A Deadly Snow Fall (19 page)

Emily looked doubtful. It passed through my
mind that this request might be outside her purview. Could bones
communicate once they were separated from their skeleton? I
wondered. It also occurred to me that I’d been thinking far too
many unscientific thoughts lately for a student of hard
science.

“Perhaps in doing so, you could help the
victim to be at rest.” Emily’s response could be seen in her eyes.
She liked the idea. Maybe this could work after all.

“My powers are generally used to bring people
together or ask important family questions of the dear departed.
But I suppose I could try. Eloise could, that is.”

“Try is the best we can ask for Emily. Thank
you.”

We sat. The crystal ball gave me the creeps.
It seemed to be alive and waiting. Waiting to cause trouble.

Emily moved the orb closer to her and began
speaking low and intimately to the glass ball. It occurred to me
that there was not much difference between Eloise communicating
with Emily and my hearing the sound of Agatha Raisin’s voice in my
head. Oh, I thought, I will need much more than a few weeks on an
analyst’s couch. Maybe a month in Monte Carlo.

My poor head was so stuffed, I worried that I
might begin to hallucinate from pressure brought to bear on my
brain. Had that angel doll sitting on the shelf straight ahead of
me just winked? No, not possible. I must be drunk on flower scents.
A whole new kind of high.

Emily’s voice seemed to come from a long
distance away. “Sorry, I don’t think this is the kind of thing that
Eloise can do.” Her voice sounded shaky and perhaps, I thought,
scared.

I remained as silent as the grave (pun
definitely intended).

“Hm. Very interesting.” Emily looked up at
me. “Sorry, Liz. Princess Proudfoot says that the bone is one of
her peoples.’ Not much of a mystery.” With that, Emily pushed
Eloise away from her. Subject closed.

“Wait, Emily. Are you saying the bone in my
garden was from an Ind…native American?”

“Not surprising. Disgraceful how the old
tribal burial sites were tossed to construct modern buildings. The
Princess says that the bone must be returned to the ancient burial
ground off of Shank Painter’s Road or….”

“Or? What Emily? What?”

“Or there will be more troubles. More
retribution.”

What could I say to that? It was obvious that
Emily had no intention of helping.

Emily reached for a white linen cloth and
covered Eloise. “That’s all. Eloise has shut down. Good day,
Liz.”

Chapter Twenty

Unable to put off any longer the many
inn-related responsibilities waiting for me, I headed back there.
My goal was to have the inn ship-shape when Katy Balsam arrived
from college just before Memorial Day to take over her duties as
manager. In the meantime, I had to interview local girls interested
in housekeeping positions, order supplies and deal with the kitchen
re-do. My time with Emily had produced nothing of value except to
verify my opinion that Eloise ran the show.

Sitting at the kitchen table with the Dean
and Deluca catalog in front of me, nearly drooling with
anticipation of the great new recipes I had planned, I organized an
order for the gourmand food supplier. But my mind was not fully on
the project at hand.

Emily’s behavior, in conjunction with
Eloise’s, had disturbed me more than I wanted to admit. The woman
obviously knew lots and lots of secrets, but she was standing
obdurately in the way of solving the town’s mysteries. Damn her.
And her orb.

The ringing of the front doorbell surprised
me. Since I had my friends trained to come to the kitchen door, I
concluded that whoever was there ringing the bell was someone I did
not want to see. Oh, how correct I was.

Standing there in the warm sunshine on the
front stoop, stood a droopy young man in an even droopier, too
large for his slight frame, old-fashioned chauffeur’s suit and cap.
After two years in town, I’d grown accustomed to costumed people
everywhere, but this was somehow quite different. Behind him,
parked at the curb, I could see a Boston taxi cab and a face I
wished was still across the wide Atlantic Ocean. My heart sank
fifty fathoms.

“Hello, Miss. I’m delivering Lady Gwendolyn
Ogilvie-Smythe. Her card, Miss.”

Oh no! Not now! My first thought was to slam
the door and move a large piece of furniture in front of it as a
barricade. When Lady Gwendolyn paid a visit, the world was always
turned on its head.

Then, completely out of character, my mother
opened the cab door and stepped out. As far as I knew, my mother
had never opened a car door for herself. Will wonders never
cease?

