Dark Homecoming (13 page)

L
iz tapped lightly on the open door of the servants' sitting room in the back of the kitchen, just behind the back stairs. This was where they came to take their breaks, to eat their lunches. The caretaker, Thad, his bandaged foot in a slipper, sat at the table, eating a sandwich he'd brought from home. His long legs were stretched out in front of him.

“I can't believe you came into work, Thad,” Liz said, entering the room. “I told Mrs. Hoffman you could stay home until the cast came off. You'll receive all your pay . . .”

“No, ma'am, I can still get around,” Thad said, his craggy face creasing into a small smile. “It was just a bad sprain. I just walk a little more slowly than usual. The doc said I'll be fine in a day or two. But I appreciate your thoughtfulness.” He looked up at her. “Really, I do.”

Liz sat down beside him. Thad's sandwich was tuna fish on white bread, and a baggie filled with Oreos was waiting for his dessert. For some reason this big, burly man's simple little lunch made Liz feel even worse for him, and all the more guilty. “I'm so sorry for what happened to your foot, Thad,” she told him. “I feel responsible.”

“Oh, no, ma'am, it's not your fault.”

“I know the lightning startled you, but if I hadn't asked you to—”

“It wasn't the lightning either,” Thad said plainly.

“What do you mean?”

“It was
her
.”

Liz felt her blood run cold.

“Dominique,” Thad said. “She didn't want her portrait taken down.”

“Oh, Thad,” Liz said, but her admonition was weak.

He took a bite of his tuna fish, chewed a while, swallowed, and then continued. “She's never left this house, you know. Ever since she was washed off that boat, her spirit has been stuck here. I shouldn't say such things perhaps. But while I was stretched out in the emergency room, waiting for the doctor to come in and bandage up my foot, I knew I had to speak plainly about this. After all, that poor kid got killed.”

“You mean . . . Audra?”

“Well, I was thinking of Jamison, but Audra, too.”

“Surely you can't be saying . . .”

“But I am, ma'am. Dominique killed both of them.”

Liz stiffened. “That's ludicrous, Thad.”

“You're a kind lady, Mrs. Huntington. That's the truth. You coming in here and checking on me like this. That proves you have a good heart and soul. She would never have done such a thing.”

“You mean, you didn't like Dominique? I thought . . .”

“You thought what, ma'am?”

“I thought you
did
like her, given how resistant you were to taking down her portrait.”

“That wasn't because I liked her, ma'am. Not at all. It was because I didn't want to touch her.”

Liz wanted to hear more. “So she wasn't friendly to you?”

Thad grinned. “Oh, she tried to be. She tried to be
real
friendly with all the men in the house. She thought every man would fall in love with her. But I was immune to her charms.”

“How so?”

Thad wiped his mouth with a paper napkin, having finished his sandwich. “I'm gay, ma'am.”

“Oh, I see.” Liz tried to hide the surprise on her face.

“It's okay, ma'am, no one thinks I'm gay at first. I don't fit the stereotype. And that took Dominique by surprise, too. But you see, because of that fact, I could discern the truth about her. I could see right through her phony charms.” Thad laughed. “She didn't quite get the same sort of response from me that she got from other men.”

Liz was unable to suppress a small smile.

Thad opened the baggie with the Oreos. “Would you like one, ma'am?”

“No, thank you, Thad.”

He popped an Oreo into his mouth. “Well, maybe I shouldn't be saying all this,” he said, his mouth full, “but the first Mrs. Huntington was a terrible flirt. She was very vain.”

“Was she?”

“She and Mrs. Hoffman were always going off to have more plastic surgery. Faces stretched, lips plumped, breasts filled out.”

“She had . . . breast implants?”

“They seemed to get bigger every year.”

“And what did Dav—Mr. Huntington say?”

“Oh, he didn't like it. He didn't like it one bit.”

Liz was getting far more than she had expected when she'd come in, out of courtesy, to check on Thad. Suddenly she had some brand-new insights into her predecessor's character—and to David's relationship with her.

“I may be talking out of turn,” Thad said. “But that little fall down the stairs seems to have woken me up.” He gazed at her intently. “I love this place. I love this family. Your husband's mother and father hired me when I was just a kid, and I owe them everything. I can't keep quiet when I realize there's danger lurking around. There are forces at work in this house, and I can't be silent about them. Not anymore.”

