The sun was falling. Their search had eaten up most of their day. Crickets chirped and frogs croaked. Side by side, Evelyn and Terrence walked behind Quenby House. There were a number of raised gardens, overflowing with an unhealthy mixture of weeds and flowers. Nearby, different stone benches and statues stood about. Most of the statues were of men with their chins up high, with stone leaves to hide their private parts. There were a few women, too. Between two trees, a stone slab sported both a man and a woman, looking into each other’s stone eyes and grasping each other’s hands. Thin moss spotted their gray skin. Vines snaked up their legs. The woman’s face had a crack down the middle while the man was short a nose. The whole scene was romantic in a creepy way.
Evelyn opened up the book and kept reading page twenty-eight. “I added The Lovers last,” Jonah Quenby penned. “A visage of my wife that I eternally immortalized in stone. Though she may be gone from this world, I remain, and so will these stones.”
Evelyn glanced around the backyard, trying to figure out what her father wanted her to find. She walked around the statues, studying their rock faces that the years had faded. In the back was a copper plaque that had turned green over the years. “The Lovers,” it read. Evelyn noticed that the screws were loose. She didn’t need to tell Terrence to get the screwdriver. He was already on his way.
He returned and made quick work of removing the plaque. An airtight lockbox sat in the stone indentation. Evelyn popped it open, revealing another note.
“You’ve seen the fruit of our family. Death, lies, and ruin. I aimed to change that. To give you a better life. As you know, fate had different plans. This statue is where I professed my love to your mother. Our relationship was not orthodox, but I vowed to make it work. To start a family and to right the wrongs my ancestors had committed.
“I failed.
“Listed below is your mother’s address. If you wish to know more heartache, visit her. If you want to be done with this mess, be done. Evelyn, you are your own woman. Make your choice and live with the consequences. -- Maxwell.”
24
Tattered Hearts
Terrence stayed home as Evelyn requested.
“See if you can’t learn more about Bella Day and the others,” Evelyn told him as she climbed into the minivan.
“Eve, you don’t need to do this alone,” Terrence reminded her.
“She is my mother. I should be the one to confront her,” Evelyn said with determination.
Terrence held her upper arms softly and gazed into her eyes. The shadow of The Lovers’ statue cast over them. “I don’t want you to shoulder this burden alone. After all we’ve been through, it doesn’t seem right.”
Evelyn studied her husband’s tired and well-structured face. Hints of stubble painted his dark, gaunt cheeks. “The people in this town don’t like me, but they might like you. Reach out to any of your contacts in that band you met and research old newspapers for anything that points to someone other than Maxwell as our killer.”
Lips pursed, Terrence nodded. He gave her a strong hug. “I wish you luck with your mother.”
“Thank you,” Evelyn said quietly. Not accepting Terrence’s support nagged at her, but her mind was set.
“I’ll pick up a new cell phone and text you the number. Make sure we’re on the same page if anything happens,” Terrence declared.
After a moment, Evelyn separated herself from him, took a quick shower to wash the dust off her, and then got dressed in her black double-breasted raincoat, dark jeans, and heelless boots. From the second-story balcony, Terrence waved her goodbye as the rusted minivan putted down the red brick path.
Lily Copperdoe, Evelyn thought with a smirk as the small farm town of Adders vanished behind her. What a name.
It was a grueling and anxious two-hour drive to Montezuma, Georgia. Blooming from a few families in the 1950s, Montezuma had a population of thirteen hundred plus residences. It made Adders look big in comparison. Passing through the historic downtown flanked by interconnected brick buildings and out beyond the town’s borders, Evelyn found the doublewide trailer. The decorated building was tucked in the deep woods, up a winding dirt road running by rushing creek spotted with mossy rocks. Large gardens were planted on either side of the trailer. One garden produced peppers, carrots, cabbage, and other vegetables while the other had mint, oregano, and various leafy herbs. By the way the trees seemed to encircle the trailer, it seemed like this place was built deliberately away from the clutches of society.
