by Anita Higman
I had no intention of giving up so easily. “Could you order another one?”
She shook her head again. “I’m afraid it was the last one.”
My shoulders sagged a little. That really had been the right dress. “No problem. Thank you.” I walked away. Dolly had missed the whole exchange. That was best.
The rest of my search was unfruitful. Dolly and I had a late lunch, and with another shopping date firmly set in our minds, she dropped me off at home.
“Bye and thanks,” I hollered to her.
“You’re welcome.”
Dolly had been fun. A little intense at times, but not at all like I’d imagined. Maybe we’d be close friends someday. Even with the bridal morning spinning in my head, the second my front door went shut, my thoughts shifted gears. The cellar. I needed to find it. Now.
Two minutes hadn’t passed when the doorbell rang. My head dropped to my chest. Not now. I want some privacy. Well, it might be Max. I made my usual check. No one was on the porch. At least no one I could see. Could it be Vlad hiding by the door, waiting to knock me on the head? Wait a minute. It’s probably just the mail people with a package. They sometimes just rang the bell and then headed out. I opened the door. No package. I leaned outside.
“Boo!” someone said.
I yelped.
Joby Goldstein jumped in front of me. “Hi.”
“Oh, Joby.” I let out a puff of air. “You really got me that time.”
“You have a nice scream. Not hysterical. I don’t really know what that means. And it’s not a funny scream that would make you want to laugh. Just right.” Joby gave me a perky nod of approval.
“Thanks.” I tried to calm my wild-kicking heart. “I hope you don’t make a habit of scaring your foster parents like that.”
Joby raised her chin. “All the time.”
I shook my head. “Why would you do that?”
She licked her lips. “It’s time to move on again. They’re tired of me, and I’m just helping things along.” Her smile faltered, revealing a flicker of pain.
I wanted to scoop her up and hug her. And maybe have her come in for some cocoa. Did I even have cocoa? I certainly couldn’t give her a cup of coffee. And I wasn’t prepared to entertain a child. Maybe she was more in need of company than cocoa. “I’ll invite you in, but you have to call your foster mother and ask her if it’s okay.”
“I can if you want me to, but when school is out, she doesn’t care where I go as long as I don’t join a gang, get arrested, or eat out of garbage cans.” She counted them off with her fingers and then chuckled. “But she might not care so much about that last one.”
“That sounds terrible.” I placed my arm around her shoulder. “But what about homework? Don’t you have any?”
“Yeah, but I do it all at school. That way, my afternoons are free for roaming the neighborhood. Which is one of my favorite things to do.”
“Why’s that?”
Joby touched the hand that rested on her shoulder. “Because I get to meet people like you.”
If those words were meant to soften me up, they succeeded even beyond what Joby could have hoped for. “All right. You can come in. But just for a few minutes.”
She stepped over the threshold like she was walking into a spook-house. “Wow!” She tiptoed through the entry hall and stared into the living room. “Look at those creepy monsters on the fireplace.”
“They’re called gargoyles, and I’m thinking of having them removed. They give me the creeps too.”
“But they’re sort of holding up that thing.” Joby pointed to the ledge over the fireplace.
“You mean the mantle?”
“Yeah. The mantle. So, what’ll you get to put there instead?” She crossed her arms.
“I don’t know. How about Cherubim?”
Joby tilted her head as if she were trying to picture it. “What’s a Cherubim?”
“An angel.”
She assessed the fireplace. “Okay. I guess that would look good.”
I followed her into the living room. “Did anyone ever tell you about angels in Sunday school?”
Joby squirmed. “I don’t know what that is either, but if it means I have to go to school on Sunday, no way.”
I chuckled. I was amazed that Joby had never heard of Sunday school. It appeared a number of her needs weren’t being met.
Joby strolled over to the French doors that led to the library. “This place looks a lot like the house in a mystery I just finished reading. There was this ugly secret in the house, and this librarian woman had to figure out what it was. She was smart and could figure things out ’cause she reads lots of books. It was really scary, and there were lots of ugly secrets. I like ugly secrets.”
