On my third evening in the hospital, Aunt Lydia and Sunny kept me company as I glumly stared at a plate of what the hospital referred to as dinner. Richard had visited that day but left early for a Skype interview about one of his recently choreographed pieces.
“All I have is a sprained ankle and a broken wrist,” I said, sitting up straighter in the hospital bed. Making a face at my tray, I stirred anemic peas into a small mound of runny mashed potatoes.
Sunny cast me a sympathetic look. “The food’s the worst, I know.” She ran her fingers through her now silky hair. She’d been released from the hospital two days before but was already back at work, managing the library in my absence.
“And dehydration, and possible aggravation to that previous blow to your head, and being exposed to heaven knows what germs down in that muck. You had some fever until today, you know. They weren’t about to release you before they determined that it was just caused by exposure and inflammation and not some deadly pathogen from that well.” Aunt Lydia extracted her cell phone before she snapped shut her purse. “The doctors say tomorrow and not a minute before. Now that we’ve settled that, I’m going to call Zelda and see if she has any more details on Sylvia.”
“Oh, don’t bother.” Sunny looked up from her examination of the cards attached to the flowers on my windowsill. “I know all about it.”
I glanced at her, raising my eyebrows. “Brad filled you in?”
“Maybe. Anyway, the latest is that Sylvia has finally confessed to everything. When they caught her, at first she refused to talk, but when she was told Bob Blackstone had regained consciousness and told the sheriff all about the cover-up and Don’s blackmail, she spilled everything. Brad said it was like she had some mental break or something, because she started raving about the need to protect secrets and how no one would ever understand how hard she’d worked to preserve the family name.”
“I just can’t believe my cousin killed three people over a minor land deal and some historical secrets. Information that couldn’t really affect anyone still alive.” Aunt Lydia shook her head. “And then tried to flee to South America. You’d think it was a Bogart movie or something. Criminal mastermind on the lam.”
“But they caught her before she could take that private plane to wherever, thanks to Amy alerting the authorities to check all her accounts for aliases.” Sunny flashed me a smile.
Aunt Lydia opened her purse and tossed in her cell phone before pulling out a tissue. “To be perfectly honest, it’s a little scary, thinking that there must be a murder gene in our family.”
“The only person I want to kill is whoever cooked this,” I said, pushing my food tray to the side.
Sunny lifted the card from an arrangement of yellow chrysanthemums and waved it at me. “Speaking of Brad . . .”
“You know that gift is just a friend thing,” I replied.
“Better be. You break Richard’s heart, and you’ll have to answer to me.”
Sunny stuck Brad’s card back with the mums and surveyed the collection of flowers and blooming plants. “Which one is his, by the way? The orchids?”
A flush heated my cheeks. “No.”
“The roses, of course,” Aunt Lydia replied before I could say anything more. “Aren’t they beautiful?”
Sunny touched one velvety crimson petal. “And expensive. Wow, guess he really is a goner.”
“Look, don’t jump to conclusions. It isn’t that serious yet . . .”
Aunt Lydia and Sunny both laughed.
After she collected herself, Aunt Lydia dabbed at her eyes with the tissue. “As a matter of fact, Richard told me to bring you to his house tomorrow as soon as you’re released. He’s going to show me some of his choreography through some sort of streaming thing. Yes, I asked him to, so don’t raise your eyebrows at me, young lady. He’s also going to fix us both some lunch. Said he thought I might appreciate the break. Which I do.” She smiled at me. “It’s been rather exhausting running back and forth on top of arguing with a stubborn patient. Not to mention, I’ve also been eating hospital food. In the cafeteria, but still . . . not ideal.”
“Yeah, I guess not.” I held up my left hand. “Mea culpa. In other words, thank you both for putting up with me. I know I’ve been a bit grumpy.”
“A bit,” Aunt Lydia agreed.
Knowing she was right, I decided to overlook that comment. “And thanks for making sure Mom and Dad didn’t take the first flight home. I’d hate to ruin a trip they’ve planned for years.”
