by E. Joan Sims
I watched the flames from the very realistic gas logs climb up and over the ceramic trunks in never ending new patterns—never once seeing the same flame twice. It was mesmerizing, and I almost dozed off myself.
I’d had a miserable day. It had rained—with a cold wind signaling the coming of winter in a few weeks time. It was still blowing and howling around the corners of the big old house but the library was cozy and warm. I curled up in Horatio’s chair with my pad and pencil and set about recording the events of the morning,
An orderly at the State Mental Hospital had immediately directed me to the Administrator’s office when I came in—dragging my wet feet and sodden umbrella behind me.
“Right down that hall,” he pointed to an open door at the end. “And, hey you!” He added menacingly when I was on my way. “Walk over on the side, if you please. Housekeeping has already been over that floor twice today, and I don’t want it all slick and wet again. Some of these patients are a mite unsteady on the feet. Don’t want to be responsible for any broken hips, do we! Be more careful in the future.”
“Why, of course,” I stammered, as he glared down at me. I felt thoroughly chastened and more than a little embarrassed in front of the starchly dressed nurses and aides scurrying about, and I fervently vowed there would be no future visits for me to the State Mental Hospital if I could possibly help it.”
My discomfiture increased as I walked into the office at the end of the hall.
“Do you have an appointment?” asked the secretary officiously.
“Why….”
“We must have an appointment, mustn’t we? We wouldn’t walk into the office of any other busy, busy, busy man without an appointment, would we?”
“I just wanted…”
“We all want things we can’t have.”
“Look,” I raised my voice an octave, “I’m Paisley Sterling, and I want…”
“What you can’t have, I know. Like every other selfish, selfish person.”
I was getting mad, but I came to the swift realization that the little woman sitting at the desk in front of me was madder still. Her hair was tightly squeezed back in a bun, and her cheeks flamed with artificial color in a wrinkled face powdered as white as snow. Pursed and disapproving lips were painted a brilliant red and her faded blue eyes were rimmed with purple shadow. She looked like a withered and ancient doll sitting ramrod straight in the modern office chair.
“Mrs. Ash,” said someone behind me.
I turned and breathed a sigh of relief as a good-looking young man sporting crisply ironed jeans and a smart looking green plaid shirt with a handsome blue tie made his way over to the desk.
Mrs. Ash,” he continued. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you. It’s time for morning coffee. You don’t want to miss your morning coffee, do you? The kitchen has made those wonderful little buns again. You do love those sugared buns, don‘t you.”
“Why, William,” she looked up slightly confused—dazed certainly, and suddenly she lost her belligerence and smiled sweetly. “I think this young lady is here to see you.” Her voice regained a little censure as she added, “She doesn’t have an appointment.”
“That’s all right, Mrs. Ash. Don’t you worry. I’ll make sure she knows all the rules next time.”
He turned to the nurse who had followed him. “Jennifer will take you down to the dining room. All the other ladies are waiting for you there.”
A smiling Jennifer took the old lady’s hand and led her out of sight. “William” sank tiredly down in the chair she had recently vacated and managed a smile for me.
“Sorry about that,” he offered. “It’s hard to keep up with the ones who are not confined to their rooms or bedridden.”
“Seems a great responsibility.”
“Well, yeah,” he laughed. “It can be trying at times. Sandy’s always after me to quit and find something not as, well, hands on so to speak. But quite frankly, that’s what makes it all worthwhile.”
“You enjoy dealing with the half-here and hare-brained?” I asked incredulously.
His fresh and ruddy complexion turned even brighter, standing out in stark contrast to the dark hair combed so neatly off his forehead. “We don‘t ever…” he stammered.
“I’m sorry!” I interrupted, leaning forward on my hard wooden chair. “I’m a writer. I should know better than to use such offensive language! Please forgive me?”
