Calling up the vision of the lilies brought to mind the lily bed her mother had planted and added to over the years. “The Turk's Caps are spectacular this year, too. You'd love them, and the little things, whatever they are, around the border."
She sat in comfortable quiet, not expecting an answer. But it felt undeniably good to talk as if she did.
"I think maybe Leah is awfully mad at me.” Her throat tightened and her eyes burned. “I'm so sorry. I wish things could have been different. I wish..."
A chilly breeze swept over her and seemed to hesitate. A cool wind on such a hot day? Kate frowned and then noticed a shadow creeping across the headstone. She looked over her shoulder. No one was there. Not a cloud in the sky. The shadow remained. How, she never knew, but for some reason she understood it was a male figure.
"Dad?"
From inside her head there was a whisper of sound. “Love doesn't die, Katey. Remember that. Love survives everything."
Staring straight ahead, she cut her eyes right and then left. The hair on the back of her neck felt electrified. It was her father's voice. Was it possible that she could talk to him and he would answer? Could that really happen? A pulse pounded in her throat.
"I don't understand this,” she began hesitantly, and then went on with more confidence. “...but maybe you do.” She eyed the chrysanthemums with distaste. “They certainly can't hurt you now, but they bother the hell out of me!"
She spoke aloud. There was no one to hear her, and it comforted her in some unexplained way to talk as if her father and mother sat before her.
"I need to talk to you about Leah. I don't know what to do. You would know, but I don't have a clue. And I need some help.
"Is she really a ghost? I'd never have thought such a thing was possible. But it seems to be happening. To me. And why to me? Why am I sensitive to her? The twin-thing, yes, but this is beyond the realm of reality! Dad, what should I do?"
She sat mute, her throat aching, while the silence settled around her.
The big red orb of sun was setting behind the tops of trees. On either side the sky stretched in long streamers of pink and rose, lavender and soft grays and blues. A mourning dove cooed, unseen, in the trees, and another whiffle of air stirred the grass. She let out a breath she didn't even know she was holding. The day was almost done.
There was no answer. Maybe she'd imagined the words her father spoke. Maybe she just needed them so badly, she'd conjured them up. Never the less, she was comforted.
Slowly she stood up. She had to go home and get herself and Max ready for Mexican food with Spence. The evening paled to unimportance beside the problem of Leah.
"Where does it stop?” Her voice broke on the words.
"You'll handle it.” The voice again! “You were always the strong one. You'll manage."
Tears of weakness blurred her vision. Tears of desperation and helplessness. She was hoping for help from the dead, when the dead were causing the problem! A hard lump formed in her throat.
The whole thing with Leah was incongruous. What was happening absolutely could not be—it couldn't! Yet it was as real as the breath she drew.
"Am I sensitive to every auto-suggestion, from every spirit out there, or just Leah? I'm afraid that I might be receptive to multiple ghostly manifestations. What if that happens?"
No answer. The shadow was gone from the gravestone. She was all but sobbing. “I'd be some sort of medium or whatever they call themselves. Suppose people find out? Oh Dad, what would I do about Max, then? I can't let Huey have him. I can't! His life would be hell."
And that, of course, was the bottom line. Max. What about Max?
* * * *
Babe was barking joyously as she let herself in the back door. She knelt to rub behind his ears and then, when he turned belly up, grinning and making delighted little sounds of happiness, she tickled his tummy too.
"You. You need as much attention as Max,” she complained. But she didn't mind. He was a sweetheart and Max adored him. The puppy wriggled and squirmed around her legs as she hung her purse on the newel post.
"Come on, you'd better go out. It's clouding up in the west and we might get more rain soon.” Babe was absolutely convinced he would melt if he got wet and avoided any dampness with all the passion of a vampire hiding from the sun. “Out? Want to go out?"
Responding to his favorite word, Babe stopped prancing and leaping around her feet and made a beeline for the back door. She let him out and went through the house to check the mailbox before going upstairs to dress.
