Harley and Pearl entered the Johnsons’ Tudor-style mansion, the home just as impressive as Patrick Middleton’s next door. And Harley knew the home’s beauty was in large part due to Pearl’s efforts.
While she and her husband, Arthur, could afford to hire people to keep up their expansive home, Pearl chose to do a lot of the work herself: polishing the silver and crystal; waxing the long hallways’ mahogany wood floors; dusting the intricate woodwork; resealing the kitchen’s marble tiles; and recovering the antique furniture. It was a full-time responsibility, one Pearl had accepted with vigor over the last fifty years. She and Arthur had spent their entire marriage restoring the old home, and now that they had accomplished their goal, they liked to show off the fruits of their labor, hosting many dinner parties and club gatherings there.
“Of all days,” Pearl said, shutting the front door behind them, “today’s our wedding anniversary.”
And despite being exhausted, Pearl must have risen early and prepared breakfast for Arthur. The aroma of eggs, bacon, toast, and marmalade jam emanated from the kitchen ahead. “You know, I’ve been making the same breakfast on this day for the last fifty years. Can you believe it?”
Pearl wiped her feet on the entry rug, brushing loose leaves from her shoes before hanging her coat on the rack in the foyer. She continued down the hallway to the kitchen where Arthur was seated at the kitchen table, enjoying a last bite of toast as he read the morning paper.
“I met him when I was only eighteen,” Pearl said, a wistful tone in her voice. “Seems so young now. I’d just moved to town and had started working at the library as an aide. Arthur had just finished college and was working for Sutcliffe Real Estate. He’d come in the library on the weekends.”
She glanced over her shoulder at Harley and smiled mischievously. “And I guess you could say when he wasn’t checking out books, he was checking out me at the front desk. And over time and multiple stamps to his library card, we kindled a romance, a whirlwind romance—were married just a few months later.”
Harley glanced into the kitchen, watching Arthur as he finished the last of his breakfast. Even from where she was standing in the hallway, she could tell that behind his newspaper, behind his expressionless face, he seemed preoccupied with Patrick’s death. She imagined the two of them had been awake for hours, discussing the tragedy that had occurred next door, still disbelieving it could have happened to a man they had known so well. Patrick Middleton had been a good friend of theirs, and not only had he been a good friend, Patrick also had been Arthur’s best friend for the last thirty years.
But something had disturbed that friendship as of late: Patrick’s decision to deny the Briarwood land for Arthur’s shopping complex and to purpose it for a history museum instead.
In the kitchen, Arthur looked over the top of his newspaper. “Pearl, honey, is that you?”
“Yes, darling, it’s me. And I’ve brought Harley home with me.”
“Well …” He rested his newspaper on the kitchen table beside him. “Bring her in. Let’s get her some breakfast.”
Pearl smiled warmly at Harley. “There’s still a bit of eggs Benedict and toast left if you’d like.”
“Thank you,” Harley said, “but I don’t really have much of an appetite. A cup of coffee would be nice, though.”
Pearl smiled. “You’ve got it.”
They entered the kitchen, and Arthur greeted Harley with a hug before pulling out a seat for her at the table. Arthur Johnson had a kind face, framed by a head of gray, thinning hair and a pair of honey brown eyes that smiled behind wire-rimmed glasses. His friends often teased him, saying he could play the grandfather in a Werther’s Original commercial. Based on his appearance alone, it was hard to believe he might have had something to do with Patrick’s death. But Harley had seen the hatred in his eyes, the anger in his voice when he confronted Patrick on Main Street the day before.
“Have a seat now, young lady,” he said. “I didn’t get a chance to really talk to you last night. How’re you doing?”
“I’ve been better, Mr. Johnson, to tell you the truth.”
“Yes,” Arthur said with a sigh, “it’s been weighing on all of our minds, weighing on mine, weighing on Pearl’s, all morning. We just can’t make sense of it.”
Pearl placed a coffee mug on the table next to Harley and filled it with coffee. “Cream and sugar?”
“No, I’ll just go with black today.” She turned to Arthur and paused a moment, collecting her thoughts. “Mr. Johnson, I …” She took a sip of coffee and gazed at him over the mug. “I understand Patrick denied your company the rights to the Briarwood land for your proposed shopping center.”
All politeness fell from Arthur Johnson’s face. His smile straightened into a grimace. “Where did you hear that?”
“Just talk,” Harley said, holding her composure. “Around town.” She did not mention she had seen Arthur and Patrick arguing over the issue on Main Street the day before.
Arthur pulled back from the table and rested his shoulder blades against the back of his chair. “Already around town then, is it?” He sighed and shook his head. “Figures. And yes, to answer your question, Patrick did promise the land to my contracting firm. Everything was set to start. Then all of sudden, I hear he’s decided to keep the land and use it for a living history museum. A living history museum! I mean, we’d been friends for over thirty years, and that’s how he was going to repay me.”
Rising from the table, he threw his napkin down on his plate. “But I suppose it matters very little now, does it? The shopping center will go forward as originally planned.” He removed his suit jacket from the back of the chair and guided his arms through it.
He started to leave, but then stopped and took Pearl’s hand in his. “Happy Anniversary, sweetheart. You know I’d do it all over again.”
Ignoring Harley, he made his way out of the kitchen, then over his shoulder said, “I’ll be home by five for dinner. Send the police to my office if they need to question me. Although there’s not much to say. We were at home together all night, weren’t we, dear?”
“Of course, darling.”
Moments later, the front door opened and closed, followed by the rumble of the garage door opening. Arthur’s Range Rover passed by the front of the house and disappeared down Briarwood Avenue.
Pearl rested her back against the kitchen counter and smiled, looking wistfully past Harley to the front door. “He’s been such a good husband to me over the years, Arthur has.”
She began clearing dishes from the table and placing them in the sink. “Eric Winston is back in town.” She rinsed a plate then dried it with a kitchen towel. “And he’s grown into such a handsome man, though there’s no surprises there, of course. And still so very smart. I just saw him next door. He’s the new medical examiner, did you hear? He finished up his fellowship at Yale, worked a few years in New Haven, and now he’s returned home. Oh, I know his parents must be absolutely thrilled. It’s all they ever wanted for him, you know. To become a doctor. To move back and be close to them.”
Eric Winston. Harley thought of how he had an impact on her life as a child, had left such an indelible impression, one she would never forget. And now he had returned home to all of them, after all of these years. It must be terrible that his first case was that of his childhood next door neighbor, Patrick Middleton, a man he had probably known very well.
Pearl turned from the sink and gazed at Harley in a way she hadn’t seen since she was a child, as if Pearl recalled the sad little eight-year-old girl she had been, the sad little girl who had just lost her mother.
“Grief is a terrible process,” she said. “You and I both are well aware of that.” She tilted her head to one side and in earnestness said, “You take care of yourself, please? Don’t let Patrick’s death send you back to that dark place again.”
Pearl turned back to the sink, this time raising a juice glass from the soapy water and scrubbing it. “Those summers you spent with us, Harley, when you were a child were so special to me. As you know Arthur and I never had children of our own, so those summers meant a lot.”
Harley, too, had loved her time at the Johnson home, playing in their expansive backyard, splashing her feet in the creek, reading beneath the ancient oak tree that towered over the lawn.
Without speaking, she rose from the table and wrapped her arms around Pearl, burying her face in the older woman’s shoulder. “Me too,” she said.