“And where are we going to hide those notebooks now?” asked Megan.
“The attic, of course,” said Brian. “Let’s say that thief gets up there and starts looking around.”
Uproarious laughter.
“Well,” said Brian, “that’s a unanimous yes. And the Game Boards? Use them, touch them, wrap them in anti-Q cloth?”
Jill was thoughtful, then she spoke. “I kind of used yours on Friday night, and was just swamped with ideas, memories, vignettes of Dad’s, actually. But it may be just a very personal thing. I wonder what would happen if we just ‘gave’ one of them to that crowd. Some man called last month and demanded the Device.”
“You never said anything!” said Brian.
Jill just looked at him.
“Okay, okay. But they know about it, they want it.”
“I don’t think they should have it,” said Megan. “What if they went back in time and changed the war? Made Hitler live, or something.”
Brian said, “Might it not have some kind of fail-safe? It is, after all, the Device, and it does implant ‘good’ pathways, ‘good’ ideas. At least, that’s the plan.”
“But we don’t know if it works. Who decides what’s good?”
“It accesses and assesses everyone. All the time. It’s pure democracy in action. Read the papers.”
Megan stood up. “All I know is that the kids have been playing in the attic a lot. So we need to be smarter than Mom and Dad.”
“The board wanted us to have it,” said Brian. “That’s all there is to it.”
“Well, I hope the board does not want Abbie to have it,” said Megan, crossing her arms. “I’m sorry,” said Megan, “but I’m crashing. That vodka last night…”
Brian smiled. “HD-50 can probably cure a hangover.”
“Good God! It’s two in the afternoon.” Jill jumped up. “I have to get dinner started, anyway.”
“Dismissed,” said Brian, stood, and stretched.
* * *
Jill went through her prep work for the picnic with an oddly light heart. Despite all this angst, she realized that she was looking forward to seeing Daniel again.
She planned to set the kids to chopping mushrooms, onions, and other ingredients for the pizzas. All the vegetables were on the kitchen table, along with knives and cutting boards. They would each make their own pizza, since no one could ever agree on toppings. The dough was rising in a huge bowl on the counter; she lifted a red-and-green striped tea towel and punched it down.
It was a lovely, hot day, around four in the afternoon. A slight breeze occasionally stirred the leaves of the oak tree just outside the tall kitchen window. Brian was outside, readying the grill, turning on the water, and gathering furniture from hither and yon, including a big comfy wicker chair for Daniel’s grandmother.
Everyone, except the kids, had slept pretty late after last night’s powwow. When Jill had gotten up at ten thirty, she’d found Bitsy, Whens, and Abbie in the attic—probably looking for that Game Board that Abbie had described to them, along with the great betrayal of her mother confiscating it just like she had confiscated her classbook. Jill shooed them downstairs, saying it was too hot, but they went back up as soon as she got busy again. It was actually hidden in the basement.
Her thoughts turned to Detective Kandell. He was only one of the disturbing events of the past few days, but at least she could focus on him.
He was about five eleven, and seemed fit; at least, fit enough to jog a few miles a day, but muscles didn’t bulge out of his shirtsleeves like a bodybuilder’s would. His skin was medium-dark, a rich, glowing color, and he wore a short, plain beard; none of that weird fancified facial hair she often saw around town. He kept his graying hair short, but she could imagine him in the sixties with an Afro. He had a marvelous sense of low-key humor. And he was smart. Very smart.
His eyes were quite sharp; no doubt about that. No sleepiness about him, but instead an alert quality; she could almost see him thinking. His voice was soothing, which, she told herself, was a good alarm sign. She thought Megan might be right—he liked her. But, on the other hand, there was obviously a lot he was not telling her. Maybe he just wanted to seem friendly in order to get some answers to whatever his questions might be.
Jill was now deeply unsettled by the break-in—much more so than she had been originally. It took a while for things to register, with her. She was glad that Brian and Cindy were moving in. Right now, they were bringing over a load of boxes from their apartment. Jill and Brian had both decided that Dad’s papers should remain at his apartment, for now. It seemed certain that the thief, who could be any number of people, was looking for them.
And for the Game Board.
She agreed with the theory that the boards had simply grown, but what had activated them to do so, just now?
