Terrible Tide (17 page)

Cliff House had an amazing number of doors. Holly rattled more chains than Marley’s ghost but found no weak link anywhere. Some of the locks looked as if they hadn’t been turned in years. Of these she was especially wary, poking at the screws with a knife to make sure they hadn’t been loosened.

Doors could also be lifted free of their locks by taking out the hinge pins. She got a screwdriver and hammer and tapped to make sure none of them slipped in and out with suspicious ease. She even used the reading glass to look for telltale scratches but found only a few fresh ones she’d made herself. Earl Stoodley would love her for that.

Windows had to be checked, too. She saw dust lying in furry rows along the tops of sashes; window fasteners corroded so badly they’d never work again. When it came time to renovate Cliff House, the painters would have to unscrew the locks and—and why couldn’t she have thought of that before? It didn’t take her ten minutes to find a window that could be raised with its dust and its lock intact.

There was nothing supernatural about it. Someone had taken the screws out of the back halves of the catches, reamed out the holes to twice their size, and put back the screws. When the sash was raised from the outside or the inside, the screws simply lifted free. When it was lowered, the screws settled back into their oversized holes. While Annie’d been fussing over all those locks and bolts every night, Cliff House had stayed wide open.

Holly found trick windows in the dining room, the front parlor, Jonathan Parlett’s library, and in the room Aunt Maude had perhaps called her conservatory, where overturned flowerpots lay kicked into corners, perhaps by someone hurrying to get another of the family heirlooms out of the house.

Well, the next time the ghost walked, it would be in for a surprise. Holly went down cellar, rummaged among the clutter, and came back with some putty and a handful of screws long enough to hold securely in the reamed-out holes. She made a botch of getting them in and put enough scratches in the woodwork to make Earl Stoodley’s heart bleed, but nobody would get through these windows again without having to break the glass.

Probably she ought to get the police up here, but how could she? That would start a hue and cry, and it wouldn’t take long for anybody with half a brain to find out about the reproductions. They would lead directly to Roger Howe, and straight back to his sister who was so conveniently on the spot. In more ways than one. She’d better quit detecting and get back to her patients. It was almost noon.

Why hadn’t Claudine telephoned to see how Annie was? She’d seemed concerned enough yesterday. Maybe she had, while Holly was down cellar or making too much noise with her hammering to hear the phone. It wouldn’t hurt to call the shop, just in case.

Claudine was busy with a customer, or said she was. She listened to Holly’s brief report, said, “Let me know if you need anything,” and hung up. So much for the bleeding heart department. Chicken soup time again. Holly went into the pantry, stared at the cluster of identical tins, and went back to the phone.

“Claudine, send us some different kinds of soup. Annie hates chicken and so do I.”

Without waiting for an answer, Holly hung up. She could do it, too. Feeling absurdly pleased with herself, Holly heated soup for Mrs. Parlett and whipped up an eggnog for Annie.

When she took it up, Annie was awake. “How’s it going?” she asked. “Feeling better?”

“Yes, dearie.” The voice was still hardly more than a breath.

“That’s good. I’ve brought you an eggnog and I want you to have every drop of it drunk by the time I finish feeding Mrs. Parlett.”

“Yes, dearie.”

Annie didn’t pick up the glass. It would still be sitting on the night stand when Holly got back. She should have asked Claudine to send up some drinking straws, not that they’d do much good. What Annie needed was not just nourishment, but somebody to care that she got it. Holly bent down and kissed the wan cheek.

“You be a good kid. I’ll be back soon.”

Holly was glad she’d cleaned Mrs. Parlett’s room. How had Annie endured sitting day after day in such a dusty, gloomy, smelly place with this heart-wringing scrap of worn-out humanity?

Maybe Annie had still been able to see this room as it was when she’d first come to Cliff House from the tumble-down farm where she’d slept three to a bed with her sisters, crammed in the middle because she was the littlest. That was when Aunt Maude had brought her here to work for her board and keep, treating her not as a person but as a source of cheap labor. Holly was glad it was Mathilde and not Maude she had to care for.

“You’d never do a thing like that, would you?” she crooned.

It seemed impossible Mathilde could understand, yet her eyelids lifted as if in agreement. Holly hadn’t noticed before how lovely Mathilde’s eyes still were. They were large, of an unusual grayish hazel like clear water running over stones in a brook. Then the lids dropped, ochre-colored rags hiding their beautiful secret. Holly spooned soup until the cup was empty, sponged Mathilde’s face and hands, checked her linen, and went back to Annie.

