Dear Sophie,
We have a breakfast nook with built-in shelving that screams for Christmas decorations. I’ve tried adding cards and candles, but nothing seems to do the trick.
Clueless in Shepherd, Texas
Dear Clueless,
Start by placing pine branches on the shelves. Add red candles, jars, plates, mugs, and ribbon, then add a few Christmas items that your family loves, like a toy, a Santa, angels, or a nutcracker.
Sophie
“Suppose you tell me what happened?” I suggested. I wasn’t going to give her a chance to create a story by telling her where I’d found the mouse.
The corners of her mouth still turned down, but I sensed a change in her attitude. She had lost her angry edge.
“Very well. Perhaps we should speak in the library.”
She sailed past us and led the way down the stairs. I flicked off the bedroom light on my way out.
The library featured a white marble fireplace against paneled walls of bookshelves. A painting of an attractive young woman hung over the fireplace, flanked by sconces. It took a moment for me to realize that it captured Edith in her youth. The young woman beamed. Hair the color of pecans cascaded around her shoulders. She sat with one shoulder forward, in a form-fitting pale green gown that showed off a tiny waist. From the shimmer, I guessed it might have been silk or satin. Most amazing, her face didn’t harbor any bitterness. No hostility. I couldn’t imagine that happy young woman screaming at anyone.
“May I offer you cognac or sherry?” she asked, her hand resting on a crystal decanter.
She poured three glasses. I noticed that she wasn’t afraid of the sherry, even though she’d told me she was afraid to eat anything in the house.
She handed each of us a small crystal glass in the shape of a thistle. The stems supported small rounded cut-crystal bowls with tops that flared out. “Scottish?” I asked.
“Yes. Horace is particularly fond of them.”
She took a seat in a burgundy wingback chair, arranging her long legs side by side. “Where did you find the mouse?”
“Where did you lose it?”
Edith took the mouse into her hands. “Didn’t it have glasses?”
I thought it had.
“I did not lose it. I placed it on a shelf in a built-in cabinet in my breakfast room. Yesterday evening it was gone.” Her nostrils flared, and she closed her eyes briefly. “I had hoped that the torment had ended. That with Horace in the hospital and incapacitated, there would be no other strange occurrences.”
“So now you know conclusively that it’s not Horace who is playing tricks on you.” I sipped the sweet, rich sherry.
“Unless he has an accomplice.”
Nina flashed a look at me. I knew she was thinking about Brown-Eyed Girl. I hoped she wouldn’t spill the beans.
“Do you have any reason to think Horace is having an affair?” I asked.
“I shouldn’t be surprised if he had. He stays with me out of guilt and promises he made to my father. But, no, I am not aware of any philandering on his part.”
“Then why haven’t you been to the hospital to see him?” blurted Nina.
I expected to be summarily tossed out on our keisters.
Edith said simply, “I don’t do hospitals.”
“You don’t do hospitals?” Nina repeated incredulously.
“Pardon me, I’ll try to speak up so you can hear. That’s right. I do not visit hospitals.”
Nina shook her head in disbelief and held out her hands as if she were pleading. “But . . . but he’s your husband. Don’t you think he needs you?”
“He knows why I’m not there. And I know there’s nothing I can do for him. I don’t relish the thought of watching him die. He is aware of my reasons.”
Horace might understand, but we were at a loss. I sipped the sherry wondering what I could say to get Edith to tell us more. “How did you meet Horace? I bet it’s a lovely story.”
“He worked for my father. There was nothing lovely about it. I married Horace under pressure from my parents.”
Ouch! So much for the theory that everyone likes to tell the story about how they met.
While I was wondering how to get her to talk and Nina was sending me messages with her eyes, Edith surprised us both by opening up.
“I was planning a wedding.” She paused, swallowed hard, and studied the floor. “My parents took me to New York to shop for my trousseau. A whole new wardrobe. Ohhhh, the dress was beautiful. Sleeveless with a scooped-out back and an empire waist. The top was hand-beaded with pearls and the floor-length skirt was tailored satin. It even had a matching coat. We were going to be married here in Old Town.” She stroked her eyebrow gently. “But exactly two weeks before the wedding, my fiancé was killed in Vietnam.”
I hadn’t expected that. Poor Edith! “I’m so sorry. What a tragedy.”
