The Three Miss Margarets (6 page)

But Maggie could see Lottie was pleased, because she liked the attention from a boy. Maggie wanted to cry out, What about me? but she was too afraid. She became irritable and moody, snapping at Lottie for no reason and then apologizing. She had always been a rational, confident child, but now she was full of doubts. Mama wanted to take her to the doctor, but Maggie knew what she needed. She had to find the courage somewhere to tell Lottie how she felt.

There were several nights when she came close to saying it. There were nights when she thought Lottie knew. Once, when she had been staring at Lottie, she found Lottie looking back at her. Their eyes met and she almost blurted it out; Lottie looked away quickly and she lost her nerve. But she had to say something because time was running out. They’d be graduating in a year, and they had to work out a way to be together when they went to college.

Then the county school board announced they’d be closing the colored high school in Charles Valley. Negro students who wanted to continue their education would have to get themselves to Ashtabula, twenty miles away.

Lottie was beside herself. There was no way she could make the daily round-trip. Maggie was heartbroken for her, but there was nothing she could do to help. Even if she kept on tutoring Lottie every day, it wouldn’t get Lottie the diploma she needed. Charlie Mae said it was just as well. Lottie’s Aunt Grace had started working as a maid at the new resort the Garrisons had just opened, and she thought she could get Lottie a job there too. Times were still bad in Charles Valley, work for pay was hard to come by, and Lottie’s family could use the money. Desperate, Lottie spilled all this to Miss Monross, who came up with a solution.

“She says there’s a family I can live with in Ashtabula,” Lottie reported to Maggie. “They have a girl my age who’s going to high school. Miss Monross is gonna talk to Momma and Daddy and see if they’ll let me stay with those people and finish high school.”

It was like a physical blow. “You want to . . . to go away?” Maggie stammered.

“I don’t want to, I’ve got to, Maggie. I have to get my diploma.”

“But what about me?” The words were tumbling out now. “What will I do?”

“I’ll be back sometimes. . . .”

“We’ve always been together. . . .”

“I know. . . .”

“You can’t go.” As she said it, Lottie’s eyes met hers the way they had before. Only this time there was something in her look. As if Lottie sensed what she’d been trying to tell her. And then she could tell that Lottie knew. For a moment she was just plain happy. Lottie knew. It was out in the open. They could say it. But then Lottie turned away again.

“You can’t leave,” Maggie repeated, determined now.

“Maggie—”

“You can’t leave me.”

Lottie wouldn’t look at her. But it was too late. They had to have it out now. She was starting to cry.

“Lottie, please!” she begged, as she reached out to take Lottie’s hand.

She never knew what happened next, whether she knocked the oil lamp over or Lottie did when she jerked her hand away. The hot oil spilled on the papers they had been working with and the burning wick fell into it. The papers blazed into flame, and the dry straw on the floor of the barn began to burn. Lottie and Maggie froze, watching as the fire started spreading across the floor to the junk piled up on the sides of the barn. Then together they went into crazed action. Lottie grabbed the algebra book they’d been studying from and began beating at the burning floor until the book caught fire in her hands. Maggie grabbed the blanket and threw it on the flames, stomping on top of it in a crazy dance. They managed to put out the fire, and she didn’t even realize the ruffle at the hem of her nightgown had caught until Lottie started screaming.

Both sets of parents heard the commotion and came running. They found the girls outside the barn. Lottie had bundled a coat around the burning nightgown and was helping Maggie roll on the ground. Maggie was screaming now in agony as together they smothered the flames against her bare legs. When it was over, Lottie’s hands were burned and the doctor said Maggie’s left leg would be scarred.

Later, after the doctor had wrapped her leg in gauze and ointment and given her something to help her sleep, Mama demanded to know what happened. Maybe the drug loosened her tongue. Or the pain. Or maybe she thought her mother would help Lottie if she understood. Whatever the reason, Maggie told her mother about teaching Lottie. She explained about the colored school being so terrible, and Lottie needing help because she was going to college to be a doctor. She stopped short of telling her mother that she planned to pick her own college to be with Lottie. She wasn’t that far gone.