Still thinking about the strange happening at the cemetery, she straightened a cushion on the wrought iron chair, pulled the deadheads from a pot of petunias on the step, waved to a neighbor watering her flowers across the street, and gathered the mail from the box. Her dad thought she could handle Leah. She straightened and squared her shoulders. Dad had rarely been wrong about anything. Maybe it would be all right, after all. She just had to hang tight and endure until it was.
Turning to go back inside, she leafed through a half dozen advertisements, the water bill and a note from a former fellow worker in Winnetka before she came to the last piece of mail in her hand. It was a postcard and she recognized the writing before she turned it over. Her heart seemed to stop beating. A queer buzzing in her ears made her feel as if she'd suddenly gone deaf. No. Dear God in heaven. No.
DID YOU THINK YOU COULD HIDE FROM ME? THINK AGAIN!
There was no signature and no postmark. The card had not been mailed, but had been slipped into her mailbox by hand.
It was from Huey.
Ten
Port Royal Sound ‘Moonstruck'
Lavish, ruffled, reddish-lavender blossoms with a tiny yellow spot in throat. Blooms in winter. Brassolaeliocattleya.
Frightened thoughts flew around in her head like hysterical hornets. What should she do? Where could she go? Were she and Max safe in the house now that Huey knew where they were? But where would they go if they left? How would they live? Huey would just find them and follow. She was half sick to her stomach. Take big deep breaths. Inhale through the nose and exhale slowly through the mouth. In and out. Find some perspective. He won't try anything in broad daylight. Huey is a shadows and under-the-cover-of-darkness man. Okay. We're safe right now. This minute. Don't panic. That's what he wants. In and out. One day at a time. One hour at a time. Eyes peeled. Doors locked. I can always call Cass; I have his cell number. I can do this. Take it easy. In and out.
By forcing Huey's note from her mind and doing her best to squelch a sudden anxiety attack, she was ready when Spence rang the bell. Max clattered down the steps while Kate glanced into the mirror one last time. Black. Unrelieved black. “I could give Morticia a run for her money,” she muttered, taking in her black cotton slacks, matching summer knit sweater and the dark circles around her eyes. Not exactly the terrific-looking date of the year, but it would have to do.
A date. Do people still date? It had been so long she didn't really know. From what she saw on television people went out for a drink and then fell into bed. Not something she was comfortable with and not, she was sure, what Spence had in mind. She was better off to forget relationships if so.
But, date or not, she didn't feel like going out. Where would Huey be? Maybe he'd show up at the restaurant and create a scene. He'd made scenes in public places before. Surely he wouldn't try to snatch Max right before her eyes.
She drew her thoughts up short. She was making waves where there were none—yet. Calm down. Get a grip. She would not permit Huey to jail her in her own home. He'd like that. Frightening her, causing her anxiety, would be his aim. That sounded like him. Well, it wouldn't happen.
With hands shaking only slightly, Kate applied a light film of lip gloss and added cloisonné butterflies to swing from her ears. Maybe the colorful earrings would elevate her mood.
Max answered the door, sporting a white Cardinal T-shirt with a red bird on the pocket matching the ball cap he wore backwards on
his head.
"Are you a Cardinal fan or a Cub fan?” he demanded before backing away to let Spence over the threshold.
"Uh—I'm not really much of a ball fan.” Spence was clearly surprised by the direct question. “If pressed, I guess it would be the Cubs, since they're an Illinois team."
"Wrong answer,” Kate said, coming down the steps. “We're born-again St. Louis fans. Both of us."
"Does that make me an alien or something weird?"
"No, just suspect.” She grinned. “Like maybe your brain is one dime short of a dollar. Tell Babe goodbye, Max, and let's go.” She turned to Spence. “I'm sorry, but when I take Max out to eat, he's hungry and patience is thin. There isn't time for a comfortable drink before dinner. Maybe you can come in for dessert, when we get home."
He nodded and glanced at Max. “Food first. Right. Man after my own heart.” He wore a sport shirt open at the neck and trim trousers. Black wingtips on his feet. Kate suppressed a smile. Spence might as well have been dressed in a white shirt and tie. He still looked like a banker. Maybe a mortician. Her grin widened. They'd match.
