I laughed at that. He would fry like a crackling if he spent any time on our local beaches. “I guess you’ll have to restrict your visits to after the sun goes down. Kind of like a vampire.”
He froze, his vivid blue eyes staring at me intently as he frowned. “I’ve been hearing jokes like that all my life. I don’t find them funny.” I stopped swinging and stared back. I was torn between apologizing and just leaving. Then he laughed. It was a head-thrown-back, full, throaty laugh. “I’m just kidding. You’ll have to ignore my dark Scottish humor. I didn’t offend you, did I?”
“No, I was worried that you had absolutely no sense of humor. That would definitely be a problem. I can’t imagine dating—I mean being with—I mean being friends with someone who couldn’t take a joke.” Now that I had thoroughly embarrassed myself, I hid my face in my hands.
He touched my wrist. “Hey, I’ve got a sense of humor. In fact, I’m known far and wide for my pranks. Just wait until April Fools’ Day. As my friend, you’ll get to experience my humor in creative ways.”
“Oh Lord, that doesn’t sound good.”
After that, the “date” was very comfortable, and it was as if we’d known one another for years, not a few days. We both liked hard rock and had a mutual love for Celtic music. He was only twenty-five, but Angus was a certified electrician, a skill that developed from his love for puzzles. He enjoyed tracking lines and creating brand new electrical systems. We ended up grabbing some dinner at Hungry Howie’s. We ended the night early, for a date, but I invited him to breakfast at my house.
Funny to think that after spending most of the weekend with him, I hadn’t asked him why he’d left Idlewood so abruptly. I had to make a mental note to do so later. We had no plans to meet tonight. He said he was swamped with work, and so was I. Mr. Taylor was going to be a demanding client, but Carrie Jo handled him with her usual charm.
Mrs. Taylor—Cindy, as she insisted we call her—took a liking to me, apparently. She followed me around all morning, talking about the house and asking questions. She handed me back the paint color form, loaded with question marks and filled with notes. I tried to answer each question but in the end steered her away from hunter green and banana yellow for the parlors. I hoped this interaction wasn’t a sign of things to come. This renovation would prove a nightmare if we had to stop every ten minutes to explain how and why we were going to do something.
When we had the opportunity, CJ and I exchanged “help me” glances. But the Taylors didn’t stay long. Cindy let us know she’d be back at the end of the week to see how things were progressing. Better her than her perpetually ill-tempered husband. If she stuck to her word and came just on Fridays, I could live with that. Otherwise our carefully laid plans would be for naught. And that meant we’d be working weekends to catch up on our timeline.
I hadn’t given much thought to the weird experience I’d had Friday, but now it looked like there was no avoiding going to the upper floors. The thing was to not go alone, I reminded myself.
Carrie Jo was on the phone with the mold guy, who apparently missed a few spots on the western side of the house. That was bad news for sure. That meant the plasterers and painters would have to wait. The painter assured her there was plenty of prep work to do and he could always take his crew outdoors until they got it straightened out. As she dialed another number, she mentioned Terrence Dale. We never had these problems at Seven Sisters. He’d taken care of everything, from finding good help to managing the timelines. I’d had a secret crush on the guy at the time, but he’d never shown me a bit of attention beyond his friendly, professional greetings. I’d cried for days before and after his memorial service.
“Hey, Rachel, could you show Darius the second-floor study where we want to put those bookcases? For some reason, my phone doesn’t want to get a signal up there.”
“Probably the range. Sure, I’ll show him. Follow me.” Darius didn’t speak, and I could tell he didn’t like being there. As we walked up the wide staircase together I said, “So, Darius, is your mother a big fan of biblical history?”
“What?” he asked, looking around him nervously.
“Biblical history. You know, Darius the Mede.”
“No, I don’t know much about the Bible, and I’m pretty sure she didn’t either.”
Okay, then. Note to self: Don’t make small talk with Darius.
