kiss on my neck, and hugged me from behind.
“I’m so lucky to have you.”
I squirmed out of his arms. “Yes. You are. Now, no more funny business, Mister. Get packing!”
“I’m done,” he said with wide eyes. “All the food’s in the cooler. I checked the bathroom and living room. I stacked more wood in the mudroom for the next guests. And I closed all the windows. “
“Did you re-sweep the dining room floor?”
At first he looked like he’d deny it, then grinned. “Damn. You know me way too well.” He straightened the curtain over the bed, making it sit evenly on the rod. “But there were crumbs all over the floor.”
I couldn’t help but laugh.
He disappeared under the bed. “Honey? Honey!”
Quinn returned with a sock. “Yours?”
I shook my head. “No. It must’ve been from the last renter.” I took it from him and tossed it in the trash bag by my feet. He began to smooth the mattress cover and neatened up the pillows I’d stacked on the dresser. “Quinn, that’s what the cleaners are paid to do. Clean.”
He looked in the mirror and brushed a dust bunny from his hair. When it fell to the floor, he stooped to pick it up and dropped it in the trash. “I know.”
“So let them do their job, already.” I pushed him out of the bedroom and toward the suitcase. “Would you bring that out to the car?”
He did, and within a half hour, we’d packed everything into the Rav4 and locked up the cabin.
“Give me a minute. I want to say goodbye to the river,” I said. I left him rearranging the bags in the back seat.
I stood on the edge of the cliff, allowing the fresh breeze to caress my skin. The river seemed quieter today, almost whooshing instead of rumbling. I watched it gurgle and flow around rocks and small islets, and cast my eyes up to the mountains on the other side. What sights they must have witnessed over the years. Those rounded green hills were partners with the Sacandaga, having beheld not only the events of this week, but the circumstances around Ramona and the money. They’d born testimony to centuries of events, from the first settlers who built the Tall Pines cabin, to the Native Americans who pounded their washing on the shores. I wondered what the mountains’ names were, and vowed to ask Roberta when she visited us in Honeoye next week.
I took one long, last look at the river, at Blackbird Island, and at the mountains, then turned away and headed to the Rav4. Quinn started the engine, motioned for me to buckle up, and began the drive home.
Chapter 51
The week passed quickly and the day of Roberta’s visit dawned clear and warm. During the week, I tried to get our house and antique shop back on track. I’d ordered a new couch—to be paid in monthly installments for the next three years—to replace the ripped up one in the living room, and had refilled the larder and weeded the flowerbeds.
I’d spoken with Roberta twice already, enjoying long phone conversations about her childhood with Raoul and their rich heritage. I also asked about her parents and grandparents, and about the little town in Brazil where they’d come from. Our relationship grew and strengthened, and I’d been looking forward to her visit all week.
Thelma hadn’t spoken much about the money, although she’d hinted that she wanted to talk about it with Roberta and us after dinner tonight. Maybe she wanted to set the record straight with Roberta, who I hadn’t yet told about the “pin money” fund.
Quinn cleaned the place as if we’d expected a visit from Home Beautiful, polishing silver and mirrors, washing the wine glasses until they sparkled, and mopping and dusting since daybreak. I picked bunches of wildflowers to place around the house in cut glass vases I’d collected over the years. We made up the guestroom for Roberta and Mimi, and the chicken had been marinating in the fridge for hours.
At three-thirty, Thelma showed up in the living room in a purple dress with a sparkly rhinestone belt. She wore leopard skin shoes and a large clunky medallion.
“Well? What do you think of this one?”
I tried not to grimace. I was wearing khakis, a plain blue cotton blouse, and flip flops.
“Er…” I said. “I don’t think you have to be quite so fancy, Thelma. I mean. You can dress comfortably. I don’t think Roberta’s going to be wearing a dress. Do you, Quinn?”
Quinn, with uncanny brilliance, refused to judge. “Wear whatever you like, Thelma.”
She threw her hands in the air, stalked a few paces toward the stairs, then swiveled around. “Wait. Let me try something else.”
This time she emerged in tight black stretch pants with a lime green spangled beaded shirt that hung down to her knees, belted with a brass buckled nightmare. I wondered how I’d inherited any fashion sense and realized I must have gotten it from my father.
The third outfit wasn’t quite as bad, but it was nothing close to casual. The stretchy crepe navy blue dress fit so snugly that it showed every bulge in my mother’s body.
“Do I look fat in this?” She paraded around the room, twisting and turning in every mirror.
“Um. I don’t think that’s my favorite. How about some nice slacks and a sweater?”
She flounced past me. “What do you think, Quinn?”
“Whatever Marcella said.”
“Marcella is fashion-challenged, you know that.”
“Geez, Thelma. Why do you even ask me? Wear whatever you want!” I stomped out of the room, poured myself a glass of wine, and my mother returned to her room to try on more clothes.
***
When Roberta and Mimi arrived at four-thirty, the quiet house turned chaotic. Mimi bounded inside before Roberta got through the door, and headed straight for Ruby and Sarafina. Mother and daughter bird squawked back at the dog from their cage. The cycle of barking and screeching was so loud I had to cover my ears.
