Ida put the knife aside and wiped her hands on her apron. “They’re not working here any longer. They packed this morning. They left before lunchtime.”
“What?”
“They quit, ma’am.”
“They couldn’t have! Quit? Just like that, they decide to walk out on me? No notice, no nothing?!”
“They gave notice last week,” said Ida quietly.
“They did not,” snapped Louise. “Neither of them said one word to me about quitting.”
“They spoke to Miss Cassandra,” said Ida.
The bracelets on Louise’s hands jangled nervously. “Miss Cassandra doesn’t even live here. Why on earth did they go to her and not to me?”
“Miss Cassandra is the one who always signed their checks, ma’am.”
Louise began moving about the room, her heels clicking sharply on the quarry-tile floor. “This is great, just great!” she breathed. “Why did they leave?”
“I don’t know, ma’am.”
“Oh, yes you do. You just won’t tell me.”
Ida picked up the scraps of pork fat and threw them down the disposal. She did not reply to Louise’s accusation.
“They should at least have the decency to tell me about this. Now what am I supposed to do?”
Ida still said nothing.
“It’s just as well they’re gone,” said Louise in a calmer voice. “They were getting slack. I was thinking about replacing them anyway. Ida, you’ll have to serve in Serena’s place tonight. Mr. Strable and I will be eating at eight.”
“No, ma’am,” returned Ida calmly.
“What did you say?!”
“I was hired to cook. I don’t serve.”
Louise digested this, and then said in a hard voice, “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to help with the cleaning either, then?”
“No, ma’am, I wouldn’t. It doesn’t make any difference anyway, because as soon as this roast goes in the oven, I’ll be taking my leave as well. Keep it at three hundred twenty-five degrees, and it’ll be done at seven-thirty.”
Louise’s jaw dropped in shock. In a voice of sharp anger, she said, “If any of you people think you’re getting recommendations from me, you are dead wrong.”
“Miss Cassandra has already found us places, ma’am.” Ida began smearing the pork roast with a mustard sauce.
“Leave that alone,” snarled Louise. “I’m eating out tonight. Just get out!”
Ida wiped her hands on her apron, untied the apron, folded it neatly, and laid it on the counter. “Good-bye, ma’am,” she said, and walked out of the kitchen.
“What the hell do you think you’re pulling?” Louise screamed into the telephone. “How am I supposed to live in this house without anyone to do the cleaning and the cooking, or make up the beds, and do the laundry? This house has twenty rooms, for Christ’s sake, and I’m trying to run your father’s real-estate agency. I—”
“Did you wish to speak to someone in particular?” interrupted a calm voice on the other end of the line.
“Who is this?” demanded Louise.
“Sarah Hardesty. This is the Menelaus Press.”
“Give me Cassandra,” growled Louise.
Sarah cupped her hand over the mouthpiece. She was sitting at the worktable by the windows while Cassandra sat at her desk busily blue-penciling a sheaf of manuscript on a clipboard. “There is an irate woman on the line,” said Sarah. “I think she wants to yell at you.”
Cassandra laughed and picked up the extension. “Hello, Louise,” she said cheerily.
“Don’t hand me that,” said Louise in a low voice. “This is not going to work!”
“What isn’t going to work?”
“What you’re trying to do to me.”
“I take it you’re talking about the servants quitting. It was their decision. I had nothing to do with it.”
“Oh, really? And what reason did they give?”
“It’s really none of your business, but I’ll tell you anyway. They left because of you. They had been running that house efficiently for a number of years, and then you come in and ride herd over them.”
“You’ve got to keep a watchout for servants,” said Louise. “They’ll steal you blind.”
“You’re probably right, Louise. So you’re better off without them. Good-bye.”
“Wait a minute!”
“What?”
“I can’t run this house by myself. Cook and clean and all that—this is a twenty-room house.”
Cassandra said nothing.
“So I’m going to call the employment agency tomorrow, and hire new servants. I can get along with just two I think, since I’m the only one living here.”
“No,” said Cassandra.
“You don’t have to worry,” said Louise sarcastically. “I’ll pay their precious little salaries.”
“No,” said Cassandra again.
“What do you mean?”
“I won’t have strangers in the house.”
“They’re not strangers, they’re servants!”
“I don’t care,” said Cassandra. “They’re strangers, and I won’t be there to supervise them. I won’t allow them in the house. You drove away three very fine servants—I had no trouble at all finding other places for them, by the way—and now you’re going to have to get along by yourself.”
Louise gasped in rage. “I can’t!”
“Then I guess you’ll just have to leave,” said Cassandra.
“I’ll never leave this house!”
Cassandra didn’t reply.
“You cannot stop me from hiring servants with my own money!”
“I can,” said Cassandra, “and I will. I will lock them out. And I’ll lock you out with them. The house is mine. What I say goes. No servants, Louise. And if you’re not comfortable there, why don’t you just pack up and leave?”
Louise began to sputter a reply, but Cassandra interrupted her: “One more thing, Louise. I asked you not to call me here any more, and you just did. That was my assistant who answered the phone. She’s not going to put through any more calls from you, so you might as well not even bother dialing the number. Good-bye.”
