Poison to Purge Melancholy (29 page)

I abruptly remembered the first ghost I’d met at Bell Run. I was kissed then, too, and
thoroughly
enjoyed it. And didn’t feel guilty in the least. Why? Because (a) the episode led to my first kiss with Hugh, and (b) I’d known at the time that I was experiencing someone else’s memories. This last phantom smooch
interrupted
a kiss with Hugh and—

Hold the phone. I was
still
experiencing someone else’s memories, wasn’t I?

Someone else’s memories?

It hit me like the smell of a rotten tomato what that had to mean, and a soft “
Madonne!
” escaped my lips.

“What?” Hugh said.

Across the table, Miss Maggie was asking me questions with her scanty white eyebrows. Beth Ann, I saw, wore her “Please don’t embarrass me” look.

She and Miss Maggie could wait. I reached for Hugh’s hand, leaning closer to whisper, “Can we talk after this course?”

Without losing the scowl, he nodded, but he squeezed my hand, which I took as a good omen. Then again, the squeeze made me feel the ring, like Tanya was putting her two cents in.

Meanwhile, Hugh’s siblings hadn’t noticed any of this exchange because they hadn’t stopped arguing since Acey and Beth Ann made their pronouncements.

“Ghosts
do not exist
,” Foot was maintaining. “They are hallucinations created by the subconscious, sometimes by stress. Such visions occur in the early stages of sleep, as yours did—”

“I wasn’t asleep yet,” Acey countered.

“You weren’t fully awake either,” Horse said. “Not after that big glass of ale you had with me before turning in.”

“I was
not
drunk—”

A loud banging at the back door made us all jump.

“Rich,” said Delia, starting to rise. “I recognize the impatience.”

Horse stood, waving her back down. “Sit. I’ll fetch him.”

A moment after he went out, we heard Rich bellow, “I’ve been knocking at the kitchen door. Didn’t anyone hear me?”

“The walls are very thick,” Glad explained for the umpteenth time. “Ev and I often comment on it.”

We waited in silence. I heard the outside door close and the rumble of low voices in the hall, but Rich and Horse didn’t appear. It dawned on me that Rich would have seen his wife’s van in the yard.

Acey had the same thought, yelling, “Yes, Richie-dear, Delia’s here. Come on in, ya big chicken.”

Delia grinned at her sister-in-law and sat down, slouching casually to give the impression that she didn’t care whether her hubby was here or not.

Rich showed his face at last, pausing just inside the glow of the candlelight, the shadows enhancing his pout.

Miss Maggie stood, taking up her plate. “Rich can sit here. I’ll join Acey and Sachiko.”

“Please do, Magnolia,” Acey said. “Save us from certain indigestion.”

Rich held his ground, making brief eye contact with his wife, then addressing his sister. “Are you at all interested in Dr. Weisel’s prognosis?”

Acey went serious, though strictly clinical. “He survived the attack?”

Rich nodded. “Fortunately he was in good physical condition. However, he can’t remember anything after a golf game he played in college. Other brain damage can be expected.”

“So,” Horse said, coming into the room in time to hear this last speech, “the Weasel will never practice medicine again?”

“Probably not.” An expression of pity crossed Rich’s face.

Horse came straight over to Hugh and whispered in his ear. I caught the word “Come.” They both went out into the hall.

“What’s going on?” Beth Ann asked, voicing my thoughts.

Hugh and Horse only conversed a few seconds before we all heard the front door open and close. Hugh returned alone.

“Where’s Lighthorse?” Glad asked. “Is he outside without his coat?”

“He’ll be back,” Hugh said, bypassing the table, heading for the pantry. “So will I.” The kitchen light went out again, this time because Hugh switched it off as he entered that room.

Evelyn had twisted around to watch Hugh leave. “Perhaps, er, excuse me, won’t you?” He hurried off into the kitchen.

“Come on, Sach,” Acey said, standing. “Time to be nosy.” They joined the exodus.

Beth Ann turned toward me, saying in a low voice, “Can we go, too?” Meaning she intended to, and if I didn’t want to get sick, I should abandon my dessert.

