by Arlene Kay
Soaring through the brush with Raza was more therapeutic than ten visits to any shrink in town. All my doubts and worries vanished when the two of us cantered, trotted, and galloped along the trail. I did a quick status update. Now that we possessed the Holy Grail, aka Sybil Vane, one way or another, Magdalen’s quest was over. Experts would determine the authorship of the work and, more than likely, debate its authenticity. Either way that particular threat to Magdalen had been neutralized. I also felt a secret sense of pride at reuniting her with her long-lost brother. Pruett rebuked me for being a romantic. In his experience family reunions were seldom the ecstatic scenes portrayed in novels. He was probably right, but due in part to my own status as an orphan, I still cherished the notion of a happily-ever-after ending—for Mags if not for me.
For a time, I even brushed aside thoughts of murder. Perhaps Nurse Carole’s death had been an unfortunate accident or something totally unrelated to Magdalen Melmoth. I knew better, but while soaring over fences with Raza, anything seemed possible. Later, while giving her a brisk rubdown, reality slapped me smack-dab in the face. Someone—someone with lethal intent—had taken a life, coolly and deliberately. Those poisoned sweets were as deadly as any bullet. More so actually. A bullet usually mows down one target, but any number of people might have munched a Belgian chocolate and paid the price. For that reason I favored publicizing our literary find as soon as possible. Full disclosure would insulate Magdalen from at least one potential danger. Anyone seeking the manuscript would realize that the Oscar Wilde crusade had ended. Naturally if the killer had another motive, it would do nothing at all.
Pruett was waiting impatiently when I returned. His eyes had an overcaffeinated gleam from too little sleep and far too many espressos. The moment I stepped into the living room he pounced.
“Come on, Perri. Chop-chop. Today is a big day and I for one don’t intend to miss out.”
I gave him a big thumbs-up and raced to the shower. Whatever happened, my time with Raza had been worth the price. An almost Zen quality suffused my mind as I applied honey-scented shower gel and lathered up. I firmly believed that the answer to everything resided at the Falls. With a little bit of luck and a bit of probing I would find the answer. Magdalen was the key, whether she acknowledged it or not. If we were lucky, her reunion with Carrick might spark some memory that would enlighten us.
I toweled off and quickly donned my duds for the day. Because red was the color of valor and leadership, I chose a crimson shirtdress and paired it with my best leather boots. I peered into the mirror and was pleasantly surprised. Not a siren, but definitely a force to be reckoned with. Pruett’s eyes sparkled as he twirled me around.
“Very nice, Ms. Persephone. Some old geezer might try to steal you away. I’ll keep a close watch.”
High spirits made me respond in kind. “Don’t forget Dr. Tully. I just might turn his head as well, not to mention any other eligible male in sight.”
Babette’s noisy arrival curtailed any further banter. The Range Rover stopped suddenly, disgorging Clara, Babette, and Micah. Micah’s face bore a slightly stupefied look that suggested he had just won a battle for his life. Babette’s exuberant driving tended to do that to passengers.
She bounced up to us wearing her sauciest grin. “Okay, y’all. Ready to rumble?”
Micah was more interested in the novel. He gingerly fingered its pages and took a quick look at the contents. “I have to admit I felt a tingling inside when Wing phoned me. After all, we could be touching history here.”
Babette raised her eyebrows but remained silent. I suspected that was not the tingling she had in mind for Micah. Luckily she was on her best behavior despite the fact that classic literature was simply not her thing. She consumed romance novels as if they were bonbons and could quote chapter and verse from her favorites. Hot guys and happy endings were her preferred formula, not the moralistic precepts contained in more serious works.
“There’s something else to consider,” Micah said with a lawyerly frown. “The legal heirs of Oscar Wilde might very well object or claim some of any proceeds. Things could get messy very fast.”
Babette wrinkled her nose. “Oh pooh! Why are attorneys such spoilsports? Just when we were on a roll.”