Evelyn parked beside the tarp-covered Harley Davison motorcycle. She stepped out, listening to the sounds and cries of unseen birds. Dead bugs swirled in the shallow water of the metal birdbath. From end to end, hand-painted sunflowers decorated the trailer’s front wall. The yellow petals were misshapen and the green stems bent and leaned in different directions. Still, there was something enduring about the artistic imperfections.
The isolation, the gardens, and artistry told a tale of the owner’s disconnection to the world.
Evelyn knocked on the door, waiting to see if her mother truly lived here or if the ten-year-old address was a bust.
Locks clicked. A loose knob jiggled.
Hands in her coat pockets, Evelyn watched the door open.
The woman who stepped out was short and skinny with a strong posture and faded jean jacket over a tucked-in gray shirt. She had long and wiry gray hair that tumbled down her shoulders and ended at a point on her back. She had a hard leather face with timeless blue eyes amplified by black eyeliner. She looked Evelyn up and down, seeing if her guest had something to prove. After a brief moment, the homeowner’s look changed from an uninvited glare to a respectable acknowledgement of a fellow woman who had also visibly walked a hard life.
“Are you Lily Copperdoe?” Evelyn asked.
The homeowner squinted at her. “Who are you, girl?”
Evelyn flashed her P.I. license. “Evelyn Carr. I’m looking for Mrs. Copperdoe. Does she live here?”
“What do you want with her?” the woman asked suspiciously.
“That’s a private matter,” Evelyn replied, a little harsher than she had intended.
“In my experience, people with secrets aren’t to be trusted,” The women stated.
Evelyn didn’t know why she hesitated to say, but she did. “I’m her daughter. My maiden name is Quenby.”
The woman’s face went stark white. She tripped over her words and decided not to speak. Without warning, she wrapped toned arms around Evelyn and squeezed her tightly. Evelyn tensed up. She kept her arms off the strange woman. A confusing barrage of fear, anger, and joy hit Evelyn at once.
“I never thought I’d see you come home,” the woman said.
Remembering all the years spent lost and alone, Evelyn pried the stranger from her body.
Shocked by Evelyn’s resistance, the woman took a step back. “I’m Lily. Your...”
“Yeah,” Evelyn replied. “We need to talk. Inside, preferably.”
The tough woman blinked the glossiness from her eyes and recomposed herself. She stepped aside and allowed Evelyn to enter.
The house smelled of wet paint masked by cinnamon and other natural spices. A clear tarp covered the living room floor. An easel stood at the center. Paint of all colors and density splattered the white canvas: it was the beginning of some interpretive piece of art. Not only did artwork hang on the walls, but even the interior of the house was uniquely painted. One wall displayed a massive field of swaying wheat stalks. Another showed an indigo sky speckled with stars and a crescent moon. The third had tall evergreen trees blanketed by rolling vistas in the sunset. All were beautiful, unique, and imperfect. Evelyn found herself gawking. Even the ceiling had been painted with spiraling birds of different breeds and colors.
Flowers and cacti lined the windowsill. Dripping paint cans stained the wooden tabletop. More paint drops hardened on the carpet floor.
Lily leaned in the doorway, with her arms across her chest and a sincere but cr
ooked smile on her tanned face. “It’s something, isn’t it?”
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Evelyn admitted. Standing in this drab trailer, she felt lost in another world.
“I reckon you won’t ever again,” Lily bragged. “Count yourself lucky. Only a handful has ever seen my work.”
Apart from the disturbing mural Evelyn painted during a blackout, she struggled to draw a stick figure. If this work was truly her mother’s, Evelyn counted herself impressed.
Lily walked inside and closed the door. She headed for the dented refrigerator and pulled out a foggy plastic pitcher. “Tea? It ain’t that sweet stuff, but it’ll stain your teeth all the same. Grew the leaves myself.”
“I’m alright,” Evelyn replied, studying the walls.
“Well, too bad.” The woman filled two cups anyway.
She handed one to Evelyn, who cautiously accepted. Lily gestured to the wall painting of the swaying wheat. “That’s my first. Truth be told, I got my inspiration from Quenby’s hay field. Most of the art came from places I won’t return to but are still worth remembering. I should show you around back. Have you hike the trail I cleared last spring. You’ll like it.”
