Authors: Gloria Repp
“I wish I could tell you for sure.” She described how the cat had almost attacked Kent, and Remi’s joking response.
Jude grinned as he listened.
“Hence, horrible shadow,”
he said slowly. “Where’d Remi get that?”
“It’s from a play written by Shakespeare.”
“Which one?”
“
Macbeth
. There’s this ghost, see, of someone who’s been murdered—”
“
Macbeth
.” Jude’s face had a remembering look. “My dad read that to me. He taught Shakespeare in school.”
“He was a school teacher?”
“Yeah . . . Macbeth.” He seemed to be listening to the word, testing the way it sounded.
They paused to jump over a stream, and he said, “I like that. Can we name the cat Macbeth?”
“But he was a murderer!”
“Doesn’t matter. Dad would like it. Call him Mac for short.”
When they reached the Castells’ house, Jude didn’t look as worried as he had the last time. “Mother’s having a pretty good day,” he said.
Maybe she could get a useful interview. Even more important, maybe she could pick up on Kent’s reasons for disliking this family.
The flower-sprigged living room was empty, but the workroom was not. Bria raised a disproving eyebrow at the sight of Jude’s dirty face and jeans.
“I know—I know,” he said. “I’ll get a shower.” He hurried off, and Bria motioned for Madeleine to come in.
Paula Castell didn’t look up from where she sat on a stool, her long blue skirt falling around her in graceful folds. Madeleine opened her notebook and moved silently to stand behind her. Paula’s knife flashed in confident strokes, shaping the upper part of a duck’s head.
Bria slid onto her stool and bent over the decoy she’d been painting. This one had a chocolate brown head and back.
Madeleine took careful notes as Paula picked up a thin-bladed saw to work on the neck of her duck.
After another few minutes, Paula put down the saw. “Hello,” she said. She smiled, although the smile didn’t touch the blue shadows in her eyes. “I’m glad you came back.”
Paula spoke as if Madeleine had visited only the day before, but at least her gaze was focused. “Do you have questions?”
She had to find out about the eyes. Each one of the finished decoys had the same look.
“What gives a decoy the expression in its eyes?” she asked.
“My grandfather taught me about that,” Paula said. “I like to give mine a deep eye groove—deeper than he did on his.”
She scooped out the eye area with her knife, giving shape to the duck’s cheeks, and held the decoy so Madeleine could see what she’d done. “When Bria paints, she has her own way of using light and dark to get the expression she wants.”
“And Jude? What does he do?”
“He’s our cut man.” Paula gestured toward a square table in the corner that held tools. Curls of wood littered the table and the floor. Her brow puckered. “He’s not very tidy, but he does an acceptable job.”
Paula began smoothing the duck’s neck with a small rasp, and a tapping sound came from over their heads.
“Oh!” Bria sounded as if she’d been awakened.
“It’s okay.” Jude, his dark hair slicked-down wet, spoke from the doorway. “I’ll get her dishes.”
He touched Madeleine’s notebook. “Want to meet my grandmother?”
Bria looked up again. “Do you think . . . ?”
“Just for a minute. Gemma will like her.”
He took her upstairs to a large bedroom at the front of the house. In the alcove formed by a dormer window, a small, white-haired woman sat with one foot propped on a stool. A knobby brown cane leaned against the wall. That would explain the thumping sound.
The old lady put down her knitting as Jude bent to kiss her cheek, and her black eyes glinted with affection.
“This is Mollie.” Jude pulled out chairs and motioned for her to sit down. “She’s the one who sent the cookies and your rocking chair.”
His grandmother lifted a tiny wrinkled face to study Madeleine. “My thanks, indeed.” She spoke in a clear voice that was distinctly British.
Jude said, “Why don’t you tell Gemma about the stuff you’ve discovered?”
“Certainly.” Madeleine described the glassware, the china, the candlesticks, and the odd furniture, and the old lady seemed happy to listen.