Roberta laughed from the doorway, looking exactly like my stepfather in the golden afternoon light. The almond-shaped eyes, high cheekbones, bronze skin, and firm chin were so him that without warning, I burst into tears. She dropped her bag on the floor and rushed to me.
“Oh, honey. What’s wrong?”
Quinn looked stupefied at first, but picked up the bag and mumbled something about bringing it up to the guest room.
I swiped at my eyes and hiccupped. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. But you looked so much like Dad just then that I…”
“Shh. It’s okay, little one.” She ran her hands down my hair just like Dad used to do. I clung to her and cried, letting it all out.
Quinn came downstairs, followed by Thelma, who wore red and white plaid pants, a shiny red leather vest over a frilly white blouse, and far too much jangling jewelry. She sounded like wind chimes on a blustery day. The dog still barked and the birds shrieked at the top of their lungs. Somehow, I
blocked it out.
I stifled the urge to do a double take when my mother walked toward us. I should have helped her pick out her outfit, but this one was far worse than anything she’d tried on earlier. I pulled back from Roberta’s warm embrace, and gained control for a few minutes. “Thelma, meet Roberta. Roberta, this is my mother, Thelma.”
My mother’s eyes widened in shock, just like mine. “Pleased to meet—” She couldn’t finish her sentence and slumped toward the floor.
I caught her before her knees touched the carpet and helped her to the couch.
Thelma stuttered and stared at Roberta, who sat beside her. “I’m sorry. It’s just… you look so much like him.”
Roberta took Thelma’s hand and patted it. “I know, sweetie. We were identical twins.”
Thelma gawked some more. “If it weren’t for your hairstyle, I’d say you were him, come back for me.” Tears flooded her eyes again. “Except I know you can’t be. He’s gone forever.” Her voice cracked and her shoulders shook.
My aunt’s amber eyes almost glowed. “I’ve waited all these years to meet you folks.” She studied my mother’s face, wiped her tears, and lightly ran her fingertips over Thelma’s features as she wanted to commit the face to tactile memory. “Thelma. Raoul loved you so much he never could stop talking about you. Except when he was talking about Marcella, of course.” She flashed me a smile.
“Thank you.” I tried to put on my best hostess smile. “Roberta, what can I get you?”
Mimi now stood on her hind legs and was poking her nose into Ruby’s big cage. Roberta got up to tend to her. “Maybe we’d better save your birds first.” She followed me to the squawking arena. “Mimi! Down!”
Mimi’s tongue lolled and her eyes shone. No way was she giving up this fun.
“Mimi! Down! Now!” Roberta dragged her off the cage and scolded her. “Bad dog!”
She cowered a little, slurped her tongue sideways to catch Roberta’s face, and wagged her tail like a canine metronome.
Quinn ran to her side. “I can put the night cloths over their cage, if that would help.”
Roberta rolled her eyes and laughed. “I don’t know if that would stop her. She chases the pigeons and crows away from my backyard all day long. Maybe I should just tie her outside.”
Quinn found a rope and attached the dog to the wrought iron porch railing. He came back in and wiped his hands on his pants. “All set. She’s got a water dish and plenty of shade.”
Mimi stood on the storm door and woofed. She scratched her huge paws on the screen, probably digging holes in it, and howled a few times. When she didn’t get the expected response, she turned in circles and lay down on the rubber mat on the porch, looking through the sliding glass door with big sad eyes.
I clapped my hands together. “Okay, once again. Can I get you a drink?”
Roberta smiled. “Sure. Anything you’ve got is fine.”
Quinn took over. “We have Guinness, Corona, a few bottles of Riesling, a dry Cabernet Sauvignon, lemonade, diet iced tea, and…”
Roberta interrupted. “A Corona would hit the spot. Thanks.”
For the next half hour, we drank, laughed, and talked. Quinn started the gas grill, and stepped outside to tend the chicken. The aroma of the Chiavetta barbecue sauce drifted in through the screens on the porch, tangy and tantalizing. I bounced back and forth to the kitchen, talking to Roberta and Thelma through the space between the open counter and cabinets. I took out the potato salad, cut up the watermelon, and heated up the black beans and rice. I’d made the dish for Roberta, with the recipe she sent me via email during the week.
“Smells so good!” she said, closing the photo album filled with embarrassing pictures of me. “What did you make?”
I showed her the food, and she hugged me when she saw the beans and rice. We’d decided to eat at the table on the sun porch. Situated in the center of three glass walls, it gave us the feeling of being outdoors without the bugs. We opened the sliders to let the breeze blow in, and were serenaded by the sound of boats and shrieking water skiers.
I set the table with my best Limoges, and used the antique Waterford glasses I’d practically stolen at a yard sale ten years earlier. I held my breath when Quinn put them out, afraid to lose even one, they were so perfect.
When Quinn had the chicken sizzling and almost done, he came inside to help.
“Will you put the napkins out, hon?” I asked.