Evelyn turned to the woman. “We’re suppose to bond now like nothing’s ever happened? You put me up for adoption and provided no means of contacting you. Not even your name.”
A look of conviction flooded over Lily. It only lasted a second, then her normal hard demeanor returned. “You’re naive if you believe the world is black and white, and every decision a mother makes is clear cut.”
“You see yourself as my mother?”
“I got the scars to prove it,” Lily argued.
“You weren’t there,” Evelyn barked, feeling years of pent-up rage boil over. “You never made an effort. You know what that’s like? Feeling unwanted? Neglected for all those years?”
“Don’t be a drama queen,” Lily said. “You’re a stronger woman for it.”
“Stronger?” Evelyn chuckled in frustration. “I didn’t want to be stronger. I wanted a family.”
Lily shut her mouth, averted her eyes, and took a sip of her bitter tea. Evelyn paced a few steps away and faced one of the walls. She closed her eyes and listened to her rage-filled heart. It was not like how she had imagined the overdue family reunion, and she didn’t know why her emotions were all out of whack. Family. That’s why.
“I’m sorry,” Lily struggled to admit. “I know those words don’t mean much from an old woman you just met, but it’s all I have to give you. Unlike your father, I’m not George Vanderbilt.”
“Where is Maxwell?” Evelyn asked, back still turned to the stranger.
“That’s a long story,” Lily said. “One I’ll tell, if you answer my questions.”
With red-rimmed eyes, Evelyn twisted back to the woman. “You had thirty-four years to ask me anything.”
“Thirty-three,” Lily corrected. “Your birthday is not until the fourteenth of next month.”
Evelyn was taken aback by that.
“What? You don’t think I’d remember the day I brought you into this world? You were an ugly, pink screamer.”
Evelyn gnashed her teeth.
“I didn’t want to let you go,” Lily finished.
“But you did,” Evelyn replied.
“I did,” the woman said.
The two women stood in silence. The soft hum of the window air-conditioner echoed through the doublewide trailer.
“Answer one of my questions, I answer one of yours. Deal?” Evelyn reluctantly negotiated.
“Deal,” Lily agreed. “But I’m asking first.”
Evelyn unclenched her fists in her coat pocket and waited for the woman to ask.
Lily sipped her tea. “How did you find me?”
“Out of everything you could’ve asked me, that’s what you want to know?” Evelyn asked with hostility.
“I’m not going to scrutinize your questions. I expect you to show the same restraint.”
Evelyn breathed heavily out of her nose. “Maxwell’s old family journal put me on a scavenger hunt of sorts that ended at a statue in the backyard. It contained a note with your address on it.”
Lily cracked a sad smile. “That’s my Max. Always had a flair for the dramatic. Alright, ask away.”
“Why did you put me up for adoption?” Evelyn asked.
“You’re not going to like that story.” Lily said, “I’ll give you more than you bargained for, starting with young Maxwell Quenby and going into his disappearance. You may want to sit down.”
Evelyn pulled up a wooden chair from the corner of the room and sat down, waiting for the woman to start.
Adders, Georgia
Spring of 1965
Dressed in a short-sleeved blue and white tent dress, six-year-old Lily Copperdoe sat in the azure blue backseat of the classy and black 1960 Lincoln Continental. Through the window, she watched the massive gnarled branches arc overhead. The red brick path rattled their bulky vehicle. She caught an appetizing whiff of her parents’ tinfoil-covered casserole next to her in the backseat.
“How are my lashes?” Alexandra Copperdoe, a scarlet-haired woman in her finest blue dress, asked her suit-wearing, stout, and balding husband, Ralph.
“Beautiful as always, dear,” Ralph replied, keeping a hand on the steering wheel and his olive-green eyes on the road ahead.
Alexandra slapped his arms. “You didn’t even look.”
Ralph turned his head, locked eyes with his self-conscious wife, and forced a smile. “Wow, so beautiful.”
Alexandra scoffed and went back to curling her eyelashes in the side mirror.