I laughed. Then you’d love this house. “So what else happens in your book?”
“Well, there was a stolen jewel hidden in the house somewhere, and it’s worth a ton of money. A big emerald I think.”
“So did they find it? The emerald?” I asked with renewed interest.
“Yeah. It was in the cellar.”
I choked on my saliva.
14 – This Creepy Old House
“Hey, you okay?” Joby looked at me funny.
I gathered my wits. “Yeah.” How strange. I guess my life had become a kids’ mystery novel.
“I’m thinking about writing my own mysteries someday.” Joby seemed to study me.
“If you work at it, you can do anything you set your mind to.” I wondered if she’d believe me.
“Yeah, I had a teacher tell me that one time. Mrs. Rose was nice to me, but she had this problem with her feet. I think they’re called bunions. She had lots of them that poked through her shoes. They were like these space invader pods attached to her feet. Really weird.” Joby splayed her fingers as her eyes got big.
I laughed.
She winced. “You don’t have bunions, do you?”
“No space invader pods, thank goodness. Not yet anyway.”
Joby came closer to me. “I think it’s time.”
“Time for what?” I whispered.
“For us to sit down and tell each other our stories. It will help us to bond. You know, as neighbors.”
I smiled. I honestly never knew what Joby was going to say next. She was a mystery—the very best kind. “Okay. That sounds good. Let’s go in the kitchen. Do you want something to drink?”
“Yeah, I’ll have an espresso. Make it a double.”
I looked at Joby. She grinned.
“How about some juice?”
“I guess, if I can’t have the espresso.”
Once we were in the kitchen and I’d poured her glass of orange juice, Joby plopped down in the cushy chair around the table. I sat across from her in a folding chair and took a sip of my juice.
Joby never took her eyes off me. “So, how did you wind up by yourself in this creepy old house?” She glanced around. “With almost no junk to sit on?”
“Yeah, I’ve wondered that myself a few thousand times.” I grinned. “I’m kidding. I inherited it from my Granny Minna. At first I was scared of the place, but then it grew on me. Now, I’d like to honor her memory by making it into a home. She liked this old place, even though she never lived here.”
“Why didn’t your Granny live here?”
“Well, she was a unique woman, very special, and she loved to buy up old houses. Toward the end of her life she sold them all off, but she kept this one. . .for me.”
Joby brightened, but her shoulders wilted a little. “Wow, she must have really loved you.”
“Yes, she did.” My eyes got misty even though I was determined to keep my emotions in check. “I miss my Granny. I always will.” I dabbed at the corners of my eyes with my fingers. “Anyway, this house came to me at just the right time, since I wasn’t doing well as a Realtor in Oklahoma. Actually, to be honest, I was a failure at it.” I chuckled. “Granny gave me some money to fix this place up, and so for the past few weeks I’ve
hired some people to work on the outside. Now that it’s pretty well finished, I’ll soon hire some folks to redo the inside. But I’m taking it slowly. And while I’m busy with that, I’ll be planning a wedding too.”
Joby bounced her legs against the front of the chair. “Sounds like lots and lots of fun.”
“Yes, it will be. And after Max and I are married we’re going to refurbish old houses together.” I leaned back in my chair. “So what’s your story, Miss Goldstein?”
“Do you really want to know? Or are you just trying to be nice?”
I gave her my full attention. “I want to know. For real.”
“Okay.” Joby lowered her gaze. “It’s a sad tale of woe. I had parents when I was little. They loved me. I could tell ’cause I remember my mom kissing me and my dad tossing me up in the air.” She wrinkled her brow. “You only kiss and toss kids when you love them.”
What a perceptive little girl. I smiled.