In spite of herself, Kate couldn't help comparing him with Cass. For a Mexican dinner, he would have appeared in jeans, clean but soft and faded with washing, definitely worn, and a knitted shirt. Scuffed Nikes on his feet. She wondered if Spence even owned a pair of jeans. This might be a long evening if they couldn't find anything to talk about.
The food, however, was excellent. Max had no trouble telling the waiter what he wanted. He didn't even look at the menu. “Chicken fajitas with lots of sour cream and guacamole. And red rice with green stuff in it."
At Spence's questioning look, Kate explained. “At home I call it Spanish rice. Here, I'd guess it's Mexican, with bits of tomato and green pepper. Max, take off your cap."
Halfway through his enchilada and beans, Spence looked up. “I tried to get you several times this afternoon. No, nothing was wrong,” he said at her raised eyebrow. “Just wanted to double check about tonight. But I couldn't get through. Your line was busy for hours. Even called the phone company to see if it was out of order."
Kate swallowed her own bite of pollo loco and tried not to look as if she were worrying about something. That hateful note from Huey was probably scorching a hole in her bag. She was having trouble not thinking about it. What would he do next? Furtively, she cast a quick look around the small room, not for the first time, and couldn't help a wash of relief not to see him. Would he be out on the street maybe, waiting to follow her home? Maybe he'd trailed them to El Rancherito earlier. No, forget him. Focus on Spence.
"I was talking with the phone company. I've been getting a lot of crank calls, nobody there, and thought maybe caller ID would help before I went through all the mess of changing my number."
She watched Max build a fajita. Sloppy but efficient. At least he had his chin over the plate when he took a bite and didn't dribble the juice down his shirt.
"What'd they say?"
"I can get caller ID, but if the call has been blocked my screen would show only: ‘Unknown Name. Unknown Number.’ Not the phone number of the caller. That isn't going to help a whole lot. I'm going to sleep on it and make up my mind in the morning."
"Crank calls you said. From whom?"
"Well Spence—how would I know? That's the issue."
"I guess that sounded dumb. I meant, do you think it's kids or adults, or obscene, or what?"
"No one ever says anything. Someone is there, though. I can almost feel their presence. It isn't a dead connection. But there is never any sound. And there's nothing wrong with my phone or the line. I've had it checked.” Even talking about the anonymous calls sent a curl of something unpleasant to writhe in her stomach. She didn't want to speculate aloud about Leah. What's more, she couldn't talk about her with Spence. As nice as he was, a three-piece suit like him, he saw things in black and white. Spence wouldn't understand.
"It's probably kids. Best to just ignore the calls."
She nodded, not looking at him. “Probably.” She'd let him think that, anyway.
"Any more offers to buy my house?” she asked, deliberately changing the subject. “It's a strange feeling to know someone insists on wanting to buy your house even when you've repeatedly said you aren't interested in selling."
"As a matter of fact, yes. The guy called again this morning. He's upped the ante, again, and is offering far more than market value.” Spence named a figure that made her eyebrows rise. “And, to sweeten the pot, he's making it a cash transaction. Are you sure you don't want to rethink this whole thing? You'd make a bundle."
"Why? Why does whoever-it-is want my house that badly? What's in it for him?"
"He insists that he's admired that house for fifty years and just wants to own it. This man has been known to pull a cork or two, and I thought at first maybe he was just dreaming through a haze of alcohol, but he's serious Kate. I think you ought to at least think it over."
"Does he have the money to make it cash?"
"Oh yes. Believe me, money isn't a problem."
"It's too much to think about now. I have other things on my mind. And I don't want to sell in the first place."
"The phone? Kate, I can take care of it in a minute for you. Get an unlisted number, for Pete's sake."
Max was beginning to fidget. He'd finished his fajitas and Kate could see the minute approaching when he'd want to leave. Against her better judgment, she gave him two quarters and told him to check out the electronic games over by the door. She would be able to see him from her chair at the table.
A wide grin split his face. “All right!” He snatched up the money and hurried across the room.