She never knew exactly what Mama told Charlie Mae, but Lottie never went to live with the family in Ashtabula. Her schooling ended that night. Miss Monross called at the cabin to protest to Charlie Mae and Ralph and was politely told to stop filling Lottie’s head with foolishness. As soon as Lottie’s hands were healed she went to work at the new Garrison Lodge, cleaning bedrooms.

If Maggie had hoped to keep Lottie home, she had won. But in another, much more painful way, she’d lost. Because Lottie was staying away from her. And Maggie knew it wasn’t just because Charlie Mae had ordered it, or because Lottie was angry that Maggie had spilled their secrets to her mother. It was because of what Maggie had started to say in the barn. In the dark days that followed the fire, Maggie got the answer to the question she had never been able to ask. Lottie understood what Maggie felt and it disgusted her.

The months that followed were bleak. In all her charmed life, Maggie had never been seriously unhappy. Now she felt swamped by waves of despair. Everything that had happened was her fault. She hated herself. And worst of all there was no one to confide in. Lottie was as far away as if she had left Charles Valley. Maggie was alone. The doctor told Mama her low spirits were to be expected, after the shock she’d had, and to give her time to get over it. Maggie was afraid she never would.

But then, because she was young and resilient, she began to fight her way back. She learned to live with Lottie’s rejection because she had to. And she learned not to think about the guilt she felt for the disaster she’d set in motion. Above all, she knew she had to get away from home. With nothing else to distract her, she focused on her books and finished high school a year ahead of schedule. She was accepted at Emory in Atlanta and started making her plans to leave in the fall.

James got himself a job as a waiter at the resort. He stood behind the buffet tables wearing a uniform and white gloves while he served the guests boiled shrimp and baked chicken. He walked Lottie home from work every day; Maggie watched from the window in her bedroom, where she now did her studying.

The night before Maggie left for Atlanta, she walked down to the old barn. She hadn’t been there since the night of the fire. As she passed the cabin where Lottie’s family lived she thought she saw someone at the window watching her. Then she heard what might have been the back door of the cabin opening. She didn’t look back to check, but as she walked she prayed.

A faint smell of burnt wood still hung around the barn, and one wall was charred. She stood in the middle of the floor, in the place where she and Lottie used to spread the old blanket and set out the schoolbooks. She heard footsteps behind her. She turned and Lottie was there.

“Momma never would have let me go away to high school,” Lottie said.

Maggie felt tears start to sting at her eyes. She blinked them back, terrified of scaring Lottie again. “Maybe we could have convinced her.”

Lottie shook her head. “She doesn’t understand. She can’t.”

“Maybe you don’t have to have a diploma to go to college. Maybe there’s some kind of test you could take. You’re so smart—”

But Lottie was shaking her head. “Maggie, I’ve got something to tell you. I’m going to marry James.”

The words were out before Maggie could stop them. “You can’t. You’re only sixteen.”

“I’m going to have a baby.”

There was no way to stop the tears now. But Lottie smiled at her.

“It’s okay, Maggie. I won’t turn out like Momma. Work hard in college.” Then she ran off into the night.

T
HE SWEET SMELLS OF BAKING
—cocoa, sugar, and butter—filled the house. Trusting her nose more than the kitchen timer, which still had minutes to go, Maggie went into the kitchen and opened the stove. The cake layers had risen nicely, with no cracks; the sides had pulled away from the pans. She knew they were done, but just to be sure she stuck them with a broom straw, which came out clean. She pulled the pans out and put them on cake racks to cool. Later she’d make the frosting, take a piece to Lottie at the nursing home, and tell her what had happened last night. Lottie wasn’t going to hear about it from anyone but her.

