When Frank bought his house, it was with a vague hope that Barbara would be willing to move in with him, and even as he recognized his never-voiced hope, he had chided himself as a foolish old man. He had known it wasn’t going to happen, but still he had hoped. On the few occasions when circumstances made it necessary that she come and stay for a few days, or weeks in this case, he had to remind himself repeatedly to give her room, not ask questions, and above all not to give her any orders. He knew that she would take off if he crossed the line. What he wanted to do that Saturday afternoon was to tell her to light somewhere and relax.
She wanted, or more likely needed, a long walk, but intermittent rain had fallen all morning, and now she was waiting for Sylvia to call, and after that it might be getting dark, or the rain might return. She was upstairs and down repeatedly, and when up he could hear her pacing in the hall, and when down, she wandered into the living room, dining room, kitchen, around and around.
He heard the doorbell chime and left his study in time to see Alan admitting Darren.
“Hi,” Darren said. “You’re still job hunting?”
Alan grinned. “Times are tough.”
“Afternoon,” Frank said, stepping forward into the hall. “Come on in.”
Barbara came downstairs and stopped at the bottom when she saw Darren.
His gaze on her was as searching as it had been when he saw Alan. “Hello again. I’m on a mission,” he said.
He turned to Frank. “Herbert has Carrie and Todd working with him on the basement rec room, and I’m an errand boy. Herbert says you have a big steamer pan of some sort, and he’d like to borrow it. He plans to make molé tomorrow and Carrie’s going to make tamales, and you’re both invited to share the feast. The steamer is for her to use. You’re welcome, too,” he said to Alan.
Alan shook his head. “No, thanks. I have a lot of reading to do.”
Frank glanced at Barbara. She shrugged. “Sure.” She looked at her watch.
“Now I’m off to shop,” Darren said. “I have a long list, and I don’t even know what most of the things on it are. Herbert said I have to go to the Kiva for them. He also said my kitchen is piss-poor in the way of ingredients.”
“I’ll go with you,” Frank said, glad to have an excuse to get out and leave Barbara to her pacing. “Maybe we can figure it out together. In fact, I’ll buy salad makings and add to the feast.”
Belatedly Barbara realized she should make a contribution. “I’ll bring a dessert,” she said.
After they left together, Barbara resumed her pacing. “Why doesn’t she call?” Barbara muttered to herself, looking at her watch again. “How long does it take to eat lunch?” She went back upstairs.
It was ten minutes after four when the call came. Sylvia’s voice was as hushed as it had been before. “Reporting,” she said. “Pamela Costello was there. I couldn’t get away. But I have what you need.” She kept her voice almost inaudible and she referred to Nora by initials. The only thing she had not been able to find out was when Nora bought the wig. “She was either evasive or trying to remember,” Sylvia said. “I don’t think she suspected anything, though, and then Pamela changed the subject and I thought it wise not to go back there.”
After hanging up, Barbara drew a deep breath. At least she could relax a bit now, since Larry had left early that morning for his fishing trip and he would not be back until the coming Friday. On the other hand, the wig shop was in San Francisco and that was a nuisance.
Dinner that Sunday was extraordinary, everyone agreed. Herbert had made duck molé, not turkey, and explained that any time turkey would be good, duck would be better. He went into a long description of how he had cooked two ducks the day before in order to cool them and skim the fat from the broth. “It’s the broth that makes it,” he said complacently.
Carrie listened and nodded now and then. Her tamales were equally good, they all said, and she smiled and nodded again. But she kept thinking how weird this dinner was, as if everyone at the table except her and Todd shared secrets. Darren kept his gaze on Barbara and Barbara’s mind was somewhere else much of the time, and when it came back now and then, she said something that might or might not be on the subject. Or on a subject already over with.
Carrie had a feeling that Mr. Holloway and Herbert had already been acquainted when they both pretended to meet for the first time.
And halfway through dinner Morgan began to bark, and Herbert was on his feet and halfway to the door before anyone else even moved. When he came back, he said, “That dang dog, I can’t teach him a thing. He’s got a brain as big as a flea. Just a car turning in the driveway.”
Carrie laughed derisively. She had watched Herbert make hand signals, and Morgan respond instantly. When she tried the same signals, Morgan simply looked at her with his tongue hanging out and an idiotic dog grin on his face. The way he was trained, it was almost as if Morgan was less a pet than a watchdog. But she had always believed watchdogs were big and fierce, Doberman pinschers or mastiffs or even pit bulls, and Morgan looked like a Raggedy Ann kind of dog. But no one could come onto the property without setting him off.
She saw the quick exchange of glances that passed between Mr. Holloway and Herbert when he came in, and she thought this was how it was when her parents and other adults had shared a secret. There had been strong undercurrents that she had sensed and had not been able to unravel. When? She caught in her breath and held it, but the moment was already gone, the memory too fleeting to grasp. Todd began to talk with enthusiasm about ghost towns, and she lost even the feeling that she had almost captured something from her childhood.
