In the Blink of an Eye (28 page)

“
I
S THIS IT?”
the turbaned driver asks Pilar, as he pulls to a stop in front of a two-story raised ranch on a quiet, leafy suburban street.

She checks the address on the curbside mailbox. “I guess so.”

“You want me to wait, right?”

“Please,” she says, gathering her purse and her navy blazer from the seat. “I won't be long.”

“No problem.” The driver turns up the radio a bit and the distinct strains of sitar music fill the car. He settles back in his seat and opens today's edition of the
New York Daily News.

Pilar opens the door and steps out into the sunshine. A sprinkler a few feet away spurts water in an arc across the thick green lawn in front of the house. A straight walk leads up to the door, bordered by blooming marigolds.

Nan doesn't like marigolds, Pilar remembers as she starts up the walk. She says the orangey color is too harsh.

One glance around the yard shows that Nan's daughter doesn't take after her when it comes to gardening. There's no sign here of pretty pastels and old-fashioned blooming perennials. Katherine obviously likes a splashier, more conventional look. The foundation of her house is bordered by a clipped juniper hedge fronted by heavily mulched beds containing a few thatches of ornamental grass, smallish red geraniums, and more marigolds.

Pilar mounts the three concrete steps to a small stoop edged by a black wrought-iron railing. The inner wooden door stands open, and the sound of a game show on television filters through the outer white vinyl screen door. Pilar hesitates, wondering if she should knock on the door, or ring the bell.

It's not so much that she can't decide as that she isn't quite sure she's ready for this confrontation. Now that she's actually here, at Nan and Rupert's daughter's house, she wonders if this is such a good idea after all. She's about to meddle in a family's private matters at the most difficult time in their lives. Maybe she should just let well enough alone.

Besides, what if this Katherine Jergins isn't even Rupert and Nan's daughter?

True, she was the only Katherine in their address book. But that doesn't mean Pilar has come to the right place.

It's a strong possibility, yes. But what if Rupert and Nan haven't bothered to write down their daughter's address?

You know Christina's and Peter's addresses off the top of your head. Do you even have them written in your address book? Pilar wonders belatedly.

This is insanity. She doesn't belong here. Whether this Katherine Jergins is the Biddles' daughter or not.

She's about to turn around and retreat to the car waiting at the curb when she hears footsteps inside, followed by a startled gasp.

“Oh! You scared me!” a woman's voice says. “Did you knock? I didn't hear you.”

Any doubt that Katherine Jergins is the Biddles' daughter evaporates when Pilar lifts her head to find a familiar face—the very picture of a younger, healthier Nan—looking back at her through the screen.

“
Y
OU SEEM QUIET.
Are you all right?”

Miranda looks up at Kent, seated across the small table. They're in the shady outdoor cafeteria having lunch. Rather, Kent is heartily munching his order of Buffalo wings. Miranda hasn't touched her grilled cheese sandwich.

“I'm fine,” she says, poking at a sliver of pale green pickle. Her stomach is churning. “I'm just a little tired.” And hungover. And miserable.

“Late night?”

“Mmm-mmm,” she says noncommittally.

“Who is he, Miranda?”

She looks up sharply. “Who is whom?”

“Your latest obsession? The guy you were with last night.”

Her jaw drops.

“Look, I happened to wake up—Lord knows I've been sleeping enough with this medication—and I looked out the window and there you were, sneaking back into the inn.”

Miranda says nothing.
I wasn't “sneaking,”
she thinks defensively.

“Was it a one-night stand?”

“No! Of course it wasn't. You know I wouldn't do something like that, Kent.”

“But you would spend the night with somebody you've known for less than a week.”

She lifts her chin stubbornly. “Maybe I was out taking a walk.”

“Wearing a black dress and heels? At night? In the rain? Okay, whatever.”

Miranda watches Kent dunk a miniature drumstick into blue cheese, then, in a few bites, strip it of its spicy red skin and fragments of dark meat.

“For someone who's been deathly ill, you've gotten your appetite back pretty quickly,” she observes.