She faced Spence. “One reason I might do that is because I have reason to think Max's father knows where I am and might try to see him."
Spence's mouth opened and then closed. Then, frowning, “I take it you don't want this to happen."
She nodded. “He never expressed any interest in Max while we were married, didn't want custody, never sends child support or birthday presents. Nothing. He isn't father material. To be honest, I'd be afraid to let Max go anywhere with him. He isn't dependable and doesn't use common sense. Yet, just before I moved home, here, he threatened to try and take Max. So, yeah. You could say I would be anxious about him getting in touch."
"Sounds like you're in hiding."
"Not exactly,” she answered slowly. “But I didn't make any attempt to notify him when I moved. And while I'd be happy if he never found us, that isn't likely. I'm not sure he knows that both my parents are dead, but he certainly knows where they lived. He'd check here, first, if he was looking for us."
"Then..."
"I think he may be just harassing me with anonymous calls. Maybe not, but it's a possibility. He would fit right into the mold of someone who would do that."
Spence sat back in his chair and hissed through his teeth. “The single life is peppered with all sorts of pot holes, isn't it? And I thought I had it bad."
Touched by the sadness in his eyes, Kate put her anxiety about Huey aside and touched Spence's arm. “It's no consolation, I'm sure, to remind you that your life isn't over."
He didn't raise his eyes to hers. “There have been times when I wished it were."
"I know. I'm sorry."
He heaved in a big breath and changed the subject. “You haven't been to one of Bree's picnic-slash-pool parties for a couple of weeks."
She inhaled her own long breath. “No, I've ... been busy. Maybe next week, though."
"Mom, I need some more quarters. That dag-nabbed machine won't let me win anything!"
Spence started to laugh, changed it to a cough, and ended up choking. “Dag-nabbed?” he croaked. “Dag-nabbed?"
"Mom says I'm not old enough to cuss,” Max answered, without a smile. “And that's always what my grandpa said when he was mad."
"Good word,” Spence managed in a strangled voice. “Very expressive.” He shot a look at Kate s
o comical that it almost doubled her over. He was obviously not used to little boys and was trying hard to be agreeable. He was a nice man, she thought. How many men would ask a woman out for dinner and include her seven-year-old son?
"I need the money, Mom."
"No. I hate those money-eating machines, Max. No more money."
"But Mom—"
"Maybe I have some quarters.” Spence dug into a pocket, but Kate shook her head.
"Why don't we just go? I have an apple spice cake at home, waiting for someone to sample."
"Awesome!” Max's eyes gleamed. He loved apple spice cake.
Spence was smiling. “Sounds great to me, too."
* * * *
When she heard the downstairs clock chime midnight, Kate straightened in her chair and stretched. Surprised at the time, she capped her paints and cleaned her brushes. The wall hanging was stunningly beautiful and she was enormously pleased. It didn't always happen like that. Except for a few little finishing touches she was almost done. Ahead of schedule. The designer would be pleased.
Next was a series of evening scarves, huge square things in varying warm and rich colors, but while she was glad of the work, she didn't expect anything challenging. Anything that would hoist her up another rung on the ladder of success. She'd have to find a way to make them intriguing. Call her work to the attention of important people. She'd have to think about it.
Downstairs, it was becoming habit to check all the doors and windows, and the coffee pot, before going to bed. Tonight there was nothing out of the ordinary. Everything was in its place. Outside another storm was threatening, but inside she was cozy. Still ... She unplugged the television and her computer. Save her a trip downstairs if and when the storm hit.
Three rinsed dessert plates sat in the sink along with three forks. Two coffee cups and one glass, draining. Spence hadn't stayed long. It hadn't been as pleasant an evening as it might have been and she felt faintly guilty for allowing worry about Huey to color her time with Spence. She hadn't been able to block out the ugly note she'd found in her mailbox. Time and again, her thoughts reverted to the slip of paper and the frightening words on it. She had enjoyed visiting with an old friend, but was glad to see Spence out the front door.
Dancing Ladies Page 18
