“Miss Grundy! I’m sorry, but—”
Whatever David had been about to voice lodged in his throat when Elsbeth cut him off. “Please, no need to apologize. I was so delighted with our earlier encounter that I simply had to drop by to see what you’d do for an encore—those being your specialty.” Having said that, she gave him a look that would singe the fur off a cat.
David blinked and cleared his throat. “I must insist that you leave before I am forced to contact the authorities.”
“Call them,” Elsbeth barked. “That will provide a tidy solution. And it is Mrs. Grundy,” she added while poking him in the chest with her cane. “Mr. Abbott, I will be only too happy to leave. But not before you hear me out. I will be brief.”
After calculating the effort necessary to remove the woman from his home against the effort required to listen to her story and let her leave of her own accord, he dropped onto the divan, again pressing the glass of scotch to his forehead.
Elsbeth sat in the chair next to him, waiting for his full attention. He set the glass down with a sigh.
“This isn’t even my idea,” she said. “I’m only trying to save your neck for a friend.” She gave him a look that suggested he think twice before asking who and took a breath, clearing her head. “As I attempted to explain to you at the theater, you are in danger, though why I should care at this point, I don’t know. Your friend, Mr. Culler, will be coming to your home tonight, presumably for your door. The visit will end with you deader than a doornail. Do I have your attention now?” She emphasized the last word by slamming her cane on the ground. Having said her piece, Elsbeth laid her hands in her lap and waited.
David took a gulp from his drink and grimaced. “I apologize for my coarse treatment of you at the theater,” he said. “And I can’t claim Mr. Culler’s friendship. We are business associates. That is all. I doubt he even knows where I live.”
“And I did?” Elsbeth quipped.
Abbott muttered several words under his breath before speaking aloud. “Can you corroborate your accusations?”
Elsbeth glared at him, thinking she should just walk right out the door and leave him to his fate, but she knew what Annie would say to that. She put her hand over her purse.
Abbott pointed to the handbag and was about to say something when she snapped, “Don’t test me, young man!” catching him off guard. “I’ll show you ‘corroborate’! You’ll end up wiping your soiled drawers with the corroboration I’ve got!” She lifted her handbag to the side table and began to rummage through it while muttering to herself.
“It’ll serve you right and prove to be a damn sight more entertaining for me than being kicked out of your”—she looked Abbott in the face and said sharply—“pigpen of a dressing room!” before continuing with her muttering diatribe. “Some people wouldn’t know help if it came wrapped in a pretty bow. Better to let it bite them on the ass. But I said I’d do what I can, and I will…”
Precariously balanced, the purse fell to the floor and its contents scattered left and right. El stared at the mess. “Well, sonofabitch,” she whispered and gingerly bent over to begin shoveling loose items into her bag.
David tried to assist her and was rewarded by having his hand roundly smacked. Too tickled to be offended, he retreated to save himself from another tongue-lashing and took stock. He found his commitment to loathing Mrs. Grundy wavering and, given enough time, could see the two of them making the pub rounds together— smoking, drinking, and cussing like sailors. Caught up in that entertaining notion, he didn’t notice a slip of paper that had fallen from her bag to flutter momentarily on the lip of the Garnkirk vase resting at the base of his table before tumbling inside.
Having retrieved the last of her articles, Elsbeth obstinately waved off David’s hand and used her cane to get to her feet before slowly insinuating herself back into the chair. She glared at him, reluctant to part with a letter held firmly in both hands.
Having learned the hard way not to press her, David glanced out the window, giving her a moment. Standing abruptly, he craned his neck, utterly dismayed to see the root of her accusation walking up the block to pause under the canopy of a magnolia tree. Mr. Culler appeared to be engaged in a heated conversation, but the play of the shadows hid the other party from view.
“Mrs. Grundy,” he said. “I suddenly find myself believing you entirely.” Realizing that time was short, he hauled her up by the elbow for the second time that day. Elsbeth looked out the window, then turned to David in alarm. “I assure you,” he said, “I will get to the bottom of this. However, I think you are safer here.” David guided Elsbeth to a nearby closet, opened the door, and roughly deposited her inside.