“I haven't eaten in days.”

“I'd think you'd want to start with something bland.”

“You'd think wrong.” He tosses the bone aside, reaches for another wing, and regards her thoughtfully. “Look, Miranda, you don't have to tell me who he is. Just be careful, okay? And remember—we're out of here in a few days. With all the rain and my being sick, we're behind schedule as it is.”

“I know.”

“So don't start getting any thoughts about hanging around here longer.”

“Believe me, I won't.”
The sooner we get out of here, the better.

“
I'm getting the idea you aren't going to tell me what you've been up to, or who he is. You think it's none of my damn business.”

“Exactly.” She gives up on her sandwich. She has no appetite. She keeps thinking about last night, with Andy. She should never have had that second glass of wine with him. Or the third. She should have walked out when she intended to—right after he arrived.

Instead, she stayed long enough to get a little tipsy—okay, flat-out wasted—and make a fool of herself. She told him about her failed marriage and string of broken relationships. She told him all she wanted was to find someone who would love her, and settle down to have a couple of kids. She told him she was incredibly attracted to him, and that she wanted to see him again. That she hoped he would visit her in Boston.

He couldn't get out of there fast enough, leaving her to drive drunkenly back to Lily Dale in Kent's Jeep. She's lucky she managed to keep the car on the road and make it back in one piece.

Having picked the last wing clean, Kent tosses it onto the plate and looks at her. “What's the plan for the rest of the afternoon?”

“I think I'm going to go back to my room and lie down,” Miranda says. “I've got a raging headache.”

It's the truth.

But Kent looks at her for a long moment, as though he doesn't believe her. “Fine. But don't back out on me tonight. We're doing Leolyn Woods, right?”

“Right.”

“And did you want to see if you can talk to the owner of that house on Summer Street again and see if he'll give us permission to check out his property?”

“No,” Miranda says hastily. “That's okay. I'm over that.”

Again, Kent gives her a long look as though he doesn't believe her.

Then he shrugs. “Good. I don't think the guy is going to change his mind.”

Her hands clenched on her lap, under the table, Miranda lets out a breath she didn't even realize she was holding.

R
UPERT HURRIES IN
the front door and goes straight to the kitchen, depositing his paper grocery bag on the counter. He woke up this morning to find that they've run out of milk. He forgot that he used the last of it yesterday afternoon in the instant vanilla pudding he made for Nan, hoping to entice her appetite.

He wound up tossing the pudding into the trash can. She wouldn't touch it, and Rupert never has liked vanilla.

Now, he hurriedly places the new carton of milk in the refrigerator and opens the bread box to put away the fresh loaf of whole-wheat bread. Already inside is an identical loaf he bought only a day or two ago.

I'm losing my mind
, he thinks, noticing that both loaves bear the same expiration date. Oh, well. He'll feed the extra to the birds.

Seeing the unopened box of shredded-wheat cereal still on the counter where he left it earlier, he puts it back into the cupboard, his own appetite for breakfast long gone.

At last, he hurries into the bedroom to check on Nan, certain he'll find her asleep, as always.

To his shock, she's awake. Her weary blue eyes stare up at him from the pillow.

“Are you all right, darling?” Rupert asks, going to sit beside her on the bed. He picks up her skeletal hand. The skin is almost transparent, crepe draped over bones.

“I'm . . . tired . . .” Nan says. “So . . . tired . . .”

He nods, stroking her hand.

The only sound in the room is the sound of her breathing, the air making a rattling sound as it passes over the mucus collecting in her mouth and throat.

“I have news for you, darling,” Rupert says abruptly.

This can't wait any longer. He was waiting to surprise her, but looking into her sunken face, he fears that she might not be able to hold on much longer without something to keep her going.

She looks at him, expectant, too exhausted to voice a question.

“You're going home, darling,” Rupert tells her.

The expression that filters into her eyes isn't the spark of joy he was anticipating. Rather, it is a somber, knowing look. He realizes, in horror, what she thinks he's telling her.