Obviously, she thought, as she whirled wine-plumped sun-dried tomatoes in the blender along with fresh basil and an unholy number of garlic cloves, some party, or parties, wanted them to use the boards. How did they know about the board? How did they know what they were capable of?
Could it be Q itself, deciding?
She jumped at a touch on her shoulder.
It was Daniel.
“Sorry to startle you,” he said. “Zoe let me in. So tell me what to do.”
“You can get about fifteen plates from up there.” She pointed to a high cupboard. “There’s a stepstool.”
“Real plates? Are you nuts?” He climbed up the stepstool and began handing down plates.
“Not a polite question. But I’ll let it pass. The kids will use paper plates. Where’s the rest of your family?”
“Dad will bring Ma Ellington—Arabelle—around five thirty, and Ron, my son. Arabelle tires easily.”
“Are you related to the Duke?”
“Actually, yes. Descended from one of Edward Kennedy Ellington’s many uncles.”
“Impressive.”
“Well, any musical talent seems to have passed me by, although I do like jazz. And opera. And Motown. Where do these dishes go?”
“Outside on that big slab of stone.”
Daniel glanced out the window. “Now that’s what I call impressive.”
“Dad rented a crane to get it situated on the base. He just loved it. And his gardens. This was his little paradise, really.”
Daniel gave her a look she couldn’t read, which wasn’t surprising, considering that she didn’t really know him. He took the dishes outside and came back in to pile silverware in a basket, muttering, “No plastic? This is insanity.” She heard him opening and closing drawers, then he went back outside, this time with a tablecloth draped over his shoulder, clutching a beer in his right hand.
Megan finally dragged herself into the kitchen; she’d napped after their morning session. She said, “Remind me that I don’t drink the next time I request alcohol.”
Jill said, “I did, remember?”
“But in such a rude way.” She poured herself some orange juice. “Who’s that guy?”
“Detective Kandell. Daniel. He lives a few blocks over.”
“Ah.” She gave Jill a knowing look. “So that’s the wonder-man. I gather he kind of likes you.”
“Strictly professional,” she said. “Although Brian did know his little brother, Truman, in high school.”
“Truman Kandell? I remember him too, kind of. Neat. Maybe something’s coming back. The HD-50 is stimulating my neurons. At least I have great life insurance.”
They watched Daniel out the window. He turned and waved at them, yelled, “Am I doing all right?” He was setting out the silverware in rows on one of her fifties tablecloths. Jill would have dumped them in a pile. But she definitely would have used the tablecloth.
“Superlative!” Jill yelled back.
Megan said, “Jill, you can’t deny it. That guy is really trying to impress you.”
“Maybe he’s just insanely compulsive.”
“That impresses
me
.”
* * *
Megan had the kids outside running through a sprinkler, except for Zoe, who had retired to the ballroom to play her violin. Jim was finishing the salad, and Jill had just slipped the flounder into a half-gallon of milk in a large bowl, a practice that everyone always made fun of as a waste of milk while they scarfed down the final product. She decided to make a roux-based sauce with the leftover milk, this time.
Then Daniel was in the kitchen. “Where’s the salt and pepper? Oh, not these cardboard shakers! I’m simply not used to doing without cut-glass shakers. But I’m flexible.” He grabbed them, along with the pizza toppings in their Tupperware containers and said, “My mother always soaked the fish in milk. Delicious.”
Jill watched him descend the stairs, a bit vexed. He knew how to say way too many right things.
Arabelle and Gerald Kandell arrived; Jill only knew because she looked out the window and saw Brian wheeling Arabelle’s wheelchair over the lawn, getting her down to the party. Ron, Daniel’s son, walked next to his grandmother.
Ron was not at all shy; Whens had him putting together a pizza right away. Jill noticed that Whens was drinking one of Zoe’s Slingers and decided not to mention it. She descended the stairs with a big bowl of flounder breaded in cornmeal. “Hi!” she shouted. She set the bowl on the table. Daniel introduced them.
A beautiful wild halo of white hair surrounded Arabelle’s heart-shaped face. A tiny gold cross on a thin gold chain nestled in the hollow of her throat. Stick-thin, she wore a cool white linen dress with a Chinese scarf that Jill recognized from the Smithsonian catalog, held to the dress with an old-fashioned rhinestone brooch.
