All Through The Night

19

Whenever she went into Bessie’s room, there was no question in Kate Durkin’s mind that something was slightly out of order, but just what it was still eluded her. Exasperated by the nagging sensation, she finally prayed to Saint Anthony for help in finding whatever it was whose whereabouts she couldn’t recall. In the course of her prayer she did admit to him that usually she was asking him for help with something tangible, like her glasses or pocketbook or her one piece of “good” jewelry, the tiny solitaire diamond in a Tiffany setting that had been her mother’s engagement ring.

That time it had taken Saint Anthony two weeks to help her remember that she had hidden it in an empty aspirin bottle when she and Bessie had gone on a senior citizens’ bus trip to Williamsburg.

“You see, Saint Anthony,” she explained as she placed primly folded underwear in an open box on the bed, “I do think that Alvirah just may be right, and that there’s a chance the Bakers managed to fool Bessie and cheat me out of this house. Of course, I’m not sure she’s right, but I am worried, because every time I come in this room and look at that desk with Bessie’s old typewriter, a warning bell goes off in my head.”

Kate noticed a run in a pair of folded stockings. “Poor Bessie,” she said aloud. “Her eyes were going, but she wouldn’t let me take her for new glasses. She said it was a waste of money to buy them when she probably wouldn’t last until Christmas.”

Well, she was right, Kate thought with a sigh as she opened the next drawer and reached for the flannel night-gowns that had been Bessie’s uniform sleepwear. “My stars,” she murmured, “poor Bessie, she must have put this one back without noticing she’d worn it.” She shook her head as she brushed at the streak of powder on the neckline of a pink flowered gown with lace at the collar. “I’ll wash it before I pack it,” she murmured. “Bessie would have liked that.”

She shook her head. No, actually I’m not surprised she tried it, then took it off, she said to herself. She never liked the lace. She said it scratched her neck. What surprises me is that she put it on in the first place.

She still had the gown in her hand when a sound made her turn. Once again, Vic Baker was at the door, observing her. “I’m preparing my sister’s clothing to be sent to charity,” she said sharply. “Unless you and your wife also claim her nightdresses.”

Without answering, Vic turned away. That man frightens me, Kate thought. There’s something scary about him. I’ll be glad to get out of here.

That evening she went to the washing machine and was surprised to see that Bessie’s pink-flowered nightgown was missing from the small pile of laundry she had gathered and left there.

I must be losing my mind, Kate thought. I could have sworn I’d brought it down. Oh well, I must have packed it. Now I’ll have to go through all those darn boxes looking for it.