He started to close the door when she barred it with her foot, saying, “Don’t be a fool!”
David stared at the front door,then turned to Elsbeth.“Listen to me,” he whispered. “It is clear that you know things you shouldn’t, but that is a mystery for another day. You must understand that I cannot risk the door falling into the wrong hands. The result would be disastrous. I created it. It is Pandora’s box, and I am the guardian. I know its potential for runaway mischief, and I alone am responsible.”
“You will fail!”
“I assure you, I will not.” Taking a deep breath, he continued. “Please understand. The safety of the door is of the upmost importance. Everything else is secondary.” He stole a glance at the front door, adding, “One way or another, I don’t intend to end up ‘deader than a doornail,’ as you so eloquently put it.”
David closed the closet door and leaned against its frame as he considered his next move. His gaze drifted to the back of the house, and he hurried past the kitchen and through a door. Rushing to the crib in the corner, he lifted a child from the bed and wrapped it in a blanket. It gurgled happily and grabbed his nose. Holding the tiny hand in his, David kissed the baby’s cheek before putting it in a bassinet sitting on the bureau.
He threw a drawer open to retrieve a stack of documents. With them in hand, his eyes darted about, and he stormed across the room, grabbing another that was pinned to the wall with thumbtacks. As he yanked at it, a large piece tore loose, fluttering to the ground. The rest he put in the bassinet with the baby.
In the other room, Elsbeth peered apprehensively through the closet’s keyhole as David entered and exited her narrow line of vision. Quite suddenly, he loomed before her in front of the red door. She was stunned to find him lowering a bassinet, of all things, to the floor in front of it before running his hands across the door’s surface. Then, kneeling down, Abbott pulled what appeared to be a tiny baseball glove from his pocket and wrapped it in the blanket that spilled over the top of the bassinet.
He remained on his knees for a second, whispering words just outside Elsbeth’s hearing.Standing,he opened the door and,before she could protest, pushed the bassinet through. She watched, blinking in confusion, as both David and the child appeared to evaporate into the door frame. A moment later, he reappeared in the living room empty-handed and dropped to his knees.
Elsbeth’s mind raced and she took a step back, tripping over a shoe before catching herself against a wall. Abbott had a baby? A boy? Annie hadn’t mentioned a child. She cleared her head with a shake and put her eye back to the keyhole.
David Abbott looked tormented. After a moment, he stood abruptly to study the carvings on the door’s surface.
He seemed indecisive to El, reaching for the doorknob only to drop his hand to his side. Finally, moving his hand rapidly across the surface, tapping one icon after another, he opened the door and melted yet again into the frame. Less than a heartbeat later, he reappeared, looking strangely haggard. The set of his shoulders and a haunted expression left him looking like a man burdened by the weight of the world, and it led Elsbeth to wonder not what he was doing, but what he had just done.
When a knock sounded on the front door, Abbott whirled to face the stage prop. “I didn’t—” He shook his head, speaking barely loud
enough for her to hear. “Ah, you are a fickle friend. What game are you playing at?” he asked before adding, “I am no one’s tool!”
Elsbeth hadn’t a clue what Abbott’s words meant. She watched him stride across the living room in the direction of the entryway. He slowed as he passed the closet where she hid, staring at it in a very peculiar fashion before raising his hand in a gesture of acknowledgment. It was odd of him to do that, she thought. Something important had just happened, but she was at a loss as to what it might be.
David’s voice carried from the entryway, almost as if he wanted Elsbeth to hear what he was saying. “What an unexpected surprise! Please come in…”
CHAPTER
TWELVE
A Conversation No One Heard
Quit toying with it, Mr. Danyer. It’s dead already.”
“Yes, Mr. Culler.”