Chapter Six

W
HEN SHE WOKE UP
, it took Laurel about thirty seconds to realize that the pillow next to hers was empty. And it took another two or three seconds to tell herself that that was just fine. In fact, it was the way she wanted it. One reason why she gladly worked the weekend shift at the
Gazette
was because she had a built-in excuse for getting rid of the occasional Friday night date who wanted to hang around on Saturday morning. Clearly, today that was not going to be a problem.

Still, as she looked at the blanket pulled up neatly on the empty side of the bed, she remembered a morning when she was a kid and had awakened to find her mother had taken off with the latest man who was going to rescue them. Laurel had known by the time she was five or six that none of them ever would.

She banished the memory instantly. No need to start thinking about abandonment because a guy who was passing through town and would never see her again had laughed at her jokes. Even if he was a hotshot writer who worked for magazines she inhaled when she could get her hands on them. And even if he had wrapped his body around hers when he slept.

She hauled herself out of bed and padded barefoot toward the bathroom. She was moving slow, but that was to be expected after the amount of beer she’d put away. If she drank about a gallon of water and swallowed an aspirin or two along with some caffeine pills, she could probably fend off the headache that threatened to take over the top part of her head. She was firmly convinced it was the caffeine that did the trick. She looked down and saw that her toenail was turning blue. But it didn’t hurt, so all in all she was in better shape than she deserved to be.

Then she swore loudly. Because she remembered that her car was still in the Sportsman’s Grill parking lot. Josh Wolf Eyes had left her high and dry without a way to get to work. Cursing all men, not for the first time in her life, she went into the bathroom.

She was in the shower when she heard the police siren. It was a shocking sound in Charles Valley; she could count on one hand the number of times she’d heard it before. Ed and the boys must have something really big going on. It was followed a few seconds later by what had to be a voice talking on a bullhorn. She couldn’t make out the words, but it was definitely coming from the direction of the highway. She couldn’t imagine an accident big enough to warrant such commotion on a peaceful Saturday morning. She’d pulled on her clothes and was heading out the door when Josh appeared in front of her with two white Styrofoam coffee cups in his hands. He thrust one at her.

“Come on. All hell’s breaking loose, and you can get more from the cops than I can,” he said.

“You came back.” She tried not to sound impressed. Or pleased.

“I went out for coffee. You can drink it in the car.” He turned and started for the SUV.

“Good morning to you too.”

“Hurry!” he said. She got in next to him.

“What’s going on? Is it an accident?”

“I think something happened at that cabin,” he said, as he turned on the engine and peeled off.

They reached the highway in time to see an ambulance come down the road from the cabin. Four squad cars, half the Charles Valley highway patrol, were parked haphazardly by the side of the highway. Several yards away, men in uniforms were standing in a circle around Ed. She couldn’t hear what her ex was saying, but he seemed to be in high cop mode.

“Which one of the boys in blue do you know?” Josh murmured in her ear.

“All of them.”

“Who’s most likely to talk to you?”

“Mike Murray’s got the loose lips.”

“Wait till they break up, then grab him fast.”

As if on cue, the little group dispersed and Laurel moved quickly to Mike, reaching him just as he was about to get into his car. Josh did his best to melt invisibly behind her.

“Hey Mike,” she said. He eyed her warily. “What’s going on?”

“Now, Laurel, you know I can’t talk to you.”

“Off the record.” She held up her hands. “See? No notes, no tape recorder.” She could feel the look of surprise she was getting from Josh. “Come on, Mike,” she said. “You know whatever it is will be all over town by noon. I could hear the ruckus you boys are making all the way to my house.”

“All I can tell you is we just found Vashti Johnson in her grandma’s cabin.”

Behind her she heard Josh’s sharp intake of breath.

“Vashti?” she asked. “What’s she doing there?”

“She wasn’t doing anything. Not anymore. We found her body. The boys’re taking her off to the coroner’s office.”

She thought she’d heard it wrong.

Josh said, “Oh, my God!” in a stunned voice.

“Vashti’s dead?” she repeated stupidly. “Vashti Johnson? I didn’t even know she was home.”

“No one did,” said Mike.

It was unthinkable. Vashti, daughter of the archenemy Nella, was dead.

