Widow's Tears (17 page)

“What made you think that?” Claire asked. “Did she look familiar to you? But judging from her dress, she's from a different time, so I don't know…” Her voice trailed off.

“I don't know, either,” Ruby said, “and I'm not sure I want to.” But that wasn't true, was it? The truth was that she wanted to know. She wanted
desperately
to know. “You…you didn't feel like that, those times you saw her?”

“No way.” Claire shook her head emphatically. “I'd never seen anyone like her in my whole, entire life.” She peered at Ruby. “You're sure you're okay?”

“Uh-huh.” Ruby looked around dizzily, trying to get her bearings. She caught sight of a small television set topped by a rabbit-ear antenna on the other side of the room and was startled at how glad she was to see something so ordinary. She fumbled for something to say. “The TV—it's yours?”

Claire nodded. “It gets a couple of San Antonio network channels, but the reception is lousy. If I stay here, I'll have to get one of those satellite bundles—TV, phone, and the Internet.” She gestured. “I was thinking about using this room for my office. I feel safer here than anywhere else in the house, almost as if it's protected—by Aunt Hazel, maybe.” She glanced uncertainly at Ruby. “Does that sound silly?”

“Not to me,” Ruby said. “I'm all in favor of protection—the more, the better. How about using this room for our meals, instead of that cavernous kitchen?” She heard herself giggle. “That way, if the pans on the rack want to hold hands and dance to a little harp music, we won't be there to listen.”

“Good idea,” Claire replied, looking closely at Ruby. “Listen, we need to take your stuff upstairs so you can get settled, but we've had a lot of house for the moment. It's not quite three yet. What would you say to a short walk outside?” She glanced out the window. “Before it rains, if that's what it's going to do.”

Still feeling shaky, Ruby stood up. “What I'd like,” she said, thinking of the row of headstones, “is to see that graveyard you told me about.”

“Why?” Claire asked, frowning.

“Because I'm curious,” Ruby said. “Two old ladies lived here, you said, and I suppose they're buried out there. But you mentioned a row of headstones. So who else is in that graveyard? Just seems a little odd to me.”

“I get your point,” Claire replied. “Come on. We'll go back through the kitchen.”

They went down the hall, around a corner, and into the kitchen. Ruby had thought they were alone in the house and was startled to see a small, plumpish woman with shoulder-length dark blonde hair standing beside the table, dressed in jeans and a man's loose plaid cotton shirt. She straightened hurriedly, and Ruby noticed that her shoulder bag, which lay on the floor beside the table, was half-open. Had she left it open when she put her cell phone back, or had this woman been going through it?

“Oh, Ms. C-C-Conway,” the woman said, stuttering a little. “I brought your friend's suitcase in—it's over there, by the door—and some stuff outta the garden.” She gestured to a dish on the table. It held several carrots, a handful of radishes, some green onions, and some lettuce leaves. “Thought you might like a salad for supper tonight.”

“Thanks, Kitty,” Claire said. “That's sweet of you. Hey, I'd like you to meet my friend Ruby Wilcox. Ruby, Kitty is Sam Rawlings' wife, and a great gardener. Raises chickens, too.”

Ruby felt a disorienting jar, as if the floor had trembled under her feet.

There was a crooked man

Kitty ducked her head, her face turned half away. “Glad to meet you, Ms. Wilcox. Sam said to tell you he moved the yard tractor out of the garage, so you can put your car in there if you want.” To Claire, she said, “I copied down the stuff on your grocery list. Yogurt, bread, milk, coffee.” She nodded toward the list on the menu board. “We'll bring it back with us when we come home and save you a trip. Was there anything else?”

Who had a crooked wife

Ruby felt the beginning of a shimmer and tried to turn it off.

“Thanks, Kitty. I appreciate—” Claire broke off abruptly and went
around the table. “Good heavens, Kitty. What happened to your lip? It's all swelled up! And your eye?”

“Nothin',” Kitty said, keeping her face turned. “Honest, Ms. Conway. It's okay. Like I said before, I don't want you fussin' over me.”

found a crooked sixpence

“No, it's definitely not okay! Let me see it.” Claire pulled Kitty around and brushed her hair back. The woman's lip was split and swollen. Her right eye was swelled half shut, the puffy skin around it colored purple and green. “That's terrible, Kitty! That must hurt!”

“It was the bathroom door this time,” Kitty said, jerking away. “Gotta get me a night-light. I put some ice cubes on it when it happened. It'll be better tomorrow.”

crooked man

Ruby sat down at the table, still trying to dial down the shimmer—and that stupid nursery rhyme that kept echoing in her head.

crooked cat

“Kitty,” Claire began. “You really ought to get a doctor to stitch up that lip. And your eye might be—”

“I'll just put these in the fridge and get out of your way,” Kitty said in a determined tone. She picked up the dish and took it to the refrigerator. “I thought you and your friend was walkin' down by the creek or I wouldn't've come in.” She closed the refrigerator and started toward the door.

“Look, Kitty.” Claire put her hand on the woman's arm. “I know you didn't run into the bathroom door. And I know you said you didn't want to talk about things like…this. But if you ever feel like you need help, you just come over here. It doesn't matter what Sam says or whether it's day or night. You just come.” Her voice was urgent. “You hear me?”

