Death on the Family Tree (20 page)

“It doesn’t matter. I’ll need new ones.” Hollis moseyed to the kitchen and turned the water tap on and off several times. “The guys said they can come paint your room Tuesday morning. Will that be okay?”

“Fine with me. I never imagined they could come so quick.”

“I told you, they need the work.” Hollis was silent for another minute or two. “Are you positive you locked your door and turned on the alarm?”

“Not positive, no. I was waiting for Tom, you see, and went out to cut some flowers. Then, after he called to say he wasn’t coming, I decided to take my supper upstairs and read in bed. I may have forgotten to lock up and put on the alarm, but I think I remember doing both. I’m just not sure.” Again she saw herself standing with an armful of hydrangeas, awkwardly punching in the numbers.

“Oh.” It was a small chilled word. “Do you still have the necklace at your house?”

“Not any more. I had hidden it under Jon’s comic books in the hideout—”

Hollis made a small, barely perceptible sound, then grew still again.

“—but whoever broke in last night seemed to suspect the hideout was there, so I had to find a better hiding place.”

“Take it to a bank!” Hollis said fiercely. “Anything else is dumb!”

“I know. Now, tell me why you want to live up here instead of getting a place of your own.” Katharine didn’t want to think about burglars any more. Her courage was beginning to fray at the edges.

Hollis came back to the living room and flipped on the light, revealing more dirt. But she held out her arms and twirled as if she stood in a palace. “Because this is a
great
place. I always loved coming up here as a kid. Of course, it wasn’t so dusty then. Julia used to clean it when we played up here.” With one toe she nudged a ball that looked like a dead mouse.

“Don’t!” Katharine didn’t mean to squeal, but it came out that way.

Hollis laughed, sounding like herself again. “It’s just a dust bunny. I know the place is filthy. Julia won’t come up anymore. She claims it’s too hard to drag the vacuum cleaner and supplies up the stairs, but she’s really scared of ghosts. Molly and Lolly told her the place is haunted by a woman who was murdered up here fifty years ago.”

“Really? Your mother never mentioned a murder or a ghost.” It was the kind of story Posey normally would bring up at every opportunity.

Hollis grimaced at her aunt’s gullibility. “There weren’t any. Molly and Lolly told Julia that because they were smoking up here and didn’t want her telling Mom. But once it’s cleaned out, this will be a perfect place to work. I can put my stretching frames over there—” she waved toward the back, “and the steamer in the kitchen, and a big cutting table under the front windows. This room gets lots of light during the day.”

Maybe it did. It extended across the entire depth of the garage, which meant it had windows both on the front and the back.

“The windows will need to be washed, of course.” Hollis added in the offhand tone of one who wouldn’t do the washing. “Come see the rest.”

She led the way like a realtor showing off a prize property. “That’s the bath, and here are the two bedrooms.” Bedrooms, bath, and hall would fit into Hollis’s room inside her parents’ house, but she boasted, “I’ll sleep in the little bedroom—” she waved toward the back room as if that part of her life was inconsequential “—and sew in the big one.” She strode into the front bedroom, which had a double window looking out into the forest and a single side window overlooking the pool. Katharine wondered how the former owner’s chauffeur had enjoyed living up there looking out at a pool he wasn’t allowed to use.

She tuned in as Hollis was saying, “And my sewing machine under the big window.” As she pointed, Katharine could see, dimly, the ghost of her dream, and she felt an unexpected twinge of envy. Hollis was right. It would be fun to have a little place like this, all of one’s own. And Hollis knew what she wanted to do with her life.

“Don’t you love the way the roof slants at the front?” Hollis touched the slanted ceiling with a loving hand. “I’m going to paint that wall dark green, so it will blend with the trees and grass outdoors, and I’ll feel like a saint living out in a wooded hermitage or something.”

Anybody less like a saint than the thin dark girl in front of her—or less likely to tolerate living her life totally isolated from other human beings—Katharine could not imagine, but Hollis did burn with some of the same intensity saints are made of. That evening she was talking so feverishly that Katharine wondered if she was on some kind of drug.

“It could be charming,” she said with reservations.

“It will!” Hollis insisted. “It’s going to be perfect.
Everything
is going to be perfect!”

