Not one whit, Richard’s mind replied.
Around noon, Mrs. Coenegrachts interrupted their tour of the second floor to inform them that she had prepared lunch.
“My goodness,” Richard responded. “I cannot eat now. I have to make an important phone call.”
Mrs. Coenegrachts nodded, having foreseen his answer.
“I’ll have a black pudding sandwich in my office,” the millionaire went on, “No bread, no garlic, no onion. Now, Josie, you should eat in the garden.”
“I’d rather eat with you,” the girl replied.
“Nonsense. Enjoy the day. Take a dip in the pool. Then go change into something more formal, preferably black, and let us meet again around three, to go to the funeral.”
Josie’s gesture of disenchantment revealed that she had completely forgotten about Lina.
“I know,” Richard said, “I hate churches too, but we have to go to this one. Maybe you could write a poem and read it during the service.”
“A poem?”
“Why not? You spent so much time around beatniks. She’s all yours, Mrs. Coenegrachts,” he added, offering Josie’s hand to the housekeeper.
They parted ways. Richard went back to his room, and Mrs. Coenegrachts led Josie downstairs to the garden, then through an avenue of white roses to a table next to the pool.
“This is like being in a movie,” Josie caught herself saying aloud. The grounds were a mixture between a Middle Eastern Eden, with palm and magnolia trees, pomegranates and jasmine shrubs, and an emerald green English lawn flanked by daisies and rose bushes. “How can Richard not like this?”
“It is like being in a movie,” Mrs. Coenegrachts laughed, ignoring Josie’s last question. “But a movie lasts a mere two hours. Four at the most, and I understand that Mr. Wehr has invited you to stay as long as you want, hasn’t he?”
“Yes.” Josie took a seat at the table. The sun stung so nicely. “But I’m only staying here for the weekend.”
“Why such a short visit?”
A service cart waited by the table with Josie’s food. Before Josie could reply to the last question, Mrs. Coenegrachts served the girl a glass of lemonade and then put a covered plate in front of her. Josie removed the cover to reveal a minuscule bird served over four little eggs inside a tartlet.
“Mr. Wehr loves quail,” the woman said. “It was his favorite dish,” she added, sitting down next to Josie. The gesture seemed an audacity to the girl; she didn’t expect to be sharing a table with the help, not in a rich fancy house like this.
“Enjoy,” Mrs. Coenegrachts said, serving herself a glass of lemonade. She watched the greenery around and, filling her lungs with a deep breath, she asked: “Isn’t it amazing? The cloudless sky, all this peace. I love living in Los Angeles. Don’t you, Miss García? This wonderful weather… Close your eyes. If you sit still, you can hear the distant noises of traffic. I find it relaxing, like the sound of running water. When you open your eyes and find yourself in the middle of this beautiful garden, the illusion is even stronger. Far from anywhere else but less than a mile from Hollywood.”
“I like the beach,” Josie hinted.
“The beach is nice,” Mrs. Coenegrachts grinned. “Too cold for me, though. I prefer warm summers. What’s the urge to go back? If you extend your stay with us, you could have three meals a day in this beautiful garden, breakfast, lunch, and supper, every day for the rest of the summer. For the rest of the year, if you wanted. Aren’t you tempted?”
Josie wouldn’t admit it yet to Mrs. Coenegrachts, but she was. She took a sip of lemonade to wash down a bite. Maybe she could stay a little longer. She bit the inside of her cheek, trying to keep herself from revealing her internal dilemma. Maybe she could stay until she found a new place in Venice. How long would her commute to work be? Maybe Richard would let her use Jeremy every day. If not, she could take the bus on Wilshire.
“I would be,” Mrs. Coenegrachts insisted with a grin.
Josie responded with a smile. Despite her inciting words, there was something in Mrs. Coenegrachts’ tone that she didn’t like, a subtle tinge of bitterness and self-righteous mockery, as if she didn’t think much of her employer’s taste in women.
“How long have you been working for Richard?” Josie asked.
Mrs. Coenegrachts took some time to respond. “A long time,” she grinned.