“There’s the bastard’s house,” Ralph said as the massive, two point five story mansion came into view. Its walls were white, with small vines sprouting up a few feet around the base of the first-floor colonnades. Bowling green yard and expertly-pruned trees only bolstered the house’s perfect grandiose appearance.
“You best be nice to Mr. Quenby,” Alexandra reminded him sternly. “We’re trying to mend bridges, not burn them, as you do so well.”
Ralph squeezed the steering wheel tighter. “I’ll tuck my tail between legs and cower. What a day to be a man.”
They parked on the brick circle outside the mansion and the dapper-dressed house servant allowed them entry.
Lily looked up at high-domed ceiling and mural of angels. The walls, the stairs, the help, everything in the mansion dwarfed the little girl. She tugged on her father’s slacks. “Why don’t we have a house this big, Father?”
Ralph forced a smile. “Because Mr. Jonathan Quenby is extorting all of Daddy’s money.”
Alexandra elbowed her husband and spoke hastily. “Ralph, build. Don’t destroy.”
Ralph’s false grin faded, but then instantly returned when Jonathan and Alice Quenby waltzed down one of the foyer’s curved stairways. Jonathan wore a tailored suit with a scruffy blazer and Alice wore a flowing red dress. They were both beautiful people but had the same dark circles under their dark eyes
“Jonathan, Alice, you look spectacular,” Alexandra exclaimed.
“You’re so sweet,” Alice Quenby said, taking Alexandra’s hands. “Come, dinner shall be served soon.”
The men shook hands. “You’ve been avoiding me, Ralph.” Jonathan said. “I hope it’s nothing I said.”
“Of course not, John. Been busy.”
“With the new slaughterhouse?” John asked.
“Ah, you know,” Ralph replied dreadfully. “It’s another venture to throw my money at.”
“I can’t wait to hear all about it,” John replied.
“I’m sure you already have,” Ralph grumbled.
Chatting, the adults walked off, leaving Lily alone in the foyer. Dressed in slacks and a sweater vest, a little boy, six years old, with a combed mop of rich dark hair and nearly black irises, entered through the foyer’s back door. He stared intensely at his hands that were loosely closed together.
�
�Hi,” the little boy said upon noticing Lily.
“Hi,” Lily replied nervously. She was never good at talking to boys her age. To be honest, they scared her.
“Do you want to see something?” the boy asked.
“Um, yes,” Lily replied, remembering what her parents told her about being polite to the Quenbys.
The strange boy slowly opened his hands, revealing two little eyes. Lily’s jaw dropped at the fattest toad she’d ever seen sitting in the boy’s hands.
“I found him in the backyard,” the boy bragged with a grin. “He’s a real fatty--do you want to pet him?”
Lily reached out her little fingers and brushed them across the toad’s slimy and warted back. “Ew, he feels funny.” Lily scrunched her nose and chuckled shyly.
The toad croaked. Lily squealed and jumped back. She felt her heart race. The boy smiled proudly.
“You want to hold him?” he tempted. “Come on. He won’t bite.”
Hesitant, Lily let the boy put the toad in her cupped hands. Her palms got wet and she dropped the toad. “He peed on me!”
“Gross,” the boy laughed.
The toad bounced away.
“I’ll show you the restroom so you can wash your hands,” the boy said.
After dinner, Lily’s father and Mr. Quenby became really good friends and talked about going into business together. The boy, named Maxwell, showed Lily the statues in the backyard and the secret hiding places in the mansion.
“If I had these in my house, my mom would never find me,” Lily explained as they climbed into the billiard room crawlspace. She held on to Maxwell’s shirt as he bravely navigated her through walls and looked into the secret eye holes where she could view his parents’ room.
“Doesn’t it scare you to come back here?” Lily asked him.
“A little,” Maxwell replied. “But that’s why it’s so much fun.”
When it was time to go, Lily didn’t want to leave. There was so much to do at the mansion, and Maxwell was really nice.
As they drove away, Ralph said, “I guess I should start calling him boss now.”
The Haunting of Quenby Mansion Omnibus: A Haunted House Mystery Page 27
