“I am so sorry, Holly. How anyone could-” She silenced; Holly didn’t need this. “Let’s see what she’s up to, shall we?” She smiled and kissed Holly’s cheek. “Who knows? It might be good news.”
She quickly read the letter, then set it aside. Holly was staring at her own lap. “Holly, you read this already, didn’t you?”
She nodded, not looking up. “I’m sorry.”
“In your position, I would have done the same.”
“Really?”
“Look at me, Holly.” Despite the fury building against Charlotte, she found it easy to smile at her granddaughter. As the girl looked up, Delilah pushed hair from Holly’s face and pulled an embroidered linen handkerchief from her own pocket. “Use this.” She waited. “I apologize for Charlotte’s behavior. I must have been a horrible mother to raise someone who could just abandon a child.” She slipped her arm around Holly and pulled her close.
“I bet you were a great mom.”
“Well, I tried. But nothing I did ever worked. It was like your mother was a little Martian or something.” Delilah wanted to say she was a chip off her thoughtless self-centered father, but that was something else Holly didn’t need to hear.
“Cherry isn’t like other moms,” Holly said. “It’s kind of like she’s a little kid or something. Like she’s always playing dress-up. I know she does some bad things, things that aren’t nice, and I just try not to think about them.” Finally, she strung her fingers with Delilah’s and looked straight into her eyes. “I never felt like I had a mom. She always told people I was her little sister, or that she was babysitting me.”
“I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”
Holly looked away again. “I understand if you don’t want me. I really do.”
Delilah pulled the girl into her arms and squeezed her tight. “How can you even think that? Don’t ever say that again! Never! Do you hear me? Never!”
Holly sobbed freely, her arms around Delilah’s neck, hugging her until she could barely breathe. Delilah held on to her for dear life.
As the sobs subsided, she smoothed Holly’s hair. “I love you, sweetheart.”
“I love you!”
They sat together for an hour, saying little, just getting used to the feel of one another. Finally, Delilah took Holly into the kitchen for ice cream. They took the bowls out onto the balcony and sat enjoying the warm summer breeze and the taste of strawberry ice cream.
She looked at Holly, who smiled back. Delilah knew that whatever lies Charlotte had written in her letter, she’d been right about one thing: Holly was born to be her daughter.
Holly had returned to the fourth floor in a rare state of euphoria. Her grandmother wanted her! That knowledge had taken almost all the sting out of Cherry’s abrupt departure and after the ice cream, Holly asked if she could keep Fluffy and Gram had said yes, and that Fluffy could even move upstairs with Holly where they’d have their own bedroom. For tonight, though, Holly opted to stay downstairs.
After she promised to return for breakfast - and sooner, if she got scared - Delilah bade her goodnight and Holly had returned to her room, happy that no one had seen her. After a few minutes with Fluffy, she put on her new, silent sneakers, pocketed her keys, and trotted down to the lobby, where she told Steve the good news and managed to find out Arthur Meeks had the night off and had gone to the movies. That made her doubly glad she hadn’t told Gram about seeing the cold, dark cloud in the lobby; she needed to stay in her room tonight.
After telling Steve she’d come back to visit in a little while, she started back upstairs, her heart pounding. As she made the fourth floor, she pulled the skeleton key from her pocket, the one her grandmother had given her so she could get into the housekeeping closets to get the watering cans.
The key felt cold and heavy in her hand as she approached Meeks’ door, but she didn’t falter. She’d never done anything like this before and didn’t even know if it would work, but after a final glance in each direction, she slipped the key into the lock and twisted.
When it clicked and unlatched she felt both relief and disappointment - a part of her had been desperately hoping the key wouldn’t work and she could forget the whole plan.
But no such luck. Arthur Meeks’ door yawned open like a stale, dirty mouth, exhaling rancid odors: sweat, spoiled food, and dirty socks. And the stink was no wonder; the place was a sty.
