Songs of Love & Death (54 page)

“They loved each other very much, didn’t they? Who were they?”

May gave me a gentle smile. “My brother, Daneen, and his wife, Ellen.”

Jason’s parents. My in-laws.

“You never got to meet them, did you?”

I gave her a sidelong glance, not sure of how much she knew. “I wanted to, but no… I never had the chance.”

May reached out and tipped up my chin. “You are far too pale for such a pretty young woman.” She dipped into one of the voluminous pockets on her apron and brought out an apple and tucked it in my hand. “You need some color in your cheeks to match that fiery hair of yours. This will help.”

She pointed to another photograph. Daneen and Ellen stood in front of a lush garden. Overflowing baskets filled with tomatoes and lettuce, carrots and cucumbers, surrounded them. “Breakaway has many treasures. Daneen and Ellen were its rarest. They loved this farm. They loved their son. They never looked at the flaws in anything.
Or anyone.
”

What she left unsaid hung between us like thick fog.

I wondered just how much I could tell her. “Jason seldom spoke of his parents.” It wasn’t totally true, but I felt a sudden desire to spare her feelings.

“That, I do not doubt.” She held my gaze. “Jason seldom divulged anything relating to his past. Come, let me show you the living room.”

We entered the living room, and once again, light flooded the room at the touch of a switch. A velveteen sofa and love seat looked new, but the rest of the furniture stood ponderous, weighty oak, solid and stern. A bay window glittered as May drew open the floor-length drapes. A window seat, upholstered in the same green velvet as the curtains, overlooked the side yard, facing the trunk of an oak that had seen far more years than I.

A dizzy feeling that we were being watched hit me, but it was swept away in the next moment when I realized that I’d fallen in love with the house. I spun
around, clapping my hands. “I never dreamed it would be so lovely!”

The room took a deep breath as a splash of sunlight filtered in through the sparkling glass, and the light transformed every corner. Newly potted ferns and ivies draped down from shining brass hooks on the ceiling, and I realized that May had brought them for me. Then I stopped, rooted to the floor, as I spotted a picture hanging low on the north wall.

The man in the photo was young, but there was no mistaking the face. Jason’s eyes glittered at me with the same cruel assessment I’d known throughout my life with him. I pulled my sweater tighter, suddenly cold, and the scars on my throat began to itch again. I glanced over at May. She’d been watching me as I rubbed them gently. Flushing, I waited for her to comment.

“I’m sorry, Laurel,” she murmured. “I should have taken that down. I just wasn’t thinking. Please forgive me?”

Trembling, I reached out, stopping just short of touching the photograph. Would I ever be able to face his image without shaking? May silently stepped in front of me and turned the picture to face the wall. I slowly let out my breath.
Breathe deep, calm the soul.
A companion photo hung next to it, a man as fair as Jason had been dark, though somewhat older.

“Who’s that?” I asked.

May’s face lit up. “That was my son, Galen. Jason’s cousin.” Pride rang in her voice. “I miss him dreadfully.”

“Was he older?” I asked, examining the photograph. The man’s face was robust, but not red, and he had sandy blond hair gathered into a short braid that hung down his back. He sported a reddish beard and I found myself unable to look away. His eyes radiated the same gentle firmness as May’s. Beneath her wrinkles, I could tell that May possessed the same definite bone structure. Not nearly as angular as Jason’s.

May nodded. She fingered the portrait and her prints remained faintly on the glass. “Galen was six years older than Jason was.” Her eyes sparkled. “He was nothing like his cousin. They were the sun and the moon. He died in this house.” She glanced at her watch. “My word, I didn’t realize so much time has passed. I’ve got pies in the oven.” She edged towards the door. “I just wanted to meet you.”

“How did you know I was here?” I walked her to the door.

May smiled and I suddenly felt exposed. Jason had called her a “nosy old bitch,” and now I knew why, at least from his standpoint. She’d make keeping secrets as hard as keeping your hand out of the cookie jar, and Jason had kept a lot of skeletons locked in that dark closet that was his mind.

