I turned off the water and slung the shower curtain back all the way. I stood peering through the steam. I didn’t hear Bette, so I called out again, stepping onto the plush bathroom rug and closing the door partially. “Bette?” I wrapped a towel around my body and stopped. Nobody answered. Even though it was damp, the hair on the back of my neck began to rise; I could sense the shifting of the air, and the inexplicable feeling that I wasn’t alone overwhelmed me. I reached for another towel and patted my hair with it, trying to behave as naturally as I could.
“Bette?” I called a little more softly, stepping out of the bathroom into my bedroom/living room. Nobody was there, no one I could see with my naked eye, but I knew someone had been in the room. My desk drawers were open and the papers disorganized. Instinctively, I reached for the first thing I could: my hairbrush. Smart, CJ. What are you going to do? Brush them to death? I held it like it was a deadly weapon. I saw a shadow on my doorstep and swung the door open with a “ha!” only to find a startled Bette grappling with an oversized umbrella and a crock of steamy soup.
“Oh my word, are you okay? Can you grab this crock? Be careful, it’s hot—use the handles. Boy, she left out of here fast. Did you two have an argument or something?”
I took the crock and set it down on a nearby table. “Did you see who it was?” My eyes must have been as big as goose eggs.
“Yes, but please sit down before you fall down. You look very pale, Carrie Jo. That was your friend, the girl that looks like Marilyn Monroe. Well, she doesn’t now, her hair is black, but that was her. I wonder why she changed it; she looked so much better the other way. Are you okay?”
“No, I’m not. I think you’re right, I should sit down. I should also tell you that my friend, or former friend, didn’t have permission to be in here. Did you know the police are looking for her? They think she might have had something to do with Hollis Matthews’ death. I better call Detective Simmons and let her know. On top of all this, I feel horrible.”
“You sit—I’ll bring you the phone. As long as you leave the lid on that crock, it will stay nice and hot.”
“Would you hand me my purse, please?”
“Surely! Here you go.” She passed me my phone and purse and started tidying up the desk.
“You better wait, Bette. The detective will want that left undisturbed so she can examine it.”
“Oh my goodness, that’s probably true. Oh dear, I better put on some coffee.” She went into my kitchenette and quickly had a pot of coffee going. Somehow, the smell soothed me, and I dialed the detective’s number.
It went to voicemail so I left her my information and hung up. She called me back in less than two minutes, and I happily accepted a cup of black coffee from Bette. “Yes, Detective, it’s the same address, the one I gave you. I’m in the upstairs studio, and the porch light is on. Yes, she’s here. Okay, see you soon.”
I hung up and looked over at Bette. “She asked if you could stay and give a description. They really want to find her.” I sipped on the coffee, but my stomach growled. I decided to get a few spoonfuls of the soup in my tummy before Detective Simmons arrived.
“I had no idea that she was a suspect. I swunny! I would have thrown my umbrella at her if I had known.”
“I’m sorry, I try not to gossip about what goes on up at the house. Actually, I have a hard time believing she could do such a thing—I don’t think she did, honestly, but she must know something. Why else would she disappear like that? Mia has been my friend for many years—I spent all of my college holidays at her home with her family. They are good people, very loving and accepting, but something has happened to my friend. She’s not the same anymore. I don’t know why or what it is. Anyway, one night Ashland and I found her and a few others having a séance at the house. Well, naturally, we had to fire her. She couldn’t just bring people into Seven Sisters like that. When she left, Mia was furious, angrier than I had ever seen her. The next day, Mr. Matthews was dead. The police think she did it.”
Bette said, “Oh my word,” repeatedly during the course of my story and finally sat staring at me. “I wonder what she wanted today. She was after some papers, it looks like. For what purpose, other than to cause you some heartache?”
“Well, I think I know what she is after.” I reached inside my purse and grabbed my crocheted change purse. It was the only thing my mother had ever given me. I unzipped the ragged container and pulled out the silver key, the key to the music box.