Danyer’s voice, more moan than hum, still managed after all these years to scrape the inside of Mr. Culler’s skull. “I simply don’t understand your fascination with death.”
“I admire its purity.”
“Yes, okay… Well!” Mr. Culler gestured toward the Abbott estate at the end of the block, picking up where the conversation left off as they made their way down the street. “I’ve been meaning to ask, has Fabian acquired Mr. Abbott’s journal for us, yet? It’s been, what, two weeks now?”
“I had to…fire him, Mr. Culler.”
“I’m not sure I like your tone of voice.”
“Hmmm.”
Frustrated, Mr. Culler massaged the back of his neck. “Mr. Danyer, you can’t simply dispose of everyone with whom you have a disagreement.”
“It needed doing, Mr. Culler. Unfortunately, Cap’n witnessed his dismissal.”
“That is a shame. I’m assuming you’re handling matters in that regard?”
“It’s being dealt with.”
“Be careful. That kid’s wily. Do you agree with the strategy we discussed yesterday?”
Danyer merely grunted his assent— a primitive, apelike sound. “But David is a man of scruples. He has rigid ethical boundaries. Persuading him will be no easy task. Any thoughts?”
“Ah, Mr. Culler, you know me. I prefer direct inducements, lacking your finesse.”
“Yes, you have always had a simple philosophy. But sometimes it rubs against the grain, don’t you think?”
“I will admit that I am not one to let principle overshadow prudence.”
“You’re bloodthirsty!”
“I make the hard choices. If it weren’t for me, you’d still be wasting your talents making Mr. Raven wealthier. Our business prospects have thrived since his convenient demise.”
“True, but I still say it wasn’t necessary to suffocate him with his own fist, you know.”
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
A Wolf in Jackal Skin
Mr. Culler stepped into the dim light of David Abbott’s porch, set a valise at his feet, and adjusted his tie. He still wore his finery from the evening’s performance at the opera house. In stark contrast to his clothes, the valise was oversize and tattered. While it might have seemed an odd supplement to his tuxedo, Mr. Culler carried it with him everywhere.
After rapping on the door, he looked over his shoulder at Danyer who was holding back a few paces, almost lost in the shadows of an overgrown oleander bush.
Suddenly, the gaslight of the living room bathed Mr. Culler in a lurid glow, and he turned. “Good evening, Mr. Abbott,” he said. “Should I have called first?”
David smiled at him from the doorway before peering thoughtfully in Danyer’s direction. He looked back to Mr. Culler. “What an unexpected surprise. Please, come in.” He stepped to the side, so deep in thought that he lost track of time and was caught off guard to find that Mr. Culler had already worked his way to the far side of the living room and was calling his name.
“Oh, pardon me.” David closed the door and, ignoring Danyer, strode across the room, studying Mr. Culler’s face. Even away from the harsh porch light, it was completely unreadable, but David had expected that. Time and association had proven to him that, aside from the eyes, Mr. Culler had a talent for making his face bland, a putty mask over which his emotions would occasionally and violently churn from the least provocation, almost like a child preparing a tantrum, before quickly returning to a state of utter complacency. These episodes were so fleeting that David was left to question what he’d actually seen.
The eyes, however, told another story. They always seemed a little wild, yet detached, as if they were out of touch with Mr. Culler’s humanity. David could explain it no better than that. The little “tremors of change,” as he called them, were unnerving to witness but harmless enough. Even so, his first encounter with this phenomenon was so vivid that he was left with the mistaken, yet lasting, impression of disfigurement in Mr. Culler—a scarring of his face with pockmarks. So he was always mildly surprised to note that the man’s skin was unblemished.
But tonight was different. Mr. Culler’s eyes were not flashing. They were eerily focused. David had seen that look before, but never on a human. Mr. Culler was sizing him up, like a fox that had cornered a chicken in the coop.
“Please, make yourself comfortable,” David said, motioning to the sitting area. “Can I offer you a drink?”