“Well, Thad, I must say that . . .” Liz hesitated, not sure if she was being truthful in what she was about to say. “I don't believe in ghosts.”

“You will.” He finished his last Oreo. “Dominique was a bad woman in life, and she's an even worse one in death. She's not giving up her control of this house just because you're here.”

“If she's that powerful,” Liz asked, “aren't you afraid of her? Aren't you afraid that, if what you say is true, her spirit will take revenge on you next?”

Thad shook his head. “Not afraid. Not anymore. After that tumble I took, I knew I needed some protection.” He reached inside his open shirt collar and withdrew a pendant on a chain. It was a small green stone. It looked like jade. “Variola gave it to me. Protects against the undead. She promised it was so.”

“Variola gave this to you because you told her what you believed?”

“Sure did.” He grinned. “Had to pay her fifty bucks, but it was worth it.”

Liz smiled sadly. The poor man had been taken for a ride, she thought. “Well, if it makes you feel better to wear it,” she said.

Thad replaced the pendant under his shirt. “It does. And you need to get one, too, Mrs. Huntington. I was planning on telling you so. Everyone here should wear one. I expect Variola won't charge you or Mr. Huntington like she charged me.”

Liz stood. “Thanks. I think I'll pop in and have a word with Variola.”

“Good idea.” He smiled up at her. “You're a fine lady, Mrs. Huntington. I'm glad you're here. Your good, strong energy will help to drive away any of the bad forces.”

“Thank you, Thad. I hope so.”

Liz headed out into the hall. It seemed it was time she had a conversation with their enterprising chef.

“W
hat do you have for me?” Rita whispered to Variola, who took hold of her wrist and motioned for her to step into the pantry.

Variola motioned for her to be quiet.

“You told me to come back! You told me you'd have something for me!”

“You speak too openly, girl,” the chef cautioned her. “There are ears everywhere in this house.”

Rita sneered. “Everyone talks, everyone hears. Everyone knows you're a witch. Give me a pendant like you gave Thad. He believes it will keep him from any more accidents like falling down the stairs.”

Variola smiled indulgently. “Poor, sweet, simple Thad. Of course he believes that.”

“You're saying his pendant has no power?”

“If he imbues it with power, then it has.”

Rita frowned. “I don't want something like that then. You told me you could help me. I want something that really
works
.”

Variola's black eyes danced. “Oh, for you, dear Rita, I have something special.”

She opened a cabinet and withdrew a small wooden rectangular box about six inches long and four inches wide. A tiny gold padlock secured the lid of the box.

“And here is the key,” Variola said, producing a small gold key from her apron pocket.

“What's in the box? And why do you keep it locked?”

Variola handed it over to Rita, who accepted it with a little apprehension. Then she held up the key for her to take.

“Go ahead,” the chef said. “Open it and see for yourself.”

Rita took the key. Her hands were trembling.

“Why do you fear Variola?” the woman with the dancing dark eyes asked her. “You came to Variola for help. Why do you fear that help is not what I am giving you?”

“Because I don't know yet what kind of payment you'll be asking for.”

“Your friendship is all,” Variola insisted.

“You want me on your side when the time comes,” Rita said.

Variola nodded.

“What will happen?” Rita asked. “When—”

Variola laughed, a small tinkle. “You'll learn all in good time. We all will. Now go ahead, dear Rita. Open the box.”

Rita gingerly fit the key into the lock and turned. The padlock sprung open.

“Lift the lid,” Variola instructed.

Rita obeyed. And there, lying in the box as if it were a tiny coffin, was a wooden doll about five inches long. The doll was painted beige, with crude red dots to indicate eyes, nose and mouth, and loosely wrapped in fabric of some kind. Rita recognized what it was.

“That's one of David's neckties,” she said softly.

“He has so many. He won't miss one.”

Rita fingered the silk of the tie. It was a pattern of blue, white, and green stripes. She had seen him wearing it several times. She had once unknotted it at his throat, then slid it out from under his collar before unbuttoning his shirt.

“Is this what's commonly referred to as a vodou doll?” she asked Variola.

The other woman shrugged. “You can call it what you want. But so long as you possess it, you can make your wishes come true. But your wishes must be pure, Rita. This is not some black magic granted us by the devil. Do you understand? Whatever you ask for, it comes to you only if it's
meant
to come to you.”

“If it's meant to come to me,” Rita asked, “why do I need a vodou doll?”