We took a left at the top of the stairs, I opened the first door we came to, and he followed me inside. It was cool up here. This room was completely bare; the walls had recently been plastered and skimmed, and the floors were stripped down, just waiting to be refinished. It felt like being inside a tomb. That’s a morbid thought, Rachel. The fireplace was in the center of the far wall. The bookshelves were to go on either side of it, from floor to ceiling. Darius was supposedly a master carpenter and had come highly recommended by someone Ashland knew. I smiled pleasantly and waved my hands like I was some kind of game show hostess. “Carrie Jo wants the bookcases on either side of the fireplace. I think you got the mockups, right?”
“I drew them,” he quipped. “Yes, I have the originals here.” He tapped his leather portfolio. “I’d like to take measurements to make sure I have the numbers right before I start cutting. That’s just how I do things.” He glanced around. “I guess I’ll have to go down for my ladder. Thought there might be one up here. Would you mind helping me? My helper is running late, and I need someone to hold the tape for me.”
“Um, sure.”
He laid his portfolio on the dusty mantelpiece and disappeared from the room quickly. Darius was all business, so I knew he wouldn’t dawdle. I sure didn’t have time for that today. I walked to the window. They were the tall kind with a high ledge, the kind the housekeeper had described in her account of the Idlewood ghost. I wondered if this was the very room where it all happened…
Mr. Taylor wasn’t replacing these windows, since they’d been replaced after Hurricane Katrina. Thankfully they were exact replicas of the original windows, minus some warped glass and rotting wood. I glanced at my watch and leaned against the frame. The place was crawling with people, and trucks were everywhere. From here I could also see busy north Carlen street. Traffic moved smoothly for once, not bottlenecking like it could between traffic lights. I saw the bald-headed Darius open the tailgate of his truck and retrieve a green ladder and a tool bag. I glanced at my watch again. Darn, time was getting away from me. It was nearly noon.
I turned to walk away when I saw Angus on the property. I tapped the window like a goof. No way was he going to hear me from up here, and he probably wouldn’t notice me in all the activity. I watched him weave through the overgrown hedges. Obviously he was coming to see me. Or coming to finish whatever he didn’t finish the other day. A strange sense of worry crawled over me.
I couldn’t run down the stairs and greet him. I needed to play it cool. I shoved my phone in my pocket and leaned my back against the wall with my arms crossed, totally forgetting about the Sheetrock and plaster dust. I heard footsteps approaching the room—these floors, although declared sturdy by our floor guy, had some give to them and liked to squeak in certain places. I wasn’t too familiar with the various squeaky spots, but I heard Darius’ work boots clearly. I never saw him walk past the door, but I heard the footfalls. Was it possible he forgot which room I was in?
“Hey, Darius! I’m in here!” I called out to him. The footsteps stopped, but I heard nothing else. “Darius!” I felt more flabbergasted by the second. He didn’t answer me, and then the footsteps turned back as if he’d realized his mistake. But I hadn’t seen him pass the door! It had to be someone else. Maybe Angus or one of a dozen others on the property today?
A sensible person would walk to the door and see who lingered in the hallway. A sensible person wouldn’t hide in an empty room. There was nowhere to hide, anyway. The closet had no door and there were no curtains. Why did I feel like a child compelled to flee from an unknown monster?
“Who’s
there?” I had just enough courage to ask. The footsteps paused at the door, but nobody appeared. I stared, waiting for Darius to walk into the room. How long could it possibly take to come back with the ladder? I blinked at the emptiness and suddenly saw a figure. Or rather, the outline of a figure formed. A tall man, or something.
Whoever or whatever this was wanted me to see him. I knew that like I knew my own name. I held my breath in terror and watched the figure begin to fill in—the outline’s edges were black, almost like someone had taken an eraser to an old photo. In a flash I saw the whole thing: a man wearing a vest, shirt and pants. His face was the picture of complete and utter hatred.
Don’t belong! Leave, now!
Before I could call out or scream or do anything, Darius came whistling into the room, stepping right through the figure, and the shadow man disappeared. The carpenter set up his ladder in the corner and ignored my stupefied expression.
“You going to help me or what?”
“I’m sorry. I just remembered something. I’ll send someone up. Sorry!”