“We found some duck decoys upstairs,” Madeleine said. “That’s why I’m here. Timothy, over at the store, told me about the ones Paula makes, and I wanted to watch her work.”
“How do you find Timothy?” Gemma asked.
“An unusual person,” she said. “He’s been kind to me.”
Gemma nodded. “He was my first friend when we moved here.”
“He took me to visit Dan’l Forbes so I could ask him about decoys.”
“Huh.”
So that’s where Jude had picked up his favorite expression. Come to think of it, they had the same black eyes, except that hers were more shrewd.
“I know that Dan’l,” Gemma said.
Madeleine said, “Dan’l thought I was writing a book, like Kent Sanders. Do you like having an author for a cousin?”
“No cousin of mine,” Gemma said. “Kent Sanders is a snake.” She gave a short, decisive nod and picked up her knitting.
Jude collected her dishes. “We can’t stay,” he said. “Have a good nap, Gemma. I’ll bring you some tea later on.”
“Thank you.” The busy hands paused, and Gemma gave Madeleine a sharp glance. “Come back,” she said, and resumed her work.
On their way down the stairs, Jude was grinning. “She likes you. I knew she would. Otherwise she wouldn’t have said a word. You should see how she behaves when Kent tries to get her to talk.” He chuckled. “Disgraceful. He tries to charm her, and she hates that.”
Paula was still at work, but Bria had finished, and Madeleine stopped to admire the new pintail decoy.
“Will Timothy be selling it for you?” she asked.
Paula looked up. “Maybe,” she said. “Our decoys are being sold in other stores too. Kent says they’re a good product and he’s helping us. He’s my—”
She looked at Jude. “What did he call it?”
“Distribution manager,” Jude said, biting his thumbnail.
Madeleine closed her notebook, sensing that it was time to leave. She had picked up some details for her research, but nothing to account for Kent’s attitude.
“Thank you again,” she said.
“You’re welcome,” Paula said, already immersed in her work.
Jude walked with her out onto the porch. “Can you find your way back okay?”
“I think so, thanks to your map.”
She could tell that he had something more to ask. “Do you have time,” he said, “to come see the den I’m making for Macbeth?”
“I’d like that. How about late tomorrow afternoon?” She and Aunt Lin should be back by then.
He grinned. “Four o’clock? Wear hiking boots if you have them. I’ll come get you.”
Now that they had a cable connection, Madeleine spent the evening downloading information about the museum and looking at the next module for her course. Rolls. She chose Vienna rolls from the list and researched different types of leavening for the required paper. A short one this time.
The next morning dawned gray, with sullen clouds hanging low, and something about the wind muttering through the pines made her feel unsettled. Or maybe it was the thought of going to Millville and looking at all that glass.
Normally, she wouldn’t mind. But old Jersey glass reminded her of Kent because of the way he carried on and on about his book. Please, let’s not clutter this day with Kent.
The glass museum was more extensive than anything she’d imagined. Room after room displayed collections: Early American Glass; Nineteenth Century Art Glass; Cut Glass; Art Nouveau Glass, and more.
Aunt Lin’s main interest was the New Jersey gallery, so she took photos and Madeleine made notes. A very old, green, flat-sided bottle seemed familiar, and an aquamarine vase looked identical to one in the dining room. Henrietta’s hoarding may have resulted in some genuine antiques.
Finally Aunt Lin said, “I’ve seen enough glass for a while. How about lunch? One of my favorite restaurants is down Route 49, not too far from here.”
The Mullica Place looked as if it had once been a mansion, and its antique furnishings complemented the expensive menu. When they’d finished their apple cobbler, Aunt Lin put down her fork with a sigh. “Just as good as I remembered. Now I’m ready to shop.”
The gift shop had the same refined atmosphere as the restaurant, with polished wood shelves that displayed books, pottery, and hand-blown glass. “Beautiful colors,” Aunt Lin said. “I’d love to get some of these for props—the magazine cover, you know—but look at the prices!”
“We have plenty of candlesticks and bottles,” Madeleine said. “And dozens of vases. Maybe they would give the effect you want.”
