"Cottie never said a word about this," Aura Lee murmured, worried. "And surely she would have." Strudel had jumped up beside her and she patted the dog absently.
Steadman shrugged, his mouth tightening. "You've gone through her papers?" At Rose's nod he added, "Evidently she didn't want to share the information. It's not unheard of."
Kerry heard scorn in his voice. "We're not being nosy. Rose worked closely with Caldicott, and Aura Lee was her oldest friend. She had every reason to tell us about such a project, but she didn't."
He surveyed her without expression. "And you are?"
"Kerry Tomlinson. Caldicott Wyntham's biographer."
Rose leaned forward. "Forgive our lack of manners, Mr. Steadman. I'm Rose Hertzberg, director of Wisdom Court. And you've met Aura Lee." She slanted a look at Kerry. "I think I might have come across something about this in Caldicott's mail shortly after she died."
"You're kidding." Kerry frowned, too aware of Steadman's cynical gaze. "Why didn't you say something?"
"Things were kind of busy."
Steadman glanced between the two of them. "I had to suspend my activities for a few months, and my secretary sent out notices to my clients. You should have received one here."
"Please sit down, Mr. Steadman." Rose gestured to a chair. "At least let's be comfortable while we talk."
He bent to retrieve the briefcase at his feet. In the time it took for him to come round the cocktail table to seat himself on the other wingback chair, Kerry noticed both a limp and that he moved with natural grace despite it.
"I suppose I should have apprised you of my impending arrival." The chill in Steadman's voice deepened. "However, circumstances worked against me." His glance went once more to the portrait over the fireplace. "I take it that she is Caldicott Wyntham."
"When she was younger." Aura Lee's eyes misted as she looked up at the painting. "She was a great woman. We won't see the like of her any time soon." Beside her, Strudel was whining softly, her tail moving slowly back and forth.
"Of course." Aura Lee stiffened at the arid note in Steadman's voice and Kerry studied him with sharpened attention. "I'm sure she was extraordinary," he added swiftly. "I have little to go on, not having met her, but one who arouses such loyalty in her friends is assuredly a very special person."
What a puffed-up twerp, Kerry thought, nose wrinkling.
Strudel jumped to the floor and trotted to Steadman's chair. In an instant, she'd leapt onto the seat cushion and crawled into his lap. He gazed down at her in surprise.
"Strudel!" Aura Lee half rose from the sofa. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Steadman. Here, give her to me. I can't imagine why she did that. She's usually wary of strangers."
"It's all right." Steadman looked down at the little dachshund. "I like dogs." His long fingers apparently found the perfect spot behind one of Strudel's ears, for she closed her eyes in bliss, dropping her chin to his leg.
"Incredible." Rose looked at him in amazement.
"I do hope," Steadman went on, still stroking the russet fur, "you'll work with me as I endeavor to finish the job Ms. Wyntham hired me to do."
"Why?" Kerry didn't trust him an inch, no matter what Strudel thought.
"Several reasons, Ms. Tomlinson." For the first time, he smiled, and Kerry's breath caught at the change it made in his face. The remote expression he'd worn melted, revealing charm, even humor. "First, I was hired to find out the history of the Trinder woman, and I finish the jobs I take on. Second, in my research I found some gaps in information which can only be filled from this end of the process."
Rose's return smile held little warmth. "We need to do several things before we launch into any exchanges of information. May I see some identification?"
"What?" He seemed taken aback, but as Rose began to speak again, he stopped her with a raised hand. "No, it's completely reasonable. I assure you I am merely completing the job I began some six months ago." He pulled a narrow leather billfold from a breast pocket of his jacket and removed a folder from it. "My passport," he murmured as he held it out to Rose. "I have other bona fides if you'd like to see them."
I'm sure you do, Kerry thought. Probably a driver's license for your Rolls and a monogram on your knickers.
He reached to his briefcase, holding Strudel with his other hand to keep her steady. After fishing around, he pulled out an envelope. "Here's a copy of the inquiry from Ms. Wyntham." He passed it to Rose and settled the dog more firmly on his lap.