But I was just as curious. “’Scuze us,” I said to those left, and followed Beth Ann out.

Hugh had switched off the porch light, so I could barely see the step down into the kitchen. I felt my way with my feet, then walked as fast as I dared in the dark. Over in the vicinity of the door, I heard Hugh telling Evelyn and Acey, “Horse saw someone looking over the back fence when he let Rich in. He went around to Nassau Street.” The plan, as I understood it, was that Horse would cut between the houses to the fence while Hugh did a frontal assault from the house.

Acey’s opinion was the same as mine. “How quaintly macho. You’d think you two would know better after your run-in with Cherry.”

“She caught us by surprise,” Hugh grumbled.

“Right, whatever,” Acey sighed. “This time I’m sticking with my baby brother to watch his ass for him.”

“You stay here,” Hugh commanded.

“Make me. I’ve got eight years on you, old man, and I can run faster—”

“Listen,” Evelyn broke in, “whoever’s outside isn’t harming anyone. I don’t think—”

“This person,” Acey said, “is probably the same one leaving playing cards. Aren’t you at least curious?”

“No, I—” Evelyn seemed flustered. “Let’s just forget the whole thing and return to dinn—”

I felt a rush of cold air and knew Hugh, or more likely Acey, had gone through the door. Instinct made me follow. Sachi got to the door at the same time; as we bumped she mumbled, “Sorry,” and lunged ahead.

The porch light came on—Evelyn’s doing, I presumed, until I noticed he was beside me as we left the porch. Hugh was a step behind Acey at the back gate, Sachi, not far behind. Beth Ann passed us the next second.

Something heavy slammed against the other side of the fence, near the northwest corner. Grunts ensued, then Horse cried, “Got him!” I saw the top of Hugh’s head disappear below the fence, and a frail tenor voice shrieked, “Get off me!”

As I went through the gate, the shadows on the other side of the fence prevented me from seeing the action, but the voice shrieked again, desperate this time, “Let me go! Please, please, please, please!”

Acey, clasping another photocopy, scrambled uphill into the light. “Jack of Spades this time.”

“That’s mine! My calling card! Give it back! Make her give it back! Get off me!”

Horse and Hugh, holding each of the intruder’s arms, lifted him, maneuvering him into the light until we could see his face. Gray beard stubble clung to his too-gaunt cheeks. Sixtyish, I estimated. And absolutely horror-stricken. He was trying to make himself smaller, pleading all the while. “Let go! Evie, please make them let go! Please!”

Evelyn, I realized, had been saying just that. “Let him go. You’re hurting him. He can’t stand being touched.”

Exchanging glances, Horse and Hugh let go.

The man fell to his knees, curling himself up. “Didn’t mean anything, Evie. Only your old buddy, Spade. Just wanted to . . . wanted to . . . to . . . ”

“You wanted to visit,” Evelyn said quietly. “I know, Spade. I wish you could. Were I here alone . . . Where’s your sister?”

“I didn’t want to come to Williamsburg, Evie. Joyce made me. Her husband wanted a vacation . . . but I can’t . . . can’t . . . can’t ... all the people . . . can’t go to restaurants . . . can’t . . . like when we were in Dominion and they tried to make me—”

“Dominion?” Horse cut in. “Dominion Hospital? Up in northern Virginia?”

“That’s a psychiatric hospital,” Acey said.

“Right!” Spade seemed thrilled that he’d communicated. Something he apparently didn’t do often. “Evie and me were there . . .
he . . . he helped me . . .”

“You worked there?” Acey asked Evelyn.

He shook his head. “They don’t employ restoration architects.” Scanning the faces of each future in-law before him, he sighed. “No, I was a patient.”

“Extravagancies bring Sickness.”

—Nathaniel Whittemore’s Almanac, December, 1729

December 25, 1783—Mr. Greenhow’s Shop

Had they not been
secured in their sockets, I believe Sam’s eyes would have forsaken his head when I entered Greenhow’s shop. He stood behind the side counter, telling Mrs. Blair of the virtues of Philadelphia dishes over Delftware. Leaving her with instruction to study the glaze for herself, he hurried over to stay my course before I could gain two feet inside the door.

