by V. J. Banis
“I suppose I am making a mountain out of this thing, but in view of Maggie’s strange behavior today I can’t help but worry.”
“Come on,” David said, putting down money for the check the waitress had left. “Let’s go collect your sister and I’ll drive you out through our grape fields. They’re really beautiful at night and the aroma is delicious.”
“You’re on,” Rebecca said.
But when they got back to Mrs. Johnston’s they could not collect Maggie because Maggie was not there.
“She didn’t come in,” Mrs. Johnston told them. “I saw her walking down the street, get in her car and drive away.”
“Drive away? Where?” asked Rebecca.
Mrs. Johnston straightened her back. “Now, I am sure I haven’t the slightest idea. She said nothing to me and if she had I doubt if I would have allowed myself to listen to her. Personally, I will be happy when you and your sister are out of here tomorrow.”
Rebecca bristled. David stepped between the two women and asked, “Did you happen to see in which direction Mrs. Garrison headed?”
Mrs. Johnston nodded to the north. “That way.” Toward, Rebecca thought but did not say, the Lambert house.
“She’s just gone for a drive. Come on, let me show you our vineyards,” David said. He took her arm and walked down the steps, leaving Mrs. Johnston sitting in her rocker on the front porch.
Rebecca let herself be helped into David’s car. After he got behind the wheel and they had started down the road, Rebecca said, “I am worried about Maggie.”
“Maybe you two need to develop a little independence. You seem to be awfully tied to one another.”
“Oh, I don’t think I’d say that.” After a moment, however, she added, “Now that I think of it, the only time we were apart was when we went on our honeymoons.”
“Well, at least you took separate honeymoons,” David said with a laugh. “At least that shows some independence.”
“I must admit I felt like a fish out of water the whole time Maggie and Rod were in Scotland.”
“Scotland?”
“Maggie and Rod honeymooned over there for a week. His people came from there. I thought she’d never come home.”
“That is not very healthy, you realize that, don’t you?” he asked.
“Oh, I don’t know. Maggie is the only family I have. We’d be lost without each other.”
“How can you speak for your sister? Maybe she doesn’t feel the same way as you do.”
“Not Maggie. I know her. She’d just be lost without me.”
“How do you know? You’ve never tested that.”
Rebecca studied him for a minute. “What are you trying to do, Mr. McCloud, turn me against my sister?” She was smiling.
“Of course not. I just think you two have been so close for so long that you aren’t two people any more, you’re one.”
“And what is wrong with that? We love each other very much.”
“Loving a sister and living her life for her are two entirely different things. You should let Maggie go her own way and you should go yours.”
“But we do.”
“Do you? You wanted to chase after Maggie a second or two ago. Don’t you think she can look out for herself?”
Rebecca sighed. “Maybe I don’t want her to. I guess I have allowed Maggie to run things for me. I’m not exactly the most levelheaded girl in the world. Maggie’s always there to pick up after me. I’ve grown to depend on her too much, I know, but I can’t help it.” She gazed out the car window. “She really fought me tooth and nail about moving here to Pinebrook. I won out in the end, of course. Maggie always gives me my own way.”
“I for one am glad you are going to be living here. Pinebrook needs a spark of life and I am pleased it came in the form of you and your sister, Maggie.”
Rebecca laughed. “Now how can I argue with you if you are going to say such nice things as that?”
They were driving through open fields. David eased the car to the edge of the road, switched off the lights and cut the motor. Music was playing softly on the radio. He turned in his seat and took Rebecca’s hand. “I hope we will have a lot more arguments like this,” he said, drawing her close.
“I thought you were going to show me vineyards?”
“They’re in my eyes if you will look closely,” he whispered. “You’re very beautiful, you know.”
Rebecca gave a soft little whimper as his arms tightened around her. Her arms moved around his neck. She felt his body, hard and demanding, pressing against hers.
“I think I’m going to like Pinebrook,” she whispered.
