Dead for the Money

by Peg Herring

  “Um, Seamus?”

  “Yes, Mildred.”

  “Do you think it’s wise? I mean, guesting with that woman?”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “Well, you can tell by looking at her what kind of person she is. Is it a good idea to, um, be with someone like that?”

  “We go where we have to, Millie. It’s the job.”

  “One hopes that we aren’t, um, affected by their behavior. I mean, you wouldn’t want to start thinking like her. And what if she’s the killer?”

  “I’m pretty sure she’s not. She sees Dunbar’s death as convenient, a stroke of luck.”

  “There, you see? Someone dies, and she only thinks of what it might get for her.”

  “Millie, there are lots of people who look at life that way.”

  “Well, it isn’t right. And I don’t think we should have anything to do with them.” After a pause she added, “And pretty please, call me Mildred. Millie sounds like someone’s pet pony.”

  Chapter Eleven

  WHEN BRODIE CAME DOWNSTAIRS the next morning, Briggs and Shelley were talking in the kitchen. She stopped outside the door.

  “That woman!” Shelley said to Briggs, who had missed the whole episode. “Just waltzin’ up to Mr. Dunbar’s door like she forgot she promised to stay out of that boy’s life forever.”

  “Where ya think she’s been?” Briggs asked. He’d probably heard the story a dozen times by now and asked the same question every time.

  “Someplace expensive,” Shelley replied in disgust. “She spent all the money old Mr. Dunbar gave her and now she’s going to gouge young Mr. Dunbar for more.”

  Brodie often wondered what it would be like to have a mom, one who wasn’t sick like Jeannie had been. Other kids spoke casually of their parents, unable to imagine not having them around. TV children had at least one parent, and the moms were always hip and understanding. It was hard to know what to want, though, since memories of Jeannie still gave her nightmares.

  What was Bud’s mom like? Would she tell Bud she missed him, ask him to be her son again? Maybe that was what last night had been about. Callie wanted to be a mom after all this time.

  Footsteps behind her alerted Brodie to someone’s approach, and she turned and began straightening, or appearing to straighten, the pictures on the hallway wall. Arnold mumbled a morning greeting as he turned in at the dining room doorway, holding his ever-present phone to his ear. “Yes. It was a scare, but they tell us he’s all right.” There was a pause as he listened to the other person. “Okay, so you’ll drive back up after that?” A chuckle. “Yeah. It’s a bad idea to count on judges sticking to a schedule. Don’t worry. I can handle things until you get here.”

  Brodie rolled her eyes. Arnold made it sound like he was so important. What was he going to handle—breakfast? She guessed he had called Collin, anxious to be the first to report Bud’s accident. Anything to get a little attention, even from the family lawyer.

  Arlis’ groan sounded on the stairs, and Brodie slid into the dining room. Judging the old woman’s nearness by grunts that accompanied each step, Brodie piled scrambled eggs on a piece of toast, squirted ketchup over the eggs, and slapped a second piece on top. Grabbing a quart of milk from an ice-filled bowl on the sideboard, she was almost through the kitchen doorway when Arlis appeared on the opposite side. “Brodie!” Her name on Arlis’ tongue was seldom anything but a prelude to criticism. The swinging door’s whump was the only answer Brodie gave.

  She did not stop in the kitchen but made her way out the side door and down toward the lake. A flagstone pathway led to the boathouse and the dock, and she noted the sand that sifted its way over the flat rocks during the night. Briggs made it his mission in life to keep those stones sand-free, but it was an unending battle.

  Between the dock and the boathouse was a glider, and she sat down to eat her breakfast. With her egg sandwich in one hand, she drank from the milk jug by slinging it over one shoulder like Johnny Depp did as Jack Sparrow in the movies. It wasn’t rum, and the plastic jug tended to collapse and push the milk out faster than she expected, but it worked.

  She didn’t like rum, having tried it—and every other liquor in her grandfather’s study—one day when no one was around. How adults could drink that stuff was beyond her. She’d asked Scarlet later, which got her into trouble because Scarlet guessed the question hadn’t come out of thin air. It had led to a talk about adult things and kid things, which, Brodie had to admit, made sense. According to Scarlet, when you were a kid, you could get away with things that adults could not.