The last thing I needed at that moment or, at
anytime, was my bothersome snob of a mother. Alighting from the
cab, Lady Gwendolyn, wearing furs from head to foot on a
sixty-eight degree day, called to the chauffer to return
immediately to unload her luggage. When I spotted the suitcases
that filled the trunk plus the two cases that had traveled on the
front seat with the driver, I knew without a doubt that life as I
presently knew it was over.

“Mother, what a surprise.”

“Oh, Elizabeth, darling! What on earth is
that thing you are wearing on your head? Have you become a hippie
late in life? God, its tropical here. I certainly hope you have
central air. I shall expire.”

My hand went to the scarf covering my hair
that I wore when dusting. I pulled it off and stuffed it into my
jeans pocket.

“Mother, you might remove a few animals from
your body and find that it’s not that hot. Come in.”

Lady Gwendolyn, my officious snob mother,
took three steps into the front hall and stopped dead. Gazing
around with her proud eagle eyes, she harrumphed loudly. “So this
is where that foolish woman ended up. That is what comes of
marrying out of one’s class. Did you know that two dukes and a
count wanted to marry Libby?”

No point in defending my ostracized aunt at
that juncture. Let it go, Liz. You have never won an argument or
made a convincing point with this woman, so don’t try now.

“I’ll make some iced tea, Mother. Hang those
furs on that coat tree over by the stairs. Make yourself at home in
the living room and, for God’s sake, give that phony chauffeur a
big tip; he’s melting in that suit. Where did you get him that
terrible chauffeur’s getup?”

“At a costumer’s shop in Boston. I could not
allow him to drive me in one of those disgusting muscle shirts and
droopy pants, could I?”

“No, I’m sure his driving skills were greatly
improved by the monkey suit.”

Returning with a tray of tea things and
cookies, I found my mother engrossed in a photo album put together
by Aunt Libby.

“Look here, darling. This is me at the
Fairfield School for Girls. Did you know that your Aunt Libby and I
were chums there and she introduced me to her handsome brother,
your dear PaPa? She invited me to a hunt weekend at the Smythe’s
country house in Sussex and there was your dear PaPa in his
military uniform. Oh, he was so chic. What wonderful memories are
reopened for me by these old photos. If only she hadn’t betrayed us
all.”

“How nice, Mother. Now tell me, what on earth
are you doing here?”

“That tone of voice hardly makes me feel
welcome, Elizabeth. I’ve left Percy. I don’t want to talk about it.
My psychologist advises that I not burden you with our troubles. We
both love you and will continue to, but I simply cannot live with
him any longer.”

“You’ve left PaPa? But why? And why come
here? You could have gone to the country house or the Riviera or
rented a flat in London. Cry on the shoulders of your friends. Why,
for heaven’s sake, come all the way here?”

“I thought my darling daughter would be happy
to see her MaMa, but this is hardly the reception I hoped for.
Don’t worry; I’ll be gone in a fortnight.”

“Two weeks! Well, you can’t because,
because…every room is booked.”

Having let that lie slip, I had no idea of
how I could pull it off. Every room was tumbled, beds were stripped
and bathrooms smelled of bleach. But, if forced to, I’d invite
everyone I knew to a stay with meals included just to stand behind
my word.

“Mother, be serious. I have a business to
run. I do not have the time to entertain you.”

“Oh, darling! I don’t need entertaining. I
will entertain myself. I intend to walk around and get to know the
village, gossip with the humble villagers and hand out coins to the
dirty unfortunate children.”

“Oh, that attitude will make you welcome,
indeed. Mother this is not England. People here are not snobs and
the children are not dirty and unfortunate.” In the back of my mind
I could see my haughty bejeweled mother giving fashion advice to a
gaudily dressed female only to discover that her name was Tom or
Mike or Henry.

“And anyway, I can sleep in your room.
Certainly you will not deny half a bed to your dear MaMa. I’ll be
gone in no time...after my heartbreak heals.”

“On that subject, where do you plan to go
from here? In fact, do you have even a semblance of a plan for your
future?”

