Occasion of Revenge

12

By the next morning, I had decided to take the direct approach and simply ask LouElla about it. But I’d forgotten that Emily and Dante were house-hunting again, this time in Port Royal, Virginia, and I’d volunteered to watch Chloe.

By nine o’clock, Chloe had finger-painted with warm oatmeal on the high chair tray and played how-many-times-will-Grandma-pick-up-the-bottle-if-I-throw-it-on-the-floor, but I was distracted and knew I couldn’t rest until I had talked to LouElla.

I tried to telephone to let her know we were coming, but the operator told me that her number was unlisted. LouElla probably didn’t want the CIA to get ahold of it. So I wrestled the car seat into the back of my Le Baron, strapped Chloe into it, and took off for Chestertown.

Luckily I found a parking spot on Church Lane directly under a plum tree and opposite the Geddes-Piper House which also served as the Historical Society of Kent County. I unbuckled Chloe, threaded her legs into the circular openings in a Gerry pack, and eased her onto my back, one strap at a time.

At LouElla’s, I rang the bell, but nobody answered. Maybe she was in her garden. I walked around the corner and along Court Street, peering through the slats in the fence that surrounded her backyard.

LouElla was there, kneeling on a thick pad of newspaper, digging up a small garden plot with her trowel. As I watched with my eyes glued to the one-half-inch gap in the fence, she took an object from a box, stood it upright in the hole she had just dug, and patted the earth snugly around it.

“Mrs. Van Schuyler?”

LouElla looked up, then around, confused about where the voice was coming from.

“It’s me. Hannah Ives. I’m over by the fence.” I waved my hand high in the air.

LouElla stood and beamed in our direction. “Oh, my! How delightful to see you! Delightful!” She wiped her hands on a wide blue apron and plodded over to the fence. I stepped back as one blue-violet eye loomed large between the slats in front of me. “And Chloe! This is my lucky day! You must have come to see my garden.”

A gloved hand shot over the fence with an index finger pointing southward. “There’s a gate down at that end. Meet me there.”

With Chloe in the backpack playing Vidal Sassoon with my hair, I made my way to the gate and waited while our hostess undid a series of locks. After a minute of ominous clicking and clacking, the gate swung open. “Come in, come in.”

LouElla stood on a flagstone path that curved away from us toward the back of her house, where it joined a twelve-by-twelve-foot patio. Speedo lay on the patio in a spot of sun in front of a sliding glass door that led inside. When he caught sight of me, he scrambled to his feet and wagged his tail energetically. Chloe hooted with delight.

LouElla spoke directly to Chloe. “And I have something to show you, precious.” She crooked her finger and led us over to the plot of ground she had been working on. I stood over the freshly turned earth, completely robbed of my power of speech. Eight Barbie dolls, bare-chested and variously coiffed, stood in a row, buried in the dark soil up to their waists. In a box nearby, at least a dozen more Barbies lay, awaiting planting. What exactly did LouElla expect to reap, I wondered, particularly since Ken seemed to be nowhere in the vicinity?

“Da-da-da,” said Chloe.

I swiveled my head to look at my granddaughter. “You took the words right out of my mouth, Chloe.

“Golly, LouElla,” I said at last. “You must be very proud.”

LouElla nodded.

“But tell me, why did you put the dolls out in the garden?”

“They like to be outside,” she said reasonably.

“Oh.” I digested this information while Chloe beat on my head with the flat of her hands like Ricky Ricardo at the Tropicana. “But, why are they buried up to their waists?” I inquired.

“Because otherwise they’d fall over.”

I had to double over myself to keep from laughing. Chloe used this as an opportunity to lean sideways out of the backpack, reaching for Speedo’s wet, black nose. Here was a disaster in the making. “Help me with the backpack, would you, LouElla?”

Soon Chloe was sitting stiff-spined on the patio, her legs in a V with Speedo lounging beside her, seemingly unconcerned that his short friend had grabbed a fistful of fur and might begin any minute to suck on it rather than on her Tinky Winky doll.

I gazed around the garden. Except for the Barbies, it was perfectly normal looking. Rows of perennials stood tall along the fence-I recognized rhododendron, yarrow, and spiderwort-and annuals would undoubtedly fill the beds in front, adding splashes of color in summer. Ground ivy provided a blanket of green, and in the corner nearest the house stood a dogwood, under-planted with azaleas, ferns, and hosta. Each bed was neatly edged with oyster shells.

LouElla was saying something. “Do you get it?”

“Get what?” I asked dreamily.

“The theme, dear.”

I shook my head, uncomprehending.

She touched an oyster shell with her toe, then pointed to a set of wind chimes hanging from a polished disk in the dogwood tree. “Silver bells and cockle shells…” She lifted one dark eyebrow expectantly.

A light bulb went on over my head. “And pretty maids, all in a row?” I finished.

Her laughter tinkled, like the wind chimes.

Something magical was going on and I hated to break the spell. I cocked my head, listening as the wind played a tuneless lullaby on the chimes, then, remembering why I had come, I pulled myself together. I had just opened my mouth to ask about BWI when LouElla shrieked, “Chloe!”