Then she burst into tears, dashed toward the living room, and clattered down the stairs. In a minute Katharine heard the Mini engine rev and Hollis roar down the drive.

Sunday, June 11

After church and dinner with Posey and Wrens, Katharine insisted on returning home Sunday afternoon. She couldn’t live in fear all her life. But what was she to do with the necklace until she could get it to the bank?

She set the Bloomingdale’s bag on the kitchen counter and reached down inside to touch the circle of bronze, considering her options. Where could she keep it until the bank opened? No place in the house felt secure. Should she hide it among the garden tools in the shed? Under the cushions in the patio locker? Bury it? She opened the cloth and peered inside, trying to remember exactly how wide it was. It glowed a soft green. That’s when she got her inspiration. The color should be perfect.

But first she carried it into her downstairs powder room and switched on the light. The soft taupe wallpaper flamed with red-orange poppies, Katharine’s one flamboyant choice when the downstairs was being redecorated. Her hair gleamed in the mirror lights and her skin was softly tanned above her creamy dress. “Not bad-looking for an old lady, eh?” she asked her reflection, pleased with the way her hair seemed to float around her head. She held the necklace to her throat and waited. Sure enough, as she looked at its soft green gleam in the mirror, she seemed to see, dimly, the woman with dark hair and proud dark eyes. That day the sun seemed to shine fully on her long, thin face, which was also tanned by the sun. Her lips moved as if in supplication, and her eyes were anxious.

“I’m doing my best to protect it,” Katharine whispered. She held the circlet reverently and carried it back to the kitchen, where she put it inside a one-gallon Ziploc bag, pressed out the air, and closed it tight. She put the first bag inside a second and again pressed out the air. Then she went outside.

In the yard, she tossed a stick to send Dane off in another direction and strolled down to the pool. After a quick look around, she knelt and dropped the treasure into a corner near the diving board, where the water was ten feet deep.

The necklace drifted slowly and settled on the bottom, so close to the color of the pool that it looked like twigs or a clump of leaves. She gave a satisfied nod. The pool man wasn’t due until Tuesday. Nobody else was likely to be near it until then. While Dane nosed around in the bushes, she sat beside the pool and took stock of her afternoon.

Katharine’s parents had considered that the commandment to remember the Sabbath and keep it holy was God’s way of telling people they needed one day for worship, rest, and recreation after a week’s hard work. Neither went to their desk on Sunday afternoons nor did Katharine do homework. Instead, their family snorkeled or rode bikes together, lazed around with the Sunday papers, or visited with friends. When Katharine and Tom married, he had insisted that he had too much work to do getting established in business to take a whole day off every week, but when the children came—and especially after he started traveling—he had capitulated and they began to set aside Sundays for church and family fun. When the children grew older and wanted to go out with friends, Tom and Katharine relaxed together. In the past year, if she knew he would be gone on a Sunday, Katharine had either invited Jon and his friends for lunch or planned a special outing for herself and Aunt Lucy.

That particular Sunday afternoon stretched ahead like a mini version of the rest of her life: a big void. She was too restless to read, too lazy to call a friend, too apathetic to swim.

She decided to do some family research. She took Dane inside and left him in the kitchen while she pulled out every old family album and box of letters she could find and pored over them for any hint that either of her aunts had a wild and lurid youth. The closest she came was up in the attic, where she found a stack of letters Sara Claire and Walter had exchanged between Vassar and Yale. She sat down in Tom’s daddy’s uncomfortable old chair and spent an hour reading the record of what was surely the most boring and circumspect courtship in American history. Only when the air grew hot and stuffy did she re-tie the letters with the blue satin ribbon Sara Claire had used to keep them together and drop them back in the dusty box. Feeling grimy and sticky with heat, she headed toward the kitchen for a glass of tea.

She paused in the front hall, surprised. Through the sidelight of her front door she saw Hasty’s Jeep in her drive. She opened the door and peered out, but he wasn’t in the Jeep, nor was he in the front yard. Puzzled, she went to the kitchen, where she found Dane perched in the bay window emitting low growls in his throat. When he heard her enter, he began to bark.

Across the lawn, Hasty swam lazily, turning after completing a lap. Any minute now he would peer down through the water and spot the necklace.