Steeling herself, Holly stepped inside and closed the door quietly behind her. For a moment, she stood against it, unable to move, unable to breathe for fear that the stink might infiltrate her lungs. Just hurry. But now that she was here, she was sure she’d made a terrible mistake. What if he comes back? What if someone saw me and reports it to Steve? And Grandmother? That fear got her moving.
Find Friar Tuck. She knew Meeks had it. Knew it the moment she’d seen him stealing from the other guest. She stepped across a pile of rumpled jeans, shirts, and underwear, stacks of food-spattered plates and bowls, and several purses Holly was certain did not belong to the bellhop. “Disgusting,” she mumbled, stepping past several opened, half-emptied cans of baked beans, their remaining contents now dried and hardened and stinking to high heaven.
The bed was unmade, and on it were strewn magazines of naked ladies and a jumble of crusty-looking rags - white with yellowish stains. Holly refused to think about that.
As she scanned the room and toed things carefully out of her way, she saw more of what she was sure were stolen items: a gleaming pocket watch, two transistor radios, and a couple bottles of perfume.
But no Friar Tuck.
Her eyes lit on the night table beside the bed. Here, there was a lamp, an overflowing ashtray, and several empty beer cans. She stepped through the mess and opened the top drawer. Nothing but receipts, notebooks, pens, and pencils.
But in the second drawer -
“Friar Tuck!”
He smiled up at her as if happy to see her. She lifted him from the drawer and was pleased to feel the weight of the money still inside. She tucked the little bank under her arm, then began to close the drawer when something else caught her eye. Something familiar. Silky pink with embroidered flowers. He’d taken her panties right out of the bathroom! She snatched them up - they felt stiff and dirty - and stuffed them in her pocket.
Holly gaped at the drawer. Hers weren’t the only underwear he’d stolen. There must have been dozens of them, most of them in girls’ sizes.
“You creep …” she whispered. She set Friar Tuck on the nightstand then carefully pushed the underwear aside. Beneath them, was something worse.
Photographs.
She picked one up and stared at it. It was a picture of a little girl. And there were more. Lots more.
They weren’t wearing any clothes.
Some of them were crying. A few had their hands tied together. She thought a couple of them were asleep, then noticed their eyes were slightly open, unseeing. Like Becky. She pushed past those, then she picked up one photo of a child who looked familiar; she’d seen her face before. A little dark-haired girl with big sad eyes. She was probably no more than a first grader, still baby-faced.
The poster at the gas station! Holly gasped and let the photo tumble to the floor then grabbed her Friar Tuck bank and turned, nearly falling over a pile of dirty clothes. I need to get out of here! Now! Feeling like something dark and poisonous was creeping through her veins, she hurried from the room without another thought.
When Holly unlocked her own door, the phone was ringing.
Arthur Meeks had always heard that messy people weren’t actually disorganized at all - not in their own minds, anyway - and that they knew where their things were, and could tell if someone had gone through their stuff. This, of course, was a hot load of bullshit, and Arthur Meeks was proof of it. He’d been a self-admitted pig his whole life and had never developed any system of organization. Once he put a thing down somewhere, it wasn’t uncommon for him to lose track of it for g
ood. And that was why, had it not been for the yawning nightstand drawer, God only knew when he would have discovered that someone had been snooping.
“Son of a whore.” He looked around, seeing nothing else amiss and headed toward the nightstand. “Son of a motherfucking whore.” He peered into the drawer and the moment he did, he knew exactly who the culprit was: Little Miss Fancy Pants. She’d come to take back her ugly-ass bank - and while that didn’t piss him off in and of itself, it did piss him off that she’d found his purloined panty collection. And, he realized with a sick feeling, his photographs. On the floor, staring up at him with big dark eyes, was the little Mexican girl he’d picked up at the playground last year. She’d been a lot of fun. “Son of a whore!”
His bowels turned watery and he had to tight-cheek it straight to the toilet as he envisioned Little Miss Fancy Pants telling everyone in the hotel what she’d found. Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck! I’m not going to prison! “Son of a fucking whore!”