“I can’t see why Richard doesn’t like this,” Josie said after a minute of silence. “It’s so lovely.”
From her chair, Josie could see the entire house. She noticed a series of French doors on the first floor that opened onto a large terrace that she had missed when they stepped out of the house.
“Where do those doors open to?” she asked Mrs. Coenegrachts.
“Those on the terrace? That is the ballroom.”
“I knew there was a ballroom! Why does he keep it locked?”
“He does not want anyone to peep in,” Mrs. Coenegrachts responded. Seeing the inquisitive look on Josie’s face, she continued: “Mr. Wehr likes to dance.” Her grin grew bigger. “But he’s quite shy about it. He thinks that people would laugh if they knew about his hobby.”
“He dances?” Josie asked with disbelief.
“He does.” Mrs. Coenegrachts seemed slightly piqued by Josie’s tone. “Didn’t you hear the music last night?”
“I did.” Josie nodded.
“He’s quite light-footed for a man his size. He moves with such grace and elegance, as if he were floating. The first time I saw him dancing, many years ago, I felt so moved that I started clapping. Sadly, he took it the wrong way. He thought I was making fun of his talent. His face got all red; he was extremely upset. I thought he was going to sack me, but he didn’t say anything. He lowered the music and waited until I left the room. I have never felt more embarrassed. He always locks the door, but he must have forgotten to do so that night. He sometimes leaves the draperies open, and one can take a peek from the garden. I have to pretend that I’m not looking, of course, that I’m just cleaning, minding my own business. Most of the time I have to settle with listening to the music behind the closed doors.”
So that was it, Josie chewed her food. The forbidden room was nothing but a fancy ballroom where the blubbery millionaire played at being a ballerino. How tacky. And what a waste. Based on how long that terrace was, the room must have been enormous. How much fun it would be to have a real ball!
“I like to dance too,” she ventured.
“You could be partners!” Mrs. Coenegrachts’ eyebrows rose. “What type of music do you like?”
“Jazz.”
“Well, I’ve heard him play some jazz records. He prefers Russian ballets. Yesternight he danced to Prokofiev. Do you know his “Dance of the Knights” from Romeo and Juliet?”
Josie shook her head briefly.
Mrs. Coenegrachts hummed a few bits of the piece. “Do you recognize it? It’s such a strong work… Mr. Wehr must be in so much in pain right now,” her expression became somber. “He loved Miss Barnett dearly. Who could have done such a terrible thing to her? Dismembered and plucked out in pieces. I can only wish that they find the culprit—and that one day Mr. Wehr finds love again. I am so happy that you are here, Miss García. He needs good friends. You fill this house with life. Your laughter makes his face shine, have you noticed? He beams with joy when he sees you.”
Josie replied with a grin. She felt flattered, but she couldn’t remember having laughed at all that day or the night before. She was still too upset from the police interrogatory to be cheery. How could she be of comfort to Richard? Although she had to agree with Mrs. Coenegrachts that the millionaire did seem less bummed out in her presence. Not unhappy at all. He didn’t even look mournful. As a matter of fact, now that she thought about it, he never really seemed that fond of Lina. She took another bite. They were always fighting.
“I was surprised when I learned that Lina and Richard were engaged,” she said.
“I was, too,” Mrs. Coenegrachts replied. “It was all so fast, so romantic!”
“I mean,” Josie interrupted her, “Lina was so young…younger than me, I think. And Richard…well, he’s not exactly a spring chicken.”
“And who are we to criticize? They loved each other intensely. I never saw a man love a woman as much as he loved her. And I never saw a woman respect and adore a man as much as she adored him. If only he could find true love again! It’s so sad, don’t you think? This house is so big. He has all this money, this immense fortune, the apartment in New York, the houses in France, the castle in Germany, and—what for? What’s the use, if he can’t share it? He needs to get a new girlfriend, that’s what he needs. He needs someone that can understand him; someone to take care of him, and for him to take care of. Someone who doesn’t care if he dances. Or if he’s a little extravagant, sometimes… Do you know any young girl like that, Miss García? I’m dying to meet that person. A girl with a big heart, but just as lonely as Mr. Wehr is. A girl in need of protection. Perhaps you…know a friend?”
