Yasmine Galenorn - Chintz 'n' China 04 Page 11

  He rolled up his sleeve. The bruise was brilliant purple and yellow, and the lacerations were beginning to heal. “It’ll be okay.”

  The buzzer in the pantry sounded and I pulled the clothes out of the dryer. We sat at the table, folding clothes in silence, then I brought out one of the leftover sandwiches that I’d saved from lunch. “Eat, you need it.”

  “You know, I think I’ll pay a visit to Irena’s lawyer this afternoon. My lawyer doesn’t want me to; he said that it’s best to avoid pressuring them, but I can’t just sit here.” He grabbed the sandwich, downed a glass of milk, gave me a quick peck on the cheek, and took off out the front door.

  As I watched him pull out of the driveway, I realized how easy it was having him here. At first, I’d been afraid of losing my privacy, of losing myself in the relationship. But Joe fit into my life in a way that I thought no one ever would. He meshed without intruding. He worked with us rather than trying to take over. Slowly, my resistance had faded and now it was hard to imagine life without him.

  Brushing away thoughts of murder and ghosts and dangerous faeries, I retreated upstairs to put away the clothes. Then, grabbing my keys, I headed for the animal shelter. Almost eleven months ago, I’d walked into the building and come face-to-face with Sammy and her babies. They stared out of the cage at me, so hopeful, and I knew I couldn’t leave without them. Even though I knew she was alive, I didn’t know where she was—and one thing Nanna always taught me: Always do the practical, before you trust the magical.

  I wandered through the line of meowing cats, my heart aching. One calico, in particular, caught my eye. A Persian, her scrunched-in face was so sweet that I almost broke down and took her home. She reached from between the bars of her cage and lightly pawed at my hand. I glanced at the volunteer who was cleaning out cages.

  “They’re all so wonderful. I hate working here, but somebody has to do it.” She poured litter into a pan and set it back in with a little black shorthair who tried to engage her in a game of bat-bat.

  I nodded, unable to say a word. A thorough check of every cage provided no sign of Samantha and, heavy-hearted, I headed home, stopping to pick up a couple of movies that the kids had wanted to see. I knew they’d have a hard time with the news that Sammy wasn’t back yet, and the least I could do was distract them the best I could.

  BY THE TIME that Joe got home again, Miranda and Kip had persuaded me that, since we were watching movies, we should also order pizza. Since Joe had joined the household, we’d been eating a lot more home-cooked meals but for tonight, I gave in and called the Pizza Shack. I’d just hung up the phone when Joe walked through the door.

  “Pizza okay?” I asked.

  He nodded. “What toppings?”

  “Pepperoni and extra cheese on one, Canadian bacon and pineapple on the other. How’d the meeting go?”

  “Not too great,” he said. “He couldn’t tell me any more than my lawyer. They’re drafting out a check to return my down payment and earnest money. I won’t lose anything on the deal except the time spent. In fact, I gather Irena instructed her lawyer to give me an extra thousand dollars for work done on the lot, but they’re serious about us keeping off the place. Her lawyer said they’re bringing in an excavator to fill the foundation and bury it for good next week.”

  “That’s odd, very odd.” Something wasn’t tracking right, but I couldn’t place it. I shook it off and plugged a movie into the DVD player, hoping that the kids would be able to relax. Both had been visibly depressed when I told them that I hadn’t found Sammy at the animal shelter.

  By the time nine o’clock came around, everybody in the house was ready for bed. Joe and I had just snuggled down to some seriously good foreplay when a yell echoed from the hall. I leapt out of bed, grabbed on my robe, and raced out to find Kip standing outside his door, staring into his room.

  “What on earth’s wrong?” I checked to make sure he was okay, but he seemed unhurt.

  “I thought I saw Sammy in my room, but she vanished! Is Sammy dead? Was that her spirit?”

  I sighed as Joe, dressed in pajamas and a robe, joined us. Leading Kip back to his bed, I sat next to him. He rubbed his eyes as Randa peeked in to see what the fuss was about.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” I said. “Okay, kiddos, I wanted to wait, but I guess I’d better tell you now.” They settled down to listen. “Two ghosts have moved in next door. A woman and her cat.” I turned to Kip. “Randa saw the woman’s ghost, by her bed. Anyway, the ghost cat looks a lot like our Sammy.”