He looked somewhat mollified. “Well, you …”
“You see I write about this detective who is very rough,” I dug deep and tried to remember some of Mother’s complaints. “He talks like that, not me.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Leonard Paisley, I write …”
“That’s you! Sandy will be over the moon. She loves your books. I’ll have to tell her. Would you come to dinner some night? She’ll want to brag about it to all her friends.”
“Well, I don’t usually…”
His complexion returned to the beet red of my previous gaffe. “Of course you don’t! Please forgive me for being so forward and naive. Afraid it comes with the territory. I’m so used to being…”
I liked him. I liked him a lot, and I knew my mother, and maybe even Cassie, would adore him. Too bad he was married. This was just the sort of young man who…
It popped out before I had even had time to think it through. “Would you and Sandy like to come to dinner with us? At the farm, I mean. Maybe some night next week?”
Chapter Twenty-One
“I’m Dr. William Simmons, by the by. Forgive me for not introducing myself right away.”
I waved my hand back and forth in a dismissive gesture. “Not a problem. And I do hope you’ll come to dinner, but I’m really here to see one of your patients, if that’s possible.”
“Of course, if they are not indisposed, so to speak. I’m sure they would be glad of the company…especially your company. It’s not often we have visitors of any note.”
I blushed right on cue and smiled. I liked William more and more each minute.
“Who is it you wish to visit?”
“Mary Alesworthy.”
For a second, just a mere second, I saw something furtive behind his eyes, but I blinked and there he was again—all smiles and dimples.
“Hmmm, I don’t think we have…,” he paused as if ruminating a minute—tapping his cheek with a pencil. “Wait a minute, you mean Jane Alesworthy?”
“I guess so. I don’t know her full name.”
“Why, we do have Mrs. Jane Alesworthy—have had for quite some time, I’m afraid.” He opened a file on his computer and studied it for a moment. “Why, yes indeed. Mary Jane Alesworthy was committed years ago. These old ones who have been here for a so long—I’m afraid we get use to calling them by their given names.”
He peered up at me over the computer monitor. “You might not be able to make much sense from any conversation with her, but you’re more than welcome to try. She has no next of kin, so I’ll have to go through the formalities and ask her permission, but I’m sure she will be delighted to have company.”
He pushed back his chair and stood. “Allow me a moment to make sure she’s awake and available.” He winked. “Won’t take a minute. I’ll get my real secretary to bring you some tea, if you like?”
I liked, and I liked the tea a lot. Especially since it came with some really good homemade cookies. William was gone more than a minute, and by the time he returned, more than half the plate was empty. I started to apologize for my hearty appetite, but he seemed eager for me to follow him down the hall to the lounge where Jane was waiting so I sneaked another cookie for my pocket and hurried along behind him.
I don’t know what I expected, but Mary Jane Alesworthy was more than I could have imagined any little old crazy lady could be. Wrapped from head to foot in three or four long feather boas of green, red, blue and yellow, she sat regally in an armchair with head held high and crowned with a rhinestone tiara.
William stepped back behind me and motioned me forward. He made a slight suggestive bow and, feeling like a complete fool, I followed with a deep curtsey.
“Your Highness,” he stated. “This is Paisley of the Rowan Springs Sterlings I spoke to you about. She has come here to pay homage to you.”
I turned around to get more clues from him, but he simply gave me a cheeky wink and left me facing the mad queen.
“Please be seated,” she said in a quietly regal voice. “You look tired, my dear. Take a load off.”
I couldn’t help it. I sank down in the overstuffed chair in front of her and laughed. It was a good deep belly laugh, and soon she joined me.
“You must have them really fooled!”
“Have had for years,” she giggled. “It’s great fun and it passes the time.” She leaned closer to me and whispered, “And I do love the costumes, don’t you?”
“Absolutely!”
“I don’t suppose you have a cigarette? Or a flask on you?”
“Sorry, but I can send something to you when I leave. A care package.”