“Of course I do. I’m going out to the west
coast to spend time with an old beau who’s been after me to visit
for years. He’s in the movie business or the music business or
something very exciting out there. I just plan to be a gypsy for a
few years after so many years of living in your PaPa’s huge
crushing shadow. Being an indentured slave wears one down,
darling.”

“Two things, Mother. Gypsies travel light.
I’m not sure you can survive with a backpack as your only luggage.
And second, when have you ever been a slave? You have never lifted
a finger to do anything for yourself except perhaps in the privacy
of the bathroom.”

I went to answer the ringing phone and Lady
Gwendolyn returned to her photo memories.

“Sorry, Daphne; can’t make it to book club
tonight.” I put my hand over the mouthpiece just in case my
mother’s keen hearing was still working.

“What are you talking about? That’s
ridiculous. What on earth would keep you away? Another murder,
right in your kitchen?”

“You’ll never believe it, but my mother is
here. She left my father and she plans to stay around for a
fortnight. God, I think I’ll just drown myself.”

“Hey, bring her along. Love to meet the old
gal. So would the girls. Do bring her along.”

“No, Daph. Really. Don’t even suggest it.
She’ll bring a plague upon your good house. She’ll just ruin the
evening. She takes over wherever she is and tries to run
everything.”

“Oh, get off your high horse, Liz. She’s your
mother all the way from jolly old England. She’s missed her darling
daughter. She’d love to meet your friends.”

“Right. Imagine Geraldine telling her about
her sex change operation. Of course, Geraldine would reinforce my
mother’s present attitude that all men are brutes. But, honestly, I
just don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“That’s it. I’m coming right over to invite
her myself.”

“Daphne, honestly, believe me, please. She is
a snob and a harridan and she’s pushy and arrogant.”

“Cool. She should be very entertaining. By
the way, we’ve got three new members. Say, you could just send her
along and you stay home if you don’t want to come yourself.”

“Damn, Daphne! You ought to be her daughter.
You are a lot like her. See you at seven.”

An hour later, James appeared at the kitchen
door causing Lady Gwendolyn to immediately transfer her fascination
with modern kitchen gadgets such as the microwave oven and the
amazing wire whisk to him. She had wandered around the foreign
territory of the kitchen exclaiming over such things as the potato
peeler, the Cuisinart food processor, the French press and the
pasta machine. Of particular interest was the microwave that she at
first took for a new-fangled, kitchen television. As I explained
the function of this space age appliance, my mother’s reaction
might have been in response to an account of the practical uses of
alchemy.

Making introductions, I could see my mother
sizing up the handsome police officer and doing some secret
drooling. Too sophisticated and British tight-lipped by far to let
her favorable impression of him show, I knew she was having
lascivious thoughts about him, even if he was a member of the
“inferior” Irish “rabble.”

Finally, Mother announced that she was off to
take a brief nap. “To restore myself before heading out into the
village to view the natives.” I was sure she expected them to be
wearing feather headdresses and wielding tomahawks.

“James, I’m so sorry; she is such a snob.
Just showed up unexpectedly this morning. I don’t know what I am
going to do with her.”

“Sweetie, she’s your Mam. How bad can she
be?”

“Don’t ask. Why are you here, anyway? Sorry;
that sounded terrible, James.” I kissed him deeply and then
motioned for him to sit at the kitchen table.

“Brace yourself, Liz. Found a torso in Mary
Malone’s garden.”

“No! Are we real or are we characters in a
cozy, James?”

“Mary happened on it while digging to put in
a new plant. Missing one leg and one arm, but otherwise a complete
torso, head and all.”

“So, what do we do next?”

“You, my love, do nothing but get the inn up
and running and write your cookery book. And, of course, entertain
your loving Mam. I, the law, will pursue this mystery.”

“What about Mrs. Malone? What do we really
know about her? What was her reaction to such a find in her garden?
What about her husband? Did he disappear one night and she told
everyone he had left her for a belly dancer or some such?”

“Don’t know the woman real well, but the
Chief says she’s the sweetest lady on the face of this good earth.
Makes cookies and brownies for every town function, runs the
scholarship bake sales and knits little caps for all the new babies
in town. Last year, she took the CPR course so she could save a
life if it became necessary. Chief vouches for her not to have
murdered anyone.”