“That must have been very hard on you,” said Nina. “Is that why you won’t go to hospitals? Because of your fiancé?”
Edith glared at her. “Why do you persist in questioning me about my personal history? It’s none of your business.”
I didn’t know what to do. She had never recovered from losing her fiancé. I sought something positive to say. “You were lucky to find Horace.”
She stared at me like I was daft and shook her head, snorting his name. “Horace. When I made no effort to procure a suitable husband, my parents chose one for me. Horace had come to work for my father’s real estate company. He was from the wrong side of the tracks, eager to please my father and claw his way up in the world. I didn’t love him, but Horace understood the deal as well as I did. Marry the boss’s daughter and inherit the business.”
I had always liked Horace so much. This was a side of him I didn’t know.
“Oh, don’t be so appalled, Sophie,” said Edith. “It’s not the first time a dowry has been offered. Horace and my parents got what they wanted. Almost.” She rubbed her hands together in her lap as though she were washing them. “Horace and I had a son, Samuel, after my father.” She stopped talking and gazed at the fireplace, her lips drawn tight.
Nina looked over at me. I moved my hand ever so slightly in a signal to wait.
“When Sammy was five, Horace took him along to look at a house in Old Town. Sammy was so excited.” She smiled at the memory. “He loved going to work with Horace and running around empty houses. I remember thinking he would surely be an architect. That particular day, they visited an exceptionally old building. Sammy raced ahead of Horace and climbed the stairs to the attic.” She paused and seemed to be gathering strength. “A beam collapsed on him. For thirty-eight days and nights, I never left his side. But my poor, sweet Sammy died.”
The only sound in the room was a ticking clock.
My heart broke for Edith.
“I had everything anyone could want. More money than I needed. A lovely home. Beautiful clothes. Good health. But the one thing that mattered to me was gone forever.”
I choked out, “I’m so sorry, Edith. I had no idea.”
“Why should you? It happened a long time ago. Horace says I have allowed it to ruin my life. Don’t dislike Horace. He’s basically a decent sort. He stepped up and married me at my parents’ request. And he put up with me after Sammy was gone.”
“But you blame him for Sammy’s death, don’t you?” asked Nina.
“It was Horace’s fault.” She stated it as fact.
“Now you think Horace is trying to gaslight you,” I reminded her.
“That’s the only way he can have the entire business for himself, isn’t it? Who else would want to be rid of me? Only Horace, or, perhaps, his paramour.”
Nina tilted her head. “If you’re afraid, why aren’t you locking your back door?”
“Are you criticizing me?” Edith folded her arms across her chest and gripped her upper arms. “I have lived in this house since the day after I was born.” She bowed her head slightly. “But this is the first time I have lived here alone. Horace took care of locking the doors at night. I will be more vigilant from now on.”
For the first time, I thought I saw a softer side in Edith’s expression. A gentleness that the young woman in the portrait had lost through tragedy.
“Will you answer the phone when I call?” I asked.
“Yes. It was kind of you to be concerned. Though I shan’t forgive you for bursting into my house uninvited. The only other person who checked on my welfare was Horace’s secretary, Phyllis . . .”
I could feel Nina sending me vibes.
“. . . but I suspect her visit had more to do with the paycheck she inquired about.”
We said good-night, and she acted very much the hostess when she saw us to the front door.
When we turned the corner to head back to the alley, I asked, “Think Brown-Eyed Girl is the one tormenting Edith?”
“No. But I want to find her more than ever. Horace lost a child, too, but he didn’t turn into a sour recluse. He’s spent most of his life with a woman who still thinks of him as less than her, as being from the wrong side of the tracks.”
“He married her so he would get the business.”
“The truth is that he made something of himself. He worked hard or Scroggins Realty wouldn’t be what it is today. I think Horace deserves a shot at happiness with Brown-Eyed Girl.”
My thoughts had turned back to the mouse. Either Natasha had bought one or the person gaslighting Edith had deposited it in Natasha’s workroom.
The alley still teemed with police and neighbors.
Patty ran up to us, her skin oddly pale in the strange combination of Christmas lights and car lights. “There you are! Alex told me you were out here.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “And let me just say that you have got one adorable guy on the hook, Sophie. Good looking and smart, too!”
My breath caught in my throat. Patty? Could she be his client? “He’s very nice.”