“Hmm…what does it go to?” She turned the key over in her plump hand. “Looks old and very delicate.”
“It is very old. It is the key to a music box, one that came up missing right after Mr. Matthews’ died. You can’t play the box without the key, and I think this proves that Mia has the box.” I walked over to my small jewelry box and removed a silver chain, one with a lobster claw clasp. I fed the chain through the hole in the key and put it around my neck. It might be safer if I wore the key rather than leave it in my purse, especially now that Mia was so desperate that she’d risk being seen to get it.
“All this to play a music box?” Her eyes narrowed a little, and then I saw her face light up. “Oh! Unless there’s something else about this box. Maybe it has a secret compartment?”
I smiled at her sadly. “That’s what I am thinking, but now it’s gone. I didn’t check it while I had it. I don’t know if we will ever find it.”
“Sure you will. I see car lights—that must be the detective. She’s a woman—how interesting.” Bette opened the door and waved. I put the lid back on my soup crock and suddenly realized I was still wearing towels.
I grabbed some jeans, a sweat shirt and some underwear and ran to the bathroom to change. My hair was a lost cause; wild curls were already popping out, so I just gathered up the damp mess in a ponytail on top of my head. I brushed my teeth and walked out to find Detective Simmons looking over my desk with a cup of coffee in her hand.
“Hi, Detective Simmons. Thanks for coming. I’d like you to meet…” Before I could finish, I was sneezing my head off, excusing myself again. I returned to the bathroom, blew my nose and washed my hands. I caught a quick glimpse of myself in the mirror. Yep, this cold is going to be a doozy. Darn!
Detective Simmons did not have too many questions for me. She asked if I had heard from Mia recently, and of course I hadn’t. I showed her the key. She offered to put it into evidence where it would be completely safe, but I wasn’t willing to part with it.
“Okay, so here’s what we’ve got. Mia Reed has a new look, short, dark hair, and she was wearing black clothing. Are you sure it was her? I mean, it was rainy.”
Bette nodded vigorously. “No doubt it was—I have never seen anyone with a tattoo on the back of their hand like she had—it was the sun, I think. That was definitely her, and she looked right at me. Heifer! I should have smacked her.”
“No, please don’t confront her if you see her again. She’s a suspect in a murder investigation—it is safe to assume that she is dangerous. If you see her around here, call 9-1-1 and then call me. Are we clear?” The redheaded woman stared at both of us and added, “I don’t want either of you acting like Nancy Drew—or Jessica Fletcher. Got it?” We nodded. Detective Simmons left us alone, and we looked at one another.
Bette said, “Well, my goodness! I don’t think you look a thing like Angela Lansbury.” We laughed, and I finished my soup. Then she left me alone to rest, and I certainly did. I had every intention of calling Ashland, but this cold had gotten the best of me. I passed out on my small, uncomfortable couch, waking up around 11 p.m. I got up to check the locks and turn off the lights. I peered out the windows, saw nothing and then climbed into bed. I didn’t even remember covering up.
Chapter 5
Before my feet hit the floor the next morning, Bette was tapping on the door. I could see through the sheer white curtain that she had a tray of food for me. So thoughtful. I padded across the floor, blowing my nose before I unlocked it. “Sorry, this c
old is kicking my butt.”
I flopped in my desk chair, accepting the food that my kind landlady offered me. “This is so thoughtful, Bette. I can’t believe you would do this for me. Thank you.” The neat little Formica tray was a vintage piece, probably a genuine butler’s tray from the 1930s. I appreciated the historical touch. Bette brought me a small bowl full of fresh fruit, including watermelon (my favorite), a glass of orange juice and a heaping bowl of her decadent grits. On top of the quickly melting pat of butter were bacon bits and plenty of shredded cheese. Sitting on top of that were three decent-sized shrimp, arranged neatly in a swirl. She had even included a folded linen napkin, salt and pepper shakers and a vase with a single pink flower in it.
