CHAPTER EIGHT

A Dead Phone Rings

A man in an expensive-looking coat with a leather briefcase was standing on the doorstep. He looked surprised to see me, then quickly hid his surprise in a fake-looking smile. “I’m here to see Miss Thorne,” he said. “Hepzibah Thorne,” he added—just in case I was Miss Thorne too, I guess.

“Is she expecting you?” I asked. I didn’t know why, but I didn’t like him. Neither, I could sense, did Kitty.

“Yes. I’m here on business.” He said it politely enough, but I could hear undertones of “none of your business.”

I wanted to shut the door in his face. This was Cousin Hepzibah’s house, though, not mine, so I couldn’t be rude. “This way,” I said and led him down the creaking corridor to the drawing room.

“Miss Thorne, I’m Craig Jaffrey from Dimension Partners,” said the man, crossing the room to Cousin Hepzibah’s chair.

“Yes, I remember you perfectly well,” she said drily. She indicated her cane and added, “You’ll forgive me if I don’t rise.”

I noticed that she didn’t ask him to sit down—not that there would have been anywhere for him to sit if she had. Well, he could have sat on the footstool. I forestalled him by plopping back down on it myself.

Mr. Jaffrey shifted his weight from one foot to the other and said, “Have you had a chance to think about our offer to buy the property here, Miss Thorne?”

Buy the property! My heart fell. Where would we go?

“Why, yes,” Cousin Hepzibah said. “I had all the time I needed the day you first made your offer. My answer is still no.”

My hands, I found, had been clenched so tight my fingernails were digging into my palms. I took a deep breath and unclenched them.

“Well, we certainly appreciate your consideration,” Mr. Jaffrey said. “I was hoping I could explain the advantages a little better. I’ve brought some materials that I’m sure you’ll find . . .” Here he looked around for somewhere to put down his briefcase. I saw him consider the little table at Cousin Hepzibah’s elbow—the only table at this end of the room—but it was covered with Cousin Hepzibah’s complicated-looking needlework.

He gave up, put his briefcase on the floor, squatted down, snapped it open, and took out a shiny folder with a too-bright photograph of some ugly buildings on the cover. He held it out to Cousin Hepzibah, who made no move to take it. After an awkward moment, he handed it to me instead.

“As you’ll see when you take a look at that prospectus, Miss Thorne, we’ve upped our offer by a very considerable eleven and a half percent,” he said, still crouching by his briefcase. The pose made him look like an overdressed frog. I could see his shiny scalp through his thinning hair.

“I don’t think you’re likely to receive a higher offer, and certainly not in the time frame we’re looking at,” he went on. “At your age, I imagine the expense and inconvenience of living in a house in this kind of shape would add to the appeal of making a move sooner rather than later. I really encourage you to take a look at those numbers. It’s a very generous proposal. We would of course help you relocate to an appropriate facility, take care of your relocation expenses.”

Cousin Hepzibah waited until he seemed to be done talking. Then she asked, “Mr. Jaffrey, do you know how old I am?”

“Why—no. I was taught it was never polite to ask a lady’s age.” He smiled an oily smile, rocking a little in his crouch. He looked very uncomfortable, and I wondered why he didn’t stand up. Had he gotten stuck?

“I’m ninety-one years old,” said Cousin Hepzibah.

Evidently he had gotten stuck. He leaned forward onto his hands and knees, put one leg forward, pushed down on the floorboards, and staggered to his feet.

“I have trouble believing that, Miss Thorne. You certainly don’t look a day over—” He stopped, clearly unable to come up with a polite but plausible number of years that she didn’t look a day over.

“I’m ninety-one years old,” Cousin Hepzibah repeated. “My family has lived in this house for more than three centuries, and I have no intention of leaving it—certainly not in the little time I have left aboveground. So please don’t waste any more effort.”

“It’s no effort at all, Miss Thorne. It’s my pleasure.”

Cousin Hepzibah continued, “Your best bet is to wait until I’m dead and then try my heirs. But I warn you, we Thornes are a long-lived family.” She glanced at me and added, “And I don’t think you’re making a very good impression on the younger generation. Sukie, child, will you show our visitor to the door?”

“I really appreciate your taking the time to see me this afternoon, Miss Thorne. I’ll just leave you those materials to look over, and I’ll come back in a week or two to see if you have any questions,” said Mr. Jaffrey.

“No need,” said Cousin Hepzibah.

“Oh, like I said, it’s no trouble at all.”

“Good-bye, Mr. Jaffrey,” said Cousin Hepzibah. “Sukie?”

I got up from the footstool. Something in the room felt hard and threatening, as if the entire house and all the Thornes, living and dead, wanted the guy gone. For once, I thought, we all agree. “This way, Mr. Jaffrey,” I said, heading down the corridor to the front door.

