We climbed the marble stairway to the first floor. Warm air gradually eased the dampness from my bones. Cora led me to a large kitchen in the back of the house. It was the kind of kitchen that I had only seen in magazines. The windows were set very high into the cathedral ceiling and would bring in a good deal of light in the daytime. Such a contrast from the space below. A large island filled the middle of the room with gleaming copper pots hanging overhead. One large pot sat simmering on the stovetop. Cora lifted the lid and the smell of beef stew filled the air.
“I used to make this for Nick when he was a boy. It was one of his favorite meals. Especially in weather like this.” She motioned towards the window.
She ladled the stew into bowls and placed them on the large oak table at the end of the room. I followed her, prepared to sit next to her, when I saw that she had placed settings at opposite ends of the table. As if we were having a formal dinner. Odd. I opened my mouth to say something but thought better of it. Maybe this was how the very wealthy ate everyday. I didn’t want Nick’s mother to think me ignorant.
“So, what did you say Nick told you about his childhood?” She asked after we were seated. Her hands were on the edge of the table, her entire body leaning towards me.
Her voice was abrupt and harsh and came at me with such force I slid back in my chair. “That he was raised here in this house. With you and his father. Until his father died,” I responded.
“Interesting. You stumbled on the gallery downstairs? He never mentioned it?”
I felt blood flush my face. She was angry. “Actually, I just saw the door when I was coming through the tunnel. I didn’t mean to disturb anything. That picture was on the floor…”
“Beautiful work down there, don’t you think?” She was talking fast. “A gallery in Philadelphia included some of his work, back in…well, the late seventies sometime. He did a study of winter in Philadelphia, I’m sure that was it. We’d had an ice storm that year. All the trees were frozen solid, icicles hanging. Some beautiful shots.” Her tone had dropped and was soft now, almost syrupy. And rambling. Her eyes, though, remained two piercing dots across the table.
I put my spoon down and held her gaze. I was about to ask another question when a loud bell sounded at the front of the house.
“Someone’s at the gate.” Cora’s eyes were large with curiosity. “Wonder who that could be coming here in this weather.”
She pushed herself up from the table and went to answer the door. I took a bite of stew.
Seconds later Cora reappeared at the kitchen door. “A friend of yours is here. Dylan McBride. He says he has something for you. Were you expecting him?” Her tiny green eyes nearly disappeared beneath folds of skin.
“No.” I stood. “I left a message that I was going to be staying with you for a few days. I have no idea…”
I went to the front door and waited for the sound of his tires on the gravel. Dylan jumped out of his car and hurried towards me. He was drenched by the time he reached the front door.
I stepped back to let him in. His hair was plastered to his head. He had on a charcoal gray suit and pale yellow shirt under his raincoat. His tie was all that revealed any personality or expression. It was covered with musical notes coming from a tiny trumpet at the point.
“I have some paperwork for you and I was on my way home.” He motioned to his briefcase and looked at me expectantly. I waited for something more. He had a questioning look on his face.
“Well, thank you.” We stood awkwardly in the front entrance. “Do you want to come in?”
He glanced around the foyer and shifted with discomfort. “I need to talk to you. Is there somewhere we can go?” he asked
I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. Cora was standing at the edge of the foyer watching us.
“What’s wrong? Is there some problem that I should know about?” I said it loud enough for her to hear. I didn’t want her to think I’d invited him to her house.
“Not a problem, but I’d like to talk to you privately, if I could,” he said. His eyes rested on Cora and then shifted back to me.
“Give me your coat.” I held out my arms. He slipped out of it and handed it to me. I was unsure where we could go so I just stood in a moment of indecision.
“Use the room down the hall. First door on the right,” Cora said pointing. She turned and went back into the kitchen.
I followed her directions and remembered it as the room where she and I had met the day before. Dylan closed the door behind him.
“I could tell by Cora’s face that she didn’t appreciate your coming here. I’ve only been here a few hours and already there are strange men coming to the house.” After having said all of that in one breath, I drew air in my lungs sharply and sighed.
“I’m not that strange. I got your message and I tried to call you back but it went right to voice mail and I wanted to make sure you’re all right.”
I looked up into his face. “I’m fine.”
“I got some info from my father that might interest you. He told me this family has never, and I mean never, invited anyone to stay here. Probably not in over a hundred years. Why is she all of a sudden throwing open the doors to you? She has a reason.”
I sat on the hard sofa and began to chew the skin on my thumb. “Maybe she’s going to put me in a cage and fatten me up for dinner. Or, I know, maybe she’s going to force me to live in the tower and I’ll have to grow my hair real long. Or…”
He half laughed. “Mackenzie, if they cracked the top of your head open and looked inside, would they find a carnival in there? Would a Ferris wheel, a couple of clowns come tumbling out?” I just smiled and shrugged. “I get it. You want me to butt out. Fine. I only live five minutes down the road; you know where to find me.” He took a card from his wallet and handed it to me. Then he reached into his briefcase and pulled out a thick manila envelope. “Estate papers. My office, home, and cell phone numbers are on here. Call me if you need me.”
I stood up. ”I will.”
He touched my hand briefly. His skin was warm and slightly damp from the rain. I wiped the moisture on my pant leg and followed behind him back to the foyer.
I found Cora at the kitchen sink, her back to me. “What did that boy want?” Her raspy voice filled the room.
She was washing dishes. Steam rose from around her making her seem almost ghost-like. An apparition. I swallowed hard. The water seemed to be boiling in the sink. The table had been completely cleared. The pot was no longer on the stovetop. The smell of stew came from the garbage can. I’d barely had a bite.
“I didn’t get a chance to finish eating.”
She turned towards me slowly, methodically. “When you leave the table, one has to assume you are finished with your meal. Isn’t that the way you were raised? Unless of course you excuse yourself properly.”
I backed slowly towards the door. She knew I had hardly eaten and yet she dumped my dinner in the trash.
“So what did that McBride boy want?” she asked again. She turned and dropped her hands back in the steamy water.
“He wanted me to know that he had taken care of some business for me.”
“Ah, yes. The money.”
“Yes.”
“Not a bad compensation for losing your husband is it?” She continued to wash the dishes and I spoke only to her back.
I felt suddenly defensive and a little angry. “Is that what you think?”
“Do you know why Nick refused that money?” She whirled to face me, water dripping from her fingertips onto the tile floor. I shook my head and shifted my weight to my other leg. My palms began to sweat. “My son was not a stupid boy. I could have tracked him down if he had taken the money. I could have followed the paper trail. I would have had something. Electronic transfer of money. Something.” The words came out sharp and staccato like. “I expected that sooner or later he would tire of living like a pauper and he’d make a move, but he never did.”
This woman was staring at me, with tiny cold eyes, boiling water dripping from the end of her red fingertips.
“Did something happen between the two of you that he didn’t want contact?”
She ignored my question and spun back to face the sink, dunking her hands into the steaming water. It seemed to be a well rehearsed methodical ritual of almost boiling the plates and silver and her hands before placing the dishes in the dishwasher to be scoured with more hot water. Her movements were automatic and precise and I wasn’t going to interrupt her to ask my question a second time.