“That flower came from my garden, right there on the side of the house. But if it makes you sneezy, you just stick it in the refrigerator. It will keep in there for a few days. Maybe you will feel better by then and you can enjoy it. Do you have everything you need?”
I nodded, sipping on my orange juice. “Thanks again. I can’t believe this wonderful breakfast. I appreciate your…your…” I sneezed again, and I was suddenly grateful I had not eaten a big spoonful of grits. That would have been embarrassing.
“Maybe you should stay home today. Do you have any sinus medicine or cold medicine in the bathroom?” She didn’t wait for an answer; she went to my medicine cabinet and announced that I didn’t. “You know, living in Mobile, you need a few things, including sinus medicine.” She laughed heartily and said, “Tell you what, since you feel under the weather, I can go into town for you, pick up some juice and some good meds. What about that?”
I knew she was only trying to help me, so I tried not to interpret her offer as pushy. I wasn’t used to being fussed over, and she obviously enjoyed having someone to take care of. I felt too groggy and snotty to argue, but I still intended to go into work. “No, I can do it when I go out this morning. I only plan to stick around for a few hours, just long enough to see them get started repainting that room and finishing the floor in the ballroom.”
Bette smiled at me, showing off her impossibly perfect lipstick application. “I think you might be pushing yourself too hard, but I’m not your mother—I can be a bit bossy at times. Just want to make sure that you are taking care of yourself. That reminds me, I won’t be home this afternoon. I’ve got some errands to run, and I have a date tonight, so don’t wait up for me. You think you’ll be okay?”
“Yes, I’m sure I will. I hope to hear more about your date later.” I grinned despite my runny eyes and nose.
“You shall, my dear! Hey, I have a great idea!” Uh-oh, I wonder what this is. “I think you should ask Ashland to stay for a while tonight—I know you’re worried about how it looks, but I’m more worried about your safety. I bet you didn’t even tell him about Mia being here, did you?”
“I passed out last night. By the time I woke up, it was too late to call. And I was too tired to text. I’ll tell him this morning.” I scooped up the grits in my silver spoon. They smelled so delicious I couldn’t resist them. I popped them in my mouth and waited for the cough. Nothing happened so I took another bite. Maybe I was going to be okay after all. Not as sick as I thought.
“Uh-oh, no need to worry about that, dear. It looks like he knows already. Maybe Detective Simmons called him last night or something.” Bette peeked through the curtain at the car pulling into the driveway. “That is one handsome fellow.” She opened the door and waved at him. “Well, Ashland Stuart, come on in here. So nice to see you again!” Before I knew what was happening, the always elegant Ashland Stuart was inside my over-the-garage apartment, completely busting me in my pajamas, wild ponytail and runny, red nose.
“Nice to see you too, ma’am. Are you two all right? Did Mia take anything or harm you in any way, Carrie Jo?” He seemed genuinely panicked; somehow he had the idea that I was in trouble. I looked suspiciously at Bette as she slipped out the door, closing it quietly behind her. Surely she hadn’t called Ashland on my behalf.
“No, I’m fine—we’re fine. Mia was looking for this.” I showed him the key on the silver chain.
He reached out and touched it, holding it in his tanned hand. “That? What is it?”
“It’s the key to the music box, the one that came up missing from the house after Mr. Matthews died.” I started to say more but I sneezed, luckily, I covered my face just in the nick of time.
“Are you feeling okay? Should I call Dr. Patterson?” He pulled up a chair from the dinette and sat next to me. I smiled weakly. His thoughtfulness was touching, but again I wasn’t used to anyone caring about me. Now I had two people looking out for me.
“Oh no!” I suddenly felt sick and took off for the restroom. My grits and juice hadn’t stayed down very long. I couldn’t believe I’d just thrown up with Ashland in the other room. Now I really felt like dying.
Ashland called Dr. Patterson as I dragged myself to bed. “Sorry you had to see me like this. So embarrassing.”