“Even fate sometimes needs a little
shove
, as you described it.”

A woman's voice suddenly interrupted them.

“What's all this talk about fate?”

Rita turned her head quickly. Standing in the kitchen, glaring at them, was David's wife. Little Liz.

L
iz noticed that Rita quickly closed the lid of the box that Variola had just given to her. The maid seemed mortified to be caught in the pantry, though Liz couldn't imagine why. Variola, on the other hand, just smiled sweetly when she noticed Liz standing there.

“I've just given Rita some island medicine to cure her menstrual cramps,” the chef explained. “She doesn't have much faith in my medicines, but I told it was sometimes better to take action instead of just leaving things up to fate.”

“I'm sorry,” Liz said. “I didn't mean to pry.”

“It is all right,” Variola replied, coming out of the pantry, Rita following. “You are the mistress of this house. We can have no secrets from you.”

“I'll . . . I'll be getting back to work now,” Rita said. She smiled awkwardly at Liz. Liz returned her smile.

Once she was gone, Variola asked, “And what may I do for you, ma'am? I trust your meals have all been satisfactory. I'm happy to accommodate any dietary requests you have.”

“Every meal has been superb, Variola. Truly. You've spoiled me.”

“That is my job, ma'am.”

“Well, I'm deeply grateful.” Liz paused. “But that's not what I've come to talk to you about.”

“Oh, no? Then tell me what it is, ma'am.”

Liz sighed. “I know I've been a bit of a recluse since I came here. It's not because I didn't want to get to know all of you. It's because I haven't had an easy adjustment to moving here, what with Mr. Huntington leaving so soon after we arrived, and then the disturbing news about Jamison, and also learning about the young woman who was killed here a while back.”

Variola gave her a sympathetic face. “Oh, I am sure that has made the transition terribly difficult for you, ma'am. What can I do to help you?”

“Well, maybe you can start by helping me understand the culture of the house.”

Variola lifted her elegantly shaped eyebrows. “The culture of the house, ma'am?”

“I must admit . . . there are all sorts of stories swirling around.”

“What sorts of stories, pray tell?”

“Ghosts. Witchcraft.”

Variola laughed, and Liz thought it sounded like the ringing of chimes. “You've probably heard some of them call me a witch. Is that why you're here?”

“I just spoke with Thad. He told me about his pendant. . .”

“Oh, yes. It's a sacred tradition where I come from. In the islands, there is the belief that one can imbue certain talismans with power. If you believe it strongly enough, it will do what you wish it to do. It's really all about the power of suggestion.”

“That doesn't sound like witchcraft to me.”

Variola shook her head. “My mother taught me the religion of vodou. Some call that witchcraft. But in fact it is a faith, a system of beliefs. It is a blend of African tribal religions and Roman Catholicism. The power of vodou is real, but it is not what the movies would have it to be, all black magic and zombies. It is, rather, the herbs and roots and flowers of the islands.” She laughed, that sound of chimes again. “What seems like witchcraft to some is increasingly recognized by health care givers all over the country as sound, proven medicine. Have you never taken echinacea when you've had a cold, Mrs. Huntington? St. John's Wort when you're feeling down? Goldenseal for indigestion? They're all in my bag of tricks, but they are also sold in the heath food store downtown.”

“I pass no judgment on your beliefs. I just want to understand what goes on in this house.”

Variola gave her another sympathetic smile. “What is it that troubles you, ma'am? You can speak freely with Variola. I do not betray confidences.”

For some reason, Liz suddenly felt as if she could trust this woman. “All right. It started on my very first day here. Jamison told me that Dominique's ghost still walks this house. Thad is convinced of the same.”

“I have heard those tales, too.”

“You gave Thad a pendant for protection against her.”

“His pendant protects him from whatever dangers he believes he faces because he gives it the power to do so. Not me.”

“But why does he believe that Dominique haunts this place? Why did Jamison believe it as well?”

Variola sighed. “She was a very . . . formidable figure. Perhaps they have a hard time believing she is really gone.”

“Formidable? In what way?”

“Well, she was very beautiful.”

Liz nodded. “I can see that from the portrait.”

“She was also charismatic and vain and demanding and not always very pleasant, though she could be exceeding charming when she chose to be.”

Liz swallowed hard. “My husband loved her . . . seemed to love her very much.”

“Is that what he has said?”