Rose examined the passport and letter, glancing up at him when she'd finished. "May I make copies of these?" At his nod, she handed them to Kerry. "Thank you, Mr. Steadman. It all seems to be in order." Her face was shuttered.
"Please, call me Max. Now, might you tell me why you are so hesitant about this situation?"
Rose shook her head. "In this day and age, you shouldn't have to ask. What with identity theft and the various other activities we're all warned against, I admit to feeling uneasy under the circumstances. I need to confirm the paper trail of your dealings with Caldicott, given she has died. Frankly, I'm not sure there's any purpose to continuing your investigations."
"Well." Max let out a breath. "We're at cross purposes, then, aren't we? How can we get beyond them?"
Rose got gracefully to her feet. "First I need to talk to my board of directors, as well as with the Wisdom Court attorney. Then, based on their reaction to your proposal, we'll proceed to the next step. Do you have a card I can show them?"
"Certainly." Steadman had risen from his chair, carefully setting Strudel on the cushion. He slid a business card from one pocket and handed it to her, then bent to retrieve his briefcase. "I'm staying at the University Inn, room two-twelve. Have you any estimate how long this vetting process will take?"
"I'll be calling the various people involved first thing tomorrow." Rose extended her hand and he clasped it. "I'll be in touch as soon as I've spoken with them. Kerry, will you show Mr. Steadman out after you've made copies of his documents?"
"Glad to." Kerry rose to her feet.
"Thank you, Mr. Steadman—" At the glance he shot her, Rose substituted, "Max. I'll contact you soon."
Easing around Strudel, who'd jumped from the chair, clearly ready to accompany them, Kerry led the way to the library and the copier in the corner. She motioned to a chair. "Make yourself comfortable. This'll only take a moment."
"I'll stand, thanks." At his feet Strudel barked sharply, and, puzzled, he bent to pat her head. "What's the matter, girl?" he asked softly. Strudel panted at him with a canine grin and rolled onto her back to allow him to scratch her belly.
You dachshund slut, Kerry thought in wonder. Strudel certainly had no doubts about Max Steadman.
She copied the documents, all the while listening to Max croon nonsense to the enamored dog. Another minute or two and I'll be panting, too, she thought wryly. Nothing like a little sweet talk from a man with a British accent.
"Well, I think that takes care of it." Kerry straightened the pages and cast him a glance. He stood straight, his face assuming its noncommittal mask. "Let me see you to the door." She started out of the library.
"As long as you prevent it from hitting me on the backside on the way out," he muttered from behind her.
Kerry stopped abruptly and turned to face him. "Excuse me?"
"Forgive me." His tone was as wooden as his expression. "I must be more jetlagged than I thought." At her steady regard, Max added stiffly, "I was hoping to complete my research quickly. This delay is... irksome."
Welcome to the NFL. Kerry led him toward the front door. "You can hardly expect us to let you go through Caldicott's records without checking you out first."
"Of course not." She swung open the door and he paused. "I hope Ms. Hertzberg will contact me soon."
"She said she would." Kerry waited with impatience for him to leave. "She tends to keep her word."
"Very well, then." He nodded to her and walked down the steps, his limp more pronounced than before. Strudel
barked twice, sharply, but he didn't turn back.
Kerry closed the door, just managing to avoid slamming it. What a pompous prig, lacking only the proverbial three-piece suit and a bowler to completely fulfill the stereotype of the London twit. But he liked dogs. Very good-looking, too, whispered her hormones.
"Shut up, hormones," Kerry muttered as she reentered the living room. Attractive the man might be, but his appearance was as disturbing as the serpent's arrival in Eden. He knew things about Caldicott she'd been unable to find. How much more such information did he have? And how could she get her hands on it?
Rose and Aura Lee watched as she approached them, Strudel trotting behind her.
"What did you say, dear?" Aura Lee asked.
"Nothing." Kerry flopped onto the sofa. "Can you believe that guy? What can this be about?" She appealed to Rose. "Did you really find a reference to the project he was talking about?"