CHAPTER THREE
Maggie drove blindly along the road. If anyone had asked her destination she would have said she did not know, yet way back in the deep recesses of her mind she knew perfectly well where she was going.
There was a moon, creamy bright, hanging suspended like a huge pearl in the purple-black sky. A soft, murmuring breeze blew across the empty landscape. The windows of the Mercedes were rolled down, letting the aromas of the night drift in all around her. A calm, heavy hush lay over everything—everything, that is, except Maggie’s thoughts. Her mind seethed. She was afraid, but did not know the reason for her fear. She had to prove to herself that it was not the house she was afraid of, because there was nothing there to fear.
Mrs. Johnston had said the place was evil. Maggie had gotten an entirely different impression of Heather House. To her it seemed like a refuge, a safe harbor from all those other evils in her old world. The house must not prove to be a problem; she’d had enough problems for one lifetime.
Across the wide valley the smoke-gray peaks of the Diablo Range hemmed her in like the tall, thick walls of a prison. She was a long way from her cozy little apartment on that busy city boulevard. She missed the blinking sign of the all-night market down the street, the honking horns, the scurrying people.
She’d been alive there with Rod and their life together—troubled as it sometimes had been. She felt a sudden pang of sadness when she realized she would never go back there again.. One could never go back; she’d learned that early in life. A second helping of anything was never as satisfying as the first.
Rebecca wasn’t like that. Rebecca enjoyed gorging herself with the same old things until she succeeded in squeezing the very life out of them—men, particularly.
Rebecca.
Maggie’s fears flared up again and she pressed her foot down heavily on the accelerator.
But why was she afraid of Rebecca? There was no reason for her to be afraid. Yes, Rebecca had caused trouble between her and Rod long ago, but that was in the past. Rod was dead.
She frowned and shook her head. Was Rod dead? They’d never recovered his body. Somehow it seemed impossible to think of him as being dead. Besides, Rod had been a strong swimmer.
As she rounded the curve she saw the house in the distance. It looked pink and lovely under the creamy autumn moon, its windows smiling at her, its walls opened wide, welcoming her into their embrace.
She wondered how there could be evil in so beautiful a place as Heather House. She pressed down harder on the accelerator and sped toward it, as though being pulled by a magnetic force.
As she got nearer she saw that Heather House was not entirely dark. Maggie looked at the light in the tower window. There was no electricity, she remembered David telling them; it had to be a lamp. Sophie’s possibly.
She pulled the car up in front of the moon-drenched patio garden and sat there admiring the beauty of the place. It was like something out of a fairy tale, all bathed in a magical light that set it apart from anything real. Nothing moved; everything was still, frozen in time. Maggie got out of the car and closed the door gently, afraid that any sound might shatter the delicate tranquility of the place.
She chose the largest of the keys given her by David McCloud. It slipped silently into the lock and turned without making a sound. The door swung open on well-oiled hinges and the ho
use yawned before her, pulling her inside.
“Sophie,” she called softly, “it’s me, Maggie Garrison.”
No answer. The place was as quiet and lush as thick velvet.
“Sophie,” she called again, but she only heard the echo of her own voice as it floated over the dark interior. She walked on tiptoes over the bare, cold tiled foyer, not wanting to disturb the black, comforting solitude. She stepped down into the sunken living room with its lofty windows and its beamed ceiling. She fumbled for the light switch on the wall beside her. The dull little click confirmed that there was no electricity.
Maggie pulled off her light coat and dropped it, together with her gloves and purse, on a long refractory table that sat behind the imposing divan. She sank into the softness of the couch and let the room wrap itself around her.
She was here, she told herself, sitting in the dim moonlit room, and there was nothing to be afraid of. She kicked off her shoes and tucked her feet under her. It was so peaceful. At long last she could relax and think clearly. It had been so long since she had been able to relax and think about herself and her life without the interference of Rebecca.
