The Witch and the Borscht Pearl (26 page)

Money. My eyes opened. “Why, is it nice out today?”

“Gorgeous.”

I sat up and swung my legs over the side. Her bed, like everything else in her place, was scaled down cottage-size, but heavenly to sleep in, like a nest. “I love your bed.”

She straightened up, pleased. “Do you? I’ll make you one. Stand up, dear. See how your ribs feel.”

Make me one? I stood with tentative care, waiting for the stabbing pain. I was rewarded with a minor twinge instead. I lifted my arms above my head and stretched. Soreness there, but not nearly as much as I expected. “I can’t believe it.”

“Herbs in the mattress helped you sleep deeply. And the potion I rubbed into your side last night drew out the soreness. I’ll give you some to take home. Rub it in before bed, and in a few days you’ll never know you hurt yourself. Luckily, you’re very tough, or you would’ve broken a rib.”

“I fell across a tombstone, you know.”

“I didn’t know, but it doesn’t surprise me.” She led the way to the bath. Without further talk, I stepped into the steaming water. I sank up to my chin. An elusive odor of sun drenched meadows filled my nose. I inhaled and closed my eyes.

It seemed like only seconds later, and back she came to thrust a towel at me. “Out,” she said, and left again. I stepped out of the now cool water, toweled myself quickly, and pulled the robe on.

In the kitchen on the table lay a plate, with silverware. “There’s still some of that pumpkin seed bread you made Michael. Try it toasted, if you like.”

“Aren’t you eating?”

“I did. I also washed and dried your clothes.”

“Wow, you’ve been busy. Thanks.”

Her jam was blueberry, homemade by our caterer friend, Arlene—the best in the village. I scooped some onto a plate. “Thanks for the breakfast, and the doctoring, too.”

She wiped her hands, pulled out a chair, and sat down across from me. Her eyes were opaque and distracted.

“Have you reached any conclusions?” I asked, finally, reluctant to bring up Pearl’s problem, but that’s why I was here, after all. I licked blueberry from around my mouth.

“Not conclusions, really. Only more questions. Like, what’s in Ilene’s history, the source of her loyalty to Pearl.”

“What could that have to do with anything?”

“Possibly nothing, I admit. But extending herself so completely for anyone is dreadfully out of character for Ilene. And anything that makes a person act against his or her nature might be important.”

I nodded. “I can buy that. That’s it?”

“No. I’d also like to find out if Bella knew about the will’s contents ahead of time.”

“How on earth can you find that out?”

“We can start by asking Vivian, if we can find her. I’d like a good long talk with her. I think she wouldn’t mind—she seemed willing enough to babble on to us after the funeral, unlike the others.” She stopped, shrugged, tight-lipped.

“What?”

“Oh, whenever I call any of Pearl’s friends, trying to make appointments to see them, or merely to discuss something briefly, they hang up on me.”

I paused in the act of biting. “Zoë’s work.”

She smiled wryly. “Undoubtedly. But never mind that. Also it might be profitable to find out how close Michael is to … to an arrest.”

“You think he’s going to arrest Pearl soon?” Once again worries surged to the surface about Mrs. Risk’s possession of a substantial clue to Michael’s case.

As if she read my mind, she said gently, “I hope you grasp the significance of that gold box I found in Solly’s desk.”

Didn’t I ever! Concealing evidence was a crime! Dropping my gaze to the table, I said, “Significance? I think it doesn’t look good for—”

“Michael and his minions are not witless, contrary to popular fiction. Consider, Rachel: I turned up the box and the invoice after a quick search in an obvious place. Michael’s detectives had already gone through that house. I wouldn’t insult him by asking if he went through Solly’s desk. Of course he did. So Rachel, dear. Why didn’t he find it?”

I blinked. “He’d already searched the house?”

“Oh, yes. The morning he dropped us off at Pearl’s, immediately after Solly’s death.” She looked at me and waited.

Gradually the idea sank in. I stared at her, wanting to be sure I understood what she was getting at, hoping it was okay to feel the massive relief blooming in me.

She continued patiently. “Someone’s trying to make it look bad for Pearl. The invoice and box, with her initial on it, and with her medicine mixed with his saccharin in it, as if she’d hurriedly traded some of her pills for his—this neat little package was meant for the police to find. Only he—or she—underestimated the efficiency of the police and was a little late. The house had already been searched.”