I ran down the hall as fast as my ballet flats would carry me.
Chapter Eleven – Carrie Jo
Today had been one of those days that scurried past you and left you running after it. I’d spent a lot of time worrying about Detra Ann, but if she wouldn’t talk to me, what could I do? She wasn’t answering my phone calls, and I had the sneaking suspicion that my big mouth might have cost me our hard-fought friendship.
Henri kept the shop running, half expecting her to pop in the store any day. He’d made a number of calls to her mother, and she assured him that Detra Ann was fine and would be home soon. All he could do was wait for her. In the meantime, he’d put in some calls to relatives asking them about his father. Ashland and I stopped by the store last night, but Henri hadn’t been in the socializing mood. I felt terrible that I’d not had any dreams about Aleezabeth. I vowed to try again tonight. I still had her picture in my purse, and I’d tried all weekend to summon up a dream about her.
My mother returned to Mobile and naturally wanted to watch baby AJ during the day. Ashland and I talked it over and opted to keep our spot at Small Steps but explained to the director that my mother wanted a little time with our son. We’d pay for his spot and wait for her to find a job, which she was always talking about doing. I cautiously allowed her back into my life and had to admit that my son loved her immensely and she him. At some point we’d have to do some heavy lifting in our relationship and tackle some tough subjects, but for now I enjoyed the maternal bliss.
When I got home Doreen had supper handled, the house had never been tidier and my son played happily in his bouncy swing. I tried to sneak in quietly, but as soon as I walked in he heard me and immediately began to cry. Yes, I had that effect on him.
“I’m coming, baby boy.” I tossed everything on the table and waved at my mom as she came down the hallway with a dust mop. “Oh hi, Momma. He’s better than a burglar alarm, isn’t he?”
She laughed. “Only if you are the burglar. How was your day at the big house?”
“Great. We got so much done. Not.” I smiled as I tried to pull my son out of the swing. “Wow, son. You must have gained ten pounds.”
“He’s a good ol’ bag of rocks. Since you’re home now, I’m going to take off. I’ve got plans this evening, and I need to clean up.”
“Plans?” I smooched all over baby AJ.
“Yes, I’m going to the church at the corner. It’s Monday Bingo!”
“Momma! How shocking! You playing bingo?” I half-joked with her. The mother I knew would never do something so “sinful.” But she didn’t think my comment was amusing at all. Her face crumpled, and she walked into the kitchen to put the broom away. I heard her and Doreen talking pleasantly, and I followed after her. “Momma, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”
“It’s okay. I’ll see you later. I have my key, and I won’t be out too late.” And she was gone. Doreen stared at me with wide eyes. She had no idea what was going on but was intuitive enough to know all wasn’t right.
“I’m leaving too, Mrs. Stuart. I have tickets for the Saenger tonight, and I have an extra one. Have you seen ‘Hello, Dolly!’? Would you like to go? It’s playing all week. My daughter is in it!”
“No, I haven’t, but I’d better hang out here. Monday kicked my tail, and I’ve got some things to do for work. Thanks for the invitation, though. And dinner smells wonderful.”
“I made your favorite.”
I kissed Ashland James on the top of his head again and chuckled. “You always say that, even if it’s tuna fish. You know how much I love that.”
The side door swung open, and my mom was standing there, her eyes wide, blood pouring down the side of her face.
“Oh my God! Momma! Doreen, take the baby! Go get Ashland!” My mother was wobbling—she was about to fall down the stairs. I grabbed her hand and threw her arm around my shoulder. I couldn’t carry her to the dining room chair, so I helped her slide down to the floor. She was still conscious, but her eyes fluttered and the blood flowed. I grabbed a kitchen cloth and pressed it to her head. “Momma! Momma! What happened?”
“The man. I didn’t see him until he hit me.”
“Who hit you? Momma?” I watched in horror as my mother slumped over and her eyes closed. “Ashland!” I screamed as I scrambled to the wall and grabbed the house phone. I dialed 911 and immediately began giving the dispatcher the information she needed. The baby cried at the sight of his grandmother on the floor in a bloody heap, and Ashland ran for fresh towels. “Doreen, please take AJ out of here. Can you two wait for the ambulance?”