  “If Arnold put salt in your aunt’s sugar bowl, as you did last summer, what do you think would happen to him?”

  “She isn’t my aunt, but if Arnold did that, he would probably get fired.”

  “But because you are not an adult, you didn’t get sent away, did you? Young people can do things adults can’t, so it’s only fair that adults do some things that you cannot.”

  She was reluctant to admit the difference. “I had to apologize, though.”

  “As you should.”

  Brodie had not liked apologizing to Arlis, so in her head she had added phrases that made it easier. “Arlis, (you ass) I’m sorry that (you are an ass) I put salt in the sugar (but your ass is so big you don’t need sugar anyway).”

  Remembering that now, she apologized to Gramps. When her choice of words mimicked Jeannie’s rather than his own, he had always patiently explained that swearing is the sign of a weak vocabulary. I didn’t mean ‘ass’, Gramps. I meant ‘jackass’.

  After the salt-for-sugar prank, Arlis had taken a dislike to Scarlet, claiming that she was too young to be in charge of Brodie. Fearing that someone might believe Arlis, Brodie had altered her behavior. There had been no more pranks, although she later confessed to a couple for reasons of her own. She hoped her improved deportment demonstrated that Scarlet really was good at her job.

  Arlis remained unconvinced. Whenever she came upon the two of them doing something that was fun and educational, her mouth bent funny, like she tasted something bad. She would say things to Scarlet like, “Well, you’re young dear, but—” or to Gramps, “She’s no more than a child herself.” She kept at it, and it made Brodie nervous. Arlis was nothing if not determined.

  “She’s only twenty, Will,” she said one evening when she thought Brodie was absorbed in a TV show. “The child needs someone mature, someone she can respect.”

  “I do respect Scarlet,” Brodie had wanted to shout, but she knew it would do no good. When she turned, though, Gramps was looking right at her. With a smile he let her know that he would not be persuaded to can Scarlet, no matter what Arlis said.

  But Arlis would probably go to work on Bud now with that same old song. Brodie promised herself she’d be nice—well, nicer—to the old biddy, so she’d lay off trying to get Scarlet fired.

  JUST AFTER EIGHT O’CLOCK, Callie got the news that Bud had been released from the hospital. “I offered to help Arlis with thank-you cards at ten,” her spy reported. “That should give you until lunchtime.”

  “You’re a prince, Arnold.” Callie closed the phone and moved to the closet. She stopped at the mirrored door to check her stomach, which apparently stuck out more than she wanted it to, because she slapped it disgustedly and dug a body-briefer out of her suitcase. Tossing it on the bed, she slid the mirror aside and began choosing the outfit she would wear to visit her son.

  Seamus always tried to be businesslike when hosting with females. It was inevitable that he would see personal things, so he concentrated on keeping his thoughts clinical. When Callie picked out what she considered a conservative outfit, however, he could not remain objective. It looked to him like something Gypsy Rose Lee might have chosen for a publicity photo.

  WHEN BRIGGS BROUGHT SCARLET and Bud home just before nine, he was still wearing his swim trunks from the day before. Briggs had taken him a fresh shirt, since the one he’d been wearing was bloodied beyond saving. Bro
die stood back as the rest of them fussed over him. Bud, embarrassed by the attention, kept assuring everyone he was fine. Brodie noticed no one mentioned the visitor from the night before.

  Scarlet insisted that the chair the hospital had provided in Bud’s room had been perfectly comfortable for sleeping, and she was rested and ready to return to her responsibilities. “We’ll work inside this morning,” Scarlet told Brodie, “and go outside later, as we planned.” Turning to Bud she explained, “We’re catching spiders, to see how much variety there is in a small area.”

  “Sounds great,” he said sarcastically. “If there’s anything I hate, it’s spiders.”

  “Be sure to wear bug dope, Brodie,” Arlis ordered. “And a hat. You don’t want to get sunstroke.”

  Behind Arlis’ back, Bud actually winked at Scarlet. Brodie saw it and noted Scarlet’s blush. It made her think, especially since she had looked up machree on the Internet and learned that it meant something like “beloved” in Irish. Now why had Scarlet called Bud that when he was half-conscious in her arms?