“How?” Josh demanded. “What happened?”

Which of course made Mike clam up instantly. Then Ed appeared.

“Morning, Laurel,” he said, smiling pleasantly, but his eyes narrowed when he saw who was standing behind her. Clearly he remembered Josh from the bar. Or maybe the rumors of her exploits had already started traveling.

Ed dismissed Mike, who got dutifully into his car and roared off. She knew Josh was wanting to ask a million questions, but he wasn’t going to risk it. She gave Ed her best pretty-girl smile.

“What’s going on, Ed?”

“Sorry if we woke you,” he said, and turned away, blowing her off the way he used to when he was canceling a date and not about to give her an explanation. She did a little dance step that put her directly in his path and stopped him. “You found Vashti Johnson dead in the cabin?”

Ed’s face flushed. Mike would get the riot act read to him later.

“Is that true?” she urged.

“You know I’m not gonna talk about this now. Tell Hank to come over to the station in a couple of hours and I’ll have some information for him.” Hank was her boss at the
Gazette
, and they both knew he would see to it that he wrote this one.

“Who found her? How’d you know to go to the cabin?” she asked.

“I told you, Laurel, not now.” He started to turn again, but she did another dance step.

“Thing is, we might be able to help,” she said, turning back to include Josh. Ed shot him a quick look of dislike. Ed might not want her himself but he sure as hell didn’t want anyone else to have her.

“We got in very late last night,” she went on. “We might have seen something.”

“Who’s he?” Ed growled, indicating Josh without making eye contact.

“A friend—from New York.” She gave it a second to sink in. “Anyhow, last night—actually, it was this morning—we were at the cabin. We were on the way to my house, but we took a wrong turn.” That would clinch it, just in case his imagination wasn’t fleshing out the details. “I don’t know what time it was, but it must have been after two o’clock.”

“You saw something?” Ed demanded.

“Someone was there. Inside the cabin.”

“Vashti.” He didn’t add
obviously
, but she could feel it hanging in the air. “You were probably the last one to see her alive.”

“No, it was someone else.” She could hear Josh clearing his throat behind her, warning her to keep her mouth shut. But she knew Ed better than he did. “The Miss Margarets were there, all three of them.”

“You’ve lost your mind,” Ed said. “Dr. Maggie phoned in the report this morning. She saw lights on and was afraid someone broke in. She asked us to check.” As soon as he said it, he realized he had slipped. “But I don’t want to see that in the
Gazette.
You tell Hank.”

“Sure.” She turned to Josh. “Let’s go.”

She started off, but Ed called out, “Wait!” She’d never noticed how really slow he could be when you got him rattled. She turned.

“You sure you saw the three Miss Margarets?”

Josh stepped in. “Actually, we were kind of drunk, officer.”

“Sheriff,” Ed corrected. “You saw them at the cabin around two
A.M.
, Laurel Selene?”

She couldn’t resist it. “Yes. Of course, we were a little preoccupied.”

Ed turned a satisfactory shade of brick red under his tan. “I’ll talk to you later, Laurel,” he said pointedly, and he turned on his heel and walked away.

Josh said, “Let’s get out of here, now that you’ve blown it.”

“I blew it? I just found out who called in the report.”

“You gave away something more valuable.” He strode back to his car and got in, leaving her to climb up into the big stupid thing on her own. “We had information no one else does. You don’t give up an edge like that.”

“I got information for that information.”

“Bull. You just wanted to send your boyfriend Billy Joe Bob on a testosterone high.” He drove back across the highway and started down the dirt road to her driveway, going fast.

“His name is Ed, and he is not my boyfriend.”

“If he’s not, then worry about being stalked. If that guy got any more territorial he was going to start pissing a circle around you.”

“Look, I was going to have to tell the police or my boss what we saw.”

“I assume ‘boss’ refers to the mysterious Hank. He’s your boss at what job?”

“I work for the local newspaper. As a reporter.”

“You didn’t think to mention that you’re a writer when I was giving you my résumé last night?”