She laughed faintly. “I knew. I just knew. Galen and I never thought anyone in the family would ever live at Breakaway again. That’s why he moved in here. We never told Jason.” She gave me a keen look and added, “I’m pleased you’re giving it a try. This house belongs to you… and you belong to it.”

“You don’t know how much I needed to hear that,” I said, swallowing a sudden swell of tears. It had been so long since anybody had been nice to me, had acted like I wasn’t tainted. I almost believed her.

“Words can be powerful allies. Or enemies.” May glanced up at the sky. “It’s going to be hot this afternoon. My garden can use the warmth.”

“Let me walk you to the path. I need to bring in Circe.”

“Circe?”

“My cat. She’s been in the carrier for several hours. We took several breaks along the way, but I’m afraid she’s probably fighting mad by now. She hates to travel.”

“I don’t blame her. Come, let’s get her settled, then.” As we headed toward my car, she said, “My Galen was a veterinarian. Did you know that?”

I shook my head. “I’m afraid not. Jason never said anything about his life here, or his family. He told me Breakaway Farm was a moldering dump.”

“Jason had more problems than his parents wanted to admit,” May said as we reached my Pathfinder. I had to pull out a couple of the suitcases first, but I finally had Circe in hand. May picked up the bag containing the new litter box and bag of litter.

I protested. “You don’t have to do that—your pies, remember?”

“Laurel, I can carry an empty litter box. The pies will keep for another few minutes. They’re huckleberry, by the way.”

“Thank you,” I said.

May led me to the half bath on the first floor. “Why don’t you lock her in here until you get your unloading done? She’ll be fine if you set up her box and fetch her some water.”

Circe let out a yowl, staring indignantly from her cage.

With a laugh, May said, “What a pretty calico! And she’s a lively one, I’ll bet. There are lots of mice and shrews out here. She’ll have fun hunting.”

We put her in the bath and I unpacked her litter box and filled it, then set out food and water before walking May down the path.

As she passed the car, she pointed to my portfolio. “You paint, don’t you? You don’t have much else with you,” she added.

I shook my head. “I travel light. Easier that way.”

“Well, then, good-bye. I’ll bring you over one of my pies.” And, just like
that, the fey woman vanished down a side path, quiet as a whisper.

H
E COULD FEEL
the cat’s presence before he could find her. When he was hiding in the mirrors, he would travel from one to the next and so forth, and now he peeked out of the bathroom mirror to look at the calico, who stared up at him, eyes glowering, with a hiss.

“You may not pass,” she said. “She’s mine. I won’t let you hurt her.”

He laughed and a thousand chimes blew in the wind, low and reverberant. Inclining his head with respect, he said, “Mistress of Cats, little protector. In life, I tended to your kind. I mean no harm to you. What can you tell me about her?”

And Circe, her emerald eyes glinting in the light that filtered through the window, whispered one word, “Lonely.” And then, pleading, “Don’t hurt her.”

The man smiled softly then, and the calico backed away, hunching down, hissing at the mirror. But he passed, and after a while, she curled up and went to sleep.

And he went back to waiting.

A
FTER I FINISHED
unloading the car, I let Circe out of the bathroom and dropped into a chair in the kitchen with a cup of peppermint tea. Luckily, the place was fully furnished—I wouldn’t have to buy much.

As I relaxed, floating in the diffused light that flooded the room, the scent of peppermint drifted up to clear my mind. Finally, I forced myself to pull out my compact.

May hadn’t asked, but there was no way she could have overlooked them. I ran my fingers along the fading lines that crisscrossed my throat. How many times had I defended myself against the accusations that I’d asked for it?

And yet, inside, I could hear my own voice loudest of all.
If only you’d left early enough… if only you’d called for help…
The scars would fade from my throat in time, but they’d burn forever in my memory.

Wearily, I wandered into the living room, where I turned Jason’s picture back around. The glittering man. How he’d first sparkled into my life! Suave, sophisticated, the mysterious stranger of all young girls’ dreams, the dark knight who rushes in to sweep us away. I lifted the frame off the wall and stared deep into those eyes. And then I slammed it into the fireplace, smashing it to bits.

You’re dead
, I thought.
You’re dead and you can’t hurt me anymore.
But
deep in my heart, I didn’t really believe it.