“How nice to meet you,” said Jill. She shook Arabelle’s thin, frail-looking hand, noticing that she had very long, though gnarled, fingers, and a surprisingly strong grip.
“Yes,” said Arabelle. “What a lovely place you have. You can’t see how beautiful the gardens are from the street.”
Brian furnished Gerald with a beer and took him on a tour of the house. Cindy slid the kids’ pizzas into the wood-fueled oven. Jill began to fry the fish, Arabelle at her side in the wicker chair, facing the party, clutching a glass of red wine with both arthritis-ravaged hands.
“Who is playing Vivaldi?” she asked.
Jill looked up at the house. “That would be my niece, Zoe. Brian’s girl. She should be out getting something to eat.”
“She’s very accomplished. I’d like to meet her.”
“Whens, could you please go get Zoe and tell her it’s time to eat?”
“Could she bring her violin?” asked Arabelle.
Zoe emerged in a few minutes, frowning, carrying her violin. She stomped down the stairs and declared, “I am not hungry. I’m busy.”
Arabelle said, “Would you mind playing that last passage again?”
Zoe’s face lit up. “Well, I’m trying to get it right.”
“Could you please hold this?” Arabelle handed her wine to Jill, who set it down and turned the first batch of fish over.
“Let me have your violin,” she asked Zoe. It was more along the lines of a command.
Zoe handed it over.
Arabelle astonished Jill by firing off the passage with great verve, despite her crippled hands. “I used to be better,” she apologized. “But you must set the bow position before moving it.”
Zoe said, “I know. I try, but it seems like I just can’t get it right.”
“Here’s a very simple exercise you can try,” Arabelle said, “Set. Up-bow. Set. Up-bow. You must separate the movements. Exercise like that a few minutes during your warm-up. Soon it will be yours.”
Zoe tried it. She smiled. “Yes. That’s better. Thanks. I’ll put this away now. I think I’m getting hungry.”
Cindy had been listening. “Do you teach?” she asked Arabelle.
“I used to, but it’s more difficult now. Some days I just can’t move my hands.”
Daniel came over. “Arabelle trained in Europe.”
“Seventy years ago. Seventy!”
Cindy said, “Please think about teaching Zoe. I don’t think the teacher she has now is doing her much good. She seemed very pleased with your suggestion, and that’s really unusual. So—think about it.” She frowned a little. “It’s about all she does. Besides write music.”
“What does she write?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know much about music, and she says it’s mostly too hard for her to play.”
Arabelle smiled again. “Interesting. I will think about it.”
Jill, all consumed by the picnic, did see Daniel talking to Brian and Megan now and then, in a serious fashion. She even saw him writing some notes. And then, after dark, as they were all sitting around the fire, although rather far back as it was still hot, Jill felt a pang and realized that she missed him. That was
really
not good. She had no intention of getting romantically involved with anyone. Nothing but trouble.
Gerald was telling stories about the architect who had designed their house, and told them that it most likely contained one or more of his trademark secret passages, listening tubes, and hidden doors with little rooms behind them. The kids got pretty excited about that.
Jill saw the red glow of a cigarette down through the garden, near the creek, in her mother’s grotto.
Her heart swelled; for a moment, she could almost imagine that Bette was there, making wisecracks, or just relaxing.
She walked down through the damp grass and found the stone steps.
Inside the grotto was Daniel.
“I was wondering where you were,” she said.
“I’m here. Just thinking.”
Jill was oddly glad to see him. “Mind if I sit with you?”
He smiled. “That would be just fine.”
Jill
THE FIRE THIS TIME
July 17
J
ILL AWOKE
to a great whooping, and powerful strobe lights—those of the sturdy alarm system Sam had installed when Bette’s school was in the house. Manfred barked in her face.
She smelled smoke. Sam had also installed sprinklers in the big wooden house. Why weren’t they on?
She ran to Whens’ bedroom. The bed was empty.
“Stevie!” she shouted. “Whens!”
She wondered where the fire was as she wildly searched rooms, and was fleetingly and deeply thankful that Brian’s family was spending one last night in their apartment, though most of their stuff was here. She smelled smoke, but saw no blaze anywhere as she searched the upstairs. Fire engines pulled up in front, adding to the din.