Mrs. Johnston had been wrong. Evil could not possibly reside in Heather House. She sighed. Perhaps someday, if her hopes were to be realized, Rod would come to Heather House and find her and her life would be complete again.
Sitting in the safety and comfort of this house, she felt she could think about Rebecca and not get upset. She could not be angry or annoyed with anyone now that she was inside the house’s walls. Why she had felt tense and unnerved today she did not understand, but that was all in the past. She would never feel like that again because her future seemed suddenly secure in this lovely house far away from all troubles.
Perhaps she should speak to David about buying Heather House. Rebecca would never hear of it. Maggie shrugged. Let Rebecca wander if she chose. Rebecca always brought trouble. Rod would return, and Rebecca would settle down someplace else and never make trouble for them again. Perhaps Rebecca might fall in love with David McCloud and marry again.
Yes, Maggie thought with a sigh, everything was going to be beautiful again—in time.
She stirred. She felt something disturb her hair. She sat forward and looked around. There was nothing, just the still, weighty presence of the room itself. She started to relax back against the cushions of the divan again, and thought she heard someone sigh.
“Sophie?” she called softly.
No one answered.
Maggie got up and went toward the row of windows that looked out onto the garden patio. Perhaps one was open, causing a draft. But the windows were all locked secured. There was a large, ornate candelabrum perched atop a brooding concert grand piano that dominated one corner. She went to it and found a box of wax matches beside it. She lit the candles, one by one, bringing the living room to light.
In the flickering candlelight her safe feelings about the place were doubly confirmed. It was more beautiful than she’d remembered from this afternoon. The furniture gave a protective element to her surroundings. Nothing could ever hurt her in so strong and powerful a place as this.
She walked from the living room to the library, holding the candelabrum in front of her.
“Sophie?”
The library was empty, as were the other rooms beyond it. Maggie retraced her steps, going back through the living room, across the foyer and into the dining room and the rooms at its back. There was no sign of Sophie to be found anywhere. In the foyer, she looked up the wide Spanish staircase and remembered the lovely bedroom at the top. She would sleep there tonight, she decided on the spur of the moment.
She did not care whether it had not been dusted or cleaned, or whether the bed was made up or not. She did not care if Rebecca worried. She couldn’t leave Heather House now that she’d come. She felt very safe here. She could not face that white, sterile room in Mrs. Johnston’s house. If evil were anywhere, it was there in that stark house with its strange housekeeper. No, she wanted to stay here where she knew that Rod would someday find her.
Slowly she mounted the stairs. Her footsteps were silent on the tiles. In the upper hall she glanced down the corridor to where David had earlier said stairs led up to the tower. There was no sign of life or light. Sophie might be asleep up there with the door closed and a night light burning softly in the window. Maggie wouldn’t disturb her.
The door to the master bedroom stood open. The light from her candles made the walls shimmer. To her surprise, the bed had been turned down, showing crisp, fresh sheets. There was a glass of milk sitting on the nightstand, together with two small biscuits. The milk was warm, the biscuits fresh.
Maggie ran her fingers over the top of the bureau and her fingertips came away clean. Sophie had obviously spent the afternoon dusting and polishing. In the candlelight the room looked immaculate.
She set the candelabrum on top of the bureau in front of a massive, gilt mirror and studied her reflection in the glass. There was something different about her, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. She touched her hair. It had never felt so soft and silky before. And her eyes had a brighter gleam to them. Her complexion seemed smoother, creamier, flawless. She looked almost young again.
Maggie picked up the candelabrum and went back downstairs. She moved more quickly, more confidently. This was her house, she told herself. If she wanted to make a noise, who was to say she could not? She trotted down the steps, being careful to keep the candles steady. She found her purse and her shoes where she’d left them—but her gloves were missing.
“That’s odd,” she said to the empty room. Perhaps Sophie picked them up with the thought in mind of washing them for her, but they were new gloves. She’d worn them for the first time this evening.