H
E REMAINED HIDDEN
for a few days, watching her from mirror to mirror, keeping quiet, talking only to the cat. The calico had set up a cautious conversation with him. In return, he reached out of the mirrors, petted her tummy, offered her a chin scratch.

By the time he was ready to approach the woman, he had a pretty good idea of what had happened. Jason always had been a hardnosed son of a bitch, he’d been cruel and vindictive, and at times, downright dangerous. But Jason was dead, and cruel or not, had brought Galen the key to his manacles.

He tried to make sense of what his cousin told him, but so much seemed confusing. But from what he understood, the woman had killed Jason. And like his cousin or not, murder wasn’t the most desirable option.

Circe told him a different story, but like all cats, she lived on a different time line. She seemed to think the mess went down during the blooming of the daffodils before the daffodils this time—in other words, a year ago, spring.

And so he watched Laurel from the mirrors in the house, watched her alone, and quietly turned away when he felt he was intruding on her private moments. She was beautiful, in an autumn sort of way. Cloaked in red hair and fair skin, Laurel reminded him of a woman made of burning leaves. But he could see the scars on her throat, and they made him wonder.

Jason kept silent on the matter.

....

A
NOISE CAUGHT
my attention. That was one thing about Breakaway Farm—the house was filled with creaks and shudders and all the requisite noises that attend old houses. I’d gotten used to most of them, but now and then, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched.

I put down my embroidery and listened. This noise had been loud enough to really hear. And it sounded like it was coming from my bedroom.

Circe was sitting on the rocking chair.

“You hear that, baby?”

She slowly turned her gaze to me and mewed. She’d been responsible for my rescue from Jason, knocking a vase within reach so I could grab hold of it and hit him once, twice, and the final third time that ended both his attempts to kill me and his life. She’d meowed in my ear, keeping me conscious till I managed to drag myself over to the phone to call 911.

There it was again—louder. Circe’s ears twitched and she sat up, looking
anxious. Even if it was just a squirrel or raccoon in the attic, I needed to know, so I picked up the baseball bat that I’d left in the corner of the room, and started upstairs.

As I approached my bedroom, I heard the noise again. The door was open and I crept inside, my cell phone in my pocket ready in case I needed to call the cops. Out here in the country, though, it would take them precious time to reach me. I had to learn how to take care of matters on my own.

The four-poster bed stood silent. The window was closed. Nothing looked out of place. Slowly, I lowered the bat and squinted in the dim light. The closet door was off its hinges—I’d removed it first thing, out of habit. The door to the master bath was open and I inched over, peeking inside. Nothing.

What the hell? Maybe it had just been the house. Maybe old houses settled more than I thought they did. Shrugging, I turned around and found myself facing the antique mirror that rested against one wall. I’d moved it away from my bed because something about it made me nervous.

A man stared back at me from my reflection.

Whirling, I raised the bat, but there was no one standing behind me. I jerked back to the mirror. Sure enough, he was still there, gazing at me from inside the glass. I slowly lowered the bat. What the hell was going on? Was I hallucinating? Overtired?
Or is it a ghost?
whispered a little voice in my mind.

Ghost. A ghost. I tried the word on my tongue as I gazed into the man’s eyes. And then I recognized him from the photo in the living room. I was staring at May’s son. Galen, who was long, long dead.

N
OW THAT HE
had her attention, how could he keep her from running scared? He pressed one hand against the glass and smiled softly. The last thing he wanted to do was chase her away. As he watched her struggle to believe, he noticed Circe saunter up to her mistress. The cat casually leaped onto the vanity and stretched up, her front paws leaning against the frame of the mirror. She gazed into the mirror at him, her luminous eyes almond shaped and glowing, and then let out a hiss and lightly leaped into Laurel’s arms.

Laurel stared at him, then at the cat in her arms. She whispered something—he couldn’t fully hear, being stuck in the mirror—but when she looked at him again, her gaze was soft, and a flicker of a smile rested on her lips. She shifted the cat to her left arm and raised her right hand, slowly bringing it up to meet his on the other side of the glass.

A shiver raced through him—a whisper of song on the wind. It was enough for one night. He flashed her a pale smile, then faded from sight.