Monster in Miniature (26 page)

“We should put furniture inside, in case some people look in the windows,” Maddie said, helping me move the house to the center of the crafts table.

“I’ll do that while you make the rest of the ghosts and witches.”

“I think I’ll add a couple of vampire bats like the ones we saw on Appomattox,” she said.

“Good idea. I might have some filmy material around,” I said, with a smile. In fact, as we both knew, there was a whole box marked
Material—Filmy
in my supply closet.

I supposed I shouldn’t always give my granddaughter the fun parts of projects, but I figured she’d meet enough people in her life who would treat her the opposite way. Though anyone who treated her badly would have me to reckon with for a long time to come.

Her beaming “Thanks, Grandma” was enough to convince me I was taking the right approach.

The doorbell rang as I was measuring the space for a bathroom mirror over the tiny sink in the dollhouse.

I’d phoned Susan and told her she could pick up her repaired room box anytime. She was overwhelmed with company, she told me. Oliver’s daughters had arrived in town, as well as his ex-wife, plus her own ex-husband, who now lived in Florida. She didn’t know when she could break away.

“I’m just so glad to know the room box is safe and sound,” she’d said. “I can’t thank you enough, Gerry.”

I was surprised she’d found the time to pick up the box so quickly. Perhaps she wanted to show the rest of the family the special gift.

I didn’t plan to tell Susan about the flash drive. We’d added sawdust to the spot where the cork-based bench had stood and, to the best of our memories, restored the box to its original condition.

“I’ll get it,” Maddie said, zipping her lip as she ran to let Susan in. Her way of telling me that the existence of the flash drive was our little secret.

“Hello, there,” I heard.

Not Susan’s voice. A deep voice, and not one I recognized. I dropped the mirror, shattering it, and knocked over the stool as I hurried to the door.

The Ferguson twins stood in the doorway.

The identical flat smiles on Eliot’s and Emory’s faces did
nothing to put me at ease. I drew Maddie away so that she was mostly behind me, though the twins didn’t look at all threatening, possibly because they had their mother’s short, stocky physique, so I still had several inches on them.

“Mrs. Porter,” said one of the brothers. Probably my former student, Eliot, now back thinking of me as his teacher.

I was tempted to ask them to stroll back down the walkway so I could tell which one had the limp.

“I hope we’re not catching you at a bad time,” said the other brother.

The twins were dressed as opposite images of each other—one wore denim pants and a khaki shirt; the other wore khaki pants and a denim shirt. I thought I saw grease spots on both shirts in the same place, but that was likely my agitated imagination.

I wondered if they’d chosen their outfits deliberately to be complementary. I remembered identical twin girls in our Bronx apartment building. As teenagers they never wanted to be dressed alike, but inevitably, if they shopped separately, they’d come back with the same items and be annoyed at the fact. Their parents claimed the girls’ personalities were as identical as their looks. Research on twins bore that out, leaving me to wonder about “the evil twin” stories. Wouldn’t they both be evil?

The thought was no comfort as I stood in front of the Ferguson twins.

I was aware that the evening had turned cold, and I was leaving guests standing in my doorway while I reflected on twin lore. If I’d been alone, I wouldn’t have hesitated to invite them in and pick their identical brains.

“Maddie, sweetheart, would you be a dear and go call your Uncle Skip for me? He left something behind and he needs to stop by for it.” In a small town like Lincoln Point, I didn’t have to mention that said Uncle Skip was with the LPPD; the twins would be aware of the fact.

Maddie ran off without a word. She couldn’t have missed the tension in my body. Sometimes we communicated as if we were twins, and I was glad this was one of those times.

I turned to Eliot and Emory. “Please come in,” I said.

I took them as far as the atrium. If Maddie caught my cues, she would have locked the glass doors closest to the bedrooms. “Would you like coffee? A soda?” I asked.

Was it just me, or did all women think they had to offer refreshments to everyone who entered their homes, suspected murderers included?

The twins declined, shaking their heads in unison. Now in their late forties, the Ferguson twins wore their thinning hair the same way, with a side part, and sported glasses with identical gold wire frames.

I wondered what it would be like to go through life with another person who was essentially me. Same DNA, same responses and personality. Only their fingerprints were different, I’d read. I thought one of me was plenty.

On the way to our taking seats in the atrium, I’d studied the twins’ legs and made up a mnemonic: denim pants equals limp equals Eliot.

“It’s been a long time since we’ve had a chat,” Emory said.

I tried to keep from wringing my hands in my nervousness. My guests seemed calm, not worried that an officer in the LPPD might show up at any minute. It was up for grabs whether Maddie had actually phoned Skip or had decided that I simply needed to let the men know that we had personal protection at our beck and call.

“We won’t keep you, Mrs. Porter, we just wanted to set the record straight about recent events,” denim-pants Eliot added, putting quote marks in the air around “recent events.” “Our whole family is upset about Oliver Halbert’s death. We know you’re tight with his sister and we hope you’ll give her that message.”

