Poison to Purge Melancholy (30 page)

“Quite all right, Mr. Akers. For now, I’ll write up the purchase of—” Greenhow’s eyes had sought out his clerk and settled on me the same instant.

“. . . and these soaps are favorites with the ladies, Mr. Dunbar,” Sam was saying, as if he’d been hard upon a sale the last minute. “French perfume, of the finest quality, and not simply around the outside. No, the redolence will last as long as the soap—Ah, Mr. Akers, sir! I hope you found what you wanted?”

Noah nodded, more in apology to me than in answer to the question. “A small table.” He stressed “small” for I’d told him a fortnight ago not to put any luxuries on account until at least the New Year. I should have known he’d be no match for a skilled merchant like Greenhow. This purchase was my fault, so I vowed to find Noah greater profit in the months ahead.

To assuage Sam’s employer, and satisfy a new whim of my own, I said I’d take one of the soaps.

Greenhow smiled his disbelief. “Those are three shillings apiece, Mr. Dunbar.”

I almost cried aloud. Three shillings? For soap?

“I believe Mr. Dunbar meant one of these.” Sam bent over to the bottom shelf, to retrieve a smaller ball, unwrapped and brown in hue, with but a faint hint of lavender about it. “At nine pence.”

Even at nine pence—but, I agreed. Sam was never wrong in the matter of ladies’ favorites.

“Beth Ann, run and
fetch your Uncle Francis.” A firm order, issued from behind us. The figure beside the gate was wrapped in a dark cloak with only a white cap to make her visible. I could have sworn for a second that Elizabeth Carson stood there. But, no, the voice was Glad’s. “Go
now
.”

Beth Ann came out of her shock and took off at a run, sliding on the wet grass as she went through the gate.

Glad walked toward Evelyn, forgetting even to lift her skirts off the damp ground. “Relax, Mr., er, is it Spade?”

The man now stood, his Southern manners ingrained enough to supersede his psychosis. “S-S-Spading, ma’am. Spade for short.”

“My son Francis is a psychiatrist. He’ll know what to do.”

“Foot’s awesome.” Acey sounded sincere. “Our screwy family taught him everything he knows.”

“The rest of you, go inside,” Glad said with a hint of impatience. “Ev and I can handle this.
Go
.”

Hugh moved first, pushing Horse toward the gate. Acey, Sachi, and I followed. We passed Foot, bundled up in his long black coat and scarf, in the yard.

Miss Maggie was waiting for us on the back porch.

“No big news,” Acey told her. “Only that Evelyn did time in a looney bin. I wonder if this’ll change Ma’s wedding plans.”

Beth Ann met us right inside the door. “Steer clear of the dining room.”

Even with the dim candlelight and bad acoustics, we could tell at a glance that Rich and Delia were in the midst of an argument.

“I need to change,” Horse said, heading for the back stairs. He wasn’t making excuses—his shirt and pants were streaked with grass and mud stains.

“Me, too,” said Hugh, following his brother. Sure, the knees of his jeans were a little wet, but that was a definite wimp out.

“And I’m an old lady who hasn’t had a potty break in too long.” Miss Maggie waggled her eyebrows at me. Our secret code: conference time.

“Ditto thirty-something me,” I said.

“Ditto the teen,” echoed Beth Ann.

So the three of us climbed the spiral stair. I noticed as we left, Acey and Sachi settling at the kitchen table, right where Acey had a good view of the dining room.

“I wasn’t kidding about the potty break,” Miss Maggie told me in the upstairs hall. “But afterwards, I want to hear about that epiphany you had during dinner.”

We all used the facilities. During my turn, I paused while drying my hands, my gaze falling on Foot’s bag, picturing it last weekend on a shelf beside Horse’s shaving kit and whatever Acey’s toiletries consisted of (I guessed baking soda for toothpaste and an herbal cleansing solution). Could I picture Acey or Rich slipping something into Horse’s antacid bottle? Acey was better cast than Rich in the role, but the “something” would be of a practical joke nature. For instance, salt. Not a potent and potentially deadly drug.

We reconvened back in our bedroom. I sat immediately on the daybed—my knees hadn’t appreciated their recent foray out into the cold air. Beth Ann hopped up on the other end of the bed, kicking her feet as they dangled.