Rose nodded. "As I recall, it was a note to the effect that there'd been a delay of some sort. I didn't pay much attention because I didn't have time to look for the original correspondence that day. Then, with the funeral arrangements and all, I forgot about it. I finally recognized his name, though. I'll find the note before I call the board members."
Aura Lee shifted as Strudel jumped up beside her. "Cottie never said a word about writing a book. And," she added miserably, "in all the years I knew her, she never mentioned her family. I don't understand why she would have gone to a stranger for something like that." Her normal vitality had ebbed. Even her brassy hair looked dimmer.
Kerry was swept with a powerful and unexpected urge to protect Aura Lee, to somehow shield her from any information about Caldicott that might await them. If she felt a pang at not knowing about the project Steadman described, how much more upsetting was it for Aura Lee to realize her closest friendship held secrets?
She felt a shiver down her back. Oh, stop it, she thought irritably. So Caldicott had planned a book. Big deal. She herself hadn't found anything about it because she hadn't been able to find Caldicott's freaking papers. Maybe Max Steadman would be the key to discovering all of the aspects of Caldicott's earlier life.
"I'd better get things together so I can call the board members in the morning," Rose said, getting to her feet. "Mustn't keep Mr. Steadman waiting, right?" Her faux British accent was dead-on.
"That's Max, dear," Aura Lee murmured. She pushed herself out of her chair, moving slowly, looking older than she had earlier in the day. Strudel followed at her heels.
Kerry watched them head toward the kitchen, that strange sense of disquiet stealing through her once more.
Nightmirror
She creeps across the broken boards, keeping away from gaps where hell is glimpsed below.
The stairs drip with blood, and she clutches worn rails, bracing not to skid, not to fall.
Feeling the stares from the shadows, she keeps her gaze ahead, loath to see the fingers through the grates.
Moaning seeps through fetid air and she prays it stops.
A Keeper comes all dressed in white, cloying smile under measuring eyes.
She hears the cry. Don't leave me here.
But the dosages are monitored, says the voice beside her, and periods of distress are short.
When you return next week, the voice repeats, you'll see improvement. When you return next week...
Next week and...
Next week and...
She creeps across the broken boards, greater gaps where hell is glimpsed below.
(Run for your life)
Chapter 6
Rose crossed the last name off her list. The Wisdom Court board of directors had been notified of Max Steadman's appearance at the house, and of his request to pursue the job Caldicott had evidently hired him to do. Marjorie Hollenbeck, the counsel for the board, would get back to her. And then we can deal further with the confident Mr. Steadman, Rose thought.
With a glance at her watch, she decided to steal an hour to work on her latest fountain. She'd found a miniature bridge and in her mind's eye she saw it set among the rocks she'd arranged as a mountain landscape. She might put a tiny house on a taller stone, implying a road on either side of the bridge. It would suggest an inhabitant who could hear the bubbling water.
Rose unlocked her workroom door and went in, switching on the overhead lights. She glanced at the fountain on the table. The stones she'd chosen—a geode, milky and rose quartz, and several jagged pieces of feldspar found on the hillside above Chautauqua Park—were arranged in a circle around the empty bowl.
"Damn," she whispered. She looked around the room but nothing else was out of place, and a wave of anger overcame her. "What do you want?" she cried. "Why do you keep doing this?"
Why would someone take apart her fountains, and only the unfinished ones at that? None of them were ruined, and she'd had no trouble recreating them. To remove the rocks, to arrange them in a circle... it was weird enough to bother her. Who was doing this over and over again?
She settled heavily onto her chair. "Stop trying to fool yourself," she whispered. It made more sense to admit to a paranormal explanation than to pretend a madman was repeatedly breaking into Wisdom Court to dismantle her table fountains. The rational explanation is that we have a haunting here.
Aura Lee would be so excited at her acceptance of the supernatural. She would redouble her efforts to contact the troubled spirits trying to communicate with them.