Joby fiddled with the hole in her jeans. “But they died in a car accident on their way down to Galveston. I was at the babysitter’s house.” She released a long breath. “After that, I felt all empty inside, like I didn’t have any guts. . .like I was pumped full of air. I thought since I was made of nothing, maybe someday I’d just go floating off somewhere. And nobody would be able to find me.” Joby had no tears, but sorrow shown in her big hazel eyes. “My mom and dad were both Jewish, but I don’t remember much about that. Well, I remember our menorah all lit up, and the presents. And I remember a couple of stories my father told me.” She pulled her Star of David necklace out from under her T-shirt. “And I have this. My mother gave it to me. I never take it off.”
“I wouldn’t either.” I touched the diamond drop hanging around my neck. I knew exactly how Joby felt, since my Granny’s necklace always stayed close to my heart.
“Since they died I’ve been everywhere.” She shrugged. “And nowhere. But one lady I stayed with told me about Jesus. Sometimes I think I feel Him watching over me. At first I thought it was just my imagination. Now I don’t think so.” She pursed her lips. “But now my guts don’t feel like they’re made of air anymore.” Joby smiled and then stared at her glass of juice. She drank it down in a series of gulps. “That was the good kind. Lots of pulp.” She wiped her mouth across the sleeve of her blouse. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” I tried not to stare at Joby, now that she’d shared her deepest emotions. But my heart ached along with her. I knew some of the loss she felt since I too had lost the people I loved. And yet, I was fortunate enough to have had them in my life for many years. Joby had lost them so soon.
I found myself smiling at her again. Joby had been right. For us to tell our stories to each other helped us to bond—but not just as neighbors. She was making a place for herself in my heart. I took a sip or two of my juice. I never had been a juice drinker. Never even knew why I bought the stuff. Maybe it was for this one moment.
Joby looked up at the ceiling. “Can I tell you something big? Really big?”
“Yes.” Oh, dear.
“Okay.” She wiped her hands on her jeans. “Mr. B.J., the man that died, had a side door that he never locked. Kind of stupid, wasn’t it?”
“Joby, were you trespassing?” I tried not to sound too reproachful.
“I didn’t go inside his house. Sometimes, I’d just sneak past his gate and try the door.” Joby raised her eyebrows. “Just to see.”
“But why would you do that?”
She shrugged. “Something to do. That’s all.”
This little gal had way too much time on her hands. And I wanted to thrash her foster mother for letting her wander the planet without any restrictions.
“That part was the big thing. Now I have a bad thing to tell you.”
So, that wasn’t the bad thing? I tried to mask my panic. “Okay.”
“Well, when I saw all the cars with the red flashing lights that day. . .when Mr. B.J. died. . .well. . .”
“Yes?”
“I stood there watching from a distance. . .and I hoped he was dead.” Joby looked away.
I set my glass down. “Did he hurt you, Joby, or touch you in any way?”
“No, but when I told you that he would yank on my braid if I came on his porch again, that was a lie.” She chewed on her lower lip.
“All of it was a lie?”
“No.” Joby took in a deep breath. “What he really said was. . .that he’d cut off both my ears and feed them to his dog if I ever set foot on his property again.”
My hand went to my heart. What kind of depraved individual would say that to a child? “That is so horrible, I don’t even know what to say.”
“I’m sorry.” Tears filled her eyes. “I shouldn’t have done it.”
“I mean it’s horrible what B.J. said to you. There’s no excuse for that.” I got up from the chair and knelt down next to her. “But you need to promise me you won’t do that anymore. . .go sneaking around other people’s houses. It isn’t right, and it can be very dangerous. Some people are. . .well, they do bad things. You could get hurt. And what if somebody thought you were a burglar. . .they might. . .” The last of my words caught in my throat. I turned her to me. “Just promise me you’ll never do that again.”
“Okay, Miss Bailey. I promise.” Joby wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.
“Now, you wouldn’t lie to me about this, would you? This is serious business. . .what you’ve said about B.J.”
Joby tucked her legs under her. “I do lie some, but this is the truth.”
I took her hands in mine. “But how will I know for sure? That’s one of the problems with lies. Just when you really need people to believe you, they can’t.”
Her lips curled up. “This is one of those teachable moments, isn’t it? I saw that on a TV sitcom.”