  Although Arlis fussed and clucked at him, Bud did not want to lie down. “I’ve been doing that for hours,” he protested. “I’d like to sit in the sun for a while.” Ignoring Arlis’ arguments, Shelley escorted him to the glider Brodie had vacated, and they left him alone. Arlis ordered Shelley to bring him a hat. Apparently sunstroke was rampant these days.

  Brodie and Scarlet went upstairs to do lessons. Scarlet felt it would help them to get back to a routine, and Brodie had to admit that doing equations and studying the Crimean War restored a sense of normalcy. She liked knowing stuff and always pictured herself as the characters in history they read about. Scarlet seemed to find at least one woman in every era who knew what she wanted and went after it. Crimea undoubtedly meant Florence Nightingale, but after seeing Bud’s head wound, Brodie was pretty sure nursing was not her destiny.

  She was still thinking about yesterday’s disaster an hour later when she was supposed to be listing the causes of the war. Spying on Scarlet through her lashes, she wondered if she and Bud had talked at all during his night in the hospital. Had Bud been pleased to see Scarlet there each time he opened his eyes?

  “You were pretty good with the boat yesterday.”

  Scarlet smiled, though her eyes remained on the essay she was correcting. “Lots of experience. Although,” she added, “most of my seafaring was done on aging fishing boats.”

  “Do you like Bud?”

  Scarlet still did not look up, but her voice sounded funny. “I suppose he’s all right.”

  “You were scared when he got hurt.”

  “Well, of course, silly. We didn’t know how badly he’d cracked his skull.”

  “But—” Brodie didn’t know how to express what she was thinking. “It looked like you really cared. Not like ‘Oh, this poor stranger’ but more like—I don’t know.”

  Scarlet looked up now, and Brodie saw in her eyes a struggle between truth and falsehood. She had never lied to her, and Brodie felt a lump growing in her chest. This was going to be the first time. Everyone lied. People said how pretty you were and how sweet, but their eyes said differently. People said they would take care of you, but instead they went into the bedroom and shut the door. No one could be trusted except Gramps, and he’d died, leaving her behind. If Scarlet lied, who was left?

  “There was a time when Bud might have meant something to me,” Scarlet said, and Brodie felt the lump start to ease. “It was before I met you, and it did not turn out well. When he was hurt, I suppose that feeling came back in the crisis, but I am over it now.”

  “You and Bud?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where?”

  “On Mackinac Island. He was there with your grandfather, though I didn’t realize at the time that they were related. Mr. Dunbar came into the hotel restaurant early each morning. Bud came in later in the day with a group of younger men. I never put them together in my mind.”

  “So you and Bud knew each other for one weekend on the Island?”

  “Well.” Scarlet’s smile was like La Giaconda’s. “He stayed on after the conference ended.”

  “Because of you?” Brodie’s imagination soared as she pictured moonlit walks along the road that circled the island, the scent of lilacs, the sound of ferry horns, a trip to Arch Rock or a carriage ride through the tiny, crowded town.

  “I thought he stayed to be with me,” Scarlet said, her eyes averted. “But I was wrong.”

  “You saw him with someone else?”

  She smiled grimly at Brodie’s quick deduction. “I didn’t, but a friend did. We had planned to meet, you see, and then Bud called and said he couldn’t make it. I thought nothing of it until my roommate reported that he’d left the hotel with a woman.”

  “Did you ask him about it?”

  “I never got the chance. The next day, he checked out and caught the earliest ferry back to Mackinaw City.”

  She thought about that for a while. There was no disaster she was aware of last summer that would have required Bud’s immediate return to Chicago. “So when you took this job, you didn’t know Bud was related to Gramps?”

  “No. Your grandfather and I had talked a little. He was interested in where I came from, and he told me about his boyhood in Scotland. But we were never introduced. He was just a customer who came in every morning for breakfast.”

  “So you didn’t know about Dunbar Electronics?”

  “Bud said business was the last thing he wanted to talk about.” Scarlet pushed her hair back from her face. “Anyway, the night he called to cancel our date, my roommate couldn’t wait to tell me how attractive the woman Bud left with was.”