Rose considered the board members with whom she'd just spoken, and her ongoing efforts to achieve a balance between the imaginative and pragmatic energies among them. I bet they'd love to hear my conclusion about this problem.
She tugged open the drawer where she kept miniatures to use in the fountains. Pulling out the small bridge, she examined the delicate arch. She'd long thought that bridges didn't always have an easy time of it since the conditions at either end could be contradictory. She'd compared herself to a bridge more than once, with Aura Lee on one side, determined to reach Caldicott beyond death. At the other end were the Wisdom Court associates, the board, and the so-called real world. Rose looked again at the ring of stones on the table. Now she was recognizing a third group, the entities behind the odd events at Wisdom Court. "A new constituency," she said softly. Stuck in the middle, she thought, surrounded by all the players.
* * *
The familiar whir of the sixteen-millimeter projector lifted Brenna's heart. It was a sound she'd heard too rarely over the past year. Even the heat from the bulb casting images onto the screen was a source of comfort. She let out her breath in a long sigh. She could work again.
The first batch of developed film had arrived that morning, delivered by Raymond, a stocky man with a gap-toothed smile and a gray ponytail. He'd cracked jokes while she signed for the containers and then had left to continue on his rounds, tapping the horn of his van in farewell as he pulled out of the gate.
Now, settling into her padded chair, Brenna adjusted her earphones and switched on the iPod. To the intricate music of The Fifth Utility, she watched in cautious anticipation as the first reel unwound its contents. The beginning was a long shot of a telephone pole jacketed with papers taped and stapled over its rough surface. The focus tightened to a rectangular flier edged with a wavy line.
PLACEBO EFFECT
Laguna Hall
July 23,8 p.m. Doors Open
$8 or $4 with canned food donation to the Southside Food bank
Brenna remembered filming the notice because of the band's name. She'd loved the idea of a cure-all rock show, the sign sparking a bit of cheer during a sad time. The image on the screen faded into black, and then a pig crudely cut from plywood appeared. On its vividly yellow side was painted a clock face with round lashed eyes and a grinning mouth. Under it was scrawled:
RIBS BY SYB
All U CAN EAT IN ONE HOUR
The idea of timed gluttony had tickled her fancy, and she'd imagined a woman standing over her customers with a stopwatch. Did
she snatch the plates away when time was up?
The next clip had a mural painted on a brick wall in an alley off Ventura Boulevard. It was of a small adobe pueblo in a night cityscape with stylized skyscrapers looming over it. Purple shadows extended across the flat roof and the ends of the support timbers cast cylindrical shapes along the wall. In one square window a candle shone light into the darkness. No words, no human figures, just the image of a simple structure in a complex world. Brenna had never found out whether the painted work was graffiti or had been commissioned. The image had evoked both delight and a sorrow she didn't understand. As she viewed it again, she was grateful to have recorded it on film.
The cell phone in Brenna's pocket vibrated twice. She slid it out, and saw the call was from Dink, the third one that day. She flipped open the phone as she pulled out her earbuds. "Hi, babe. How's it going?" She reached to turn off the projector.
"Okay. Just need to hear your voice again."
Dink sounded tinny and far away but the idea of him flooded into her mind. Brenna's fingertips tingled with the desire to trace his tanned neck, to comb through his curly brown hair. She yearned to feel his skin next to her own. "Well," she started, but the sudden lump in her throat made her stop until she could take a breath. "I'm still here." She rubbed a finger against one eyebrow. "What're you doing?"
"Writing a crappy song." Fatigue roughened his voice. "So far the words and the melody don't get along. And the bridge is for shit. How about you?"
"Reeling film. Just got my first lot from the lab. It's good to see some of these things again."
Dink didn't say anything for a minute, but the silence was heavy with unspoken thoughts. Just as Brenna started to fill the gap, he muttered, "I miss you."
"Oh, yeah, me, too." Longing made it hard to breathe. Brenna shut her eyes. "It's only been a few days."
"That's what's got me going. A whole year, Bren." His voice swelled with frustration. "What the fuck."
A Signal Shown Page 4