“Allow me.” Mr. Culler walked past the divan to the bar before David could protest. He set out three tumblers and poured bourbon into two, while motioning with a subtle tilt of his head for his associate to seat himself in the farthest chair opposite the divan. “I believe you are a scotch man,” he said to Abbott as he filled the third. He wandered back to the divan, handed the scotch to David, and placed a tumbler of bourbon on the side table for his associate before dropping into the remaining empty chair. “Fine house you have here, Mr. Abbott,” he said, lifting his glass.
David didn’t respond immediately, his eyes focused on the tumbler Mr. Culler intended for his associate, watching as water beaded on its surface. He blinked several times, as though Mr. Culler’s voice had pulled him out of a trance, and looked up. “It’s a bit spare, I’m afraid, without the items the auction house collected,” he said. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I have a bit of a proposal, actually,” Mr. Culler said. “The show has run its course, and it is time to move on to other ventures. One has become immediately obvious. It may surprise you to learn that it involves that most unusual door of yours.”
David put down his drink. “I’m intrigued,” he said.
“Yes, so am I, by your door. While I find it difficult to understand, there is no arguing that it has…unique properties.” Mr. Culler noticed that Danyer was about to interrupt and silenced him with a quick, steely glance.
David missed the exchange but noticed anger flare across Mr. Culler’s features for an instant, only to quickly melt into a placid smile, and was left to wonder what had just transpired.
“It’s a brilliant deception,” Mr. Culler continued. “This pretense of a magic show to disguise the fact that the door is indeed magical.” Pleased that David didn’t interject or prevaricate in any way, he added, “It’s the ultimate sleight of hand and a deception that can be turned to our economic gain, I think.”
“How so?”
Mr. Culler cleared his throat. “Is it not obvious? Let’s not be coy, Mr. Abbott. This door is of inestimable value for those with the courage to seize upon its advantages.”
David returned his gaze without comment, noticing a slight compaction along Mr. Culler’s jawline.
Mr. Culler glanced one more time at Danyer who became fixed in place, still as stone, before turning back to face David. “You are going to require me to be blunt, I see,” he said. “It is only too obvious that a person, or persons, armed with”—he searched for an appropriate term—“foreknowledge…can formulate strategies to their economic advantage.” He picked up a porcelain figurine of a wolf and examined it while he spoke. “The proposal is simple. Plainly stated, yo
u use the door to collect information that will guide investment decisions to our benefit. Another partnership, if you will—uncomplicated and profitable.” He set the porcelain figurine on the table next to that of a lamb and rested his elbows on the arms of the chair. Slowly, he leaned forward to rest his chin on his knuckles.
David set his scotch on the side table. “I’ll not deny that the door has ‘unique properties.’” He tugged at a chain pull, illuminating the table lamp. “There are natural laws that run parallel to those properties that I do not fully comprehend, not unlike electricity I would guess, and I’m beginning to suspect that meddling with them can have disastrous consequences.”
Agitated, David stood and walked behind the divan. Grasping its backrest with both hands, he leaned forward, causing the muscles in his shoulders to knot. He continued speaking as much to his own conscience as to Mr. Culler. “There are so many unknowns,” he said. “Surely my forays into the future must have consequences. And those consequences lead to other consequences like dominoes knocking one another over as they race back and forth through time.
“We are talking about a chain reaction of inconsequential actions that lead to monumental changes, sir. I don’t think the natural laws have a place for someone who does that, and still I do it twice a night to provide us a tidy profit. Isn’t that enough?” He shook his head. “Frankly, the door should never have been made in the first place, but I was proud and it was a challenge. I’m afraid I’ve become overly sentimental and cannot conceive of destroying it, though that may be best.” The divan scraped an inch or two across the floor as he shoved himself erect. “To be honest, I do not trust myself. And I wonder if I can trust it.”
“You’re talking in riddles, Mr. Abbott.”
David’s eyes turned to the door sitting in the corner. “I know,” he said.
The Lemoncholy Life of Annie Aster Page 8