“You’re right.”
They paused in front of a sign:
WOODCRAFT—SOUTH JERSEY ARTISTS
. Among the wooden toys and candle holders was a trio of duck decoys.
“Decoys?” Aunt Lin picked up a mallard hen. “Look at the detail on those feathers.” She turned it over. “And it’s signed.”
The blocky initials, PC, were burned into the wood. The price was $215.00.
Her aunt shrugged. “I don’t know who PC is, but he’s expensive.”
“Probably because it’s signed,” Madeleine said. “And it’s worn. Must be old.” She picked up each of the other decoys. “Neither of these are signed, and they’re only $100. I can see why.”
They were neatly painted, but they didn’t have the meticulous detail of the PC decoy.
Aunt Lin held onto the mallard hen. “Let me think about our Americana cover. Colors. Hmm.” She half-closed her eyes. “We’ve got four, but five would be better. How about this hen? Her colors will fit, and she’ll make a pair with the drake.”
“She’s definitely the best,” Madeleine said. “But at that price?”
Her aunt laughed. “She’s a necessity. I’ll put this bit of pottery back.” She glanced at her watch. “Let’s go.”
As they drove north, her aunt was silent, probably thinking her endless magazine thoughts, and Madeleine took another look at their new decoy. Who had carved it? Who had shot over it? Who had sold it into the careless hands of a dealer?
They swept up the highway, past small houses, strip malls, and billboards, and finally entered the green solitude of the pines.
By the time they reached the Manor, it was early afternoon. “I think I’ll try a conference call,” Aunt Lin said, and disappeared into her office.
Madeleine set the new decoy on the kitchen table and studied it. What would Dan’l think of this? She’d take him some cookies, and maybe he could tell her something about PC.
At the sight of her, Dan’l’s rosy face wrinkled with pleasure
.
He started to thank her for the cookies, but halted, staring at the decoy.
He took it into his hands. “Nice work,” he murmured, and turned it over. “By golly, I thought it looked familiar! I’ve got a PC too.”
He lifted a shoebox down from the cupboard and took out a decoy, a pintail duck, wrapped in tissue paper.
Wordless for once, he set it beside the mallard hen and sank into a chair. He turned them both over and compared the signatures. “Signed the same,” he muttered. “Sure looks the same.”
The color drained out of his face. “But see—this one of yours got more detail on the feathers. It’s not the same kind of duck, I know, but . . .”
Madeleine studied the mallard. Compared to Dan’l’s PC, was there something different about the eye?
She was about to mention it when he said, “Not my business, not at all.” He lurched to his feet, wrapped up his decoy, and put the box into the cupboard. “Just remembered,” he said, “I gotta go into town.” He spoke a little too quickly, and his eyes flickered away from hers.
Why were his hands shaking?
Out of pity, she said that she had to leave too. He didn’t walk her to the door this time, but he did say, as she left the kitchen, “Thank you, ma’am, for the cookies.”
Never mind. She couldn’t have stayed much longer or she’d have been late for Jude. But Dan’l had never acted this way before.
Aunt Lin was still in her office when she returned. Good. No more decoy talk. She’d hurry into old clothes and go to meet Jude. A hike and Jude’s friendly chatter—that’s what she needed.
Judging from the condition of his jeans, Jude had already been hard at work. A trowel jutted from his back pocket, and he carried an armful of pine logs. He started away from the Manor at a fast lope, soon turning off onto a different path.
The landscape was nothing new—pine trees and sand, invisible singing birds, but she felt her disquiet easing toward serenity.
The pines mingled with oaks and gave way to a stand of wide-set pines with low, gnarled branches. Jude hopped across a stream and glanced back at her with a smile. They’d left the path, but he seemed to know where he was going.
He headed into a grove of towering cedars, so thickly grown that their branches shuttered the light and chilled the air. “Cedar swamp,” he said. Moss floated like emerald rafts on the dark water, and a chickadee called from the shadows, singing that he was glad to be here.