  “But it’s not her?” Kip asked. I could hear the fear in his voice.

  “No, baby. It’s not Sammy, that much I can tell you.”

  “How can we tell whether what we see is the ghost or really Samantha?” Randa asked.

  “Good question. From a distance, it’s hard to tell the difference. But up close you’ll notice that her paws are different and her eyes are topaz, not green.” I snapped my fingers. “I’ve got a picture downstairs. The woman’s name was Brigit, and the cat was hers.” Of course, they had to see so we all trooped down to the kitchen where I showed them Brigit’s photograph.

  Miranda held it for awhile, looking softly at the photo. “That’s the lady who was by my bed. Can I look at her journal?”

  I silently handed the diary to Randa.

  Kip stared at the photograph. “That’s the cat I saw. The lady was pretty.”

  “I bet she was in love, wasn’t she?” Randa said, flipping through the pages. “She missed somebody, right?”

  I jerked my head up. “We think so. How did you know that?”

  She shrugged, twirling the end of her hair around her finger. “I dunno … just a feeling. May I read the journal?”

  I hadn’t seen anything remotely objectionable in my perusal. “I suppose, but don’t lose it or take it out of the house,” I said. Carrying the half-century-old volume, she started for the stairs, mumbling under her breath. “What did you say?” I asked.

  Without turning around, she said, “I just said that I thought she looks like a damsel in distress. You know, like in the old days with knights and ladies-in-waiting, when everything was still romantic.”

  And then, my precocious, logical daughter raced upstairs to bed, leaving me speechless. I took a deep breath, wondering what had come over her. She was usually so focused on her astronomy that I found her new dreaminess disconcerting at best.

  Kip took another look at the photograph, then handed it back. “Is the lady ghost dangerous?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t think so, honey. I don’t even know if she’s what we usually think of as a ghost. We might be seeing an image of something that happened in the past, like a filmstrip from an old movie.”

  He thought for a moment, then bounded off to bed. I turned to Joe and gave him a wistful look. Ghosts and poetry and murals. Randa was right. This was the stuff romance was made of, even when it got a little spooky. He seemed to sense my mood because he held out his hand and led me to the bedroom, where our passion overrode our weariness and we finished our lovemaking in a frenzied burst of energy.

  JOE WANDERED IN while I finished toasting the waffles. He set the table as the kids dragged themselves downstairs. We gathered around, nobody saying very much. After a moment, I remembered to ask Randa about her visit to Gunner.

  She shrugged. “He’s pretty depressed. His folks are still in intensive care and the doctors say that even if they make it through, they’ll take a long time to heal. They both are going to need a lot of plastic surgery. I bought a big bouquet of chrysanthemums and roses with the money you gave me. Gunner sends his thanks.”

  Poor kid. He was probably scared as hell. “Would you like to invite him over for dinner? It might do him some good to get out for a bit.”

  She brightened. “Yeah, in a day or so. Thanks, Mom.” She wiped her mouth neatly on her napkin and then pushed her chair back. “I need to get to class early. I’ve got a science experiment I want to check on.”


  Grateful to hear the enthusiasm in her voice, I waved her off. Maybe she wasn’t entering that mopey, angst-ridden phase all girls seem to go through when they discovered boys. At least, I hoped not.

  “Okay, but come home right after school. I’m making an early dinner.”

  She grabbed her pack and ran out the door. Kip followed more slowly, turning back to plead, “Could you call me at school if Sammy comes home?”

  He looked so forlorn that I swept him into my arms and gave him a tight hug. “Sure thing, kiddo. Now off to school, and please try not to worry.”

  Joe polished off the last of his waffles. “I should go down and check on things at the station. What are you planning for the day?”

  I shrugged. “I guess I’ll head out to the shop for a bit.” Truth was, I was getting bored of being at home 24/7. The stress from coping with the spirits and Samantha’s disappearance didn’t make playing house very appealing.