Everyone laughed, and after exchanging a few more pleasantries our caravan headed for the Falls. Pruett confirmed that Carrick and Paddy planned to meet us shortly after noon. My fingers were crossed that all would go well, particularly because Magdalen had been oddly calm, almost stoic, when I broke the big news to her. I expected tears, elation, or at least some emotion. Gratitude would have been a nice touch too. Instead she’d responded in a neutral voice that gave away absolutely nothing.
“Thank you, my dear,” said Magdalen. “I’ll expect you this afternoon. Perhaps we can all have tea before your program starts.” That was it—nothing else. Not a thing. Most people would be exuberant or at the very least relieved that their quest had finally ended. Then again, Magdalen Melmoth was not like most people.
Pruett sensed my disappointment straightaway. “Don’t look so glum,” he said. “I told you reunions were seldom the stuff that dreams are made of. Magdalen’s whole life has revolved around this Oscar Wilde thing. Now that you’ve solved the puzzle what does she have left?”
I bit my tongue before spitting out a reply that would cause hard feelings. Was he suggesting that I shouldn’t have interfered? If Magdalen kicked the proverbial bucket now, was I to blame for granting her wish?
I maintained a sulky silence as we motored to the Falls. Of course, it was childish to blame Pruett because Magdalen was an ingrate. Reality hit me in the face like a bucket of ice water. I had my entire life before me, but Mags was eighty-five, with not many more innings left in her ball game. Now she might believe that she had fewer things to live for. Charity. Tolerance. I tried to abide by those virtues. When I opened my eyes Pruett was staring at me with a snarky smile on his face.
“Feeling better?” he asked, tickling my chin. “The Falls is a no-pout zone, as I’m sure you know. Therapy dogs are supposed to bring joy to the masses. Can’t have any clouds on the horizon. After all, this was a big victory for you.”
He meant well, but his high spirits and faintly patronizing comments annoyed the tar out of me. A murderer still roamed free despite the efforts of the alluring Sheriff Aleita and our own slate of amateur sleuths. Who knew when he or she would strike next?
“Any word from your source about the murder investigation?” I asked with a saccharine smile. As my favorite teacher once said, butter wouldn’t melt in my mouth. Pleasant can be poisonous too, or so the saying went.
“None.” Pruett was a master at playing this game, while I was the rankest rookie. “I understand that all deliveries to the Falls are now closely monitored by the staff. Precautions, you know.”
I suddenly realized that, to my knowledge, Dr. Fergueson hadn’t been notified about Carrick’s visit. Maybe it wasn’t essential, but good manners would dictate that it should have been done. “Should we include Joan Fergueson in this tête-à-tête? She is a relative after all.”
Pruett shook his head. “No way. Stay out of this family stuff if you can. It’s always a sticky wicket. Besides, Carrick knows her number. Let him make that call. Didn’t sound to me like they’re terribly close.”
He was right. I knew it and so did he. For once I intended to play it by ear and allow events to take their course. For all we knew Magdalen and Carrick might loathe each other on sight. It had been a very long time since last they met—almost six decades. Resentments can fester in far less time than that.
We camped in the parking lot while waiting for Carrick. With so much uncertainty I exhaled sharply when his weathered truck with Paddy’s giant head hanging out the window pulled in beside us. Carrick’s hair was neatly combed and his clothing newly pressed, almost as if he were a schoolboy awaiting a trip to the principal�
��s office.
“I didn’t sleep much last night,” he confessed. “Too much anticipation, I guess.”
I said something banal that scarcely seemed to register, but Babette took the direct approach. She flung herself into Carrick’s arms and gave the older man a big hug. She bent down and did the same to Paddy. “Don’t you worry one bit, Carrick Farraday. Magdalen will be over the moon when she sees a handsome duo like you and Paddy.”
Her words seemed to revive him. Few people, male or female, could resist the relentless optimism of a Croy embrace. Clearly her instincts were right on point.
Micah added a pinch of legal wisdom. “I’ll speak with Magdalen afterward and we’ll arrange for that trust to be evaluated. No sense in waiting.”
We approached the front door of the Falls tentatively, as if each of us dreaded the possible repercussions of our great find. In the lobby I spied Kate Thayer and the unlovely Rolf Hart queuing up to visit with their clients. She waved, but all Rolf offered was a giant scowl. As soon as possible, I intended to update Kate on our progress. She deserved that courtesy; we’d plied her with a lavish lunch and asked for her help.