She sighed deeply and looked slightly confused. “Mail? I used to get letters sometimes. And checks! Lots of money—lovely money. But they stopped coming. I don’t know why.” She suddenly looked sad and forlorn in her feathered finery, and I began to see that she really might not have them fooled all of the time, after all.
“Well, I’ll send you a package and call to see if you get it. How about that?”
Something was happening to her. She seemed less and less interested in our conversation and her wrinkled old eyelids began to droop. The dear old thing was falling asleep on me. I had to hurry if I wanted to get anything out of her.
“Jane!”
She looked up, and I could practically see the veil coming down over the faded old eyes. Do you remember living on Market Street? Remember, the big old house with Eliza and Abigail?”
“Oh!” she cried piteously, “The poor mites! How they suffered! And she knew and did nothing about it! Meg knew all about it…she told me. And then there was all that lovely money…” Her words were mumbled, and I leaned forward trying to understand.
I jumped about a foot straight up in the air when Jennifer suddenly appeared at my elbow.
“She’s getting tired,” she whispered in my ear. “You won’t get anything more out of her. She needs to go to her room for a nap. Sorry.”
Queen Jane had indeed fallen asleep on her throne. Two orderlies lifted her frail old body into a wheelchair and pushed her away, leaving a few tattered feathers floating in the air in her wake. The interview was obviously at an end.
“Come,” ordered Jennifer. “I’ll see you out. Dr. Simmons is with an incoming patient. He said to expect a call soon from Sandy. Something about dinner?” She looked hopeful for a moment, like she was expecting me to invite her, but I was too disappointed to feel hospitable so I just followed her to the door and nodded absently when she said goodbye.
Chapter Twenty-Two
I woke up two hours later, my pad and pencil in heap on the floor in front of me. I unhooked my knees from beneath me and tried to stand up. My legs were all pins and needles and my joints creaked louder than a Chinese emperor’s nightingale floor.
I knew it was useless to promise myself a trip to the gym, so I didn’t even make the effort. Instead I bent from what seemed a great height and grabbed the pad and pencil from the rug. My pre-nap ramblings were scribbled in the usual hieroglyphics—legible only to me and Leonard. But upon review, I realized my trip to the funny farm might not have been in vain. Maybe Jane did know something about the murders on Market Street so long ago.
“But Horatio!” I wheedled.
“‘But’ nothing, my dear. She’s a dear old lady who has lost her wits and doesn’t know where to find them.” He chuckled for a moment at his own joke while he filled his pipe.
“You were much more serious about stuff before you married Mother,” I grumbled.
“Stuff? What ‘stuff’ would that be, my dear sweet Paisley.”
“The murder stuff. And don’t you start with that ‘dear sweet Paisley.’ You’re beginning to sound like Mother when she’s trying to change the subject.” I stopped and turned around to face him. “Hey! That’s exactly what you’re doing, right? You’ve lost interest in this stuff, and you don’t care anymore about finding out the truth. Mother’s got you hogtied and pigtailed and you’re happy as clam. And way too content to care anymore about poor Billy sitting in jail for something he didn’t do.”
“Goodness me! Hogs, pigs and clams? All in one sentence. Even the redoubtable Leonard wouldn’t indulge in that many creatures in one sentence. And I do take umbrage with your accusations, my dear sweet…um, my sweet.”
“Well, it’s true!”
I dumped myself down on the sofa in front of the fire and stared glumly into the flames. I’d been doing a lot of that lately and wondered vaguely if I might enjoy the life of a firebug. But that was just plain crazy, and crazy was definitely something I wanted to avoid at all costs.
“I invited him to dinner, you know.”
“Who, dear?” asked Mother as she entered the library with a tray of coffee and liquors. “Chartreuse, darling Horatio?” she offered. I noticed there were only two little glasses, and that put me in a worse mood.
“I don’t get any?” I groused.
“I didn’t think you would want the extra calories, dear,” she responded, making my mood even more foul.