“Out with it, Pat.” Miss Maggie crossed her arms over Rudolf.

“Hugh and I were in Foot’s room, and I had another vision.” I was loathe to say, in front of Beth Ann, that I’d been smooching her dad at the time. “Another kiss, like downstairs, only this time, I got a glimpse of red cloth.”

“Red cloth?” Miss Maggie’s arms came down and she stepped closer. “What about your other senses, Pat? Hearing, smell?”

Then I remembered—my hands on Hugh’s chest hadn’t felt his soft fleece sweater. “The cloth was rough, like—like wool. And there was a faint smell, like a sweaty jock wearing a cheap Jean Naté knockoff.”

“You’re sure the wool was red?”

I closed my eyes. No vision came, but I got a clearer view of my memory banks. “Sort of dirty red, with tiny white specs.”

“Dandruff,” Beth Ann concluded.

“No,” I said. “More like powder.”

“Wig powder.” Miss Maggie was beside herself with excitement. “We might be able to get confirmation in Glad’s documentation downstairs.”

“Confirmation of what?”

“You don’t know? I thought that’s what your epiphany was all about.”

“No, what I realized at dinner was that, if I’m experiencing memories from the past, then the memory of being kissed by a man would belong to a woman. That ghost is female.”

“Of course.” Miss Maggie looked as if she wanted to slap her forehead for not thinking of it sooner, but she didn’t. “Well, we know of two females in this house at the time.”

“Polly?” Beth Ann ventured.

“I hope not.” I shuddered at the idea of a young girl being handled like that. “When I—shared Polly memories, I didn’t sense any experience like that, so unless it happened after—”

Miss Maggie shook her head. “If I don’t miss my guess, that last kiss occurred in the summer of 1781.”

“Summer?” I echoed. “Couldn’t be. Polly’s memories took place in wintertime.”

“Nevertheless—”

“Excuse me?” Sachi stood in the doorway. “Acey wants to know if you’re all done with the first dessert. She and Delia are going to put the food away for Acey’s mom.”

I assured her I was stuffed. “But I’ll come help,” I added, conditioned by my mother and aunts to feel guilt at such times. I stood, shaking the stiffness out of my knees.

“We’ll all go,” Miss Maggie declared and led the way back down the stairs.

Delia and Acey were bringing the remains of the floating island and apple tansey into the kitchen as we arrived. Delia looked less laid-back than before, as if she’d wanted to dump the bowl of whipped cream she toted over someone’s head. The someone in particular, Rich, was nowhere in sight. I pictured him hiding behind his
JAMA
somewhere.

“Set the food on the table,” Miss Maggie directed. “Pat, get the plastic wrap. Sachi, you’re in charge of rinsing dishes. Beth Ann, help your aunt.” Like any good general, she sat herself down at the table to oversee her troops.

I found the plastic wrap in the bottom of the hutch near the sink along with a box of Ziplocs, and settled at the table to work on the leftovers.

By that time, Miss Maggie had one of Glad’s scrapbooks open in front of her. “Drat. Left my reading glasses upstairs again.”

“Have you ever considered wearing them on a chain around your neck?” I asked, sealing a skin of plastic over the floating island bowl.

“Tried it once. Ruined the cool young chick image I was going for.” Chuckling, she lifted the last ratafia biscuit from the plate Beth Ann set on the table.

We all heard heavy feet on the stairs. The door swung open and Horse entered, now wearing warmup pants and a Team USA hockey jersey. “Perfect!” he exclaimed, pouncing on the box of Ziploc bags. “I need one of these for my Pirates patch.”

Acey, just coming in with a plate of dried fruit in each hand, said, “You dope! Did you still have the patch in your sweatshirt pocket when you tackled Spade?”

“The patch survived, thank God.” Horse took a dried apple slice from the dish. “The plastic bag ripped, that’s all.”

“So, you liked the patch?” Delia asked.

“Like it? Best gift Rich ever gave me. In fact, in view of my brother’s usual taste in presents, I’d say I was pleasantly floored by it.” He popped the apple slice into his mouth whole.

“Oh?” Delia set the plate of glazed cherries on the table. “And what did Rich say about why he bought that patch?”

