Devil May Care (11 page)

His insight verged on mind reading. Ellie had never thought of herself as having one of those candid, transparent faces that revealed every passing thought. Certainly Henry had never been able to tell what she was thinking. Which was just as well, for Henry ... "Maybe Marian is a witch," she said, morosely.

"When I described what I had seen, she identified the people. ' squire Mcgrath and his wife and her lover.' She said the bodies were found in Kate's woods."

"Go on," Donald said, after a moment. "That's not all."

"The man in the hall. She said he must be young Francis Morrison. You're the spitting image of young Francis, in case you didn't know. How Marian knows I can't imagine; according to her, Francis was killed at Saratoga." Donald said nothing. The big car was cool now; he had settled comfortably onto the seat and was staring out the windshield, as if there were nothing on his mind beyond the passing scenery.

"Well?" Ellie demanded.

"What is this, a court of inquiry? I have never heard that I had an ancestor who was my twin, if that's what you want me to say. The name is vaguely familiar, but ... "

"Then how would Marian know?"

"Maybe she just made it up. I don't know why I should feel so guilty," Donald said irritably. "If one of my ancestors should take a notion to haunt you, it's not my fault. Furthermore, I don't believe a word of it."

Ellie was silent. Donald wriggled uncomfortably, as if the seat had become hot again.

"Oh, all right," he said, as if in answer to a comdevil-MAY-CARE 85

ment Ellie had never made. "We'll look him up. The town library has a good collection of local stuff."

"What about the Mcgraths?"

"We don't need to look them up. Everybody knows the story. It's true, the bodies were found in the woods not far from the house. The country was a lot wilder in those days."

Ellie slowed the car to a discreet thirty. They had entered the outskirts of Millbury.

The town had been the county seat ever since there had been a county. Never large in population, it had passed through the usual pattern of growth and decay until, in the late nineteen sixties, the craze for antiques and handicrafts and quaint old towns hit Millbury as it had hit so many other communities.

The old tavern, the Silver Fox, was still the center of town; its sprawling roofs and gables covered a full city block. The owners had added bathrooms and a new dining room, but the old bedrooms with their fireplaces and sloping floors looked as they had looked in 1753 when the inn was opened. One row of old houses had been converted into smart shops and boutiques, and many others had signs that said

"Antiques"

or

"Katie's Krafts," or something of the sort.

The town was on the Washingtonbaltimorerichmond weekend circuit, and was popular with townies exhausted by paperwork, who wanted to get away from it all. But beneath the superficial veneer of new chic Millbury had not changed greatly; the old inhabitants still went to Joe's market instead of to the new A & P outside town. Joe charged and Joe delivered, and Joe still carried the diverse products he had carried for fifty years--caviar for the aristocracy, feed and sheep dip for the farmers.

Ellie had always loved Joe's--the worn bare boards of the floor, the poorly lighted corners, the seemingly disorganized piles of merchandise. Joe knew where everything was, but no one else did; you

86 Elizabeth Peters could lift up a pair of overalls and find a fifty-dollar tin of pate de foie gras underneath.

She hadn't seen Joe for several years, but he recognized her immediately. His casual nod made her feel as if she were still wearing her hair in ponytails (not pigtails). He had not changed at all. Perhaps there were only six strands of iron-gray hair laid carefully across his bald head, instead of ten; surely a few more wrinkles had been added to the weathered map of his long, dour face, but in all essentials he was the same.

Ellie was so delighted by the store and everything in it that it took her a while to realize that the atmosphere was peculiarly strained. She didn't recognize any of the other shoppers, so there was no reason why they should have spoken to her, and Joe had never been one for light chitchat. He started collecting cat food even before she handed him Marian's list. Donald, alert and unusually silent, had taken one of the worn kitchen chairs that stood in a circle around the potbellied stove--an item that indicated that Joe was not entirely immune to the curse of quaintness, for he had installed an adequate heating-and-cooling system years before. Ellie rummaged, finding unexpected treasures.

A jangle of bells announced the arrival of a new customer. Hearing the tapping of heels on the wooden floor, Ellie glanced up from the pile of old comic books she was investigating and saw Anne Grant bearing down on her.

"I saw Kate's car, so I figured you'd be here," the other woman greeted her. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," Ellie said, bewildered.