“I told them I was looking after you.” Aunt Lydia cocked her head to one side. “I haven’t mentioned Richard to them, by the way. Thought maybe you’d want to broach that topic.”
Sunny and Aunt Lydia shared a conspiratorial glance.
“You shouldn’t wait too long,” Sunny said. “They’d probably want to know before the engagement.”
“Engagement? We just met,” I snapped, then slumped back against the pillows as I surveyed my aunt’s amused face. “Sorry, grumping again.”
“It’s okay. Blame it on the medication,” Sunny said. “That’s what I did. Seemed to work.” When she tossed her head, her hair shimmered in the light like a golden veil. “Convinced Brad, anyway.”
I shot her a rueful smile. “Girl, you could probably convince Brad the moon was made of Styrofoam.”
“I know,” she said. “Isn’t it delightful?”
* * *
The following day, Aunt Lydia drove me home. Or rather, to Richard’s house. He met us at the car as soon as my aunt pulled into his driveway. Putting his arm around me, he helped me navigate the porch stairs.
“See”—I leaned into him as I lifted my cane slightly—“Aunt Lydia and I match.”
“I see. I also see that I will have no dance partners today.” Richard caressed my shoulder. “So you must endure watching other people perform my choreography.”
“Not you?” I asked as he guided me into the house.
“Maybe a bit of that too. If you can stand it.” Richard led me across the room and helped me settle onto the sofa.
“You moved the coffee table.”
Richard scooted an ottoman in front of me. “So you can prop your foot. Here, I’ll help lift your leg.”
Aunt Lydia watched this little scene from the edge of the seating area, amusement dancing in her blue eyes. “May I take the armchair? Looks comfortable enough.”
“Of course.” Richard raked his hands through his hair. He was flustered again, which was, I had to admit, rather adorable.
Before Aunt Lydia sat down, she surveyed the rest of the room. “Dance studio. Different, but sensible. Are you planning to teach here?”
“No, I don’t think so. I get enough of that at work. This is for me.” Richard crossed to the bookcase. He plucked an object from the shelf that held Paul Dassin’s photograph. “Thought you might want to see this,” he said, handing it to Aunt Lydia before he sat beside me.
“Ah, the brooch Amy told me about. Finally.” Aunt Lydia shot me a look before settling back against the chair cushions. “Poor Eleanora. All she wanted to do was help people with her herbal medicines.”
“Brad told me they are going to inter her bones in a grave right beside Daniel,” I said. “I know it’s silly, because if they are anywhere, it isn’t here, but I think they’d both like that.”
“I’m sure they would.” Richard placed his right arm around my shoulder and drew me to his side.
Aunt Lydia stared up at the high ceiling, apparently studying the wrought-iron light fixture. But I knew she was actually thinking about the same thing that had been on my mind for days—Rose.
“She said so many strange things in her later years,” she mused. “Grandma Rose, I mean. I didn’t think anything of it, other than how her mind had slipped into some twilight world where time and words had little meaning.” She lowered her head and stared directly at Richard and me. “But now I can see a pattern.”
“She wanted to confess, I think,” I said. “Sylvia claimed she actually did once, when she mistook her for someone else.”
“Yes, I can believe that.” Aunt Lydia curled her fingers around the gold brooch resting in her palm. “She did ramble on about the ‘cold and dark’ quite a bit. And about guilt. I thought she meant Eleanora’s guilt, but now I suppose she meant her own.”
“But why would Eleanora visit Rose after the trial?” Richard asked. “She knew Rose was her enemy.”
“I think I’ve figured that out. I found a letter once when clearing out Rose’s things. Again, I thought little of it at the time. But now”—Aunt Lydia leaned forward—“it holds more significance.”
“Something Rose wrote?” I snuggled closer to Richard, allowing my still-sore body to relax.