“But watch Sugar around him.” She tsked. “I just wanted to let you know that I’ll be sleeping over with the kids tonight. They’re taking Gwen’s death pretty well, but you know how teenagers are. They try to act cool and then they fall apart because they’re not equipped to handle the situation. Your neighbor Luis has been wonderful with the kids. Really amazing. He suggested I pick up some sleeping pills for Baxter and told me what to get.”
“Baxter must be inconsolable,” said Nina.
“Hmm.” Patty closed her eyes briefly as if gathering herself. “They all are. I may not have liked Gwen, but even I’m horrified. I never saw this coming. That’s why I think I should stay over. Sugar is a blubbering mess. Elvin doesn’t know what to do, and Baxter is a basket case. I’ve been trying to get the kids to help me cook dinner just to distract them and create a sense of normalcy, but that’s really impossible with the police questioning everyone.”
“How’s little Katrina?” I asked.
“I don’t think she understands yet. Twiggy’s packing her up right now. She and Jonah are taking her for the night just to get her out of the house. Heaven knows where they’re going, because the cops won’t let them into their apartment. I don’t think they’ve—” Patty’s head turned fast. “Oh no, you don’t! There goes Bradley. Excuse me.” Patty ran toward her son, turned him around, and steered him past Twiggy and Kat, back through the gate that led to the Babineaux home.
Twiggy gazed around somewhat hopelessly. Where would I go if I couldn’t stay in my own home? They would have to check into a hotel. That would cost them!
“C’mon,” I said to Nina.
We approached Twiggy and Kat. In as happy a voice as I could muster, I asked, “How would you like to stay with me tonight? I have a kitty cat who would love to play with you.”
Kat nodded eagerly, but never let go of Twiggy’s hand.
I smiled at Twiggy. “You and Jonah, too, of course. And his mom. She’s living with you?”
“I can’t let you do that. It’s too much of an imposition.”
“Nonsense. Come on.” I steered them down the alley away from the commotion. “We can cut through Nina’s yard. And I have a fun bedroom upstairs where my niece likes to stay. Maybe Kat would like that room.”
Nina accompanied us across the street to my house and within ten seconds of unlocking the door, Kat carried Mochie in her arms.
“Are you sure about this?” asked Twiggy.
“Absolutely.” I led the way up to the third floor. Making a big deal out of it, I swung my arms and sang, “Ta da!”
Kat entered timidly. “The cover on the bed is purple!” She climbed onto it, still clutching Mochie. As though Mochie knew she needed extra love, he purred so loud that I could hear him.
I showed Twiggy to the room next door. “Sorry, the bathroom is down a flight.”
“Are you kidding? Don’t you dare apologize! I don’t know how we’ll ever repay you for this.”
“No need. It’s what neighbors do. I’m going to change clothes, then I’ll start dinner. Are you sure Kat won’t have an allergic reaction to Mochie?”
“I can’t guarantee it, but she hasn’t appeared to be allergic to cats yet. Frankly, I suspect it’s a lie. Gwen concocted that story so she wouldn’t have to take care of pets. We’ll watch Kat for sniffling or congestion.”
I trotted down the stairs to my bedroom on the second floor. In a way, I hated to take off the beautiful dress and turn back into a pumpkin again. But hopefully there would be loads of other occasions to wear it. I pulled on a lightweight pink V-neck sweater and comfortable elastic-waisted navy blue pants, but kept the rhinestone bracelet on for fun.
I hurried down the stairs to see what I could whip up for dinner. To my surprise, Liza sat at my kitchen table holding her Yorkshire terrier. She clutched him to her like a child would hold a stuffed animal for comfort. Her strawberry blond hair jutted in wild directions. Her usual grin had vanished, replaced by the tense mouth of a frightened woman.
“You can set your dog down, Liza. How does he feel about cats?”
Nina had poured four glasses of wine and handed me one. By my calculations, we would be seven for dinner.
“He was always fine with my mom’s cat.” She set him on the floor and removed the green Christmas sweater he wore. “There you go, Oscar.”
He shook rapidly from nose to tail as if glad to be rid of the sweater, then nose to floor, he explored every corner.
I tossed kindling into the fireplace and strategically placed a couple of nice-sized logs over it.
“I hope you don’t mind that I brought him over here,” said Liza. “Luis is at the Babineauxs’, and I’m a little rattled. I’ve never known anyone who was murdered.”