Tigers in Red Weather (12 page)

“No,” Ed said. “I think it makes us special.”

1959: JULY
II

W
hen Daisy’s father arrived at Tiger House, order seemed to follow. Within twenty-four hours, he had pulled some strings with a friend from his club and gotten Ed enrolled in a summer Scouts program, while her mother had resumed cooking for the household, preparing for their annual summer party, and generally being less distracted. She even started working in her garden and packing beach picnics for her father, who himself had taken over managing all the phone calls and visits from concerned friends and nosy neighbors.

News travels fast. Bad news travels faster
.

Only Aunt Helena seemed immune to his plan making. Uncle Avery wasn’t coming.

“He won’t do it, Nick,” Daisy’s father had said. “Something about that idiotic collection of his. Frankly, he didn’t seem all that concerned. He said something odd about it being character building. That fellow is a real piece of work.”

“Damn man,” her mother had said.

Aunt Helena, who had been standing by during the conversation, didn’t say a word.

*   *  *

Daisy’s mother had been skeptical when Daisy had told her, almost tearfully, that she needed to go back to her tennis lessons. Missing even one day, she explained, would put her behind.

“She’s almost hysterical about it,” she heard her mother tell her father through the closed bedroom door. “It worries me. I think it’s a bit unnatural. I mean, why would she want to go back there, after everything that’s happened?”

“She’s just determined,” Daisy’s father said. “She wants to win that tournament, that’s all.”

“I don’t think it’s healthy.” Daisy heard a rustling in the room, as if her mother was tidying the bedclothes. She had a habit of doing that when she was nervous or distracted.

“I think it will take her mind off it,” her father said. “Let’s not make more of it than is necessary. We don’t want her summer to be ruined because some lunatic chose to garrote a maid.”

“Aren’t you a cold one, Hughes Derringer.” Her mother’s voice had the quality of glass. “I’d say it’s ruined the summer for all of us. Some cut-up, bashed-in maid found by our daughter.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Well, I’m not sure I do. Then again, it’s always you two, and I’m the odd man out. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that you agree with her.”

“Don’t start in on that again. You know that’s not true.”

Daisy heard more rustling.

“I hate it when you speak to me like that.” Her mother’s voice had dropped and Daisy had to press her ear against the door to catch it. “Like I’m tedious.”

“You’re not tedious. It’s just … you confuse me sometimes, Nick.”

“Oh, are we telling the truth now?”

“We could give it a try.”

“In that case, I could say the same thing about you.”

She heard her father sigh and the bedsprings creak, as if he had sunk heavily into the mattress.

“What do you want me to say?” he said after a while. “Do you want to keep her out of the program?”

“I don’t know. I just want us to agree, that’s all.” Then her mother said: “It’s this murder. It frightens me.”

“Come here.”

Daisy felt like eons passed before either one of them spoke again.

“It’s hot in here.” Her mother sounded breathless. The bedsprings creaked again.

“Wait. Don’t move.”

“I …”

“Your skin …” Her father’s voice trailed off. “Can I? I mean, do you want …”

“Yes.”

“Nick, I …”

“No, it’s all right. Don’t say anything.” Then: “Wait, Hughes, we haven’t made a decision yet. About Daisy, I mean.”

“All right, but you better decide quickly.”

“I suppose it’s all right,” her mother said, almost whispering. “You’re right, it shouldn’t ruin her summer. And she is so serious about that tournament.”

“She’s a winner,” her father said.

Flushed, Daisy went to her room and laid her tennis dress on the spare bed, smoothing out a wrinkle in the collar.

She had to admit that her mother had been right in some ways. At times, when she was pounding the ball back over the net, the image of what they’d seen, the smell of the rotting shelter, would suddenly come to her and she would feel dizzy and disoriented, like the time she got sunstroke and vomited in the Gilchrists’ swimming pool.

But on her first day back, she felt like a movie star. Everyone wanted to talk to her about the dead girl. They all crowded around her on the clubhouse porch, offering glasses of lemon water, penny candy, and promises of new racquet strings in return for the story.

“Did you know she was dead when you first saw her?”

“Was she all white, like a ghost?”

“Did you faint? I would’ve fainted dead away.”