“While you were dropping names like
Vanity Fair
and
People
?”

“I do not drop names.”

“It’s a little tiny paper called the
Charles Valley Gazette.
And my job, when I’m not busy watering the plants, involves covering the bake sale at the First Baptist Church.” That seemed to appease him. He nodded and sped on in silence, hitting the hole in her road full force. Thank God the lids were still on the coffees.

Finally they jerked to a stop in front of her place.

“That was bracing,” she said.

He wasn’t listening. “Jesus Christ, what happened to her?” he asked.

“You mean Vashti?”

He nodded. “If she was sick, I didn’t know it. But what else could it have been? Those three women were there. . . .”

“Trust me, the three Miss Margarets didn’t kill her, if that’s what you were thinking.”

“I don’t know what to think. Vashti Johnson’s dead.” He seemed genuinely dismayed.

“Does this mean the end of your book?” she asked.

“Hell, no. I want to tell it even more now.”

He sat for a moment in silence. Then he turned to look at her, and there was something thoughtful in it. Like he was calculating something in his head. He kept looking at her until she was about to ask him what the hell was wrong. Then, suddenly, whatever he’d been debating seemed to have been resolved. He smiled at her.

“We never drank our coffee,” he said. “How about it?”

She’d probably be late for work if she said yes, but something was up with him and she wanted to know what it was.

“Just a few minutes,” she said.

“Great.” He got out and headed for the house. She grabbed the two Styrofoam cups and followed him.

He was in the middle of her living room looking at the shelves of books that covered one of her walls. He was back to calculating again. About what?

“You read all these?” he asked.

“Not the encyclopedia or the almanac.” She stuck his coffee in the microwave and turned on the timer, hoping as she always did that the chemicals in the Styrofoam wouldn’t somehow melt into the hot liquid.

She moved to the doorway between the kitchen and the living room and watched him take down a frayed hardcover book with a disintegrating binding titled
The Complete Shakespeare.
He opened it. On the front page, right under the name of the professor who had written the foreword, the words
Baby Merrick
had been scrawled in pencil. The handwriting was large and round like a child’s. Beneath it, in ink, in a tidy prim hand was written
Laurel Selene McCready
, with
Merrick
added in parentheses. She watched him take down the rest of her hardcover books; three
Reader’s Digest
Best of the Year anthologies, a copy of
Valley of the Dolls
with the original jacket, and a volume of Emily Dickinson’s poetry. He checked the front pages.

“The names are in all of them,” she said. “My father wrote the one in pencil before I was born. He didn’t know if I was gonna be a boy or a girl, so he put down
baby.
I wrote my name in ink when I was eight.” Josh put the book back on the shelf. He gave her a smile and another nod. She couldn’t lose the feeling that he was after something. The microwave dinged and she brought him his coffee.

“Interesting collection you have here,” he said at last. “Lot of range.”

“I didn’t pick them. My father left them to me.” He left the books and a whole lot of heartache, but Josh didn’t need to know that.

“He was an eclectic reader.” He was eyeing the paperbacks now, taking in the jumble of titles, murder mysteries, thirty-year-old how-to manuals, romance novels, and dog-eared copies of the classics.

“He never read them. He bought them at a garage sale for me when he heard my mother was pregnant. I guess he thought it would give me class.” She went into the kitchen to zap the second cup of coffee. He followed her.

“Nice thing to do for your kid.”

Nicer would have been if he hadn’t ruined her mother’s life. And hers. She shrugged.

“You never knew your father?” Josh asked. But he was a little too casual about it. The microwave made its dinging sound. And suddenly, in the way that the brain puts things together when you’re not expecting it to, she got it. She’d been suspicious of him since the first moment he mentioned the three Miss Margarets, but she’d pushed the thoughts aside. Now she knew she’d been had.

“You son of a bitch!”

“What?”

“You knew who I was, didn’t you?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’ve been working on that damn story about Vashti forever. You’ve done your homework.”

“Some,” he hedged, suddenly wary.