  “Wow.”

  Scarlet shifted, as if throwing off an emotion. “Bud never promised me anything. He was funny and sweet and interesting. I guess I put too much stock in the fact that he asked me out that night.”

  Brodie tried to picture Bud teasing, Bud laughing, Bud being romantic. All that came to mind was Bud sitting on the glider outside, listening politely to Arlis’ instructions that he not stand up too quickly lest he faint.

  “You didn’t try to find him after he left?”

  “You have seen too many movies!” Scarlet’s smile was rueful. “Mackinac Island is the perfect place for romances that end when the summer does.”

  “So you were surprised when the job offer came?”

  Scarlet shrugged. “It was a great chance for me, but the name Dunbar seemed nothing but a coincidence. I knew Bud lived in Chicago, and there are thousands of Dunbars in the world. Arnold was the one who called, saying he worked for an elderly millionaire. He didn’t mention that Mr. Dunbar and I had met.” She gave a little chuckle. “Arnold made it sound like he had located me himself through diligent effort. Anyway, what he told me about Mr. William Dunbar did not sound like the Bud Dunbar I’d met on the island.” She glanced out the window to where Bud sat. “When I arrived and saw pictures of the two of them, I got it.”

  “And then it was too late because you were captured by my charming personality.” Brodie heard the sarcasm in her own voice.

  “Actually, I was captured by you, almost at once.”

  “Pity?”

  Scarlet leaned toward her. “Brodie, do you really think that?”

  It was Brodie’s turn to look away. “I don’t know.”

  “Well, then, here’s the truth. I saw a bright, beautiful girl who trusted no one except her beloved grandfather. I hoped I might help her see that the rest of the world isn’t so bad.”

  Brodie could think of nothing to say. Beautiful?

  Movement outside the window caught her eye, and Brodie looked out to see a woman teetering down the flagstone pathway on heels that were not only ridiculously high but dangerous on the uneven surface. A closer look and she said to Scarlet, “Bud’s mother is back.”

  Scarlet looked for herself. “Oh, my.”

  Brodie looked around as if wondering who to tell, but there was
no one. Bud was on his own. Callie was his mother, and he had to deal with her.

  SEAMUS HAD SELDOM BEEN more ready to leave a host than he was by the time Callie Dunbar arrived at the Dunbar home. Self-absorbed and shallow, Callie’s innate cunning combined with a lack of any sense of self-respect made her a formidable force. He wondered if Bud was in any condition to deal with his determined mother.

  At ten after ten, Callie pulled carefully into the driveway, stopping far enough back so that Arlis would not hear the car and come out to investigate. Her thoughts on the way over had been about how to get inside the house, but her plotting was made unnecessary by the fact that Bud was down on the beach, sitting on a swinging bench that overlooked the lake.

  Seamus heard her thought. Perfect! Heels clicking on the stones, she made her way toward her son. Hearing her approach, Bud turned. A bandage covered the shaved patch on his scalp.

  “Billy?” Callie began, then switched. “Bud?”

  “Mother.” The tone was as flat as Seamus had ever heard.

  “I heard about the accident, honey. You might have died out there on the lake when that boom swung around. Are you going to be all right?”

  Bud paused, and Seamus wondered what he was thinking. He finally said, “I should have been paying attention, and I wasn’t, that’s all.”

  Callie had stopped on the pathway. Seamus felt her nervousness, but it was more about what approach to take than about her son’s condition.

  “I came home because I heard about your grandfather. Honey, I’m so sorry.”

  Again, Bud paused. “Thank you.”

  She shifted her feet, grating sand against the stone. “You don’t seem very glad to see your mother, Bud.”

  He smiled grimly. “It’s not that. I’m wondering how much you want this time.”

  At Bud’s direct statement, Callie took the offensive. Sitting down beside Bud, she put a hand on his arm. “Buddy, you’re angry because last time I took your gift and left. I get that, but please believe me, I needed that money. I didn’t think you’d understand why, but it was important, and you helped me out more than you can imagine.” She widened her eyes and lowered her chin. “You don’t know what it’s like to be alone and broke.”