His mind raced as he hurried his body along. Cursing his damned delicate stomach, he knew just what to do about the little bitch. But he had to get to her before she had a chance to start wagging her slutty tongue.
As soon as he was finished, he dug paper and a pen from his top drawer and began writing. This would buy him enough time to get his plan in order.
Holly set Friar Tuck on her dresser with shaking hands and picked up the ringing phone. “Hello?”
“Holly, it’s Steve.”
“Hi.”
“Is something wrong?”
“No.”
“Are you sure? You sound kind of freaked out. I thought everything was great with your grandmother.”
“It is-”
“Is the cat okay?”
“He’s fine,” she said, unable to bring herself to say more.
“Holly? You there?”
“Hang on a minute, okay?”
She set the receiver down and crossed to the door, slid the chain-lock into place and made sure the deadbolt was turned before taking a deep breath and picking up the phone again. “Okay, I’m back. What’s up?”
“If you have time to come down, I just found something interesting in a book I borrowed from the historical society. There are pictures of a lot of your family and the hospital back in the day. It’s pretty cool stuff. Interested?”
“I am. I’ll come right away.” She heard the elevator ding and glanced at the door again. “Hey, Steve, did Arthur Meeks come back yet?”
“Just a few minutes ago. Why?”
“Oh, I just heard the elevator is all and I don’t think there are many guests on the floor tonight.”
“Right. Just a couple down at the other end of the hall.”
“Are they in their room?”
“No, they just went out, too. It’s just you and Arthur up there right now.”
Gooseflesh rose. “I’m going to feed Fluffy and make sure he’s locked in tight, then I’ll be right down.” She paused. She had to tell someone about the underwear and photos in Meeks’ room. Telling Steve would be the easiest and he’d go with her to talk to Gram. But what if Meeks is listening at the door? She realized she had to do it in person. She made herself sound cheerful. “If I’m not there in ten minutes, come and get me!”
Steve chuckled. “Yes, ma’am!”
She hung up and, after topping off Fluffy’s crunchies and giving him fresh water, she checked the windows and balcony door to make sure the room was locked up tight. For good measure, she pushed a wooden dining chair under the balcony doorknob.
“Okay, Fluffy,” she told the sleepy cat, “I’ll be back in a little while. If any bad guys break in, you hide under the bed.”
She opened the door quietly and peered out. The hall was deserted. Afraid Meeks might have a key to the deadbolt, not just the doorknob lock, she reached inside and put the Do Not Disturb sign on the door. As she was about to pull it closed, she saw Meeks’ door start to open. She jumped back inside the room, turned the deadbolt, and hung onto the doorknob.
She waited, trembling, as his footsteps came closer and closer. The bellhop was whistling tunelessly between his teeth.
He stopped in front of her door. Trembling, she held the knob tight, but he didn’t touch it. He didn’t knock either. Instead, he pushed a folded piece of paper part way under the door. She stood there waiting and waiting, waiting forever, knowing he was watching to see if she’d take it.
At least five minutes passed before the paper was nudged completely into the room and his footsteps retreated. She waited until she heard his door close then picked the paper up.
It was lined stationery torn sloppily off a pad. She sat at the table and unfolded it.
“I know you were in my room and if I tell your grandmother what a little snoop you are, I bet you’d get a spanking. But maybe I won’t. Maybe instead it’ll be our little secret, ha, ha. And if you tell anybody - anybody at all - your granny’s going to die with her throat slit open. All your friends will die. That old lady from the gas station will get gas poured on her and I’ll light a match and she’ll burn up like a Roman candle. And that druggist, I’ll just cut his head clean off, neat as a pin, and use it as a bowling ball. As for that injun, I’m gonna scalp him and stuff his hair down his ugly throat. I know you’re sweet on that Stephen Cross fella, so I’m going to have him cut up into little bitty pieces and they’ll be finding him for years and years. But you’ll find his head in your bed real soon, snuggled right up to you. Yeah, he’ll be just staring at you with his eyes all blue but he won’t see a thing, ha, ha.