I pushed away the toast. “That prowler. The peeping tom we chased from Solly’s house!”

She nodded. “It’s a big house, and the storm was noisy that night. A few extra creaks and bangs would never be noticed. By the time we arrived, I’ll bet the pillbox and invoice had already been put into place. He was probably sneaking back to his car and only returned to the window to eavesdrop on what we said, in case it was something to his interest.

“Bella reported no break-in,” I said.

“I know. I’d love to examine that back door. I regret I didn’t think of it when we were there after the funeral.”

Doubt flickered through my mind. Still … should Mrs. Risk be so sure of Pearl’s innocence?

She walked over to the stove, picked up a steaming kettle and poured hot water into two cups. “Sorry, dear, I forgot the tea. Let it steep a moment.” She walked back and put a cup near me. A pungent flowery perfume drifted into the air.

“Blackberry leaves, dandelion root, and rose hips,” she murmured when she saw me sniffing the tea suspiciously. “Do you remember how Pearl said she hired a detective to find Bella?”

“Yes. Boy, that backfired.”

“You haven’t heard that anywhere else, have you?”

“No. But I get most of the gossip in the shop, and I’ve been out with you a lot lately.”

Mrs. Risk grinned. “I know. Remember that little gathering I had when you were in Simon Lutz’s office? I invited the chattiest people in town—Mayor Harper, Horace Arsdale the banker, Barton Peacock, Black Dan, Lena and the other shopkeepers.” She laughed. “We had quite a party. I learned about Bella’s impact on our little community.”

“What impact?”

“Oh, she was well remembered. Don’t forget, Bella stayed at the Inn until just a few days ago. Bart told me she had become well liked there. She’d also favorably impressed the few from whom she purchased things. She truly had arrived in rags, and brought nearly nothing with her. She must’ve leaped upon Pearl’s phone call as her financial salvation, if nothing else.”

I felt my eyebrows lift.

Mrs. Risk’s restless fingers began to pick at an end piece of bread. “It looks like she went out of her way to charm whomever she met. That says something about her.”

“It says she planned to stay around a while.” I shrugged.

“Or she could’ve been happy to be here. Relief makes one grateful. Gratitude makes one charming.”

“Plans to milk a sucker make one careful,” I said, mimicking her softly instructive tone.

“The point is—”

“Yes. What WAS that point?” I said, deliberately stuffing my mouth full of toast and jam.

“The point is that I haven’t heard one word from anyone that contradicts the impression that Bella showed up on Pearl’s birthday unannounced … and unexpected.”

“So?”

“Pearl was in a weakened, shocked condition the day after Solly’s death. I’d given her some wine. She was vulnerable. She told us the truth about Bella’s arrival. She’s let everyone else believe otherwise.”

I took a deep breath. “That just makes my point. Think about it. Pearl, who you insist is not a liar, lied by letting people think things that weren’t true.”

She said nothing.

I continued, “Can’t you see that she could just as well lie to us about those other things? These lies could be an indication of Pearl’s guilt!”

Finally she smiled and said only, “You are a delight to instruct, my dear. The daughter of my heart.” She leaned over and to my intense embarrassment, kissed the top of my head.

I reared back, alarmed. “Hey!”

She scooped up the dishes and the jam and swept off for the kitchen.

Undecided whether to feel resentful or flattered, I left the table and found my clothes. While I was dressing, I heard her call out, “Why won’t you allow Charlie to get closer to you? You’re obviously attracted to him.”

With a short laugh, I shouted back, “It wouldn’t be fair to Charlie. I harbor lustful feelings for Michael.”

She appeared suddenly in the bedroom door as I struggled to shove my feet into my now stiff leather boots. “You do not. You treat Michael like a nice brother.”

“Michael’s too smart,” I admitted, serious now. “He’s so educated that I feel like ‘lil’ Abner’s sister around him.”

“Education isn’t only something purchased from a college, contrary to popular opinion, and does not always equal intelligence. You’ll seem as educated as he is in a few years. You’ve learned so much already, and miles from any university. That’s an apt analogy, by the way. When I met you, you were like, as you say, ‘lil’ Abner’s sister.”

She disappeared around the corner again.

“What’s an ology?” I grumbled at her. I knew, but asked it to be difficult.

Ignoring my question, she called out, “But about Charlie. He’s a good man. Sensitive, bright, a wonderful sense of irony—”

I rounded the corner and found her sweeping ashes. “Here, let me help.” I took the broom from her to finish the job. “What’s this fixation you have on matrimony?” I complained.

