Authors: Kathy Reinhart
The road to Willoughby Manor was long and I drove slowly, once again taking in the magnificence of it. There was irony hidden in its utter beauty. It was a picture of paradise from a surreal dream, occupied by the villain of a nightmarish reality.
The engine ran as I sat with one hand frozen to the shifter, the other grasping the wheel, staring at the same Thunderbird we parked next to the other day. I felt my heart rate increase and swallowed hard in attempt to beat back my racing nerves.
Pushing the shifter into park, I whispered, “Give’em hell,” and stepped out of the car.
I don’t know which was stronger on the walk to the front door, the force pulling me toward it, or the force pushing me every step of the way.
After the loud knock, I held my breath in anticipation of who would answer the door. I expected Ivory but knew Joker could surprise me.
The door opened slowly and I exhaled when I saw Ivory standing with her hands on her hips and a sly smile on her face.
“I knew you’d be back,” she said.
“I didn’t.”
She motioned me in, offering me something to drink. When I declined, she smiled and pointed toward the French doors at the end of the hall.
“He’s a person, Meg... an ornery, obnoxious, mean streak of a man, but still, just a person,” she said, as she disappeared through another door.
I did a quick once over, smoothing my hair back, straightening my clothes and rolling my neck to loosen my muscles before knocking twice.
“What the hell is it now, Ivory?”
Casting my eyes upward, I whispered, “God, give me strength,” as I turned the handle and took a step inside.
Twenty-Seven
...He was holding an old, wooden box the size of a hatbox. Like the tree at the pond, it bore carved affections of one-time loves. Rather than taking his seat behind the desk, he stopped directly in front of me. My nerves stood on end waiting for him to speak...
Joker had his head buried in paperwork and never looked up as I entered. For a split second, I saw his dismissal of me as my last chance to turn and run, but instead, I coughed into my hand and waited for him to acknowledge my presence.
I stood motionless as he raised his head.
“What the hell... who let you in?” he complained, looking over the top of his reading glasses.
I felt my insides quiver and wondered if he could see it.
“I’d like to talk to you.”
Tossing his glasses to the desk, he asked, “What the hell for? You said more than I wanted to hear the last time you were here.”
I knew he would never invite me to sit, so I walked over to the chair I occupied on my last visit and sat defiantly.
With wide eyes, he asked, “Exactly what do you think you’re doing? What is it, are you selling something, I’ll buy as many as I have to if it’ll get rid of you, you hear what I’m saying?”
With one of my hands wrapped tightly around the other, I replied, “I’m not selling anything. I want something from you.”
I trembled when his hand cracked down on the desk.
“Now there’s a goddam surprise. An Embry wanting something from me.”
My eyes never leaving his. I swallowed hard and said, “Listen, I don’t care how rude you are to me, I’m not leaving until I get what I came for. So unless you want a dinner guest, you should listen to me.”
He leaned back resting his elbows on the arms of his chair, as he held one finger from his clasped hands to his lips. He stared at me for several of the most awkward moments of my life before speaking.
Leaning forward, he calmly said, “I get the feeling you don’t like me very much.”
I was stunned. “Like you? You’re not exactly likeable you know, but then again,
you
don’t like anyone?” I hesitated. “Do you like anyone?”
He let out a short laugh and said, “I like everyone as long as they don’t bother me.”
I found his sudden calmness a little eerie, but didn’t let that interfere with what I came for.
“Have you always been so mean?”
He shot, “Have you always been so disrespectful?” right back at me.
“You’re rich, why don’t you buy yourself something useful... like manners or a personality!”
Shaking a finger at me, he said, “You know... you’re annoying...”
“I don’t...”
He cut me off with a look that paralyzed my speech. Once he had my attention, he said, “Don’t interrupt me,” bowing slightly, he added an emphasized, “please.”
Pacing behind his desk, he continued, “You’re annoying...
but
... I like you... for an Embry that is.”
I didn’t know if he expected me to say anything or if he would get upset if I said anything without his permission, but it didn’t matter, his compliment—left-handed as it was—left me verbally impaired.
“You remind me of my grandson’s mother... Sally... too much sass for her own goddam good, but I like her.” Looking at me through cynical eyes, he added, “And that’s nothing she needs to know.”
Taking a comfortable position in his chair, my chest tightened more with each minute he stared at me.
“Cat got your tongue, girl?”
I shook my head.
“Good, because I don’t think I’d get a goddam minute sleep tonight without knowing what’s got your britches starched,” he offered sarcastically.
I had a split second to get myself back into determined mode before he lost interest in talking or being civil.
“I want to ask you some questions.”
He nodded. “Personal?”
I nodded.
He mumbled, “How did I know that,” as he summoned for Ivory.
We sat in silence waiting for Ivory to come.
I heard the door open behind me, and Ivory say, “Yes, sir.”
“How about bringing us...” turning his attention to me, he asked, “What is it you young girls drink these days? Wine coolers, something with a little umbrella maybe?”
“Ice water would be fine.”
He motioned with his hand. “And I’ll have my usual.”
“Yes, sir.”
The door had no sooner closed behind me than I heard him say, “You’re easy to please... for an Embry.”
His reference to my family bothered me and at the risk of annoying him again, I asked, “Why do you hate my grandfather so much and don’t tell me it’s over some piece of land.”