“So now all of a sudden I’m on a diet because you and your new husband are at the trough of every calorie-laden restaurant within 50 miles!”
“Why, Paisley! Apologize to Horatio this minute!” She admonished, her face turning a delicate rosy hue. “Horatio simply wants to treat me to some of the finer things in life.”
“Like you haven’t been enjoying those since the day you were born!”
I flounced out of the library like a spoiled rotten teenager instead of the “mature” woman I was supposed to be. No more naps for me, I decided. I got too grumpy. And I definitely had to apologize to Horatio and Mother for my stupid behavior. But in some ways, I was right. Horatio did appear to have lost a certain amount of interest in Billy’s plight—while I had become more and more positive that he was innocent.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Mother readily, if somewhat absently mindedly, accepted my sincere apology the next morning at breakfast.
“You don’t seem to mind very much that I acted like a complete brat,” I ventured.
“Oh, that,” offered Mother, tearing herself away from a brightly colored travel brochure. “Don’t be silly, Paisley, dear. You have those little fits from time to time. I’ve quite learned to forgive and forget.”
I stood there with my mouth open while the steam built up behind my eyes. I was about to blow when Horatio sauntered in the kitchen resplendent in burgundy satin smoking jacket over his pristine white dress shirt and silk tie.
“Morning, my…Paisley. Has Anna told you the delightful news?”
I tamped down the rising anger as curiosity got the better of me.
“No. What? Do tell, Mother.” The sarcasm in my voice weighed at least ten pounds.
“We’re going on a cruise, dear. To the Bahamas. Isn’t that lovely?”
“Bahamas,” I croaked. “But what about our mystery, Horatio? Are you just…”
“Forgetting about young Arlequin? No, my child, but until his case comes to court, there’s really nothing more I can do.”
“The hell you can’t!” I burst out. “What about Jane and the other people who lived at the house on Market Street? What about those interviews and…”
“I’m quite certain you can handle all of that admirably without me, my swee…um, Paisley. And I’ll—we’ll—be back in no time at all. Won’t we, Anna, my pet?”
“Well, dear, there is that little side trip we might want to take…”
“No time at all,” he repeated, winking at his lady
. “No time at all.”
And they were off in a cloud of dust before noon, leaving me fuming in the driveway as I waved a reluctant goodbye to the elegant backside of Horatio’s Bentley.
“Damn!” I swore loudly and kicked up a pile of gravel with the toe of my already scuffed and dusty loafer. “Damn, and damn again!”
To make matters worse, Sandy Simmons called that afternoon to confirm a date for dinner the next evening.
“I’m so thrilled! Just thrilled to pieces!”
“Yeah, me too.”
“So, seven-thirty tomorrow evening, then”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, Paisley, bye for now. See you later. Oh! I simply don’t know how I’m going to contain myself until then! I’m so excited!”
Cassie was a different story.
“But, Mom! I don’t know how to cook!”
“Well, at least you know how to put things together and make them look pretty.”
“Like, what things?” she asked suspiciously.
“Fried chicken, and mashed potatoes and things.”
“Do not tell me you invited these people to dinner and you’re planning to get the food at KFC?”
“Well, if neither of us can cook, what else can we do?”
“Don’t you have any pride?” I mean you are Anna Howard Sterling Raleigh’s daughter. You cannot serve dinner in her beautiful dining room out of a cardboard bucket with paper napkins and plastic forks!”
“Back porch, maybe?”
“It’s too chilly in the evenings now, and besides, it’s the principle of the thing.”
“Then you’ll cook?”
“If you’ll do the shopping and clean up,” she agreed, reluctantly.
I spent the next morning running around Rowan Springs looking for all the things on Cassie’s grocery list. It was no mean feat.
“I had to go to Morgantown for that white Mexican cheese,” I complained. “What in the world do you need that for? Mother never uses that in any of her recipes.”