But if you stay quiet, your granny and your friends will be just fine. If they die, it’ll be all your fault, and don’t you forget it.
You know who.”
“Holly? Holly are you in there?”
She jumped as Steve Cross’ voice came through the door. “Yeah, just a second!” She wadded up the note.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah, hang on.”
Trembling, she opened a drawer and shoved the paper inside, then took a deep breath and opened the door. “Hi, Steve. What are you doing here?”
“You told me to come and get you if you were more than ten minutes, remember? It’s been twenty. I would’ve come sooner, but we had guests checking in.” He studied her. “You’re really all right? Because you don’t look all right.”
“I’m fine. Let’s go.”
“Wait.” He pointed. “Why do you have a chair under the balcony door? Did somebody try to break in?”
She thought fast. “I’m from the city. We always put chairs under our doors.”
“Okay . . . If you say so.”
She grabbed her keys and opened the door, waited for him to exit then did the deadbolt. “Let’s go.”
“You got it.”
She glanced toward the elevator and saw Meeks standing there, staring. He tipped an invisible hat, eyes unblinking, then made a slicing motion across his throat before bringing his finger to his lips.
She wished Steve had seen but he was already walking toward the stairs. She hurried after him.
Holly wasn’t herself, but she wouldn’t tell him what was wrong. Steve Cross watched as she slowly turned the pages of the book he’d found today. It was about the Clementine Mining Company and had a lot on the hospital, even listing the names of those who’d worked or died there.
Holly stopped at a photo of a group of people standing together in front of the hospital doors.
“That’s Pearl Abbott.” Holly tapped a scowling busty woman in a long, dark dress. “She looks younger than when I’ve seen her. Ugh.”
Steve squinted at lettering beneath the photo. “This was taken in 1900.”
Holly nodded then pointed at the imposing figure of her great-great-grandfather. He was dressed in a black suit. His shock of dark hair was barely gray at the temples and his gaze bored into the camera. His eyebrows arched and tufted as if he were Satan himself. “That must be what the devil looks like.”
“No kidding. See the man next to him? That’s Bill Delacorte, your great-grandfather.”
“He doesn’t look very friendly either.” Holly bent closer. “But Addie says he was kind of okay.”
“She’s probably right.”
Holly nodded with a somberness beyond her years. “Remember how Adeline said that he wouldn’t let anybody see Henry Hank or Pearl Abbott in their coffins? I wonder why.”
Steve half-smiled. “Probably because they were gross looking. You know, all smashed up. It sounded like Carrie and Addie pretty much bashed in their skulls.”
“They were really brave,” Holly said. “I don’t know if I could kill somebody.” Her eyes widened. “I mean, Adeline’s this nice old lady, but she … I mean, wow!”
“They were like Wonder Woman,” Steve said.
“They must’ve been really gross looking.” Holly smiled, just a little. “Henry Hank and Pearl, I mean.”
“Must have. So it’s no wonder Bill Delacorte made sure they had closed caskets. I’m glad he turned out to be a better man than H. H. Barrow.” Steve turned a page. “There’s not a lot about him in the book. He remained as hospital administrator until it closed down in the thirties. He lived out the rest of his life here in town.”
“Addie told Gram that he tried to write to her when she was little. But Gram never got the letters.”
“Her aunt probably didn’t give them to her,” Steve said. “Maybe for the best.”
“I don’t know. Could be.” Holly turned the page back to the group photo. “Steve, that day they all died? Does anybody know what really happened? Was it really a gas leak?”
“It’s a mystery that’s never been solved. It might’ve been a leak, but some thought Henry Hank was behind it - after all, the doctors that died had opposed his policies.”
“If he did kill them, how could he have done it?”
Brimstone Page 40