Before we reached the elevators, Joan Fergueson appeared and blocked our path. She was one tough cookie whose demeanor was hard to judge. The situation was uncomfortable for her, but Joan did seem vaguely pleased to see her uncle. Carrick embraced her immediately and murmured her name.
“Joanie. How are you, my girl? It’s been too long.”
She stiffened but didn’t pull away, even after Paddy nuzzled her hand. “So nice to see you, Uncle.” Hardly a warm greeting, but I expected no more from a cold fish like Dr. F. Despite her position, she lacked the empathy gene, a quality that was sorely needed in a place like the Falls.
Pruett stepped forward and cut the reunion short. “Excuse us, Dr. Fergueson. Carrick is eager to see his stepsister.” She bit her lip and seemed about to refuse until Pruett played his trump card. “You know Micah Briggs, Ms. Melmoth’s attorney.”
Micah gave a lawyerly nod, all business and one notch short of brusque. He shifted his briefcase and edged closer to the elevator. Micah’s actions left no doubt that whatever it took he intended to see his client.
“We’ll speak later, Joanie,” Carrick said. “I’m sure you must be busy.”
Joan’s shoulders slumped and she stepped aside. Our team notched a small victory in round one of what promised to be a contentious bout. I didn’t delude myself, though. We’d scored a TKO at best. Dr. F would regroup and be back in the ring sooner rather than later.
Without further ado our party of five adults and four dogs entered the lift and pressed Magdalen’s floor.
Chapter 20
Pruett was wrong this time. Despite his dire predictions, the reunion of Carrick and Magdalen was a textbook sibling lovefest. There was no need for words. The moment their eyes met he held out his arms and folded her into a tight embrace. The glow on Magdalen’s face erased decades, giving onlookers like me a glimpse of the lovely young woman Carrick had adored. Our reactions varied. I took a deep breath, Pruett and Micah shifted from foot to foot, and Babette openly wept. Our canine crew showed the most poise: They sat at attention, silently eyeing the outpouring of human emotion.
I felt uneasy, as if I were a voyeur spying on such an intimate moment. Naturally Pruett had no such reservations. He moved against the back wall and closely observed the scene, committing each detail to that recorder in his brain. He was probably framing his headline already.
“Would you like some time alone?” I asked. It was a reasonable question. After all, neither Carrick nor Mags was a youngster. Time was their implacable foe.
Magdalen shook her head. “I for one am eager to see it—the novel that has haunted me for so long.”
Carrick gave a sardonic laugh. “Same old Mags. Always did take the lead. Got right down to business.” He plumped the sofa cushion and settled down. Paddy sat at his feet, resting his leonine head on his master’s knees. “Might want to read your ma’s letter first, though. Sets the stage and all.”
Magdalen closed her eyes, as though she was seeking strength. “Of course. Mother kept a cool head in any situation. Her guidance was always sound.” After Micah produced the letter Magdalen scrutinized each word, as if it might suddenly disappear. Her lips trembled and, in a gesture more evocative than speech itself, she reached over and clutched Carrick’s hand. After several minutes Magdalen dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief and said quietly, “I’m ready for Sybil Vane now.”
It would take some time for her to peruse that novel and Babette and I had our Therapy Dog meeting to attend. We excused ourselves, leaving Pruett and Micah to stand guard. On our way out Babette tapped at Irene’s door to say hello.
As usual, Irene was impeccably turned out in a neat shirtwaist dress and heels. Her eyes glowed as she spoke of Magdalen. “Can you imagine it? What are the odds that Mags would find her brother and the novel? Nobody could believe it when I told them about it.”
Alarm bells suddenly clanged in my head. “Who did you tell, Irene?” My tone was a bit more forceful than I had intended and she shrank back as if I had struck her.
“Did I do wrong? I only mentioned it to a couple of staff members. They were happy for Mags.”
Babette immediately leaped to the rescue. “Don’t worry, darlin’. We’re just being extra careful ’til that murderer is caught.” She beamed at Irene and asked, “By the way, who’d you tell?”