“No reason to feel embarrassed. It happens. I’m just glad it’s just a virus or something. When I saw your car had been left there overnight and all four tires were flat, and then Detective Simmons and Bette called, I was sure something had happened to you.”
“What? My tires are flat?” I sat straight up in the bed, but only for a few seconds. Dizziness overtook me, and I flopped back on the pillow. “What the heck? When I left there yesterday, the car wouldn’t crank, and now I have four flat tires? Somebody, probably Mia, has been trying to make a point. But I’m not sure what it is.”
Ashland chewed on his pink lip. His ridiculously blue eyes were thoughtful. “Should we call the detective again? Let her know about the vandalism to your car?”
“No. Without anyone seeing it, it would just be a guess, not actual proof of wrongdoing. Damn, she’s desperate to get this key. We need to get that box back from her. There’s something special about that…that…” Achoo! I sneezed again, louder this time. Oh my God! I sound like a donkey!
“There’s no way you are going anywhere for the next day or so at least. I’ll make sure that room gets repainted and check with TD about the flooring. Actually, I think TD can take care of all that. I just need to call him. I’d like to stick around for a little while, if you don’t mind.” He handed me the nearby tissue box. My lungs were threatening to sneeze again. Nope, false alarm. I kept the tissue handy just in case. I didn’t know whether to throw up or sneeze.
“I don’t want you to see me like this. I’ll be fine once the doctor gets here.”
“There’s no one here to take care of you, so I’m staying. At least until you go to sleep.”
I didn’t argue; I was too tired and too sick. I kind of nodded and rubbed my nose. “Listen, Ashland. I’m sorry about yesterday. I got a little snippety with your friend, and I know that was wrong. It’s just that I feel very….”
“Passionate about the house? I get that. You are a historian, so it only makes sense.”
I rubbed grits out of my hot eyes. Man, they get everywhere! “I was going to say ‘protective’ of the house, but yes, passionate is a good way to describe it too. You see, yesterday I wanted to talk with you about something, the thing I’ve been promising to talk to you about for a while now. And then Detra Ann and her picnic basket showed up and that got postponed. Later you left without saying goodbye. I guess I’m just a big ol’ ball of mixed-up right now. Should we just be friends, coworkers? I don’t want to get into something complicated. You know, if you have a past with her or something like that, I don’t mind stepping back. I mean, it’s not like we’re boyfriend and girlfriend, right?”
Ashland stared at me, then laughed. He reached over and placed his cool hand on my forehead. “Good Lord, Carrie Jo! You’ve got quite a fever because you are talking crazy.”
“Could you please drop the temperature on the air conditioner? I’m hot, now that you mention it. I guess that could be a fever.” A sharp rap at the door let us know that the skinny doctor
had arrived.
“Good morning to you both,” he said. “Let’s see, you definitely have a fever, but how high?” He opened his old-fashioned leather bag and took out a thermometer. He slid a plastic cover over it and told me to lift my tongue. “You know the drill. No biting, and keep it under your tongue, okay?” I did as I was told, leaning back on the pillows with my eyes shut. I felt like I had stayed there forever when the thermometer suddenly beeped. The doctor peered at it, lifting his glasses up to get a good view. “Miss Jardine, you can’t go to work today. And if this fever doesn’t come down, not tomorrow either. Look at that, son, it’s 102. Someone will need to stay with her here, or she can go to the clinic to be monitored. But either way, we have to take her temperature every hour. If it spikes, take her straight to the emergency room.”
He looked inside my ears and down my throat. “Very red, very swollen. Probably strep but we won’t know for sure without a throat culture. I can do it here and take it to my lab for testing, or you can come in.”
“I want to stay home if that’s possible, and I don’t need anyone to babysit me. I’ll be fine, I promise.” I smiled as sweetly as I could to show them how well I was. They both frowned at me. I guess my appearance accurately portrayed how I really felt. I opened my mouth, and Dr. Patterson efficiently swabbed my throat.
Seven Sisters Collection Page 15