As she’d expected, the eggnog was untouched. She pulled Annie to a half-sitting position, propped her with pillows, and picked up the glass.

“Okay, no more playing games. You’re going to drink this if it takes all afternoon.”

It did take quite a while, with pauses for swallowing, breath catching, and pep talks when Annie showed signs of wanting to quit, but at last the glass was empty. Then Holly fetched warm water, soap, and towels and proceeded with a bed bath, to Annie’s embarrassment.

“It’s too much for you, dearie.”

“Hush up or I’ll get soap in your mouth. How’d you like a back rub?”

“I don’t know. I never had one.”

“Then it’s high time you did. Can you roll over?”

Annie made feeble scrabbling motions. Heartened by this small sign of improvement, Holly heaved her over, sprinkled the age-spotted back with talcum powder, and began to rub. “Feel good?”

“Lovely, dearie.”

She’s perking up, Holly thought, but Annie was asleep before the back rub was finished. Holly straightened the covers, lowered the blinds, and tiptoed out, taking the dirty dishes with her. It wasn’t till she was putting them in the dishpan that she remembered she hadn’t had any lunch herself.

There was still a little chicken soup in the pan, but that was the last thing Holly wanted. She made herself a lettuce and tomato sandwich and took it out to the back terrace. It was good to get out, away from dust and decay and things that had been around too long.

Poor Mathilde, lying up there in her dainty nightgown, with those withered eyelids hiding her beautiful eyes. She must have something fresh and bright to look at, if she ever opened them again. Holly got up and roamed the hillside, picking black-eyed Susans, Queen Anne’s lace, and wild asters, dividing them scrupulously into two equal piles. It was time Annie, too, knew how it felt to have somebody bring her flowers.

“M
Y, AREN’T THEY PRETTY!”
Food and rest were doing their work. Annie responded to the bouquet like a real, live human being.

“I’ll set them here in front of the mirror so they’ll look like more,” said Holly. “It’s rather a sparse arrangement, but they’re almost gone by now and I wanted Mrs. Parlett to have some, too. She always liked the wild flowers, you said.”

“Lordy, yes. I can see Mathilde now, bringing in an apron full and dumping them in the sink where I was trying to peel the potatoes. Black-eyed Susans were her favorites. Uncle Jonathan said it was because they matched her eyes. Mathilde had the blackest eyes you’d ever want to see, and when she smiled it was as if little sunbeams twinkled out of them. Lord bless her, she was a lovely woman.”

“Her eyes are still beautiful,” Holly agreed. “I noticed them as I was giving her lunch. But I’d hardly call them black.”

Annie sighed. “My poor old head, I keep forgetting. She’s changed, dearie, changed so nobody would know her. It’s awful, seeing a fine-looking woman go like that. Dearie, you weren’t thinking of making a nice cup of tea any time soon?”

“Right this minute.”

Delighted that Annie was at last showing some interest in taking nourishment, Holly limped downstairs and filled the old brown Betty. Annie would have had it stewing on the back of the stove since breakfast. Tomorrow morning, or maybe the day after, she’d be down here slopping around in her ratty blue cardigan, letting the porridge spatter all over the stove. How could you get to love somebody so much on such short acquaintance?

Annie drank her tea without coaxing, asked for the chamber pot, then murmured that she thought she’d enjoy a little nap. That was all right. Holly took the cup back to the kitchen and started preparing braised beef with potatoes, carrots, onions, and the turnip Bert would surely yell for if she left it out. She’d make enough to warm over for tomorrow night’s supper, and save herself some bother.

When she went out to dump the vegetable parings in the garbage pit down behind the stone wall, she noticed a black-eyed Susan she’d neglected to pick. How could that center ever have matched Mrs. Parlett’s eyes? People’s eye color did often tend to fade as they got older, but what fantastic quirk of nature had turned Mathilde’s from almost black to that divine shade of hazel?

Maybe Dr. Walker would be able to explain it when she went back to have her leg checked. It was bothering her a lot, no doubt from too much climbing up and down stairs. He’d tell her to go to bed and stay there, but how could she? As a slight concession to her infirmity, she stretched out on the kitchen cot with a mildewed novel Annie must have been reading. She could keep an eye on the cooking while she relaxed. This wasn’t such a bad place to be, with the stove glowing red through the slits in the damper and good smells puffing out of the stewpot as its lid bumped gently up and down.