She left Dane in the kitchen (she drew the line at dogs in the pool) and dashed outside. “How did you get in the yard?” she demanded, breathless from running. “Wasn’t the back gate locked?” What she wanted to ask was “How dare you come swim in my pool without a specific invitation?” and “Have you spotted the necklace yet?”

He pulled himself up to rest his arms on the side. She couldn’t help appreciating that he really did look magnificent in a bathing suit. “Yeah, but when you didn’t answer your doorbell, I climbed over. I figured you wouldn’t mind. This feels great. Come on in.”

If he’d climbed over today, he could have climbed over Friday night.

She eyed him warily. “Do you make a habit of climbing over people’s walls?”

He grinned. “Only when the walls are low, the pool inviting, and there’s the potential for good company. Come on, Katie-bell. The water is great.”

He must not have found the necklace yet, but she moseyed down to the deep end and took a surreptitious look. When she had verified that it still lay on the bottom, she went over and kicked the diving board. “Don’t dive,” she warned. “We haven’t had this checked lately.”

“I told you, I can’t put my head under water anymore. I get sinus infections.”

“Good!” She spoke before she thought. “Good idea to swim, I mean.”

“So are you coming in?” He reached out as if he would drag her in fully dressed, which he had been known to do.

Katharine stepped back and considered. She hadn’t intended to swim, but the pool did look inviting and she’d rather talk and swim with Hasty than spend the rest of the afternoon alone. Besides, she couldn’t think of any better way to keep an eye on the necklace. In the water, perhaps she could distract him. “Sure. I’ll be right back.” She turned toward the house.

And how do you plan to distract him?
inquired Sara Claire’s disapproving voice in her head.

She felt her cheeks grow hot. “He’s a
friend
,” she insisted, lifting her chin defiantly.

Whom are you trying to convince?

Flustered, she was glad to hear the phone ringing as she entered the house. “Maybe it’s Tom,” she told Dane. He gave a woof without lifting his head from his big paws.

Instead it was Dr. Flo. “Katharine? I am sorry to bother you on Sunday, but I have spoken with Cleetie, and she’ll be glad to talk to you. She said she has always wanted—”

Cleetie? Katharine remembered with difficulty that she was the sister of Alfred Simms, the man convicted of killing Carter Everanes. She tuned back in as Dr. Flo was saying, “—can meet with us Thursday morning. Would that suit you?”

Katharine cast a quick glance at the calendar over the kitchen desk. “Sure. What time?”

“About eleven. She’s elderly, so it takes her a while to get going in the morning.”

As she went up to put on her bathing suit, Katharine wondered what Alfred’s sister could tell her, beyond declaring her brother’s innocence. Could she possibly have any idea who else might have killed Carter? Not that it would matter to anybody, after all these years, but Katharine wanted an answer to that, as well as to the question of who wrote the diary. She had never had a real-life mystery in the family before.

She had never swum alone with a man since she got married, either. He’s a friend, she repeated to herself as she debated between her three bathing suits. Finally she chose the green—the one Jon said she looked too good in to be anybody’s mother—telling herself she wanted Hasty looking at her instead of the bottom of the pool. It wasn’t until she got back to the pool and saw his glasses lying on the table beside his towel that she realized he probably couldn’t see the bottom of the pool. Unfortunately, he could see her. When she saw the appreciative gleam in his eyes, she knew she should have worn her old black suit, the one Tom swore she had bought in a thrift store where nuns dropped off their used clothing.

Feeling unusually shy, she made a surface dive and swam to the far side. “Feels good, doesn’t it?” she called to him. When he started her way, she swam underwater to the deep end to make sure the necklace was still safely in place, then turned and did a lap toward the shallow end. He joined her before she got there.

“Race?” he challenged when they reached the wall. He flipped and was off before she had a chance to reply.

For the next half hour they raced, swam laps, lazed on foam noodles, and talked about friends neither of them had seen for years. Swimming with Hasty had been a big part of Katharine’s high school years. Except for making sure to keep herself between him and the necklace, she gave herself up to the pleasure of the silky water.

Then Hasty pointed to a puffy cloud overhead, a brilliant white against the deep blue sky. “I’d give that cloud an A-plus. What would you give it?”