She picked up Jezebel’s dish. “You’re joking, aren’t you? I was discussing sex, not marriage. You, my dear, appear to be a volcano ready to explode.”

“Look. Give out advice on other stuff all you want. My sex life needs no help from you!” I propped the broom in its place in the corner and gingerly lifted up my coat. It was—now that I could see it in the light—dry but crusty with dirt. I latched the door behind me on my way out, careful to avoid the guard bushes.

I began beating the coat against the pathstones, ignoring the sharp twinges that stabbed my back and side with every movement, finding relief from my frustrations in the exertion. A cloud of dust rose all around me. I’d need another bath. I beat harder and took a fierce joy in it, to the detriment of my coat.

A second later I heard the door open behind me. A voice called out, “I phoned Daniel earlier. He said that friend of his—do you know, I think it’s a girlfriend. Anyway, his friend who likes to help him at your shop wouldn’t mind pitching in today if you’d like to take a day off. To help me with my inquiries.”

She needs a chauffeur, I thought sourly to myself.

As I stood thinking, I noticed that the day was truly glorious, she was right about that. The sun filtered through the naked tree branches and illumined the carpet of fallen leaves, bathing the woods in liquid gold. The Sound sparkled like a fairy tale sea—calm, perfectly fresh, perfectly kissed on every wavelet by the dancing sunlight. Like the stage lights would dance on Pearl’s glittering dress the night of her come-back … or downfall.

I trudged back to her door, which stood open but empty. She hadn’t waited for my answer. Inside, wrapped in her cloak and clutching her newly loaded basket, she was bending to say good-bye to Jezebel, who hadn’t even meowed at me all morning.

I laughed at myself, unable to help it. Like Charlie, I was not just willing, but eager to take her where she wanted to go. I enjoyed the ride so much! I took a deep breath to relax the muscles in my side, shrugged myself into my coat, and led the way.

As I slid under the steering wheel and pumped to loosen the clutch, I tensed for the inevitable complaints about my car, but for once, they didn’t arrive.

I brightened. “Where first?” Like I had to ask. I turned left at the lane’s end before her answer.

“Pearl’s.”

W
E ARRIVED TO CHAOS.

“What’s up?” I asked Steve Graham, surprised that it was he who opened Pearl’s door to us. Since I last saw him at Solly’s disastrous dinner, his shiny bright Boy Scout image had tarnished. He trudged into the house’s back regions looking too tired to answer. We followed him, ending up in Pearl’s family room.

Ilene sat quietly coiled in an easy chair, a camcorder glued to one eye, ready (we discovered later) to film Pearl doing each piece of her routine so she could review herself on demand.

Zoë had created the most mess, with sewing tools and sequined material draping the furniture. Costume sketches shared space with scripts and half-empty coffee cups, soda cans, old scrapbooks, bowls of popcorn, a half-eaten sandwich, and heavy orange electric extension cords. A typewriter lay in the middle of the floor like a metal animal nested in balled up sheets of paper. Everyone stepped over it as they moved back and forth across the room.

Pearl’s short hair, damp with perspiration, looked as if she’d been pulling at it with both hands. She was barefooted, and wore stretch tights beneath an oversized sweater. A flicker of wariness darted across her face at the sight of us before she waved a bright hello. Suddenly she turned around to point at a kid in jeans and sweat shirt hunched on a short stepladder jammed into the furthest corner of the room. Obeying what was obviously a signal, he switched on the big boxy spotlight in his hand.

Immediately illumined, “Boy,” exclaimed Pearl to the room at large, pacing short steps and yanking her hair distractedly at the same time. “So much is different now from when I was a kid. Now eating’s a sure way to an ugly death, condoms are mentioned in casual conversation because sex will kill you, and smoking’s another of the thousand no-nos that we used to enjoy. Every day they condemn another piece of our lives, no more this, no to that.

“Audrey Hepburn, ‘Breakfast at Tiffany’s,’ talk about glamour, that long cigarette holder. Liz Taylor, Lauren Bacall. ‘Got a light?’ Yeah. We all wanted to look glamorous so we lit up. Even Lucy smoked! Well, thank goodness the surgeon general printed all those warnings on the packs. I don’t know about you, but as soon as I read that, wham! Those cancer sticks went right into the wastebasket. No, I’m kidding. It’s hell to quit.