Liz realized David had never actually said such a thing, at least not in so many words. “It's been obvious to me. He took a cruise around the world to get over the grief of her death. Whenever her name comes up, he is stricken . . . I can see the pain on his face.”

“Well, he was her husband,” Variola replied. “I'm sure her death was hard on him.”

Liz hesitated. “Do you . . . do you believe her spirit is still here?”

Variola smiled kindly. “You are asking me if I believe in ghosts?”

“I suppose so, yes.”

“I do believe that the dead can come back. I have seen many things that cannot be explained by science alone.”

“So you believe Dominique's ghost—”

Variola shook her head. “Her ghost does not walk here. Variola could see if it did.”

“Are you certain of that?”

Variola evaded giving her a direct answer. “I take it, then, that you
do
believe in ghosts, Mrs. Huntington?”

Liz smiled weakly. “I didn't before I came here . . .”

“But now you do? Because of the babbling of frightened men?”

Liz leaned in closer to Variola. “I've smelled gardenias.”

“Ah. Her fragrance.”

Liz nodded.

“You are aware that Rita wears the fragrance, too?” Variola asked.

“No, I hadn't noticed . . .”

Variola grinned. “She frequently does. And I wouldn't be surprised if Mrs. Hoffman still sprayed the fragrance to remind her . . .”

“Mrs. Hoffman! That would make sense . . .”

Variola folded her arms across her chest and gave Liz a knowing look. “Tell me why that would make sense, Mrs. Huntington.”

Liz held the chef's gaze. “Because . . . they appear to have been very close.”

“Very,” Variola confirmed. “As thick as thieves sometimes.” She took a step closer to Liz and lowered her voice, as if she were about to reveal a secret. “They brought me to this house. Dominique and Mrs. Hoffman. They were interested in learning the fine arts of the islands. They were like little girls eager to find hidden treasure.” Variola's face darkened. “But they weren't interested in art or culture or faith or religion. They were interested only in how my heritage could benefit them. They were greedy. Selfish.”

Liz was surprised to hear the chef speaking so plainly. “Do I take it that you don't like Mrs. Hoffman?”

“I work fine with her,” Variola assured her. “You needn't worry about that.”

“I'm not sure she likes me,” Liz offered.

Variola arched an eyebrow. “Mrs. Hoffman has only ever liked herself and Dominique.”

Liz decided to trust the chef some more. “Many times since I've come here, she's made me feel as if... as if I don't measure up.”

Suddenly Variola leapt at her and grabbed her hands, gripping them tightly in her own. “Don't you listen to Mrs. Hoffman when she starts talking like that! You hear me? You are a good woman. Variola can see that now. Can see that clearly.” Her dark eyes reflected Liz's own. “Your husband married you because he loved you. You must know that. Variola can see that, too, as clear as I can see the nose on your face.”

Liz felt as if she might cry. “Oh, thank you, Variola, you have no idea how much it means to me to hear that.”

Variola let her hands go and smiled craftily at her. “I think we will be good friends, Mrs. Huntington. I think we can help each other.”

“I hope so,” Liz replied.

“You come to Variola,” the dark-eyed woman told her, “if you ever feel lost in this house. Variola will make it right for you.” She lowered her voice again. “And pay no attention to the honeyed words of Mrs. Hoffman. Beware her. She is not your friend. The time will come when we will stand up to her. Variola will make sure you are safe in this house.”

“Safe from what?”

“From everything you fear,” Variola told her.

Liz appreciated the support, though she realized it probably hadn't been wise to get herself involved in what was apparently a domestic rivalry between these two women. Still, what Variola had just told her made her extremely happy.

In that moment, Liz's cell phone jangled. She grabbed at it, suddenly convinced it was David, telling her that he was coming home. But it was a number she didn't recognize . . .

“I think you should answer that,” Variola told her.

Liz did so. It was Roger, asking if he could take her to dinner tonight.

“Oh, I don't know,” Liz said.

Overhearing the conversation, Variola smiled at her. “Invite Mr. Roger here to the house for dinner,” she said. “Tell him I'll make him his favorite curry goat.”

Liz relayed the offer, and Roger accepted.

After Liz had hung up the phone, Variola said, “You might let Mrs. Hoffman know we will have a guest tonight.”

Liz said she would do so.

Yet neither she nor Variola were aware of the eavesdropper who was standing just outside the kitchen door in the shadows, listening to every word of their conversation.