Mr. Jaffrey followed quickly. “You must be very concerned about your grandma, Suzy,” he said.

“Both my grandmothers are dead,” I said.

“What? No, I meant Miss Thorne. She’s what, your aunt?”

“My cousin. Why would I be concerned about her?” I asked.

“Well, her age, for one thing. It must be very hard for her, living in this old wreck,” he said. “All those stairs. Leaky roof. Freezing in here. Frankly, if she was my cousin or whatever, I would have found a clean, modern facility years ago where she could be well cared for. With the money my firm is offering, she could live out her last days in comfort with plenty left over for your college fund, hey? A nice new house, money for you and your brothers and sisters, I bet your dad would love a new car, something for a rainy day. . . . Talk to your parents about it. See if they can convince your cousin to do what’s best for everyone.”

He handed me his card. I was getting quite a collection of the things.

“If they ask me, I’ll be sure to tell them what I think. Good-bye, Mr. Jaffrey.”

Shutting the door behind him, I went back to the parlor. “What was that all about?” I asked Cousin Hepzibah.

She rolled her eyes. “Just the latest reptile. They’ve been at it for decades. Back in the middle of the twentieth century they used to want to build housing tracts and golf courses. Then it was shopping centers and office complexes. A ‘spiritualist retreat’ once—the old ones had a good laugh at that. I think this fellow is proposing a resort hotel. With a marina in the pebble cove. You can take a look at those papers of his if you’re interested. As for myself, I intend to die here.”

“No time soon, I hope! We just got here,” I said, holding out my hand.

She took it and squeezed it. “No, no. Not for a little while yet.”

• • •

Before dinner, I was getting out my science notebook to read over the lab assignment when the phone on my desk rang.

The dead phone.

I stared at it.

It went on ringing.

I picked up the handset, which was tethered to the body of the phone with a curly cord, and held it to my ear. “Hello?” I said.

“Hey, is that Sukie?” A guy’s voice came echoey and hollow, as if he was standing at the other end of a long tunnel.

“Yes?”

“Man, you’re hard to find! Don’t you have a cell phone?”

“Who is this?” I asked. The voice sounded familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it.

“Oh, sorry! It’s Andre—Andre Merritt from the New-York Circulating Material Repository.”

“Andre? But how . . . where did you get this number? I didn’t even know the phone worked!”

“Yeah, believe me, it wasn’t easy. You should get a cell phone. Listen, got a minute?”

“You mean now?” I glanced at the clock on the desk. It said quarter to five; I had about an hour before I’d need to go downstairs and help with dinner. “Sure,” I said. “What’s up?”

“Great! Me and Libbet wanted to know, can you zoom down here and take a look at those doorknobs?”

“Zoom down where? What doorknobs?”

“The ones we got at the flea market. We need— Wait, hang on a sec. Libbet wants to talk to you.”

There was a clacking noise and then Elizabeth Rew came on the line. “Hi, Sukie, I’m glad we reached you. Your dad’s phone is going straight to voice mail, and I couldn’t imagine how we would find you, but then Andre had the bright idea of using the Murray phone. I’d forgotten we had it in our collection. So do you have a few minutes for a quick visit? We were trying to classify these doorknobs you sold us, but we can’t figure out what they do, exactly. You seemed pretty sensitive, so I thought maybe you could help.”

“What the doorknobs do? Don’t they open doors? I mean, when they’re attached to them?”

“Yes, of course, but beyond that. I thought if you could take a look, or get a feel for them, or whatever your sense is, you might be able to help pin it down. It shouldn’t take long, if you can just pop over.”

“Pop over where?”

“The repository.”

“But isn’t that down in New York? How would I get there?”

Elizabeth sighed. “This is kind of embarrassing, but I have zero sense of direction. I’m going to give you back to Andre, okay? He can give you directions.”

A clatter again and then Andre came back on the line. “Okay, so, if I was you, I would just head east to the coast and then follow the coastline down. When you hit Connecticut, keep west of Long Island and head down along the Sound. It’s dusk already, so you don’t have to worry about attracting too much attention. When you hit Manhattan, zip down the east side and look out for Central Park—it’s right near us.” He gave an address, the same one on Elizabeth’s card.

“But—but I can’t drive! And it’s hundreds of miles! And even if I could, Dad’s got the truck.”

“What truck? I thought you had a Hawthorne broom.”

“A what?”

“Hang on.” The phone clacked again, and I heard muffled voices, as if Andre were holding his hand over the mouthpiece. Soon he came back. “Hi, Sukie, sorry about the mix-up. Never mind now, but maybe we could borrow you next time you come to the flea market?”

“Um, sure,” I said.

“All right, well, sorry, thanks again,” he said. “See you Saturday, maybe.”

“See you,” I said.

The phone went dead. I stared at it for a minute, then hung up. What on earth was that all about?