“Oh well,” she said aloud with a shrug. Maybe she’d been wrong. Perhaps she hadn’t worn her gloves after all, or perhaps she’d left them on the seat of the car. It didn’t really matter.
Back upstairs she again studied her reflection in the mirror. She ran her comb through her hair. To her complete puzzlement the comb did not seem to erase the dishevelment. Her hair was as unruly as when she’d first glimpsed herself in the mirror. She combed harder, faster. The comb had no effect whatsoever. Her hair continued to look in need of a good combing.
She tossed the comb on top of the dresser. She’d attend to her hair in the morning after she’d retrieved her luggage from Mrs. Johnston’s.
The sudden slamming of the door made her whirl around. The sound was so loud, so unexpected, that she let out a tight little gasp. As the echo of the bang drifted into silence, Maggie thought she heard someone laugh. It was an eerie kind of laugh, soft and far, far away. She went to the door and tried the knob. The knob refused to turn; the door would not open. She yanked hard, but the door remained firmly, definitely shut.
“It’s stuck,” she said as she continued to try to pull the door open. A sudden draft from somewhere, she guessed. But the laugh? Who had laughed? Was little Sophie outside playing tricks on her? She remembered David mentioned that Sophie wasn’t altogether right in the head. Perhaps she was playing tricks.
Maggie pounded on the door. “Sophie! Sophie!”
She didn’t feel particularly angry or afraid. What was there to fear from a stuck door or a silly girl who was playing pranks? She had, after all, intended to sleep in this room anyway, so what did it matter if the door was closed? Tomorrow Sophie would find the door closed and would manage to get it opened. Tomorrow she’d have a carpenter come and plane the edge if that’s what was needed.
She found herself smiling. The closed door suddenly represented even more protection from the world outside. She went over to the bed and without further worry began to undress. Tomorrow would come and after it would come more tomorrows, each filled to overflowing with peace and tranquility and happiness.
“Yes, tomorrow,” Maggie said as she slipped in between the cool, clean sheets. “Tomorrow will be wonderful.”
She’d never felt so tired. She looked at the flickering candles. She was much too tired to get up and extinguish them. They’d burn themselves out in time...just as Rebecca would do.
Her eyes drooped closed.
Just before she drifted into sleep, she thought she caught the scent of heather.
* * * *
Outside it was later and darker despite the fullness of the moon. A threatening, patchy overcast had moved quickly across the sky. Mrs. Johnston hid herself behind one of the tall palm trees that dotted the garden patio of Heather Lambert’s old house. She watched David and Rebecca hurry out the front door and head toward his automobile, which was parked behind Maggie’s Mercedes. Her own antique car was parked in a clump of trees a short way down the road. The old woman’s white dress looked almost transparent in the moonlight.
She was not particularly surprised to see Rebecca’s arm slip around David McCloud’s waist. She’d sized up the girl the minute she laid eyes on her. That kind always threw themselves at every man they met, she told herself.
Her eyes moved upward, remembering the flickering light in the bedroom window. The other woman, older, more sensible, not quite as pretty, was the one to be most wary of. She would be the problem. The younger one could easily be dealt with; it was the older sister—Maggie Garrison—who would pose the problem.
Mrs. Johnston smiled to herself. She’d manage them both, just as she had managed the others....
Rebecca and David were walking quickly toward the car, almost running. It was easy to see that they had not the best intentions in mind as they hurried away from the Lambert house, Mrs. Johnston thought. It would not be the first time she’d caught David McCloud sneaking girls into his rooms. She did not approve, of course, but David was a good tenant...reliable, steady and he paid well for his accommodations. There were times, Mrs. Johnston told herself, that she found it better to close her eyes to things.
Secretly she wished they’d hurry and get away. It would not go well for her if she were found here at this house, especially tonight. She glanced up at the full moon and watched a lazy cloud pass across its face. If it had to be done, tonight was the night she should finish it. But she knew that at least the groundwork had been laid and tomorrow it would be over with.
