‘This is really worrying you, isn’t it?’
Ellen sat at Mary’s kitchen table, sipping coffee, watching her aunt with a worried frown on her face. ‘Lorraine probably didn’t mean she was really envious of your house – just that she and Caleb have to move. They’ve lived in that apartment, I don’t know how many years, and living way out there makes her nervous.’
Mary nodded. ‘I’m sure that’s part of it.’ She looked around her kitchen, at the pine cupboards that had been so popular fifty years ago but now looked only dated, at the yellow tiles she’d thought elegant when the house was new but today looked like old tiles that had been re-grouted one too many times. The window above the sink had been replaced; so had the kitchen floor and the dishwasher hadn’t been there when she and Samuel moved in, but it was still a small house with nothing to separate it from many other small, old houses scattered around this aging town. ‘But I think it’s something more.’
‘What?’ Ellen put her coffee mug down and looked at her aunt expectantly.
‘I’m not sure.’ Mary paused, trying to put a feeling into words. ‘There’s an unease, an unhappiness about her that bothers me. I don’t want to make this seem dramatic, but …’
‘If I was married to Caleb, I’d be unhappy too.’
Startled, Mary sat up straighter and stared at her niece. ‘Why do you say that?’
Ellen paused, looking thoughtful. ‘He’s … crafty. Oh, he’s nice enough on the surface. Always smiles and says hello at church, helps with the cleaning up, works hard or I guess he does. The school seems happy with him, so do the people he does yard work for, but … he reminds me of a ferret. Except I like ferrets.’
Mary burst out laughing. ‘You mean because he sort of darts around?’
‘Maybe. No, I think it’s because he slinks. You don’t know he’s even around and suddenly he appears, right in your face. He makes me nervous.’
Mary, still smiling, nodded. ‘He does do that. And, I agree, I wouldn’t want to be married to him either. Not because he slinks but because he’s so controlling. I don’t think Lorraine has had an easy time of it, all these years. I doubt she’s made very many decisions.’
‘Like Miss Eloise and Miss Emilie?’
Mary hadn’t thought of it that way, but now she nodded. ‘Probably. Miss Eloise certainly was the dominant twin. Maybe that’s why Lorraine was so fond of Miss Emilie. She identified with her.’
Ellen picked up her coffee mug, pushed back her chair and headed for the sink. ‘Maybe that’s why Miss Emilie always seemed so vague: it was her way of getting out from under Miss Eloise’s very large thumb. Are you going over to Furry Friends for the adoption?’
Mary barely heard her over the sound of running water. She waited until Ellen put her mug in the dishwasher before answering. ‘A little later. Pat called. Only a few dogs showed up and just two cats so she said not to hurry. Oh. I almost forgot. She sent you a message.’
‘Oh?’ Ellen turned from the sink to stare at her aunt. She had gotten very still, and Mary thought her expression had turned guarded. ‘What message?’
‘That three-legged hound dog is one of the ones still up for adoption.’
‘Wouldn’t you know it.’ Ellen let out a deep sigh. ‘I suppose she let my husband know as well. He’ll be over there, staring at the dog, with the same sad look the dog has. Damn! Jake’s going to hate me for this.’
Mary opened her eyes wide and laughter bubbled up. ‘Are you going to adopt that dog?’ She looked at Millie, who had been asleep, her head on Mary’s foot as usual, but who picked her head up and studied Ellen, ears slightly forward as if the conversation had finally gotten interesting.
‘We talked about it last night. Or rather, Dan talked about it. I listened. So did Jake the cat. He really wants that dog.’ She sighed. ‘Dan, not Jake. I guess I’d better make a point of dropping by Furry Friends later this morning. I may be in the market for dog food.’ She walked over and dropped a kiss on Mary’s forehead. ‘See you later.’ The back door opened and closed behind her, but Mary sat on.
She kept thinking of what Ellen had said about Lorraine. And Caleb. Which made her think of Richard, rushing in and accusing them of a crime that might not even be a crime. Miss Emilie might have hidden all that money for reasons that only existed in a brain slowly losing its capacity to distinguish between reality and fantasy. She wished she could like Richard. He was the son of her late husband’s best friend, but he seemed to go out of his way to make that impossible. Cassandra was as nice as Richard was rude. Or was she? She’d only recently given a thought to what moving to Shady Acres might do to Miss Emilie, and she didn’t seem to give much more thought to the family things in the house. Her family things. She hadn’t paid any more attention to Miss Emilie’s well-being this past year than Richard had until she was informed that Miss Emilie was systematically taking large sums of money out of the trust. Money that would belong to her, as well as Richard, when Miss Emilie died. The more Mary thought about it the more she wondered.