  Joe vanished with a kiss and a wave. I gathered my purse and keys and headed out the door. By the time I reached the Chintz ’n China, Cinnamon was just opening shop. She seemed surprised, but happy, to see me.

  “Emerald! What are you doing here? You’re still on vacation.”

  I grinned. “Maybe not. Plans are falling apart. I thought I’d drop down and take a gander at how things are going.”

  Going, they were. Business was brisk and I was impressed by how smoothly Cinnamon and Lana were running the shop. Of course, there were things they couldn’t tend to but overall, they were doing a good job. I headed for my office to spend an hour or so catching up on paperwork. Twenty minutes in, my cell phone rang. It was Harlow.

  “I’ve got the information you wanted about the Brunswicks. Do you want me to run it on over?” She sounded excited and I could sense that she’d found something that wasn’t quite so run-of-the-mill.

  “Can you bring it down to the shop? That’s where I’m at right now.”

  “Do you mind if I bring Eileen?”

  “Mind? Why should I mind? Bring my goddess-daughter down here so I can spoil her.”

  Harlow had recently discovered New Age philosophy. I had the feeling it was her way of compensating for all the psychic work that Murray and I did together, but wasn’t about to say so. It made her happy, and so far, there was no harm in it. She’d joined a local women’s empowerment group, and therefore, I had a goddess-daughter instead of a goddaughter. Made no difference to me, as long as I got to see her.

  We made plans to meet at lunchtime and I went back to my inventory and invoices. The Abbotshire China Company was offering several seasonal teapots and I wanted to order a few Christmas-themed ones. I knew they’d sell; the craftsmanship was high quality. I also needed to restock water biscuits, lemon curd, marmalade, and chocolates that we ordered from a London-based supplier. After that I should call Beatrice MacAlvy, a local candy maker, and place an order for Christmas mints and handmade candy canes.

  I sighed as I stared at the ever-growing to-do list and added a note to restock all the regular teas and jellies and cookies, and to pay the insurance. It was almost noon by the time I finished making phone calls and had worked my way through the pile of invoices and accounts. I sat back, satisfied. After lunch with Harlow, I’d take off for home, but right now, the work felt good.

  Cinnamon was busy with Farrah Warnoff, one of our regulars, who was trying to decide between a plain pumpkin teapot or a jack-o’-lantern teapot.

  “Who’s it for?” I asked, stepping in.

  She gave me a helpless smile. “My niece. Mandy turns thirteen next week, and I have no idea which she’d prefer.”

  I thought about Miranda, who had always been a little older than her years. “Pumpkin,” I said. “That way, she can use it year-round.”

  Farrah grinned. “What would we do without you?” She selected a handful of teas—maple, cranberry, and a new cinnamon-pear flavor that had just arrived, and Cinnamon packaged her order and gift wrapped it for her.

  My work done, I headed into the alcove that nestled our tearoom and staked out the staff’s table. Larry had delivered two types of soup—chicken noodle and pumpkin—along with sandwiches befitting the season. I dished up a big bowl of chicken soup and thumbed through the sandwiches until I found a pastrami on rye. I’d had just settled in when Harlow strode through the door, all five-foot-ten of her.

  Her hair gleamed in golden cornrows that hung down to her shoulders, and her flawless lips broadened into a huge smile. She carried a Louis Vuitton handbag in one hand, a diaper bag slung over her shoulder, and was pushing a snazzy stroller. Little Eileen, just two months old and bundled up like a butterball, snoozed away in the seat. Harl had already lost every ounce of pregnancy fat, but I had the feeling she would never return to her pre-pregnancy gauntness. Her curves were in all the right places, and while before she had been a beauty, now she was stunning.

  She parked the stroller next to me and hurried over to the counter, where she asked Lana to bring her a bowl of pumpkin soup and a turkey on whole wheat. By the time she returned, I was engrossed in a staring match with the sleeping Eileen. A real cutie, all right. Harl had given her Randa’s middle name, an honor and a gift, considering that Randa had helped her deliver the baby on my kitchen floor.