Horse noticed, as I did, the anger under the surface of her question. He glanced at his sister, who’d paused in her commute back and forth from the dining room to listen in on their conversation. “Rich said he heard me mention last weekend that I still had my collection—”

“
He
heard you?!” Delia exploded. “
I’m
the one who heard you say that.”

“Take it easy,” Horse soothed. “I believe you.”

“Yeah? Do you also believe that I do all of Rich’s Christmas shopping and wrapping for him? Even the stupid gifts he insists I get for your gift exchange every year. Which is how I knew he still didn’t have anything for you as of last weekend. He’d been so busy at work, he couldn’t take two seconds to give me a clue what to buy. So I went on eBay last Saturday while you were all sitting around whining about Ma. That Bazooka Blony patch was going off at auction Monday night. I stayed up ’til midnight to make sure I won the bid, then had the patch FedExed to me so I’d have time to wrap it and overnight it before Christmas. And do you think Rich appreciated it?”

“Sounds just like Big Bro,” Acey said. “Let me guess, he didn’t let you send the patch because he didn’t think it was up to his usual brilliant standards in gift-giving, right?”

“That was his excuse,” Delia said. “His real problem was that I got it on eBay, which he refers to as my ‘extramarital affair.’ Fine for him to spend every waking hour at his office and the hospital, but let me get a hobby and—”

“Pretty expensive hobby, isn’t it?” Horse said, reaching for another apple slice, seeing I’d already bagged the dried fruit, plucking a cherry from the cone instead. “I mean, I guess it depends what you buy, but—”

“I made three hundred bucks just selling the clothes the boys grew out of.”

“Bingo.” Acey moved closer to the table. “Rich is afraid you’ll get too independent, Delia. You’ll realize you don’t need him or his paycheck anymore, then Sayonara City.”

Delia shook her head. “With a son going off to college next year, two others outgrowing shoes faster than I can buy them, and a zillion repairs needed around the house, Rich’s paycheck can’t cut it alone.” She turned to me. “Your mom ever tell you to marry a rich doctor?”

“Oh, yeah, all the time. My aunts, too.”

“It’s a myth. There
are
no rich doctors.”

Horse took another cherry. “Foot would argue with that. Then again, he’s two-thirds investment banker.”

“Foot doesn’t have kids.”

Hugh came in from the dining room. “So
here
’s where everyone is.”

“Except Ma, Evelyn, and Herr Freud,” Acey said. “They’re still outside.”

“And Rich,” Delia said, “who’s off licking his wounds.”

“I saw him in the parlor.” Hugh came over to join the grazing at the leftovers. “Where’s Irene?”

“She went upstairs after Foot left.” Delia headed for the dining room once more.

“I didn’t see her up there,” Hugh said.

Horse sucked the glaze from his fingers. “The back bathroom door was closed when I went passed it. Hope Irene’s not sick. Some of Ma’s dishes were on the weird side today.”

“Some?” Hugh murmured, moving out of the way to let Delia put the raspberry cone on the table.

“You didn’t have trouble making a pig of yourself.” Acey turned to follow Delia back into the dining room.

“A man’s gotta eat,” Horse said. “And there’s not much he can do when his sister acts immature and hides his antacid.”

Acey swung around, puzzlement on her face. “Hide?”

“It’s not where I left it, and on account of your past record, you’re suspect number one.”

Hugh and I exchanged glances, but he didn’t tell them Foot took the bottle, so I didn’t either.

“Though,” Horse continued, “I can’t think why you would, unless you were having an attack of conscience about tampering with it last weekend at Rich’s. Knowing I still haven’t forgiven you for the time you put Tabasco in it.”

Acey grinned at that. “If you didn’t have that disgusting habit of chugging your Mylanta straight from the bottle, you’d have noticed the color difference.”

“So, what was it this time?” Horse asked. “Cayenne pepper? Horseradish? Laxative?”

“Nothing. Honest.” She tried to look innocent. Her devilish smile negated her halo.

Horse took another cherry. “I can prove you’re lying. Last weekend I placed a hair so it just stuck out of the bottle cap. It wasn’t there when I packed to leave Sunday afternoon.”

Acey burst into a laugh. “I know. I saw the hair. And I’m still telling the truth. I put nothing in your Mylanta.”

“Did you check the contents of the bottle?” Hugh asked his brother.