Adduné - the Vampire's Game (48 page)

The last conversation with Miranda passed through his mind. He had made good on finding the appraisal and having Cheryl mail it out. He had been relieved that Miranda appeared to be doing well, but it didn’t help to shake off the feeling of impending doom. How long would she remain untouched and unharmed? And why was she asking about that blasted egg? Miranda never could leave well enough alone.

He yawned hoping the tea would revive him. Maybe it was the idleness of sitting around that was getting to him. His office had never spooked him before, but then neither had his home. Now? He felt like a bear being driven straight towards a trap that would break his leg and hold him pinned in its steely teeth. He took a long swallow hoping to stop obsessing on tragedy. It wasn’t going to help him or Miranda to keep doing so. He stayed at the office precisely to escape lingering on these negative thoughts and here he was dwelling on them. He decided to try and work on one of his active cases. They were all in good shape, but it wouldn’t hurt to look over everything one more time.

He got up to retrieve one of the files. It didn’t matter which one. He’d go in alphabetical order until they all had been given a corrective eye. He pressed himself up to his feet, feeling the fatigue down to the crux of his feet. His arches felt unstable – as if they’d give out and collapse at any moment. He placed his hand in the small of his back, adjusting himself and feeling oh, so very old. It was the lack of sleep and the constant worry doing it. It felt like he’d aged one hundred years in the past couple of weeks. Where had his energy gone?

He willed himself to move forward - shuffling a few steps along his plush diamond-patterned carpeting when he heard the faint ring of his phone. He debated about just letting it slide through to his voicemail. In all likelihood, it could wait until normal business hours. Still, he was here and it might be a better distraction than a case he knew by heart. It might even be Bonnie … or Miranda. Perhaps she’d encountered problems receiving Cheryl’s email. If so, he’d have to resend it. It wouldn’t be a problem since he knew where Cheryl kept her password. They’d long ago agreed on this policy, and ever since had it taped to the underside of her desk.

There was always the possibility that Miranda might be calling about another matter – or maybe just to say hello. It would be good to hear her voice. He used a fast trot as if it were a certainty that ring was to be its last.

“
Reginald Charles.”

“
Mr. Charles?” came the unfamiliar voice that sounded aged and withered – like a violin string that had been stretched too long and too thin.

“
Yes,” he answered confused by the stranger’s voice on the other end. Perhaps it was a mistake taking the call for it definitely wasn’t Miranda, nor anyone else with whom he regularly conversed. This woman sounded elderly and perhaps not in good health. It was most likely a new client seeking legal assistance. She may have been recommended. He didn’t care. He didn’t want to listen to an explanation of why she was seeking legal counsel. He’d tell her to call back in the morning and make an appointment or refer her to someone else. That was it. He would just refer her to one of his esteemed colleagues and friends.

“
It’s Mrs. Figgs … Beatrice. I don’t know if you remember me …”

Mrs. Figgs? Of course he remembered the caretaker’s wife, just not her voice. He didn’t think he’d ever spoken to her over the phone. She sounded so different in person, but perhaps it wasn’t the telephone causing the disparity. After all, her husband had recently committed suicide. That could explain things. No wonder there was no enthusiasm in her tone. Now that he had a name, he had a reason for her sounding exhausted. It took time to get over devastating events – and the death of a spouse had to be one of the worst. As bad as the death of a best friend.

Arthur! Oh, why did you have to go and die?

“
Of course, I remember you Beatrice. I am so sorry that I never got a chance to personally convey my condolences to you about the loss of your husband. I trust the flowers arrived?”

“
Yes, they were lovely. I’m sure William appreciates that you took the time to send ‘em …”

Her voice trailed off and then started up again – as if her mind was meandering. Perhaps she was just adjusting what she needed to say.

“
I’m sorry. I hadn’t expected you to be there this late. Had no idea a successful man like yourself still burned the midnight oil. And here I was prepared to leave a message.” She started making unintelligible sounds – as if she were carrying on a private conversation with herself – a conversation that Reginald was not meant to hear. In a few moments, she remembered the person on the other end of the line.

“
I don’t know that I want to speak to you … maybe it’d be better if I hang up. Call you back when you’re not there.”

Reginald was tired and it was such an illogical, ridiculous thing to say. Her remark caught him off balance and he found himself becoming irritated. He wasn’t known for being impatient, but with the lack of sleep and those horrible dreams, it was understandable. If she didn’t want to talk to him, why call? Well, if she only wanted his voicemail, he could easily remedy that situation. He could crash the receiver down and she could call back. This time, he would ignore the ringing and have it slide into his voicemail. She could leave her message and leave him the hell alone.

Reginald caught himself. He mentally berated his internal tirade and erased his bad humor from his thoughts by rubbing his temples. It was habit he had. He felt the soothing kneading of his fingers working. He didn’t like losing his temper with people – especially recent widows. He needed to be kind. Patient and compassionate – just how he’d always been in the past. It was part of being a professional. She was doing the best she could with the hand she was dealt. That’s all you could expect from someone.

“
No, Beatrice. You can talk to me – about anything. Your husband was a good man and if you need help, please tell me what it is.”

He heard a long sigh and then more muttering. He relaxed back into his chair readying himself for a long wait. He wouldn’t rush her. After all, he hadn’t wanted to go home so she could take as long as was necessary for her to collect her thoughts. As he stared into space, he began to wonder in earnest about what had prompted her call. Did she have an errant thought that seemed like a good idea to pass along? Would she really make a call to him on that basis alone? Perhaps … if loneliness and a need to reach out were added to the dynamic.