Cassandra hung up and smiled at Sarah, who had made no pretense of not listening to the conversation.
“My,” said Sarah, “aren’t you the hard woman!”
Cassandra shook her head. “I hate being like that. It’s not me. I don’t even sound like myself. But it’s the only kind of talk Louise understands. You can’t be nice to her—she’ll take advantage. There’s an old Russian proverb: ‘Give her a table and she’ll put her feet up on it.’ That’s Louise. She moved into the house last Thanksgiving because she had a little smoke on the ceiling of her apartment kitchen. I made a big mistake in not stopping her at the beginning. That’s when I should have said no. Then I wouldn’t be having all this trouble now.” Cassandra shrugged. “It’s my own fault.”
“Are you going to move back into the house? It must be huge—she said it was twenty rooms. Is that true?”
Cassandra nodded. “Depending on whether you count bathrooms or not. I don’t know what I’m going to do. The band is coming back next week, and the Prudential apartment is too small for three—Apple, and Rocco, and me. But the house is too big—especially without servants. We’ll see.” She looked down at her work again, but then raised her head almost immediately. “That reminds me.”
“What?” asked Sarah.
“I’m going to be very busy next week, with the band and so forth.”
“It’s all right,” said Sarah. “I’ll cover.”
After work, Cassandra drove to Brookline. She parked in the drive behind Eugene Strable’s car, and walked around the house to the studio. A light snow had begun to fall earlier in the evening. She turned on a couple of space heaters near the desk, and prepared a pot of tea for herself. She glanced out the studio window over the sink, and glimpsed Louise standing at one of the French doors of the living room, holding back a
curtain, and peering out at her. Cassandra did not acknowledge her. While the tea was steeping, Cassandra listened to the band’s message tape, making notes. She began returning calls immediately. The first was to Ben James, whom she caught just on his way out of the office.
“Everything’s going great,” he said.
“I know. I talked to Rocco this morning.”
“Listen, something’s up. I got somebody from Columbia Records coming up for the Valentine’s concert at the Orpheum.”
“Columbia!”
“Yes. I hope you don’t mind—you and I are splitting the bill on air fare, hotel, and . . . other things.”
“Fine,” said Cassandra. “How’d you get him? Pull another favor?”
“Didn’t have to. Sent him the tear sheets and a tape. He said to me, ‘Any band that has a dollar sign for a logo is all right by me.’ ”
“You think he’ll take them on?”
“If he judges on the basis of talent, originality, and marketability, of course. But who knows why these people really make decisions?”
“It’s great news,” said Cassandra.
“But I need your opinion.”
“On what?”
“Should we tell them—the band—that he’s going to be there? They’re already going to be keyed up, I wouldn’t want to throw them.”
“Nothing would throw them,” said Cassandra. “I know that for a fact. They’re real professionals.”
“That’s what I thought. So call them tonight, and tell them.”
“It’s your doing,” Cassandra pointed out.
“Oh, well,” said Ben, “I’ll let you pay for the phone call.”
Cassandra laughed. “Thank you. I never mind being the messenger of good news.”
“Thank me when the album is pressed and in the racks and selling.”
“Then too.”
“Now to personal business,” said Ben, in a lowered, more serious tone of voice. “You talked to that private investigator?”
“Yes, I did,” said Cassandra. “In fact, I brought him up here.”
“And? Are you going to go to the police?”
“Not yet. I’m still not convinced. I just find it difficult to believe anybody would be as stupid and as evil as to murder three members of the same family in the same year. I have the detective working on Jonathan and Verity now. If he comes up with anything else, then I’ll go to the police.”
“Well, I won’t interfere or give my advice. Or I guess the only advice I’ll give is for you to be very, very careful around that woman.”
“Don’t worry,” said Cassandra. “I think I know what I’m doing.”
“Louise,” said Eugene Strable, “come away from the windows.” He sat on the edge of the sofa, checking his watch against the clock on the mantel.
“I wonder what she’s doing over there,” said Louise, taking a swallow of vodka. The ice clinked loudly in her glass. “She pretended she didn’t even see me.”
“You just had a fight today,” Strable pointed out.
“How can you be so calm about this?”
“Well, you called me up and said it was an emergency. It’s not an emergency. Cassandra is not going to call the police if you go out and hire a responsible day woman.”
“She’s said she’d change the locks. And I wouldn’t put it past her, either.”
“Louise,” said Strable, glancing at his watch again, “I’m due at the Harvard Club in half an hour. Traffic is still heavy.”
“You don’t care what happens to me. You think this is funny, don’t you? Me running this house without any help.”
“I think you’re overreacting,” said the lawyer quietly.
Louise swung around and stalked to the hearth. A fire was laid but not lighted. She raised one arm, grasped the corner of the mantel, and then laid her head down on her outstretched arm.
“I’ll see what I can do,” said Eugene quietly. “I’ll speak to Cassandra.”
Louise looked up. “You make her hire new servants. You know how to manage her.”
Eugene stood up, straightening and adjusting the sleeves of his jacket. “All right, Louise.”
“You’re the one handling her trust. You remind her of that.”