This time, Mrs. Coenegrachts’ suggestive tone didn’t bother Josie. She laughed. She had no intention of becoming Richard’s intended, but it would be useful to become Mrs. Coenegrachts’ friend, if only because she lived in the same house as Richard. Maybe she could stay a week or two here, until she saved enough money to rent her own place.
At three o’clock, Josie left her room and descended the stairs. She wore black now, a sleeveless dress with a puffed skirt, like a tutu, that she found inside Lina’s closet, her hair demurely pulled back in a bun. Mrs. Coenegrachts had taken the brooch back and given her Lina’s pearl earrings, which, she said, would be more appropriate.
A surprise awaited her downstairs, sitting inconspicuously next to the telephone table: her former little landlady.
“What are you doing here?” Josie asked.
“I invited her,” Richard responded, stepping out of the library. He was wearing a suit, had a hat on and sunglasses. “I thought I needed to thank her for all her attentions at the meeting. She is coming with us to the funeral. Here,” he added, extending a leather bound book to the little woman. “Page 263,” he muttered.
The cover of the book had a silver pentagram embossed with the face of a goat in its center. The title, which Josie couldn’t read, for the little woman held the book against her chest as if afraid that someone would take it, was Daemonum Incantamenta.
“What’s that?” Josie asked.
“A German recipe book,” Richard explained, with a smile. “So our friend can learn how to cook German. Today is Jeremy’s day off,” he added, pulling the car keys out of his pocket, “I’ll drive to the funeral home. On y va?”
What could be so exciting about a recipe book? Looking over her shoulder, Josie spied on the little woman in the back seat. She wouldn’t take her eyes off that book. And why did Richard have to invite her to Lina’s funeral? He had made Josie change her dress, but the little woman was dressed so inappropriately. That blue apron was just awful and her sweater was full of holes. Josie dreaded that everyone at the funeral would assume that she and the little woman were related.
She looked at Richard. He was so bizarre. But not completely unattractive. He had a belly, but he groomed his hair nicely, and his clothes were impeccable. What would it be like to wake up next to him every morning? She couldn’t help wondering. Would he look as good in ten years as he did now? He was too pale. How old could he be? Forty-five? Fifty?
“How old are you, Richard?” Josie asked.
“Jesus! How old I am, you ask? Why?”
The girl shrugged.
“I’m old,” Richard responded. “Old enough to know better,” he glowered at the little woman through the rearview mirror. She was too busy reading her book to notice. “I’m way older than you think,” he turned back to Josie. “Twice as old as your beautiful boyfriend, if not older. But it’s not age that counts, honeybun. It’s the mileage… Wait, that would make me even older!” he laughed giddily.
Josie forced a laugh, too. She felt embarrassed for having asked such a personal question. She didn’t know Richard that well, and based on how secretively he behaved with regard to his dancing activities, he was obviously a private person.
“Have you ever had problems with hemorrhoids?” Richard asked, breaking the silence. “Have you?” he asked the little witch through the mirror. “I forgot my donut at home and now I dread the thought of having to spend an hour or so on a wooden bench. It hurts a lot when you go to the bathroom. I was feeling myself down there this morning and it was like a bunch of grapes hanging off my butthole—it’s disgusting! Never get hemorrhoids, Miss J, and don’t grow old either. What’s that face about?” He looked at Josie’s distraught expression. “Don’t you talk about this stuff with your beatniks? Lina and I had only three subjects of conversation: what I like to eat, what she shouldn’t eat, and poop: how many times and whether or not we had been successful. Sometimes we talked about movies, too, but you cannot go to the movies every night, can you? And then she got murdered,” he glared again at the little woman. “Isn’t that shitty?”
They reached the funeral home. Richard stopped the car next to another vehicle parked in front of the parlor.