He took the bright white linen napkins from a drawer on the sideboard in the dining room, and took great care folding them neatly, and making sure they were parallel to the forks. I was almost afraid he’d burn the chicken, but he finally was satisfied.
“There. All set. I’m going back to the chicken. It’ll be ready in a few minutes.”
“Thanks, babe. I’m setting out the wine.”
We’d chilled a few bottles of our favorite semi-dry Riesling from Keuka Springs. Thelma and Roberta chatted and laughed in the living room, lost in their own world. I finally corralled them all onto the porch.
Thelma didn’t sit like the rest of us, but stood as if waiting to make a big announcement, with her palms pressed together and fingers pointed up. “After we eat, I need some time to talk to all of you.”
“Okay, Thelma. Now sit, before your food gets cold.”
She shot me a prim smile, perched daintily on her chair, and took over the conversation for the rest of the meal.
Chapter 52
After dinner, Thelma disappeared upstairs to prepare for her great unveiling, while Roberta helped me with the dishes. Quinn brought a two-foot steel brush out to the patio and cleaned the grill with a vengeance. I squirted more soap on a wine glass and ran more hot water into the sink. Dark clouds rolled over the lake, portending a possible thunderstorm.
Roberta dried the last plate and set it on the counter with the others. “Honey? May I ask you a question?”
“Of course. Ask away.”
“Why do you call your mother Thelma?”
I placed a wine glass upside down on a towel beside the dish strainer and chuckled. It sparkled under the kitchen lights. “I hardly remember why. I think it was an ego thing, really. When I was born, she suddenly felt old, or unattractive, or something. She saw a show where one of the characters called her mother by her first name. And the rest was history.”
Roberta smiled. “It’s kind of cute, really. I just wondered.”
“Wondered what?” Thelma stood in the doorway. She’d changed into her lounging pajamas and a silky kimono. I tried hard not to react. Why she’d changed so early was beyond me. It wasn’t even seven.
“Nothing, Thelma.” I finished up the last wine glass and turned to Roberta. “We can just let the rest dry. I think my mother’s ready to chat with us.”
Quinn came in, rinsed his steel brush in the sink, and washed his hands in steaming hot water. He wiped them with two new paper towels—no dishtowels for him, too many germs—and turned to join us in the living room.
“Can we adjourn upstairs, my dears?” Thelma glided up the stairway as if her royal entourage would follow. We did.
I watched Roberta climb ahead of us. She wore black jeans and a black tee-shirt with silver writing on it, and wore the same hiking boots she’d worn on our trip up the mountain. She looked strong, natural, and competent. I realized—with a start—that I wanted to be her when I grew up.
“Okay, in here.” Thelma waved us into her boudoir. When she’d been given free rein to redecorate, she’d added yards of diaphanous fabric, draping it from the windows, across her mirrors, and even from her bedposts. The room looked like a purple brothel.
Three spindly gold cane chairs were lined up beside the bed, in front of my great grandmother’s antique card table. She’d taken off the lamp and knickknacks and it lay bare, its mahogany wood shining from the recent polishing Quinn had given it.
My mother waved at the chairs and we sat.
“This is my grandmother’s Victorian card table.
I used it to store money over the years.” She smiled with a tinge of embarrassment. “I never really trusted the banks.”
For the next five minutes, she went over the “casino” explanation that my stepfather had used to explain the boatloads of money he brought home monthly, and added the bit about her “pin money.” Roberta’s eyes widened ever so slightly, and in the end, she nodded as if the whole thing had been the most natural thing in the world. “I see.”
I crossed my legs and hoped the little chair beneath me wouldn’t fall apart. I could just see myself elegantly sprawled on top of a pile of broken spindles. “McCann said they’d closed the case. He called this week. No more monitoring of the bills from the heist, according to him.”
Roberta smiled. “Good, Thelma. You deserve a little bonus after all you went through. My goodness. I heard they almost killed you, you poor soul.”
Thelma brushed it off. “They almost did, but that’s over now. Tonight I want to talk to you about sharing my bonus, so to speak.”
Quinn sat up. “Sharing?”
Thelma poked him in the chest. “Relax there, Skippy. All in good time.”
She turned to face the card table, then swiveled the top ninety degrees. Shocked, I realized the tabletop hid a large cavity beneath it. And this particular cavity was filled to the brim with cash.
“This is just some of it. The rest is sewn into the hem of my old wedding dress, my trench coat, and stuffed beneath the loose floorboard in the closet.”
Roberta watched patiently, and I stared with a dropped jaw at the money in the table hidy-hole. The bills were in huge denominations.
“Thelma? How much is in there?”
My mother turned to us with a cat-who-swallowed-the-canary expression. “I honestly don’t know. I’ve never counted it. Wanna help?”
***
I tossed the seam ripper onto the bureau. Tens of thousands of dollars fluttered to my feet. My mother shook her trench coat one more time, dislodging a few more five hundred dollar bills.
Roberta and Quinn sat on the bed, bundling money with rubber bands. He scribbled on a notebook, and she punched numbers into the calculator. I’d never seen Quinn so intently focused.
Tall Pines Mysteries: A Mystery/Suspense Boxed Set Page 23