I turned in time to see Speedo’s tail and the diapered end of Chloe disappear through the sliding glass door. It was a race to see who could reach the house first, LouElla or me.

My overpriced jogging shoes with a recognizable logo won out over her sensible crepe soles. I burst into LouElla’s spotless kitchen to find Chloe and Speedo doing a do-si-do under the kitchen table, Speedo on his paws and Chloe on her chubby hands and knees. “Chloe!” I watched in amusement as my granddaughter pulled herself up to a standing position by holding on to a table leg. “You little rascal! I didn’t know you could do that!”

LouElla stripped off her gloves, laid them carefully on top of the table, then removed her apron and hung it on a hook next to the back door. “Rascal, indeed! You can’t turn your eyes away for a minute! But, now that we’re inside, would you like some refreshment?”

I was thinking that a stiff shot of bourbon would be nice, but LouElla was offering milk, orange juice, or water. I took o.j. While LouElla fetched two glasses from a cupboard near the sink, I scooped up Chloe and sat down at the table. LouElla opened her refrigerator, and the light shone on spotless shelves, almost completely devoid of food. My refrigerator hadn’t been that clean since the day it was delivered. I worried if LouElla was getting enough to eat and regretted having said yes to the orange juice.

While LouElla poured juice for the two of us, I popped the question. “Something very odd happened yesterday, LouElla. I was looking for Daddy, showing his picture around the airport, and when I got to the train station, the woman at the coffee wagon said she recognized you. She said you’d been at the train station last Sunday afternoon.”

LouElla continued pouring, the hand holding the juice carton steady as a surgeon’s. “That’s easily explained, my dear. I was at the train station on Sunday afternoon.” She turned toward me, a glass of juice in each hand. “I was investigating your father’s disappearance. I often did such work while on undercover assignment for J. Edgar Hoover and it pays to keep my hand in.” She set the glasses on the table, then pulled out the chair opposite me and sat down. “He had a lot of confidence in me, you see.” She leaned across the table and whispered, “My code name was ‘Medusa.’ ”

I could think of a lot of names old John Edgar might have called this woman, had he known her, but “Medusa” wasn’t one of them. “It’s kind of you to take an interest in our troubles,” I said.

“I’m concerned about all God’s creatures,” she assured me. “That’s why I wanted to adopt Speedo. Poor Virginia doesn’t need to be worrying about caring for a dog just now. She’s had enough troubles of her own.”

Virginia had seemed fairly calm and composed to me, so I wondered what her “troubles” might be. “She mentioned that her husband and daughter had died,” I said. “Such a shame.”

“Oh, but that wasn’t the worst of it. Dear me, no.”

I swiveled away from the table and jounced Chloe on my knee as she was threatening to play junior magician by yanking the tablecloth out from under the glassware, sugar bowl, and salt and pepper shakers. I stared at LouElla. “Why? What happened?”

LouElla leaned close and looked right and left before she whispered, “Virginia’s daughter took her own life.”

I gasped, thinking about Emily. Losing my daughter under any circumstances would be more than I could bear, but by suicide? “How terrible! Why did she do it, do they know? Was she distraught over her father’s death?”

LouElla shook her head. “This happened before Harry died. Virginia thought she’d never get over it, and then Harry…” She paused and took a sip of her orange juice. “I’m not sure how much of this I should be telling you.”

I considered telling LouElla that I had worked for J. Edgar, too, and that my code name was “Minotaur,” but I was afraid she’d think I was mocking her. The woman might be slightly daft, but she certainly wasn’t stupid. “Have no fear,” I said. Using a zipping motion, I drew my fingers across my mouth. “What you say will go no further than this table.”

With a sly look at Chloe, as if the baby might be concealing a listening device in her diapers, LouElla continued, “Remember that British agent who died of a poisoned umbrella tip?”

I didn’t, but I nodded sagely.

“Well, that’s what got Harry, too.”

I shook my head. “Poor Virginia.”

“Poor Virginia, indeed,” she agreed. “He collapsed and died right on her kitchen floor.”

“Could it have been a heart attack?” I asked.

“There are heart attacks and then there are heart attacks.” LouElla took the empty glass from my hand and walked to the sink with it. While her back was turned, I stood and jiggled Chloe on my hip, inching my way over in the direction of the living room. Through the open door I could see a well-worn sofa, a threadbare carpet, and faded drapes, all in gaudy floral patterns that warred with one another. Like the kitchen, the room was scrupulously clean.

As I passed the pantry, I stole a look inside. Familiar red-and-green boxes of pasta, large bottles of spaghetti sauce, row upon row of Campbell’s soup, and boxes of whole wheat crackers stood in orderly ranks on the shelves. Not much variety, but I needn’t worry. LouElla wouldn’t starve.

But it was the case of chocolate-flavored Ensure that made me gulp and look quickly away. She must have fed the nutritional supplement to her gravely ill son. How could she bear to keep such a poignant reminder of his suffering around? I felt as if a black cloud had descended on this house. No, not on this house. On this block. On Chestertown’s own little Bermuda Triangle, where so many hearts needed healing, and not the least among them was mine.