“No, something she received. A letter from her mother, written when her parents took her brother to tour military academies. William was fifteen and wanted to attend an academy for his last few years of high school. Thought of joining the service, I suppose, although he never actually did. Anyway, the letter was dated a few weeks after the conclusion of Eleanora’s trial. Rose’s mother wrote the usual pleasantries, but she also urged Rose to make peace with Eleanora. Suggested she invite her over to the house and make her apologies.”
“So Rose was alone at the house during that time?”
“Yes. She was seventeen, which was considered adult in those days. Anyway, the rest of the family was gone for weeks, traveling from one school to another. Rose was home alone, taking care of the house and garden.”
“And she did invite Eleanora over, but not to apologize,” Richard said.
“Apparently.” Aunt Lydia sat back and unclenched her fingers, exposing a glint of gold. “It’s the only way I can imagine Eleanora’s brooch turning up in Rose’s garden.”
“I don’t think Rose meant to kill her,” I said slowly. “Maybe she just wanted to hurt her, like Rose felt she’d been hurt. But then things got out of hand, and Eleanora fled into the woods.”
“And tumbled into the abandoned well, just as you did. And like Sylvia, Rose left her victim there, all alone, to die. She must have considered it fate, doling out proper justice. She used to mutter about fate and justice quite a bit in her ramblings.” The lines bracketing Aunt Lydia’s mouth deepened. “So Amy, there was a reason for our house to be haunted. I know you’re a skeptic, but I believe the ghost of Eleanora was trapped in the house where her ordeal began. A lost soul, intending no harm, but struggling over the years to convince someone in our family to give her the justice she deserved. Perhaps she haunted Rose, who went mad but still refused to confess the truth. Then she tried to reach Debbie and then me.” Aunt Lydia sighed. “But none of us would listen. It took you to reveal the truth.”
“But not due to a ghost’s requests.” I adjusted my cast until its weight was better supported on my knee. “It was just the right circumstances at the right time. Although I admit that if anyone had a reason to haunt our family, it was Eleanora.”
“You think so?” Richard asked. “I wonder.”
I glanced up at him. His intense gaze was fixed on the ceiling, but it seemed as if he was looking inward.
“Well, whatever else we disagree on, I think we can all acknowledge that it’s a tragic story for everyone involved.”
“Yeah, a ballet scenario, for sure,” Richard looked down and gave me a little smile. “And on that note, allow me to inflict my choreography on you while I fix lunch.” He kissed my left temple before he stood and grabbed a remote from the side table. He waved the remote at Aunt Lydia as he crossed to the rack of audiovisual equipment. “You asked for it.”
“So I did.” She laid the brooch on the side table next to her chair.
Once Richard turned on the system and queued up his videos, he left the room to fix lunch.
“That’s him, dancing, isn’t it?” Aunt Lydia asked at one point.
“Yeah, that’s him,” I replied, tearing my gaze off the television screen just long enough to glance at her.
“Hmm . . .” Aunt Lydia tapped her fingers against her lips. “Just like my Andrew. Sexy as all hell.”
“Aunt Lydia!” I fanned my face with my good hand.
She just settled deeper into the chair and grinned.
* * *
Aunt Lydia left after lunch, claiming she needed a nap.
“No, you stay, Amy. Richard can bring you home later,” she told me as she headed for the front door.
“She arranged that so we’d have time alone,” I said after the front door closed.
Richard sat beside me on the sofa. “I knew I liked her. Now I think I love her.”
“Don’t tell her that. She might decide to fight me for you.”
He chuckled. “Not sure I can juggle the two of you. But it’s tempting.”
“You’re so full of it.”
Richard tugged me closer, until I was settled snuggly against him. “If I’m full of anything,” he said, tracing my lips with his fingers, “it’s love for you, Amy Webber.”
Cradled in his arms, my sprained ankle and broken wrist carefully protected, I sighed and closed my eyes.
“Then kiss me, you romantic, you.”
Which he did. Extremely well and for quite some time.