Barbara did not want to linger and socialize after they finished a bakery cake she had picked up on the way to Darren’s house. “I know it’s rude to eat and run,” she said. “It’s just that I have some things to get done tonight.” It was less an apology than a statement of fact.
“Let’s fix a plate for Alan,” Darren said. “There’s a lot left over.”
“The philosopher?” Carrie asked. “He’s staying with you?”
“At Dad’s house. Out of work, out of luck,” Barbara said. “It’s temporary.”
Carrie frowned, glanced at Herbert, then away. Two men crashing with friends? She felt a strange stirring in her stomach and might have asked more, but Herbert was gathering things from the table and talking to Todd, and she remained silent.
“I can reach you at Frank’s house?” Darren asked, holding Barbara’s coat a few minutes later.
“Yes, for now, at least. It’s simpler that way.” And that was less an explanation than a dodge, she knew, but there it was. She did not elaborate, and he did not ask any further questions.
Carrie had channel-hopped for a short time, then turned off the TV. She had never had her own television before, and it was now more of a curiosity than a necessity. She rarely found anything of interest on it. She picked up a book, put it down when she realized that nothing she was reading was leaving any impression. She missed her car, she thought then. She wasn’t used to being cooped up, having to rely on others to take her shopping, take her to work, to the library. Every time she called about her car it was the same story, they were trying to track down a couple of parts, an alternator and a differential something or other.
Thank heavens, she thought, that Herbert had showed up when he did, or she would really be stuck, imprisoned here in this lovely apartment. Her eyes widened, and she gazed about as if seeing her apartment for the first time. Why on earth had Darren furnished it before he finished his own house? Everything up here was brand-new except the piano. She had not considered before how improbable it was for Darren to furnish the apartment so completely. He wanted the rent money, she told herself. She had no idea how much the rent was for the apartment. Her benefactors were covering it, Barbara had said. But why? Why pay for an apartment for a stranger? They should have picked a local girl or woman to help, not a stranger passing through.
And Morgan. The more she considered the dog the more convinced she was that he was really a watchdog, superbly trained to do a job. And Herbert was a puzzle. He could do everything apparently, and the first thing he had done here was put in a security system, and then another one at the restaurant. He hadn’t needed any cooking lessons in molé. He was a true master chef. How had he known Mr. Holloway had a steamer?
The vague disquietude she had felt at dinner had returned, and it had grown to an undeniable worry, even a fear. Too many coincidences. Herbert appeared and her car died. Whenever she wanted to go out for anything, he was there to take her. If Morgan barked, he was out like a shot. She had thought it was to make Morgan stop barking. Now she considered another alternative. He was checking on whoever or whatever had roused Morgan. Like a prison guard.
Was Barbara distrustful, afraid she would run away? Carrie shook her head after a moment. She was certain Barbara had not known about the apartment until she returned from a trip and Carrie showed her around. If not to keep her in, then to keep someone else out? Guard her?
She shook her head harder. From what? From whom? She had never seen a criminal run off with the loot. Never witnessed any criminal act of any sort. Petty stuff, yes, but nothing big, nothing major. Nothing to require a bodyguard. She knew nothing about Joe Wenzel’s murder. There was no reason anyone on earth would come looking for her.
Unless, she thought, there was something from her forgotten childhood. A chill raced through her, and she jumped up and went to the kitchen to make a cup of tea. She wanted something hot, something sweet. She stood waiting for the kettle to reach a boil. If she had no memories of her own, only those of that other little girl, Carolyn, so be it. She was through running away from them. Always before when those other memories surfaced, there had been a way to escape, to run to another state, another city, another job. No more.
The kettle whistled, startling her. She put a tea bag into a cup and poured in some boiled water. Then, sitting at her table waiting for the tea to steep, she recalled an article she had read about how to train your memory. She had rejected the whole notion at the time, not wanting to remember, afraid of being crazy. She was still terrified of the idea of insanity, but she couldn’t run anywhere now. She was imprisoned, and Herbert was either her guard or her protector.
She was surprised by how much of the article she had retained, as if she had put it aside intact until she was ready to use it. If you have a snapshot of something, hold it, examine it, question it. Where were you? Who was with you? Were you warm, cold? Write it down with every detail you can recall immediately, then work to expand it. What were you wearing? What is beyond your point of view…?
When she started to lift her cup, her hand was shaking, and she said under her breath, “Cut it out! You’re a big girl now. Adrienne isn’t going to smack you, and you aren’t going to the hospital. Get a grip.”
A moment later when she started to pick up her cup, her hand was still shaking. Resolutely she held the cup in both hands, welcoming the warmth, and sipped the tea.