“No,” said Strable quickly and earnestly. “Don’t ever mention that trust to Cassandra, whatever you do. She might start asking questions. We’re lucky that none of those children ever came into that inheritance. It was always a sort of fairy tale to them. I don’t think any of them really believed that the money was there. They got their allowances, and that’s all they cared about. They never really understood what their mother did for them. If two of them had to die, it’s just as well for us that it was Jonathan and Verity.”
“Why do you say that?” said Louise harshly.
“Because they were the oldest. It’ll be another four years before we have to worry about Cassandra coming into all that money.”
Louise said nothing.
“And of course,” the lawyer went on blandly, “four years is a long time. Anything could happen. Anything at all.” He smiled at Louise. “Feel a little better now?”
With a brightening smile, Louise went up to Eugene and put her arms around his shoulders. “Much better. I just got upset thinking Cassandra had gotten the better of me. But she hasn’t, has she? Oh, Eugene, I’m sorry I snapped at you. You and I will figure out something.”
“Louise . . .”
“Skip that meeting. Stay here with me.” She pressed herself against him.
“Please, Louise,” Eugene said uncomfortably. He eased himself out of her embrace. “I’ll see if I can’t speak to Cassandra tomorrow. I’ll call you as soon as I know anything.”
27
People Buying Things returned from New York on the thirteenth of February, the day before their concert at the Orpheum Theatre. Cassandra was waiting for Rocco and Apple at the Prudential Towers apartment. They walked in exhausted.
“We did a late show last night at Danceteria,” said Apple, “and we were up again at five this morning to do an interview on cable.”
Rocco laughed wearily. “It sounds like we’re complaining. Six months ago, we would have killed for this kind of exposure.”
Apple wandered blearily around the apartment. “At this point, I would kill for a down pillow.”
“Go to bed,” said Cassandra.
“What about tomorrow?” said Apple. “Don’t things have to be arranged?”
“I’ve taken care of everything. You just have to make sure you’re rested.”
“Thank you. See you in the morning. Good night,” said Apple, and swung through the door of her bedroom, slamming it softly behind her.
Rocco and Cassandra sat together on the sofa.
“I’m tired too,” he said.
“I know,” smiled Cassandra. “You need rest.”
“You haven’t seen me in six weeks,” he reminded her, as if in wounded self-esteem, “and you’re going to let me go to sleep?”
Cassandra laughed. “No, no. I guess not. I’ve missed you.”
“I missed you too. I wish you had come with us.”
“You needed someone to take care of things here.”
“I needed someone to take care of me.”
“I still have a job, remember?”
“Why don’t you quit it?” said Rocco.
“I’ll tell you a secret. I did quit it.”
“When?”
“Yesterday. It came as a shock to Menelaus Press.”
“It’ll fall apart without you.”
“No. I trained Sarah to take my place. She’ll do fine.”
“You know what that means?” asked Rocco.
“What?”
“We don’t have anything scheduled after tomorrow night, at least not for a couple of weeks. So you and I are going to take off somewhere. By ourselves. No music, no friends, no telephones, no nothing. Just you and me.”
Cassandra was silent for a few moments. Roc
co lay at full length on the couch, with his head in her lap. He looked up at her and smiled.
“Don’t think you could stand to be with me for a whole two weeks?” he asked. “Better get used to having me underfoot.”
“I was just thinking where I’d like to go.”
“It’s February. That means we have to go to the Caribbean.”
“All right.”
“You’re easy to please,” said Rocco.
Cassandra smiled. “When it comes to you, I’m easy to please. It’ll be good getting out of the city and especially good getting away from Louise.” Cassandra shook her head. “That woman is impossible. I’ve been avoiding her as much as I can.”
“Have you seen Eric? I couldn’t believe he didn’t show up at the funeral.”
“Eric’s in New York,” said Cassandra with a peculiar smile. “That’s all I know. Or, at any rate, that’s all I’m going to say.”
“You’ve got something up your sleeve, haven’t you?” said Rocco. “Something about Eric?”
“Maybe,” said Cassandra. “Maybe we’ll have a little news tomorrow, or maybe even tonight.”
“About Eric? About Eric and the Wicked Stepmother?”
“Maybe,” said Cassandra.
“Well,” said Rocco, rubbing his face against her stomach, “you’re not going to have to think about Louise for the next two weeks, at least.”
“I have to go see her tomorrow.”
“About what?”
“I just want to clear up some business about the house.”
“Like what?”
Cassandra smiled. “I’m tired of talking about Louise. I’m tired of talking. I think I’ll pick you up and carry you over the threshold of our bedroom.”
“Don’t you want to hear the song I wrote about you?”
“What?” laughed Cassandra. “You didn’t write a song about me . . .”
“I did too.” He sang softly:
Love reached out of the gutter,
Love stuck a knife in my ribs . . .
“Is that what you think of me?” protested Cassandra.
Rocco laughed. “Don’t you like it? We’re playing it tomorrow night at the Orpheum. It’s called ‘Love Jumped Up and Bit Me on the Ass.’ ”
Cassandra shook her head unbelievingly. “Good God.”
“But do you like it?” he asked.
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