  Harl plunked herself down in the chair and began to nibble on her sandwich. “I’m beat. We’ve been shopping for the past two hours. Eileen is such a good girl—she didn’t fuss at all. But I think this motherhood stuff is taking more out of me than I want to admit. I need a nap and I still have to work out today. And my feet are swollen—that ticks me off.” She held out one foot and I saw that the narrow Prada shoe was playing tight squeeze today. Like most tall, thin women, Harlow had long narrow feet and could pull off the designer look without a hitch.

  I grinned. “Lily helping any?” Lily was Harlow’s baby nurse. It would have been nice to have a baby nurse when my two were young, but those days were long ago and far away, thank heaven.

  “Oh, yeah. I’m just worn out.”

  “I remember that bone-weary tiredness,” I said. “You never forget it.”

  Harl shook her head. “How did you do it, Em? You raised two children without any real input from Roy, no nurse, no time to yourself. I don’t know if I could have managed it. You’re amazing.”

  A warm glow rushed through me. Harlow was so perfect in so many ways that it felt good for a change to hear her admit that she admired me.

  “So, what did you find out about the Brunswicks?” I poked at her shopping bags. “And then tell me what you bought.” Harl’s shopping trips were notorious for their length and scope. She seldom ever left a store without a handful of bags and boxes.

  She pulled out a notebook and flipped it open. “Did I tell you that I’m going back to work next month? Professor Abrams wants me back as soon as possible. He said I can telecommute without a problem. And I’m signing up for a class in antiquities come winter quarter. Next fall, I’ll ease into half-time.”

  So she was going through with her plan to go back to school. I had to hand it to her—she was a trooper. Though I had my B.A., the thought of returning to school at this time in my life would have overwhelmed me. Harlow was thirty-five, only a couple of years younger than I, and here she was, just stepping into motherhood and planning a return to college to get her degree.

  She pushed the notebook in front of me. “It wasn’t hard to find out the basics about the Brunswicks, but I also dug up a few skeletons that were hidden.” With a satisfied smile, she sat back and ate her soup while I glanced over the material.

  “Normal rich family?”

  She gave me a lopsided grin. “Eh, normal is as normal does. In many ways yes, but there are a couple things you should be aware of. Everything seems fine with the mother, father, and daughter, but the son had some serious problems. The family told everybody that he went overseas, but he actually had a breakdown and was committed to Fairhaven Psychiatric Hospital. The kicker is, he’s still there. Almost fif
ty years after he was first locked up.”

  I jerked my head up. “The son? Brent Brunswick? Irena’s brother?”

  Harlow checked over her notes. “That’s the one. They were twins. Irena married a banker named Thomas Finch and they’re still married. The parents moved back east and both died there some time later, the father from a heart attack, the mother from booze.”

  Hmm … something was wrong. Irena had specifically said her brother lived overseas, and that he had refused to sell the property. She was obviously lying about the former, but what about the latter? Had Brent even heard of the deal? Or was he just a convenient excuse to keep hold of the lot? And if so, why?

  “Does it mention why Brent’s there? And when did they commit him?” I finished my sandwich and picked up my cup of soup, slurping it down much to Harlow’s dismay.

  She grimaced. “Try a spoon, babe. Anyway, let me see …” She flipped through the pages. “Here it is. Brent was committed when he was twenty years old. A few days later, his parents told everyone in town that he’d run off overseas. Given his family name and their place in society, nobody ever questioned the matter. A month or so after that the house burned down, Irena got married, and Mr. and Mrs. Brunswick moved back to the east coast.”

  A warning bell rang in my head. Something was off. “Is there any mention of a cousin or anybody named Brigit O’Reilly?”

  Harl snorted. “Not likely. The Brunswicks are old money. They can trace their family origins back to Henry the Lion, a powerful German prince back in the 1100s. I doubt if they’d even admit to cousins from Ireland—from what I gather, Edward and Lauren Brunswick were hoitytoity types. Edward especially. Irena took after him. Lauren was a lot nicer, I gather. So nice, she turned to drink in order to keep her mouth shut around her husband, according to Patricia Jones, who knew the two after they moved. I made a few calls.”