“No, Nan . . .” He shakes his head, his voice catching in his throat. “I mean . . . I mean, I'm taking you home. To Summer Street. To our home, darling. You'll be much more comfortable there.”

Still it doesn't come . . . the spark of joy.

She moves her head slightly on the pillow, a negative gesture.

“What's wrong, darling? Don't you want to go home?”

“Can't . . .” She fights for breath. Tries again. “Can't . . .”

He leans down and kisses her forehead gently, holding back the emotion that threatens to rise and take over, to make him lose control.

“Of course you can, darling. I'm going to make it happen. Just wait another day, Nan, maybe two, and then I'm going to bring you home.”

Another day.

Maybe two.

Rupert strokes his wife's forehead beneath the turban.

Wait, Nan. Please, wait . . .

W
HEN
J
ULIA WALKS
up the front steps at Iris's, she can hear Paine's voice coming from the parlor inside. He sounds angry.

She knocks on the screen door, then steps inside.

“Julia? Is that you?” There's Dulcie, standing in the hallway in front of the kitchen doorway.

“Yes, it's me, Dulcie.”

“I heard you coming.” She stifles a yawn, gesturing at the parlor. “Daddy's in there, on the phone with somebody. He's really mad.”

That's obvious. Julia hears Paine's voice harshly asking, “Well, how long do you think it might take?”

A pause.

“That's unacceptable!” Paine says. “I plan to be long gone by then.”

Another pause.

“Fine. Fine. See what you can do and call me back.”

Julia hears the beep of a cordless phone being hung up, followed by a muttered curse.

“Daddy, Julia's here,” Dulcie calls sweetly, childishly unfazed.

Paine appears on the threshold of the parlor.

“Is everything all right?” Julia asks. He looks as bad as she feels—as though he didn't get much sleep last night, either.

“Is everything all right? Not really,” he says shortly. “In fact, things couldn't be more
not
all right.”

“What's wrong?”

“Howard Menkin just called. There's been an unexpected complication.”

“What kind of complication?”

“Apparently, he just heard from a lawyer representing Edward Shuttleworth.”

“Kristin's half brother?”

Paine nods, saying grimly, “He's contesting Iris's will.”

“But how can he do that? He and Iris were barely on speaking terms.”

“Exactly. But apparently, Anson Shuttleworth died without a will. Since Edward was of legal age when it happened, under New York State law, Iris inherited everything he had. She, in turn, left it to Dulcie since Kristin predeceased her.”

“How can Edward contest that?” Julia asks, aware of Dulcie standing between them, listening intently. “And why only now?”

“Anybody can contest a will,” Paine tells her. “But apparently, Edward has stumbled across some relevant information that might threaten Dulcie's inheritance.”

“What kind of information? Did he find that Anson had a will after all?”

“The lawyer confirmed for Howard that it wasn't that, but he wouldn't tell Howard anything else. He wants to meet with us tomorrow. I don't have time for this,” Paine bites out, shaking his head. “
Rupert
doesn't have time for this.”

Julia rubs her tired eyes with the fingertips of both hands. This is shaping up to be the worst day she's had since . . . since . . .

Since you found Iris's body.

Which wasn't all that long ago.

What's happening around here?

Why do I suddenly feel as though Lily Dale isn't safe? As though nobody in it is safe? As though I'm not safe?

She only wants to go home and crawl back into bed. And she would have, after stopping to run a few errands in Fredonia on her way back from the hospital, if her house weren't crawling with tool-wielding men in work boots.

Instead, uncertain where else to go, she came here. Now she wonders if this was such a good idea. Being here might help to take her mind off what happened to Lorraine, but everywhere she turns in this house, there are reminders of Iris, and Kristin.

“Julia? Do you want to see what Daddy found in the attic?” Dulcie pipes up.

Julia snaps out of her dismal thoughts, glancing at the little girl's sweet face. “Sure, Dulcie,” she says, telling herself that this is why she's here. For Dulcie. Because Dulcie needs her. “What is it?”