I grinned.
“Yeah, that’s the stuff real mothers do.” Joby squeezed my hands as if they were a lifeline.
An invisible heartstring tightened again. This kid could really get to a person. “I’m glad you told me. Sometimes it’s hard to tell the truth. I’m proud of you.”
Joby’s eyes brightened. “Really?”
I nodded. “Really.”
We glowed in each other’s smiles for a moment, and then I asked, “Do you want me to walk you back home?”
“No, that’s okay. It’s only a block down.” She scooted off the chair and put her juice glass in the sink.
“All right. If you’re sure.”
Joby tugged on my sleeve and then waved. “Well, see ya.” She zoomed out of the kitchen, down the hallway, and toward the front door.
“Bye.” I waved even though I knew she didn’t see the gesture.
I went to the front door and watched as she trotted down the pathway. Joby stepped onto her little scooter and propelled herself down the sidewalk. What a kid. I felt my heart was in great peril.
I stayed at the door until she was out of sight. And then thoughts, worrisome and puzzling, clouded over my pleasant reverie. B.J. Ware. So, he was not a nice man. Very much like his stepbrother, Vlad. Both cut from the same black cloth.
As I closed the door another idea presented itself. Could Joby have accidentally caused B.J.’s death? She had access to the house, and she certainly loved scaring people. It would have been easy for her to slip through an unlocked door and frighten him into a massive heart attack. Could Joby have watched B.J. die? If she’d been scared of the consequences, she might have been too scared to call 911 or even tell anyone.
More likely, though, she saw B.J. clutching his chest, and then just fled out the door, not knowing the outcome until later. I doubted Joby had known about B.J.’s bad heart, so even if some of my theory was accurate, her actions wouldn’t have been intentional.
I opened the French doors, which led into the library. Then another nagging query wrenched at me—what if Joby had known about B.J.’s delicate heart, and she was hoping for some retribution? Joby disliked B.J. intensel
y, enough to say she hoped he was dead. Not a good thing for her to say. Those inflammatory words, along with the crime of trespassing could get her into some serious trouble—perhaps juvenile detention.
Please Lord, let all my speculations concerning Joby be false. Let her find a family who will truly love and care for her. And whoever told Joby about Your love, bless them in some unexpected and delightful way.
As I milled around in the library, I tried to put all my theories and worries aside and return to my original expedition—finding the cellar. In order for that to happen, I was going to need to focus. It seemed ludicrous for an underground room to be below a library, and yet the house was never built with the average family in mind. It was built for sedition.
I combed every facet of the room, looking for a gap or notch of any kind. I tapped on the walls, felt the floors and the bookcases, checked out the two alcoves, ran my fingers along the ornate woodwork, and then focused on the fireplace.
I wasn’t sure how a fireplace could open to a secret passage, but I thought it at least deserved some inspection. The flue. Hmm. I knelt on the brick hearth, leaned in under the flue with my flashlight, and looked as far as I could inside the chimney. I felt the coolness of a draft and saw the blackness of soot. No more.
My knees began to scream pain, so I got up. Where next? I raised my flashlight to the faded mural on the ceiling. A castle, nestled in the hills and woods, looked tranquil and inviting while a war raged below in the valley. Men on horseback drew their swords in battle. Such contrast in the two scenes. Serenity and struggle. Life and death. Perhaps the picture reflected the Sisterhood and an internal battle with their own morality and ideals. Um, that might be reaching a bit.
I stared at the horses, their mouths frothing and their eyes rimmed with red. Those rascals; they knew something. I could tell. But they weren’t talking. Yep, that would be too easy for me. This house wasn’t about to give up a single secret without a fight.
When I thought I’d exhausted the possibilities, I stared once again at the two alcoves on the south wall. The niches were covered in a rich paneling, ornate wood carvings, and wainscoting made of oak. The lack of windows gave the room an elegant ambiance, but it also provided some privacy since that wall faced the street. Privacy, that is, for the Sisterhood of the Penumbra and their dubious way of life. How convenient.