“I hear, Ms. Conway,” Kitty said impatiently. “Thanks.”

crooked sixpence

“I mean it, Kitty!” Claire protested, still holding on to the woman's arm. “You can't go on this way, you know. One of these days, he's going to hurt you seriously. You need to get away from him. I can put you in touch with a counselor who will be glad to—”

“Thanks,” Kitty said again, more loudly this time. “But I don't want to get away. He just goes a little haywire sometimes. Everything's gonna be fine. Honest.”

“Kitty, please—” Claire began.

There was a furious honking outside and Kitty cast an apprehensive glance at the clock over the refrigerator. She twisted her arm out of Claire's grip. “Look, it's already after three and Sam's waitin' for me. I gotta go. We're headin' to Houston to visit some friends. We'll be stayin' overnight, gettin' back tomorrow. I penned up the chickens and left plenty of food and water. You won't have to bother with 'em.” And with that, she was out of the door.

Shaking her head disgustedly, Claire came back to the table. “Wife beater,” she muttered fiercely. “It's a clear case of domestic violence. I'd fire him, but that's not going to help
her
. It might just make things worse.” She looked at Ruby, then frowned. “Hey, Ruby, you okay?”

Ruby rubbed her forehead. The shimmering was fading. “There's something wrong with—” She stopped. Wrong with the Rawlingses? Of course there was. The wife was a battered woman, the husband a batterer. But it was more than that, wasn't it? What else was going on here?

crooked sixpence upon a crooked stile

“Can I get you a glass of water or something?” Claire gave a little laugh. “I don't keep any booze around, or I'd offer you a stiff drink.”

Ruby shivered. “I'm okay,” she managed. She cleared her throat. “You're not—you're not afraid of Rawlings? Obviously, he's violent.”

“Afraid?” Claire made a wry mouth. “Well, maybe a little. The day I got here, she was sporting a shiner on the other eye. Last week, it was bruises all over both arms.”

“What are you going to do?” Ruby asked shakily. She bent over and took her billfold out of her bag.

crooked sixpence

Claire thought for a moment. “Maybe I should drive over to La Grange tomorrow morning and talk to Mr. Hoover. He's the one who hired Sam.” She paused, chewing on her lip. “To tell the truth, I guess I'm a little apprehensive about firing him myself. He's never threatened me, but he's got such a short fuse, he might—” She broke off, frowning. “What are you doing?”

“Just checking,” Ruby said. Her credit cards and cash seemed to be untouched.

“You don't think Kitty was messing around with your purse, do you?”

“If she was, she didn't take anything,” Ruby replied. She put her billfold back. While she was at it, she took out her phone. She'd text China and let her know that she got her message and ask about Grace. Tonsillectomies weren't particularly dangerous, but you never knew. And she needed to know if her mother had gotten back to the nursing home safely.

Ruby flipped her phone open. “If you want to fire Sam, maybe you could get Mr. Hoover to do it. That might be the safest thing—appropriate, too, since Mr. Hoover hired him.”

“That's true,” Claire said thoughtfully. “But what's to keep him from coming back? Sam, I mean.”

“A restraining order,” Ruby replied. “Mr. Hoover would know about that.” She frowned at her phone, not believing what she saw. The battery was out? Already?

“What's the matter?” Claire asked.

“Battery seems to be gone,” Ruby replied. “But I charged it in the car on the way here. And it was okay when I got China's message just a little while ago.”

Claire gave her a crooked grin. “Maybe your ghost has cut off your connection to the outside world.”

“
Your
ghost,” Ruby said emphatically, and snapped the phone shut. She retrieved the charger from her bag. “Got a plug I can use?” Claire pointed to the coffeemaker on the worktable beside the stove, and Ruby plugged her phone into the outlet. “Drat.” She jiggled the connection. “It's not taking a charge. You're sure this plug works?”

Claire flipped the switch on the coffeemaker and the light came on. She chuckled wryly. “I told you, Ruby. The ghost has killed your phone. You're cut off from the outside world.”

“What about your cell phone? I could try texting with that.”

“Sure,” Claire said. “I keep it in the kitchen, since I don't use it very often.” She opened a drawer in the table and took it out. But when she flipped it open and turned it on, she frowned. “That's weird. No battery on this one, either. And I know I charged it up before I turned it off.” She pulled out the charger and plugged it into the outlet. “Damn,” she muttered, shaking her head. “Nothing's happening. What in the world is going on here?”

Ruby got her keys out of her purse and dropped them—and her phone—into the pocket of her yellow sundress. “How about the cars?”

“Smart idea,” Claire said approvingly. “We can leave them running with the phones plugged into the chargers while we walk up to the graveyard.”

It was a smart idea, Ruby thought. But she wasn't so sure it was going to work.

Traffic had slowed down by four o'clock, so I asked Dawn to keep an eye on both shops and let me know if somebody called or came in with a question that she couldn't handle. I picked up the trug I
keep loaded with gardening tools and went out to the medicinal garden for an hour's pleasant work.

Both Brian and Caitlin take their turns in the garden: Brian under duress (what do you expect from a senior in high school?), Caitlin more or less willingly, when I can tear her away from her flock of chickens and her violin. But I got smart last year and organized a team of regular customers—the Wonder Weeders—who are willing to swap garden work for shop credits, who know quack grass from lemongrass, and who don't mind getting dirt under their nails. It turned out to be a good move, because the theme gardens are much neater now, and the plant bullies are kept at bay, more or less. The big thugs—especially the unruly mints and artemisias—live in pots or in areas all to themselves, but they still bear watching.