His calmness unnerved me.
“I never said I hated him. Did I say I hated him?”
“Not in those exact words, but you implied it.”
He leaned back in his chair and locked his fingers behind his head. “Did he ever tell you we used to fish together?”
“He didn’t tell me.”
“Hell yeah, we’d get back from a day at the river and he’d have to tell everyone how many he caught and how big they were... the son of a bitch never showed anyone the inside of his creel though... Ha! That’s because there was never a goddam thing in there. He couldn’t stand it when I beat him at anything.”
“What happened? Why aren’t you friends anymore?”
I saw sadness flash through his eyes before he said, “Hell, that’s water over the dam, no point in trying to catch it now.”
“Did it have anything to do with Gayle?”
His eyes clouded over and I couldn’t read his emotions.
“I shouldn’t have asked that. I heard about her passing, I’m sorry.”
Clearing his throat, he said, “Well, not talking about her won’t bring her back, so...”
I waited until he was ready to continue, not wanting to push him into a defensive state.
“Your grandfather would have you believe I stole her from him... is that what he told you?”
Casting my eyes to the floor, I shrugged.
“Well, fact is... Gayle and me... we were George and Gracie. One was no good without the other.”
For the first time, I saw something that resembled affection in his eyes and found myself touched by his emotion.
The knock at the door startled both of us, causing him to sit erect, his tone changing immediately.
“Yeah.”
The door opened and Ivory entered with the drinks he requested. She passed me a glance that asked, ‘how are you holding up,’ set the tray down and disappeared.
He took a long drink from his glass before turning his attention back to me.
“Stewart and me, it was just something we had to do. In those days you didn’t dare disrespect your father...”
“Your father’s have been gone for long time. Why do you still hate each other?”
He stood and began to pace again. Smoothing his gray hair back at the temple with the palm of his hand, he stole several glances before giving me his attention.
“It’s too bad my grandson didn’t bring you around sooner, you would have liked my Gayle.” Walking over to the fireplace, he took a picture from the mantle and brought it to me. “That’s her... some time ago, but that’s Connor’s grandmother.”
As I took the framed picture from him, I thought I felt a tremble in his hand, but pretended not to notice.
She was pretty with blonde hair and a childlike quality in her features. “She’s beautiful.”
“Absolutely. Prettiest girl in Willoughby, right up to the day she passed on.”
I cast my eyes away as I remembered my grandfather saying the exact same thing about her.
He replaced the picture and returned to his chair, his mood more solemn now.
“Mr. Ellis, I appreciate everything you’ve told me but there’s something I have to ask. It’s probably the most important question I have.”
I saw a knowing look in his eyes but he remained silent and waited for me to ask.
“Who killed...” I swallowed hard and tried again. “Did my grandfather murder your son?”
He put a finger against his nose and sniffed. “What did he tell you?”
My hopes were beginning to dwindle. “He said he killed your son but others have told me he didn’t.” I pleaded, “Mr. Ellis, please, I haven’t been fair to him and if he didn’t do it, I owe him even more. He won’t be with me forever; so please, I’m begging you...” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Please tell me the truth.”
He turned his chair toward the window without answering me. Several minutes passed while I anticipated his reply.
Suddenly, he stood, walked past me and disappeared out the door without as much as a word.
I had no way of knowing if he was coming back. Did I upset him so much that he felt he had to leave the room immediately? I didn’t know if I should sit and wait for him to return or if he would appreciate it if I were gone when he got back. I debated several more minutes and as I stood to leave, the door opened behind me.
He was carrying an old, wooden box the size of a hatbox. Like the tree at the pond, it bore carved affections of one-time loves. Rather than taking his seat behind the desk, he stopped directly in front of me. My nerves stood on end waiting for him to speak.
“I don’t do many decent things or so I’m told...” Rubbing a hand across the top of the box, he said, “You asked me a question and I know you’re expecting an answer, but I can’t do that, you see.”
I lowered my head, and asked, “Why not?”
“Because, if I
were
to answer your question, I would have to tell you that your grandfather killed my son.”
Biting on my lower lip, I turned my head away when I couldn’t stop my tears from spilling over.
“Now let me finish.” Placing his free hand on my shoulder, I slowly turned my head back toward him and he continued, “But I’m not going to tell you that. You hear what I’m saying?”
He opened the box and reached into it. Pulling out what appeared to be a journal; he looked at it thoughtfully before handing it to me.
“Here, take this with you. You read it. It’ll give you the answers you’re looking for.”
Turning his back toward me, the wooden box hit his desk with a thud and he bellowed, “Now be on your way. I can’t be babysitting you all goddam day. Go ahead, get out of here.”
In my confusion, I managed to smile graciously and mouth the words, ‘thank you,’ before leaving him alone with his memories.
Ivory called to me from a room off the foyer. “Nice to see you made it out in one piece,” she said with a laugh.
I nodded and glanced down at the book that I clutched in my hands.
Her expression became serious, as she joined me at the door. “Did you get what you came for?”
Looking past her, I replied, “Not exactly, but I got more than I came for.”
She offered a knowing nod, as we walked onto the porch.
“Ivory, do you think he’d mind if I sat in the gazebo for awhile?”
Looking toward it, she said, “Go ahead, I’ll tell him you’re feeding the fish if he asks.”