Evidently Anne had not yet reached the Bloodymary-for-breakfast stage of alcoholism; her eyes were tired and a little bloodshot, but she was entirely sober and was dressed with the expensive casualness of her social class. The shining blond hair was tied back with a printed black-and-fuchsia scarf DEVIL-MAY-CARE 87

that matched her sleeveless, low-necked T-shirt and black pants. A leather bag was slung over her arm.

From it she extracted a list, which she tossed at Joe, who took it without comment; but Ellie noticed that he gave her a sharp look before he turned back to his shelves.

"Sit down," Anne said, gesturing at the chairs.

"I haven't time, really."

"It'll take Joe forever to get your stuff together."

The other woman took her arm; the clasp of her long, thin fingers was uncomfortably tight. Her eyes sparkled.

"Come on, sit down and have a Coke or something; you must tell me all about it, I'm agog with curiosity."

Ellie was conscious of a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. It had nothing to do with the fact that the older woman's slim elegance made her feel like a grubby infant in her faded shorts and shirt, or that Donald was eyeing Anne's figure with cool approval.

"Tell you about what?" She allowed herself to be deposited on a chair. Anne took another and pulled it up so close that Ellie felt trapped between Anne's knees and the stove.

Lighting a cigarette. Anne made a wide gesture as she tossed the match away.

"Don't be coy, darling, the whole town knows about your ghosts. What are you up to?" And, as Ellie's expression changed, she added cheerfully, "Not that I blame you, sweet. In fact, I'm with you every step of the way. This town needs shaking up."

"What makes the town so sure Ellie is making up these stories?" Donald asked, since Ellie was too furious to speak. Anne glanced carelessly at him.

"Well, it did occur to me that Ted might be the one who's making them up; but it would be stupid of him, wouldn't it, when Ellie could simply deny them? Ted does have a tendency to exaggerate, bless

88 Elizabeth Peters his little heart, but he isn't an out-and-out liar. And even allowing for exaggeration ... "

Her wide blue eyes were fixed expectantly on Ellie; and although she was still angry, Ellie felt an unexpected uprise of pity. None of Anne's malice was directed against her; it was the town she hated, the town and ... "Does Mr. Grant think I'm inventing stories to stir people up?" she asked bluntly.

"Oh, Alan ... He's reserving judgment. Very ostentatiously."

The woman's lips twisted unpleasantly.

"What did you see, now, really?"

Ellie had never been very good at telling people to mind their own business. In this case she realized that Ted's version of the story might be worse than the truth and that this was a chance to correct it.

So--although Donald's vigorous headshake warned her not to do so--she told her story, again. She was getting very tired of it, but apparently it lost nothing in the telling. Anne's eyes opened even wider.

"How divine," she said, with a long breath. "Absolutely super. I wish I'd thought of it. Listen, honey, I could tell you a few stories you could use--" "Now wait a minute," Ellie interrupted. "I didn't invent any of this, Anne. I really saw those people.

You and the rest of the town are so quick to judge; hasn't it occurred to you that someone might be playing a trick on me? And I don't like it, not one bit." "But, darling," Anne said. "Did anyone else see your spooks?"

Ellie felt as if she had gotten a hard jab in the diaphragm. She looked at Donald; he was contemplating a row of plaid shirts that hung over the notions counter. It was true. She had no witnesses. Did Donald's father think she was a liar, too--or, worse, sick in the head? Was that why he had suggested that she stay with them, to protect her from her own DEVIL-MAY-CARE 89

fantasies? The idea that the doctor might doubt her hurt worse than anything Anne had said.

Ellie stood up. Her legs felt as if they had gone to sleep. Joe had already started carrying boxes and bags out to the car. Probably he was as anxious to get rid of her as she was anxious to leave.

"Good-bye, Anne," she said.

"Be sure to let me know if anything else happens."

Anne grinned. She had gotten what she wanted, and she was not much interested in other people's feelings.

The car had been standing in the shade; it was not as hot as it had been earlier that morning. Ellie let herself slump forward over the steering wheel. Donald, sliding in beside her, gave her a critical look.

"Sit tall," he advised, in a passable Western drawl.