Loneliness. That could be a prime motivator in itself. It was a powerful force and she couldn’t have been used to feeling it. She’d been married a good, long time. Yes, maybe it was the immense feeling of loneliness that prompted the call. She just wanted to connect with someone that knew her late husband. Or maybe she had exhausted bending the ears of family and close friends. Now it was onto disturbing old barristers. He moved, jostling his chair. The chair lurched backwards with still not a word coming forth from the trusted caretaker’s widow. Reginald realized it could be any of the reasons he came up with – or a thousand more. The only way to really know was when she was ready to tell him.

He leaned forward and took a pen in his hand. He’d found with reluctant witnesses that sometimes it was better to talk. To say anything. It would often open them up. He’d give it a try.

“
You know, we all miss William terribly. It was quite a shock losing him that way. I’m sure it was quite a blow to you.”

There was a stirring on the other end of the phone. He had managed to engage her.

“
Yes, it was,” she sighed heavily.

She had spoken up – clearly and distinctly – but wasn’t forthcoming as to the motivation behind her call. She fell into another long silence. Reginald’s wheels started turning. Perhaps he could figure it out.

He could reasonably infer whatever prompted the call must be difficult to say. He couldn’t imagine what could be causing her to be so uncomfortable. Perhaps it was the nature of the problem? Reginald tapped his pen forcefully into the thick blotter. He had it. It must be finances. Asking for money was never easy. Figgs had assured him that he had his financial situation under control, but that was before he died. He may not have been properly prepared for death and the household income ending.

He decided to ease into the subject to make it easier. No matter what the reason, if Mrs. Figgs needed money, he’d make certain she had it. There was no way he’d let her go hungry.

“
Beatrice, you know, if there’s anything I can do to assist, you just need ask. I want to be clear that that offer extends to financial aid of any kind. Your husband was with Perry Antiques for many years and it wouldn’t seem out of question to help tide you over. In fact, I had sent a check to him. You did receive it didn’t you?”

“
Yes, he received it. Tore it up, but then …”

“
Tore it up? I can have it reissued if you …”

“
Oh, no! I’m not calling about anything like that, Mr. Charles. If William didn’t want the money, neither do I.”

Okay, so the call wasn’t about money. He had eliminated one reason – or so it seemed. Yes, she seemed firm about not needing any, but then sometimes people were too proud to admit they were broke. He didn’t want a second tragedy to occur just because he didn’t make sure.

“
The last check was very generous of you. I saw it just before it went into the trash can. Never saw so many little pieces, but he didn’t need it. William was quite good about saving. We both were. There’s more than enough.”

“
That’s a relief to know, Beatrice.”

Reginald unbuttoned his jacket and waited for her to continue. He’d tried and was glad he’d made the overture. He fiddled with his pen and then stood. He walked over to the large window that overlooked his quiet, tree-lined street. There were a few elegant pedestrians out for a stroll. He watched a couple walk, the woman holding her companion’s arm. The woman’s upper body shook as though she were laughing. He was glad she was finding so much pleasure in living. He’d always been that way, too. Always so easily taking joy in something so simple as taking a stroll with a loved one.

Beatrice was back to muttering in whispered tones sounding slightly possessed. He’d let her work it out. She’d get to whatever it was in her own time. Several long seconds passed before he heard her voice again.

“
I’m sorry about this taking up so much time … it’s more difficult than I imagined to get this out and as I said, I wasn’t expecting to speak to you directly.”

Reginald stood a little straighter as the couple turned the corner and vanished from view. If he were the pair of eyes in his dream, he would still be able to see them because he’d be on the inside. He’d go everywhere they went, and see everything they did. He’d know everything they did every second of every day. They’d never be free. Wherever they went, he’d be there with them … watching … seeing … judging ...

He shook his head. He couldn’t think about his dreams – not now. His mind raced through possibilities and couldn’t think of any reason other than money that would prompt a reluctance to discuss it. Though they’d met a few times, they certainly didn’t know each other well enough to exchange intimacies, so what was left? Reginald couldn’t imagine. He stared at his meager reflection in the glass of his window. He was beginning to acquire that haunted look. His eyes, so haggard. His face deflated and flat-lined of humor.

Beatrice peppered him with her scattered thoughts.

“
I’ve been putting this call off for so long, but William told me to make it.”

Did she say Figgs? So it was at her husband’s behest she made the call? Reginald wondered why on earth Figgs would have thought it a good idea for her to speak to him. Maybe she was in trouble? That made no sense. What kind of trouble would an elderly woman who lived her life cleanly be in? It could be a family member. That could be it.

More conjecture. Life was becoming one big mystery tour and he was adding to it. Why didn’t he just ask her?

“
Beatrice, we don’t know each other all that well, but if your husband thought it was important to speak to me, than I’m sure I will, also. So please go ahead.”

“
You don’t understand. He never said to call.”

“
But you just said …”

“
Yes, I know what I said, but he didn’t. He only made me promise to send it, but I couldn’t send it without making a call. I didn’t listen. He always said I didn’t listen, but I thought I did. He was right – I don’t. I wanted to read it first. I thought it might have some explanation of why … he did what he did.”

Reginald turned his back to his window. He leaned on the pane with his back to it becoming frustrated with the addled old woman’s unintelligible prattle. It was worse than talking to a child. What was she going on about? Why couldn’t she just say what was wrong?