This last was from Peaches, which was typical given that Peaches always had to be at the center of everything. Of course she would imagine herself fainting dead away, to be carried off by some obliging boy in tennis whites. As if Peaches were light enough to be carried away by anyone. But this time, no one paid her any attention. Even Tyler seemed annoyed by her.

“Let Daisy tell the story,” he snapped back.

Daisy felt a strange glow and leaned in closer to Tyler. She could smell his particular odor, leather and sweat, but also clean. She gave him a look of gratitude.

“It was weird,” Daisy said. “She just didn’t look right. And her head was lopsided. Ed says it was bashed in with a rock. Or that’s what the deputy told him.”

A collective gasp rose from the group.

“Ed was very brave,” Daisy continued, feeling loyal and proud of her cousin. “He’s the one who lifted the blanket.”

“It’s just like a movie,” Anita said approvingly.

“I think you were brave, too,” Tyler said.

Daisy felt her breath catch in her chest in a small hiccup.

“If I had a little sister, I’d want her to be just like you.”

Peaches smirked, returned to her former glory.

Anita invited herself over after the lesson. Daisy, still thinking black thoughts about Tyler and Peaches, found herself agreeing, even though she wasn’t sure it was such a great idea. She just hoped her
parents would be at the beach. And that Aunt Helena wasn’t acting too weird.

“I think it’s absolutely thrilling that you found the girl. It’s like a Nancy Drew story.”

“I thought you said it was like a movie,” Daisy said, feeling mean-spirited.

“It’s both, all rolled into one. And even better because it’s true.”

Daisy was silent.

“She was the Wilcoxes’ maid,” Anita said, throwing a glance at Daisy.

“I know that,” Daisy said, irritably.

“My grandmother says Mrs. Wilcox fired her last maid for stealing.”

Daisy stared at her. Anita’s lips were curled up a little at the corners.

“Stealing what?”

“I don’t know. But my grandmother says it was probably Mrs. Wilcox’s fault. She said it’s a bad mistress who can’t keep her help.”

The idea of Elena Nunes stealing made Daisy feel heartsick. She changed the subject.

“Do you live with your grandmother?”

“No, I just stay with her during the summer. My mother’s an actress and she’s always away in the summer,” Anita said.

“Your mother’s an actress?” Daisy was beginning to think Anita was a lot more interesting than she’d given her credit for.

“Uh-huh. In the theater. She’s doing
The Crucible
right now, off-Broadway.”

“What’s that?” Daisy asked.

“It’s a play about the Salem witch trials, although my mom says it’s really political.”

“Oh,” Daisy said. They had reached her driveway on North Summer Street. “Come on.”

Daisy led Anita into the summer kitchen, which had grown stuffy
in the day’s heat. There were some bologna sandwiches in the icebox and a note on the counter from her mother telling her that her parents were picnicking at the beach. “Here.” Daisy handed Anita the plate and grabbed a pitcher of lemonade, her mother’s special recipe. Presumably, one of the sandwiches was for Ed when he got home, but she didn’t care. “We can take this out to the front porch.”

As they passed the blue sitting room, Daisy saw Aunt Helena asleep in her chair.

“Take these out,” she told Anita. “I’ll be right there.”

She walked over to her aunt and put her hand on her shoulder. “Aunt Helena?”

Her aunt didn’t move. Daisy could hear her snoring lightly, her soft mouth slightly open. The tumbler in her hand had tipped where it rested in her lap and a dark stain spread on her navy sundress.

“Aunt Helena,” Daisy said, a little louder this time. She shook her gently.

Her aunt opened her eyes and seemed to be trying to place Daisy.

“Aunt Helena. You look really tired. Don’t you want to go upstairs and lie down?”

Without a word her aunt stumbled out of the chair and disappeared toward the stairs. Daisy watched her climb the staircase, leaning heavily on the curved banister.

“That’s my aunt,” Daisy said when she returned to the porch. “She’s really tired. I think it’s the heat.”

Anita didn’t say anything, just looked at Daisy while she took a bite out of the sandwich.

“She’s related to your mother?” Anita asked, chewing.

“Uh-huh. I mean, she’s not her sister. She’s really her cousin. But I call her ‘Aunt.’ ”

“My mom has some acting friends she calls her sisters. But I don’t call them my aunts,” Anita said.