“Okay,” she said as she and AJ left us to tend to Momma. I laid my head on her chest and listened to her heart. I was no medical expert, but it didn’t sound steady at all. “Ashland,” I said, ready to cry.
“They’re on the way. Here, let’s use a fresh towel.” As quick as he could, he swapped out the towels. I caught a glimpse of the wound now. It was at her left temple, in her hair. It looked like she’d been hit with something small, but the wound was deep. I had no idea what I was looking at.
“She said a man did it. I didn’t see anyone when she came in. Do you think someone attacked her?”
“I don’t know, babe. Hold the towel. I hear sirens.”
Five minutes later, the EMTs were wheeling her out of our home and rushing her to nearby Springhill Memorial Hospital.
“Go with her. I’ll follow in the car.”
“Okay,” I said as I scrambled into the ambulance after my mother’s gurney. It seemed like the longest ambulance ride ever, but we finally made it to the hospital and then she was gone. I was forced to linger in the hallway with my bloody shirt and wait for someone to come see me. Nobody ever came, although a small army of medical folks constantly streamed by me. I finally sat on the floor and refused to go to the waiting room even though it was suggested to me a few times. I didn’t cry, talk or bother anyone. I simply waited.
Ashland came in through the ambulance doors, bypassing the waiting room. He knew me. I wasn’t one to wait when someone I loved was back here. I’d been here too much since I moved to Mobile. Far too much. “The baby?” I asked him.
“With Doreen. Listen to me, babe. I know you want to stay here so you can know what’s happening, but you can’t sit on the floor. Let’s go to the restroom and clean you up. I’ve got you a fresh shirt to put on, and then I’ll find out what’s happening. I’ll come to the waiting room, I promise.” The Stuart name carried some weight in this hospital. His mother had given enough money to warrant a wing named after her. I did as he asked since I wasn’t able to feel or think or anything else at the moment.
Momma’s words played over and over in my mind. She said, “The man,” not “a man.” That was weird. I changed my shirt, tossed the old one in the garbage and cleaned the blood from my hands. My mother’s blood. I stared at it as it washed down the drain. She’d left her home to be near
me and baby AJ, and how did I thank her? By being a smartass, reminding her of her past. After I finished tidying up, I walked back to the waiting room and settled into a chair near a window. I stared out into the busy parking lot and waited for my husband to return.
“The family of Deidre Jardine?”
“That’s me!” I said, jumping up. I was surprised to hear them call so quickly. But all they wanted was my mother’s insurance information, which I didn’t have. I did sign a form making myself responsible for her bills and impatiently plied the woman with questions, none of which she had answers for. She wasn’t friendly, but I wasn’t in the mood to care too much.
“Babe, come with me,” Ashland called from the narrow hallway.
“We’re not through yet,” the hefty woman behind the counter said to me.
“I’ll be back.” I didn’t wait for Miss Helpful’s permission. I scurried out after Ashland. “What are they saying? What happened?”
“It looks like she was hit with some kind of projectile, like a rock. Sometimes gravel rocks from the driveways get in the road. Big trucks go by, hit the rocks just right and send them flying. Now if that is what happened, it would be an amazing freak accident, but it is not unheard of.”
“Yes, but she said the man did it. She said nothing about a random rock.”
“You and I both know how disorienting a head injury can be. She was probably talking out of her head and she never saw it coming. All we can do right now is speculate. They cleaned the wound and stitched her up. She’s hurting, so they gave her some pain meds. I think they plan on keeping her overnight for observation. Standard procedure for a head injury.”
“And she was awake? Why didn’t you come get me?”
“I did. I’m here now.”
I made an exasperated sound and pushed through the door into the room. “Momma?”
“She’s resting right now. They’ll be moving her up to the third floor when her room is ready. Are you her daughter?” Finally, a friendly face.
The Ghosts of Idlewood Page 9