When she opened her mouth to reply, he splashed her playfully in the face.

“I’ll give you a drowning,” she retorted and heaved water with both hands.

He swung an arm around, sent a wave over her, and the battle was on. Like two teenagers they dowsed one another again and again, laughing and shouting.

Suddenly he pinned her between his outstretched arms against one side of the pool. His lips were smiling, but his eyes weren’t.

“Get away.” She playfully pushed against him with both hands.

He grabbed her wrists. She had opened her mouth to protest when he bent and kissed her, hard. Kissing Hasty felt so natural that she found herself kissing back. All the loneliness and frustration of the past week welled up in her, and she pressed herself to him as closely as he pressed to her. She had no idea how long they stood there, reliving the past. He broke the spell when he gently lowered one strap and murmured, his lips close to hers, “How about once, between old friends?”

That reminded her how many years had passed since Hasty was part of her daily life. Annoyed with them both, she twisted her face away. “Stop it! This isn’t what I want. It’s not what either one of us wants.”

He grabbed her wrists again. “It’s what I want. And you were acting like it what’s you want.”

“It isn’t. Not really.” She edged around in small baby steps, turning them both so her back was no longer against the side of the pool. “Let me go, Hasty.”

He tugged her wrists, drawing her gently toward him. “Make me.” His voice was husky.

She edged around a little more, to give herself space, then hooked one leg around his knees and pulled while shoving his chest with her hands. It was a trick Jon had taught her. Hasty sank in a cloud of bubbles.

She swam to the side of the pool and climbed out while he surfaced, gasping. Then she picked up her towel and spoke as if nothing had happened between them. “Time to get out. I have things to do this afternoon.” She tried to think of just one so it wouldn’t be a lie, but her mind was strangely disordered. Kissing Hasty had brought back all sorts of feelings and memories she had thought she had given a decent burial.

Toweling her hair, she turned her back on his admirable physique as he climbed out, streaming water and furious. “I’ve got enough water up my nose to give me the granddaddy of all sinus infections,” he grumbled. “That was a dirty trick, Katie-bell. I wouldn’t have expected it of you.”

She gave him her sweetest smile and moved farther away from him. “Raising kids taught me skills I didn’t used to have—or need. Now it’s time for you to leave.”

He reached for his own towel. “Can I at least go inside to change my clothes? And I had hoped we could translate some more of your pornographic diary.” He put on his glasses and reached for a bag of clothes he’d left on a chair. “And that you’d let me see that necklace again. Where is it, by the way?”

“Safe. But not where I can get to it real easy. I’ll let you change clothes, though, if you leave right after that. Deal?”

“Deal.” But the next minute her heart leaped into her throat as he turned toward the deep end of the pool.

“Where are you going?” Her voice squeaked.

“To fetch the noodles.”

“Leave them. I—I may come back out later tonight.”

“You aren’t going to swim alone, are you? At night? You never used to like swimming at night.” He knelt beside the pool and reached for the purple noodle.

“Oooh! Snake!” Katharine jumped up and down and pointed to a spot in the grass in the other direction. “I think it’s a copperhead!”

Hasty leaped to his feet and hurried toward her. “Where?” He grabbed up the long-handled net used to scoop leaves from the pool.

“Heading toward that tree. That one!” Her finger jabbed the air toward a magnolia covered with wide creamy blossoms.

He started across the lawn, mincing on bare feet. “How far out?”

“A little farther.” She sidled over and retrieved the noodles. “A little bit farther. Right about there.”

He peered around. “I don’t see anything.” He bent and examined the grass, then turned and looked at the distance between them. “How could you see it from way over there?”

“It was closer at first and I was over by the table. But it was moving pretty fast. It’s probably in the bushes by now. Let’s go inside and get something to drink. I’ll tell my yardman to keep a look out for him.” She slung her towel around her like a sarong and led the way.

“Watch out for Dane,” she warned as she stepped inside.

The dog was stretched out on the kitchen floor taking a Sunday afternoon snooze. He gave one “woof” when they came in but seemed accustomed to Hasty. Katharine didn’t find that reassuring. If Hasty returned later to look for the necklace—or to pick up where they’d left off—she didn’t want him greeted with licks and slobber.