Holly turned the page. Harold was clasping Vivienne to his manly bosom, his burning cheek resting tenderly on her perfumed cloud of golden tresses. She wouldn’t mind being clasped to a manly bosom herself, if it was the right bosom. Now Harold was raising a clenched fist and vowing to avenge his adored Vivienne if it took his last and ultimate breath. There was a chap who didn’t mind getting involved. What slush! She laid the book down and closed her eyes.

Then she heard Bert’s voice. “Huh! Anybody could walk in here and carry you off.”

“They’d darn soon bring me back,” Holly answered. “I wasn’t asleep, just resting my eyes.”

“I’ve used that one a few times myself. How’s Annie?”

“Better. I poured an eggnog into her at noon and a while back she asked for a cup of tea. Don’t you think that’s a good sign?”

“Is it a good sign if a feller asks for a snort of rum?”

That depends on whether he’s filled the woodbox. I’m cooking you a potroast to make up for all those beans.”

“Heck, that reminds me, I brung a little ice cream. Annie always was kind o’ partial to strawberry.”

“Bert, that’s sweet. Give it to me before it melts. I’ll put it in the fridge.”

He handed over the brown-paper bag sheepishly, as if afraid she might think he was a sissy. “I got some more stuff, too. Claudine phoned up an’ told Miz Howe to have me stop by for somethin’ you wanted.”

“Good, it’s time she learned there are other kinds of soup than chicken. What’s this weeny little box?”

“That’s for you. The drugstore sent it Claudine says she found it in her mailbox with a note.”

Holly read the typewritten message. “Miss Howe forgot part of her prescription. The dose is one at bedtime and one in the morning.”

“Oh. Maybe that’s why my leg still hurts. Thanks, Bert. I must call Claudine and thank her, too. I’m afraid I wasn’t very polite about the soup.”

“Well, do it after we eat. Cripes, I could chew on a stove lid. That sister-in-law o’ yours wouldn’t part with a crumb if a man was starvin’ to death on ’er doorstep.”

“All right, go get the wood. I’ll have supper on the table in three shakes of a lamb’s tail.” That was what she’d heard Annie say. “You may have your rum for dessert when I go up to feed my patients. Oh, all right.” Holly laughed at his woebegone face and got down the bottle.

“Ah, that’s the stuff!” Bert gulped his tot, wiped a hand across his grizzled whiskers, and ambled cheerfully off to the woodpile. When he came back, Holly had the meat and vegetables all dished up. He sat down and swooped upon the food like a starving wolverine.

“By the Lord Harry, if you was thirty years older, I’d marry you. Ain’t nothin’ kills an old man faster’n a young wife. I seen that Cawne feller givin you the eye. Dern fool. He’s fifty if he’s a day.”

“I’d have said forty,” Holly protested.

“That’s ’cause you don’t know no better. He don’t fool me none with his pansy clothes an’ that snazzy limousine he drives.”

“It’s not a limousine, it’s a sports car.”

“Some sport he is. Where in tarnation does he get the money for a buggy like that, is what I’d like to know. Schoolteachers don’t make nothin’ to speak of.”

“He’s not exactly a schoolteacher, Bert. He’s a professor, a traveling lecturer, and a well-known author.”

“What did he ever write?”

“Why, I don’t know. I’ll phone down to the library and find out, if it will make you feel any better.”

“Save your breath. I don’t give a hoot. Any more turnips in the pot?”

“Plenty. Give me your plate, if you can let go of it long enough.” Holly got up and ladled him out another generous helping.

Bert sent the second load the way of the first. “There, by cripes. I ain’t et, I’ve dined.” He belched contentedly and picked his teeth with his thumbnail, happy as a gambler with two aces up his sleeve.

“Want some of your ice cream for dessert?” Holly asked him.

“That’s for Annie. Why don’t you go on up and give it to her?”

“Leaving the rum handy?”

“Since you’re kind enough to suggest it.” Bert poured himself another generous slug, took off his boots with much grunting and puffing, settled himself in the rocking chair, stuck his feet in the oven, and cuddled the thick glass tumbler in both gnarled hands. Holly could stay upstairs with her patients as long as she liked. Bert wasn’t going to miss her.