“She’s easy to reach, Eliot,” I said, flaunting my keen powers of observation. “You might want to tell her yourselves.” I realized too late that it wasn’t a good idea to sic the twins on Susan, and I hoped they wouldn’t ask for her address. I wondered if there was a class I could take for chatting under duress.

“It’s awkward,” Emory said. “There are some unresolved issues that might be clouding things.” This time the air quotes went around “unresolved issues.”

Another characteristic the twins shared: inappropriate use of quotation marks. At least one of them didn’t have me to blame.

Moreover, the only thing cloudy was this conversation. I needed to clear things up.

“Are you referring to the fact that Oliver Halbert was investigating the cause of the fire in your factory, and that his findings might have cost you a lot of money, not to mention the possibility of criminal charges?”

More long-winded than I’d intended, but certainly direct. I’d stirred things up enough for the twins’ facial expressions to stiffen and for them to uncross their legs and lean toward me, elbows on their knees.

Eliot began, “We’re not the only ones who were on Halbert’s list, you know. There are certain others—”

“And it could get very embarrassing for you,” Emory finished.

Now I wasn’t afraid, but annoyed. Maddie was safe in her bedroom; Skip might be on the way; and they were shorter than I was. I wondered if I could change Eliot’s grade after the fact so he’d lose his high school diploma.

“What are you implying?” I asked. “That you’ll smear the name of my husband unless . . . unless what?”

Eliot’s turn again. “We saw you at the factory, and we have reason to believe you’ve had access to a damaging fl—”

“Paperwork,” Emory interrupted.

I paused a beat and repeated the lines in my head. I was convinced that Eliot had been about to say, “flash drive,” but how would they know I’d found the drive? I’d only known myself for an hour or so.

All I could think of was the deal Lynch wanted to make with me. Somehow all of these men knew, or thought they knew, that, in spite of Halbert’s being out of the way, evidence of widespread business fraud was about to come to light. I would have bet also that among the deals buried on the drive was the one that caused a fire that claimed a life.

Where did Ken and I fit into this picture? Was it widely known that he was among those who would be exposed? Were all the others in collusion to hide the evidence, needing only my cooperation? I couldn’t think of any other explanation for the sudden interest in me on the part of Lincoln Point’s business community.

The twins and I all jumped when the doorbell rang, seeming louder and more insistent than usual to me. Skip, I thought, but I’d been wrong the last time.

I noticed Eliot and Emory stretch their necks and straighten their collars as I got up to answer the door. I used the peephole, just in case it was Lynch and Crowley, which would put me at a distinct four-against-one disadvantage, and even worse if there were guns involved.

I couldn’t remember being happier to see Henry Baker on the other side of my door.

The action in my atrium took on that of a clumsily choreographed dance. As Henry entered, Eliot and Emory rose from their chairs, Maddie came from her room, and I let the twins out the door.

In between, the dialogue was sparse. “We were just leaving,” from Eliot; “We’ll get back to you,” from Emory to me, and, “Bye, now,” from Henry to the Fergusons.

I didn’t know why Henry appeared so intimidating to my guests. He was taller, certainly, but had a very gentle demeanor and certainly not a hint of a weapon.

My guess was that the twins were unwilling to share the purpose of their visit with anyone not involved in the drama of their current lives.

Whatever the reason, I was grateful to Henry and showed it by a quick hug. But not so quick that I didn’t get a comforting whiff of sawdust and paint.

Henry and I sat at the same table the twins had rested
their arms on not fifteen minutes earlier. I’d wiped it down first.

“I couldn’t reach Uncle Skip on any of his numbers,” Maddie had told us. “So I called Mr. Baker.”

Good choice.

Maddie was now finishing her ghosts, witches, and vampires back in the crafts room, probably talking to Taylor at the same time. Or else she’d figured out a way to make minis with one hand and TM with the other.

“Thank you very much for coming,” I told Henry for perhaps the third time. “I doubt that I was in any danger, but with Maddie in the house—”

“I’m glad she thought of me.”

It didn’t take long to update Henry on our finding the flash drive and on the gist of the Ferguson boys’ message to me. He did extract a promise that I’d tell Skip every word of the latter, unless I wanted him to set up camp in front of my house indefinitely.

The suggestion had a strange appeal, but I chose not to share that feeling with him.

“Any resolution to that matter of Halbert’s list?” Henry asked. He held up his hands. “If you feel like sharing, that is.”

I knew the only name on Halbert’s list that Henry cared about was the same one I cared about—that of Ken Porter. I thought a minute and knew it was time to bring Henry in through the wall I’d built around myself in this crisis and share my second concern regarding the late Ken Porter. I took the small white envelope from my sweater pocket, removed the photos, and laid them on the table.

I felt sure Henry would accuse me, gently but rightly, of overreacting as I explained my fears of Ken’s deception.

He heard me out, then drew a long breath. “I can see why you’ve been upset lately, Gerry. I don’t know how I’d keep it together if I found something like this.”

“Then you think Ken—”

“Not at all. From all you’ve told me about Ken, I’m sure there’s an innocent explanation, just as surely as he didn’t take any bribes or otherwise dishonor his profession. I’m just saying that until we find out the circumstances of these photos, you won’t be able to let it go.”