A Little Learning (9 page)

“And Tori Satterfield. I can’t wait to see Castle Groundhog.”

“She’s very shy,” I said. “She spends her time creating scrapbooks of different ballets.”

“So she’s not really an artist?”

“Not in the ordinary sense. And speaking of art, I’d like to get home and do some work.”

Back in my studio, I got so involved with the field landscape, I couldn’t believe it was almost midnight when Jerry came in to check on my progress.

He stood in front of his portrait, chin in hand. “Well, the picture of me can hardly be improved upon. Have you decided on a third?”

I’d spent the last thirty minutes agonizing between rust and gold on the leaves. “I don’t know. I’d like all three pictures to work together, but there isn’t a common theme.”

“Leave mine out and do a third abstract landscape.”

“I’m not sure there’s time. It’s already Tuesday morning.”

“Come on to bed. You’ll have a better idea in the morning.”

“I hope so,” I said.

He grinned. “Meanwhile, I have some ideas.”

“I’ll just bet you do.”

***

I set my alarm clock for seven and managed to get up when it rang. I started another abstract and worked in my studio until about eight, when Jerry called up the stairs that breakfast was ready. He’d fixed bacon and eggs. I sat down to eat when the phone rang. He answered it and then handed it to me.

“It’s Valerie Banner.”

Valerie Banner sounded as if she were about sixteen years old. “Mrs. Fairweather? I’m Valerie Banner, reporter for the
Parkland Herald
. How are you this morning?”

“Fine, thanks.”

“I’d like to set up a time when we could meet so I could interview you for the paper. If we could do it today, I’d have the article ready for the Sunday edition.”

“We can do it right now.”

“Oh, but I’d like to get a photo. What’s your schedule like today? I could come to Celosia if that’s easier for you.”

Besides going to Tori’s, I had my return appointment with Rachel’s art classes, and many more people to talk to. “Ms. Banner, I have limited time today.”

“Could I meet you for lunch somewhere, then?”

“I’ll probably be at Deely’s Burger World if you’re familiar with it.”

“I’ll say! I love their cheeseburgers. I’ll meet you there around eleven thirty, if that’s okay. I won’t take but about twenty minutes.”

I started to describe myself so we could find each other, but she interrupted.

“Oh, I know what you look like. See you later.”

I hung up. “She’s going to meet me at Deely’s.”

Jerry put more bacon on my plate. “Did she say how you could recognize her? She sounded like a teenager.”

“No, but she said she knows what I look like. I hope she’s not a pageant groupie. I really don’t want her story to have any sort of beauty queen angle.”

“I don’t think Valerie was alive when you were Queen of Parkland.”

I reached over to smack his shoulder. “Thanks a lot.”

“You’ll have to ask her if she’s got a relative working in the newspaper business. Seems to me I’ve heard the name Banner before.” The phone rang again, and he answered it. “Good morning. Oh, hi, Sylvie. Any luck?” He listened for a few moments and then said, “What, this morning? Sure, come on. Yeah, I’ll be here, no problem. Okay, see you after a while.” He hung up. “Flossie Mae and Sylvie didn’t find the watch behind the door.”

“I’m shocked.”

“Sylvie seems to think a quick trip to the spirit world is in order.”

“So they’re coming over right now?”

“Just Sylvie. Flossie Mae has a hair appointment.” He put more eggs on his plate and sat down at the table.

I took a sip of coffee. “Now would be the perfect time to come clean.”

“We’ll see what the spirits have to say.”

“Will the spirits be done by the time we’re expected at the chateau?”

“I’m sure they will.”

“Jerry, just tell her there’s no gold watch. It’ll save everybody a lot of trouble.”

I thought I had him convinced until Sylvie arrived. “Oh, gosh, I’ve interrupted your breakfast,” she said.

“Not at all,” Jerry said. “Come sit down and have some coffee. I can fix more bacon and eggs, if you like.”

“No, thanks.” She pushed back her untidy long brown hair. “I know this is sort of sudden, but I really need to know the location of the watch.”

I gave Jerry a warning glare, which he ignored. “I’ll be glad to help. Give me a few minutes to set up.”

He went into the front parlor. “Sylvie,” I said, “you shouldn’t rely on what Jerry tells you. This isn’t real, you know. It’s more like entertainment.”

Her eyes were wide. “Oh, it’s very real to me. I know he has a link to the other side. You can’t fake these things.”