"Sit tall, li'l gal, and tell all them sidewinders to go to hell."

"You're one of those sidewinders yourself," Ellie said.

"Oddly enough, I am not."

"You mean you believe me?"

"Why, li'l gal, from the moment I saw your purty face I knew--"

"Cut it out or I'll slug you. This is no time to be funny." "On the contrary," Donald said, with unexpected sobriety. "The time to be funny is when things get nasty. I guess I should have warned you. But I thought you would realize that Anne's interpretation is the one that comes first to mind--to someone who doesn't know you. Now don't get mushy," he added hastily, as she turned toward him, her face alight.

"It isn't your purty face that convinced me, it's your air of innocent stupidity. You have no rational motive for inventing wild stories, and you aren't the type to do it for fun."

"Thanks--I think." Obscurely cheered, Ellie started the car. If Donald felt that way, then his fa9O Elizabeth Peters ther must agree with him. "Where to now?" she asked.

"The library. If you still want to check this thing out."

"More than ever."

"Atta girl, Excelsior. Illegitimae non ... "

It was amazing, how many mottoes and phrases there were encouraging the faint of heart. Donald knew them all. He didn't stop quoting till they had stopped in front of the library.

"I remember this place," Ellie said, looking admiringly at the handsome old house, with its white pillars and wrought-iron fence surrounding a neatly clipped lawn. "Kate brought me here once."

"Then you remember Miss. Mary."

"Kate once introduced me to the librarian. Somebody tall and fierce and old--at least that's how she impressed me when I was about ten."

Donald opened the gate for her and they started up the walk.

"She's sill fierce and old. This was her home--the Lockwood house. When Miss. Mary's daddy died, bankrupt, the town bought it and turned it into a library. She's got a little apartment on the top floor.

It was a nice gesture; she had no money and nowhere to go, and they made it possible for her to stay on. They aren't such bad people." "Who said they were?"

"Anne Grant."

"It isn't the people she hates, it's the whole way of life," Ellie said soberly. "Because it's her husband's milieu?"

"They say she was a singer in New York--not too successful--when Alan married her and brought her here," Donald said.

"And having presumably fallen in love with her, he promptly tried to turn her into something different.

Typical male." "Don't be such an FCP," Donald said. "There are DEVIL-MAY-CARE 91

as many revolting women in the world as there are men."

"Sometimes I doubt that."

"Wait till you see Miss. Mary."

Remembering that the librarian had been grayhaired and wrinkled when she last saw her, Ellie expected to find a withered, fragile old woman. But the intervening years had not left any visible signs of decay on the woman who sat behind the desk as a ruler might occupy a throne. A commanding figure, whose white hair was set precisely in the marcelled waves of an earlier period, she had a nose like George Washington's and piercing gray eyes. The eyes passed over Donald and settled on Ellie with intense interest.

"Ah. Kate's niece. I have been hearing some extraordinary stories about you."

"I suppose you think I invented them, too," Ellie said. She was to learn--indeed, she had already learned--that Miss. Mary never wasted time on social amenities.

"I have not yet reached a decision. My mind is open to any reasonable hypothesis."

"She means she believes in ghosts," Donald said brightly.

"You're a fool, young man." Miss. Mary looked at him with unconcealed contempt. "Your mother's family had its share of fools ... I don't believe in what you ignorantly call '.' I do believe in the existence of evil."

There was no doubt that she did. The word, in her deep, almost masculine voice, had a heavy significance that made Ellie shiver.

"You know Donald's family?" she asked.

"I know everything about the six families," said Miss. Mary.

Turning, she indicated a portrait that hung over the mantel, in the place of honor. The room had once been the drawing room of the house. It was lined

92 Elizabeth Peters

with bookshelves now, but the space in front of the handsome Adam fireplace had been kept clear except for a few easy chairs and low tables, arranged in a casual grouping.

It was a full-length portrait. Ellie had not noticed it before; at the first sight she clapped her hand over her mouth to repress a gasp. The tight, dark suit was the same style as the one that had been worn by the apparition that had shaken a fist at her bedroom window. A second look told her that there was no other similarity. She had not seen the man's face clearly, but she had received an impression of dark hair and beard, and an aura of malignancy. This face was almost saintly. Ellie was reminded of Robert E.