As she ate her sandwich, Daisy wondered if, from inside the house, she and Anita looked like her mother and her aunt, glamorous and feminine, having grown-up conversations about plays and New York and dead bodies.

By the time Ed got home from the Scouts, Daisy had shown Anita her secret hiding place, with the
Archie
comics and the pink, striped shell. She had even shown her the unicorn, and Anita hadn’t laughed. She had admired its mane. They were playing War on the floor of her bedroom when Ed walked in, wearing his funny khaki uniform and a bandana around his neck. In the shorts, his legs looked like pale stilts.

“Hello,” Ed said.

“Oh,” Daisy said. “Hi.”

Anita jumped up. “Hi, I’m Anita. I guess you’re the one that found the body.”

Ed didn’t say anything, just stared at Anita.

“Daisy’s told me a lot about you,” Anita said, smiling at Ed.

That wasn’t true. Daisy felt a bit disgusted with Anita.

“How’s the nerd brigade?” Daisy asked.

“It’s actually quite interesting,” Ed said. “We spent the day at Gay Head, looking for arrowheads.”

He bent down and carefully placed a small pointed gray stone next to Daisy’s pile of cards.

“It’s for you,” he said quietly. “I’m the only one who found one.”

Daisy suddenly felt sorry she had been so mean. “Thanks.”

“Wow,” Anita said. “Cool.”

“And I got to use my new knife,” Ed said, turning the red Swiss Army knife Daisy’s father had bought him in his hand. “Cutting saplings.”

“Do you have to swear allegiance to the flag and all that?” Anita asked. “My mother says all that stuff is brainwashing.”

Ed looked at her more closely now. “No, Mr. Reading doesn’t believe in that. He says he’s a renegade and that the Massachusetts Scouts won’t even allow him to be a real leader, at least not by their rules. We follow the traditional methods of Ernest Thompson Seton, the way of the Indians.”

“Indians are cool,” Anita said. “Did you know they don’t believe in God?”

Daisy felt annoyed listening to the two of them jabbering away over her head.

“What are you talking about, Mr. Reading doesn’t believe in God?”

“Not everyone believes in God,” Ed said. “A lot of people in Hollywood don’t.”

“You two are crazy,” Daisy said. “And if he’s not really a Scout leader you won’t get any merit badges, then.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Ed said. “I’m learning how to do ancient wood carvings and use my knife on rabbits, like the Indians in Gay Head do. Survival techniques. It’s much more useful.”

“You’re killing rabbits?” Daisy was horrified.

“They don’t suffer. You wring their necks first.”

“So you really have to choke them?” Anita seemed fascinated.

“Well, actually, you just dislocate the neck,” Ed said evenly. “You hold it and then pop its neck back. After that, you hang it by one of its hind legs and cut its head off, to let it bleed out.”

Daisy suddenly felt dizzy.

“Are you all right?” Anita asked. “You’ve gone all pasty.”

“I don’t feel so good,” Daisy mumbled. She felt the bologna rise in her throat.

Ed watched her.

“I think I’m going to throw up,” Daisy said, getting up. She put her hand over her mouth and ran.

In the bathroom, she vomited into the powder-blue toilet.

*  *  *

Over the next two weeks, preparations for her mother’s party seemed to take up more and more space in the house. Little American flags were scattered across the dining room table, waiting to be sewn onto their ribbons; invitations, with T
IGER
H
OUSE
printed on the front and overlaid with a long, sinuous Indian tiger, covered her mother’s desk; wooden crates packed with the best crystal had been hauled up from the basement and lined an entire wall of the green sitting room; scraps of paper with telephone numbers, addresses and names, some of them crossed off, floated around the rooms like large dust motes. Soft bags filled with silver to be polished lay in heaps across the counters of the summer kitchen, while her great-grandmother’s embroidered linen could be found draped over chairs and sofas, awaiting attention from the housekeeper. And the phone rang incessantly. It was either the flower man reporting that no peach-colored peonies could be found this time of year (white hydrangeas were settled on instead) or the man from Crane’s warning that the engraved place names for the early supper might be delayed a day or two. Disaster had been narrowly averted, Daisy’s mother had announced to the household, when the man who painted the Japanese lanterns called back to say that he had finally found a truck with ample space to take the shipment over from the mainland in time.