Okay. Looked like the harder I protested, the more she was going to believe. “I don’t want you to be disappointed if he can’t find this watch.”

“Well, really it’s up to me and Aunt Flossie to find it. We just have to interpret the clues he gives us.”

“What exactly will you do with it if you find it?”

She looked at me as if I’d asked what will you do with the Holy Grail? “Put it in a place of honor, of course. Treasure it. Hand it down to my children and tell them the story of how it was found, how Aunt Marge and Aunt Marie fought so bitterly in life but were transformed by the healing power of the light of eternity.”

I did not have an answer for this.

“Okay, Sylvie,” Jerry called from the parlor. “Show time.”

I followed Sylvie as she hurried to the parlor. She sat down at the table where a fat candle glowed. Jerry took her hand. “I’m not sure what kind of response we’ll get, Sylvie. It’s a little harder in the daytime, you know.”

She nodded. “I’m just so grateful you’re willing to do this.”

Did Jerry look just the teensiest bit guilty at her blinding faith in his non-existent ability to speak to the dead? I hoped so.

“Okay, here we go.”

He closed his eyes and went through his usual array of noises. Sylvie watched him anxiously. Then he jerked in his chair and began to speak in a higher voice.

“What is it, my child?”

Sylvie had to take a breath. “Is it Aunt Marge or Aunt Marie?”

“Aunt Marge.”

“It’s about the watch, Aunt Marge. Aunt Flossie and I still haven’t been able to find it. We’ve looked behind every door we could find. We even looked on the porch Uncle Ray closed off. I was hoping you could give me a better idea where it is. We don’t have enough information.”

Jerry hummed tunelessly for a few minutes and then said, “Is the watch that important to you, Sylvie?”

She looked taken aback. “Yes, it is. It’s very important.”

“Wouldn’t something else do, say, a fond memory of your Aunt Marge?”

“But I don’t have any fond memories of you, or of Aunt Marie. You were always fighting. The watch would be a symbol of your newfound friendship in heaven.”

Jerry gulped. I couldn’t tell if this was part of his act or his realization he was losing his grip on the situation. “But we are very happy in heaven, dear. Don’t you believe me?”

“Yes, but something I could hold and pass along to my children would be so much better. And you did promise.”

Another gulp. “I’ll see what I can do. I—I must leave you now. The light. I must return to the light.” Jerry gave a realistic gasp and came out of his so-called trance. “Did one of them come through? What did she say?”

Sylvie looked pleased. “She’s going to see what she can do. Thank you, Jerry.”

She started to get out her wallet. “No, that’s okay,” he said. “You can pay me later.”

“Thanks.”

After she’d gone, I looked at him. “Nice try.”

He gave me a wry grin. “That’s what happens when you try to reach the spirits in the morning.”

“You might be more helpful at Tori’s.”

***

When Tori met us at the door of the chateau and saw Jerry, she took a step back and wrapped her thin arms tightly around herself.

I wasn’t sure what had alarmed her. “Tori, this is my husband, Jerry.”

Jerry kept his distance and smiled. “Mrs. Satterfield, I’m Jerry Fairweather. Mac’s brought me along for the heavy lifting.”

I don’t know if it was his calm voice or his smile or the joke about heavy lifting, but Tori relaxed slightly. Her voice faltered. “Welcome to my home.”

He stayed where he was, still smiling. “It’s beautiful. I’ve never been in a castle before.”

“It’s not exactly a castle.”

“Mac tells me you’ve created some beautiful scrapbooks.”

She brightened. “Did she tell you I once danced the part of Clara in
The Nutcracker
?”

“I can certainly see that, Mrs. Satterfield.”

“Please call me Tori.” She hesitated another minute. “Come in.”

Once she no longer perceived him as a threat, it didn’t take long for Tori to respond to Jerry’s lively manner. He listened patiently as she explained each clipping on the pages of her latest scrapbook, made admiring comments, and occasionally gave me a wide-eyed glance as if to say, can you believe this?

Tori finally came to the end of the book. “And what do you do, Jerry?”

“I work at Georgia’s Books. Sometimes I do magic tricks.”

“Do you really?”

“Sure. Watch this.” He took a quarter out of his pocket and made it disappear.

Tori was delighted. “How do you do that?”

“It’s not hard. It just takes a lot of practice. I could teach you.”

“I’d like that.”

“But you have to tell me one thing.”