“Are you mad?” he whispered. “The old man will return any moment. He knows you’ve no hope of being a patron. I could lose my post.”

“Mr. Greenhow’s in his lumber house,” I replied in a low voice, “showing Noah Akers a chest of drawers.”

“Yes, I know, but—”

“Noah will keep him there until I’ve had a word with you.”

“Ah.” Sam cast a hasty glance at Mrs. Blair, who’d brought one of the plates close to the window, so as to gain light for her careful inspection. In a loud voice, Sam said, “Soap? Yes, sir, we have quite a fine selection of imported soaps there in the far corner of the shop, if you’d care to look.”

I thanked him with a curt bow and proceeded to the rear wall, to a shelf of paper-wrapped soap balls with perfumes so intoxicating as to make my nose itch.

Sam, meanwhile, was assuring Mrs. Blair that no less than service for twelve would suffice. Had I not been waiting, I’m sure he’d have convinced her to take fourteen, with a full compliment of salt cellars, serving platters, and tea service. As it were, he let her compromise at ten, with no accompaniments. Promising delivery within the hour, Sam had her sign on account, walked her to the door, and bid her good day in a speech so pretty, the matron left in a fit of giggles.

Sam closed the door and ran to my side. “Quick, before someone else comes in.”

“The other clerk?”

“Off on a delivery, but he shan’t be long.”

I related Noah’s suspicion that one of Underwood’s servants had shot Brennan from the hedgerow.

Sam seemed not the least surprised. “I knew none of our weapons done the deed. I’d cleaned them all myself just before we met at the capitol and we all saw them charged. Then, while watching our duel, I heard a rustling in the bushes behind me. A dog, I thought. ’Twas after, as Alex and I sunk our costumes in the marsh, that I remembered the rustling, and with it, the absence of servants during our play. That’s why I got home late last night. I went back to Market Green and tarried in the shadows until Lynch returned from his search, so I might have a brief word with him. He’s the bla’guard, mark my word.”

“You accused him?”

“No, not that. And not to worry, for I spoke no hint of our part in the mummery. Indeed, I told the sergeant very little—merely that, like Riddick, I’d been traversing the green and saw all events. But Ben, a guilty conscience will make much of little.”

“He confessed?”

Sam laughed. “Not Lynch! Yet he was shaken by my description of movement in the hedge, and this morning, when one of the captain’s maids came in to purchase coffee for today’s dinner, she told me that Mr. Lynch had gone off at daybreak on an errand for their master. All the way to Richmond.”

“Richmond? Far enough that he’ll not be questioned in the matter.”

“Precisely. And I’ll wager he stays away until foul weather blows over.”

So, I thought, if Lynch shot Brennan, the poisoner of Thomas Carson, was there a link between the two murders? Aloud I said, “Dr. Riddick claimed that in the last month, Brennan begged at Underwood’s door often. Yet only there and at no other house.”

“Did he now?” Sam, mindless of his actions, shifted the soaps to a more pleasing arrangement. “Did Mr. Brennan receive alms from the good captain?”

“Until last evening.”

“Sounds less like alms and more like recompense.”

“My thought, as well.”

“Payment for holding his tongue?
There
’s reason for shooting a man, if Brennan possessed proof of Underwood’s treason during the war.”

“You still believe the captain turned traitor?”

“I’ve always maintained it, have I not? As turncoat as Benedict Arnold himself. No man could blunder as much in battle unless he planned to do so.” Sam’s eyes shone with sudden hope. “Perhaps the proof’s yet in Brennan’s room.”

“No, I went through his things this morning.”

“Blast. I’d dearly love to see Underwood writhe.”

“What if—that is, the evidence may yet exist—”

The shop door swung to and in walked Mr. Greenhow. Noah was on his heels like a hound at his master’s boots, saying, “I’m not certain of the chest, sir. I shall have to bring Mother along—”