“Why don’t you two get out here and I’ll go find parking?” he suggested. “I’ll meet you at the chapel.”
“There was a space just behind…” Josie responded.
“It won’t fit,” Richard replied. “And I’m not good with parallel parking. Go on, it’ll take just a few minutes.”
The little woman had already scurried out of the car, still holding her book like a relic. Josie followed suit, and the two walked into the parlor. They found no one at the reception desk, but they saw a sign pointing to the chapel so they continued in that direction. At the chapel door, they saw Lina’s name and the hours of visitation. The little woman pushed the double spring door open and Josie followed her into a large room with high windows. On the far end she saw a table with a golden urn on top, in which, she guessed, were Lina’s ashes. Next to the table there were two granite columns on top of which were vases filled with flowers.
No one else had arrived yet. They sat in the front row of chairs.
The little woman opened her book. Josie peeked over. Page 263 had a seventeenth-century illustration of human spermatozoa: tiny human beings living inside a balloon.
“Do you like your present?” Josie asked, trying to sound friendly.
The little woman sat on her book.
A minister came in. “Shall we begin?” he asked.
Josie looked around. The room was still empty. “Nobody’s here,” she replied.
“I’ve been waiting for twenty minutes.”
“Mr. Wehr is parking. He’ll be here any moment.”
The minister smiled politely and gave a firm nod. He took a seat a couple of spaces from them and opened his Bible.
Josie turned back to her friend. The little woman had moved a few chairs away so the girl couldn’t peek in her book. Page 264 showed a series of homunculi doing household chores: cooking, dusting, mending clothes… Page 265 had a recipe to remove warts. Page 262, she went back, instructions for sharpening knives.
Ten minutes passed. Richard still hadn’t shown up. The minister let out a deep sigh. Josie apologized with a shrug. She exchanged a mortified look with the little woman. “He must be having trouble finding a space.”
The man smiled again.
Twenty minutes later an old lady entered the room. “Miss García?” she asked Josie. “You have a call.”
The girl followed the woman to the reception area.
“Doll,” Richard said from the other side of the line, “I’m afraid I had to make different arrangements. I’m sorry it’s taking so l
ong. How was the service?”
“It hasn’t begun yet,” Josie responded. “We’re still waiting for you.”
“But it’s almost four! I thought it would be over by now.”
“I told the minister we needed to wait for you.”
“Nonsense! He’s a busy man. All churchmen are—and prudish and incredibly boring. Please start without me. I will be there in five minutes—actually, it will be more like twenty-five. Let’s say half an hour. How’s Miss Dudu doing?”
“She’s reading her book.”
“Has she learned anything?”
“What is she supposed to learn?”
“A morality lesson. Never mind. Start without me. Give my condolences to all of Lina’s friends and pick up the ashes. I’ll meet you at the front at four fifteen sharp.”
“No one is here.”
“No one? Are you sure?”
“We’re the only two persons inside the chapel, besides the minister.”
“I thought her boyfriend would go,” Richard sounded offended. “Maybe he got lost. I assumed she had a boyfriend. I’m sorry I made you change your dress. Crickets. It would have been better to send Jeremy to pick up the ashes tomorrow. Well, I paid for the full service, so you can hear the minister preach or not, it’s up to you. I recommend you do; sometimes it’s not that boring… Just kidding, doll, it’s always boring!” he giggled. “Pick up the ashes. Make sure you get the urn I paid for; it’s all brass, beautifully engraved; you’re going to love it. Have you ever had anyone else incinerated? Go for the brass; it’s worth it. Silver loses its luster—I’ll be there at four thirty. Please wait for me outside. I don’t want to spend more time looking for parking. Now, go back to Miss Dudu.” He hung up.
Josie hung up, too, not knowing what to make of the conversation she had just had. Lina had a boyfriend?
The telephone rang again.
The receptionist answered and passed the handset back to Josie.
“What about Carol?” Richard asked. “Isn’t she there? She was supposed to be there by three. Are you sure she’s not there?”
Love, or the Witches of Windward Circle Page 38