“All right,” she said.

“Why is your castle named after a groundhog?”

She made a face. “Elijah Fenton thought ‘marmot’ was the French word for ‘marvelous,’ and no one had the courage to correct him.”

I thought “Marmot” was an appropriate name for someone who basically lived in a burrow.

“Mac, you ought to create a coat of arms for the castle: two rodents rampant on a field of gold.”

To my amazement, Tori gave a little giggle. “I suppose I could,” I said.

Tori’s gaze strayed back to the piles of paper. “Madeline, have you and Jerry been to the ballet lately?”

“I’ve been several times, but Jerry prefers the opera.”

She looked impressed. “I don’t believe I’ve ever been to a real opera. I’ve seen some on TV.” She glanced at the piles of trimmings on the table. I could almost see her mind formulating a new collection. “Do you have anything you could spare for my book? A program or a ticket stub? Anything?”

“I might have a few things,” Jerry said. “I’ll see what I can find.”

She clasped her fragile hands together. “That would be wonderful. Now, let’s go find the answer to that riddle.”

We started in the long hall that led from Tori’s hideout to the dining room. Jerry looked up at the frowning face in the first portrait.

“Who’s this?”

“Elijah’s sister, Eulalie Fenton.”

“She looks fierce.”

“She was.”

“And this guy?”

“Ellis Fenton, Nathan’s father.”

“Equally grim.” Jerry lifted the picture from its hook and turned it around. Nothing. We moved on to the next relative.

“Oh, this is nice,” Jerry said. “He’s got a little dog.”

“That’s Elijah’s grandfather, Hobarth, with Ticky.”

“Ticky? Was he full of ticks?”

Tori laughed. “No, no. I think he was ticklish.”

There was nothing behind Hobarth and Ticky. There was nothing behind second cousin Elizabeth or great-aunt Aubergine. As we searched, Tori became more animated.

We worked our way down one side of the hall and then took a break.

Tori dusted her hands. “Well, this is discouraging, but as you can see, there’s lots more.”

I looked at my watch. It was almost eleven. “I’ve got to meet someone, Tori. Can we come back later?”

“Yes, of course. You may come back any time.”

“How about tomorrow morning?”

“I look forward to it.” She showed us to the door, gave a little wave, and hurried back to her nest.

Jerry shook his head. “Man, that’s pathetic. We’ve got to get her out of there.”

“Only if she wants to, Jerry. I think she’s borderline agoraphobic.”

“All that newspaper and dust. It’s like being in a tomb. I need a drink.”

“Coke and a cheeseburger at Deely’s?”

“That oughta do it.”

***

We got to Deely’s well before the lunch crowd and found a booth next to the front windows.

“I can be on the lookout for our junior reporter,” I said.

After ordering, Jerry said, “If you want to know about Elijah Fenton, you can always ask The Geezer Club. They probably knew him.”

“The Geezer Club” was Jerry’s name for the three elderly men who met every morning at a corner table of the restaurant to eat ham biscuits, drink coffee, and sound off on everything that didn’t suit them about Celosia and the world at large. They were still at their favorite spot. The men looked identical in their overalls and baseball caps, but I knew one man was Horace Stanley, one of Nell’s great-uncles.

I strolled up to them. “Good morning, gentlemen.”

Mister Stanley tipped his baseball cap. One man gave me a nod. The other brushed crumbs off the front of his shirt.

“Mornin,’ Mrs. Fairweather,” Horace said. He was a distinguished looking man with a large moustache. “This here’s Frank Odum and R.W. Jessup. Ya’ll know Madeline, don’t you, fellas?”

I shook hands with Frank and R.W. Frank was thin and bony, while R.W. reminded me of a potato, his small features gathered in the center of his face. “Nice to meet you. Did any of you know Elijah Fenton?”

Frank laughed, and R.W. shook his head. “What you want to know about that ornery old cuss for?”

“I’m working on a case for his nephew, Nathan.”

Horace nodded. “Nice boy. Not like the rest of ’em.”

“Not like Elijah, that’s for dang sure,” Frank said. “Thought he was better than anybody else, all on account of him having some rich relative in France.”

R.W. took a sip of his coffee. “Always thought that was a lie.”

“Putting on airs, building that big old pile of rocks he called a castle, saying he was descended from French nobility. Who’d wanna be French, that’s what I want to know.”

“They make good mustard,” Horace said, and the other two men looked at him askance.