It turned out that Irene had spread the good word to several nurses, attendants, and at least one physician, Dr. Jethro Tully.
I bit my lip to keep from shrieking. Maybe it was my fault. I should have asked who hadn’t heard the news about Magdalen. The list might have been shorter.
Sometimes—quite often actually—Babette’s skill at duplicity stuns me. My pal is second only to Pruett at deception but gaining on him daily. She put her arm around Irene and chuckled. “Betcha Dr. Fergueson got all flustered hearing the news. Mighta had a fit of the vapors.”
Irene gave her a puzzled look. “Oh, I don’t know about that. I didn’t see her today. Dr. Tully did rounds. He had that new fellow with him. I forget his name. You know, the big one, and someone from your Therapy Dog group as well.”
The specter of Nurse Edgar Williamson looming over Irene caused me to shiver. No wonder she spilled everything she knew. Kate vouched for him, but so what. A man of his size could snap Magdalen’s neck like a dry twig. I swallowed my concerns and allowed Babette to resume the lead.
“You mean that Rolf character was roaming around here? I think he’s a creep. Slippery as an eel.” She drew Clara closer for emphasis.
Irene seemed to agree, but being a well-mannered lady, she stayed silent about Rolf and focused on the positive. “I love his dog, though. Portia. She’s so elegant.” The poor woman started dithering and wringing her hands in an effort to placate us. I quickly realized that further interrogation would qualify as cruel and unusual punishment, or elder abuse at the least.
We thanked Irene and quietly made our escape.
* * * *
Babette pinched me as we waited for the elevator. “Well, that went well, Perri. You’re sure good at scaring the tar out of old ladies. Who’s next—little kids?”
My pal was a first-class pincher with the grip of a pit bull. I winced as she held on and didn’t let go.
“Hey. Cut it out! That hurt. Besides, now at least we know the cat is out of the proverbial bag. I bet everyone at the Falls knows Magdalen’s secret.”
She glared, unwilling to let me off the hook. “Irene is a lady, Perri. Genteel. You’ve got to use finesse if you want to worm stuff out of her.”
Gritting one’s teeth can be dangerous, but I did it to avoid giving Babette the tongue-lashing she so richly deserved. Finesse and Mrs. Croy were total strangers to each other. How ironic that she scolded me about
it. On the other hand I should have been gentler with Irene. Once again I realized that I lacked the grandparent gene. Give me a recalcitrant army private or an ornery poodle any day. I could handle them with ease.
We scooted out of the elevator and reached the conference room just as the Therapy Dog meeting started. Kate was in charge, although you’d never know it from the number of times Rolf interjected with his pearls of wisdom. I was surprised to see Nurse Edgar Williamson standing at the back of the room, his brawny arms crossed and a scowl decorating his face. Was he Joan Fergueson’s spy or an informant for the dishy Dr. Tully?
“Today we have a full house,” Kate said. “Let’s do a general meet and greet before we start the show. Dr. Tully said that some of the residents are disappointed when they don’t get a chance to pet our dogs. You know how much that means to them.”
I’d seen the joy that contact with our dogs brought to so many residents and heard them reminisce about pets they had loved. Their reaction was understandable. A life without the company of animals was so barren that I couldn’t even contemplate it. As usual, guilt welled up within me. Spending a few hours here was a small price to pay for the happiness Keats and Poe bestowed on others. I resolved to err on the charitable side in the future. Persephone Morgan, crusader for the elderly!
Babette raised her hand. “Oh Kate. We have a new addition to our little group today. Paddy, the Leonberger.”
Kate frowned, but Rolf went ballistic. “Now wait just a minute. You can’t bring strange dogs in here willy-nilly. Insurance risks.”
I couldn’t wait to knock him down a few pegs. “Actually, Paddy has his certification and current insurance. You may know his owner, Carrick Farraday. He’s Dr. Fergueson’s uncle.”
Kate immediately brightened. “Oh yes. I’m very familiar with Farraday Kennels. Wonderful dogs. How nice.”
For some reason Rolf underwent an attitude adjustment too. “You mean that place out past Strasburg? I know him too.”