Dead for the Money (7 page)

Then, a little less than a year ago, Scarlet came. Brodie had learned, through her usual spying, that the new tutor came on Bud’s recommendation. Since Bud did not like Brodie, she decided the woman would be horrible. Gramps had disagreed. “Give her a chance,” he’d urged. “Most people are okay if you treat them well.” Brodie did not buy it. Best to find out right away what a person was like when she was angry. Anger told you a lot.

On her first day, Brodie had waited for the new girl to try to befriend her, as all those before her had done. But Scarlet did not even come looking for her. Instead she sat down in the back yard in an Adirondack chair shaded by a large maple tree. It was a spot Brodie herself favored. Idly she paged through an oversized book with a medieval castle on the cover. Brodie watched from her favorite hiding place, a spirea bush that drooped branches onto the ground, making a space for a slightly undersized girl to hide, spying on her elders.

The new woman was not much fun to watch. She looked at every page for what seemed like forever. Sometimes she stopped and rested her eyes, and when she did, the book would tilt forward on her lap, giving a tantalizing glimpse of more castles. It was apparently all about them, and Brodie wondered if someone had told this Scarlet person that such books were her favorites. She had several, but this one was new to her, with pages of bright greens and stark grays against blues that seemed to draw her to them.

Finally, the Scarlet person rose, set the book down on the chair, and disappeared into the house. Brodie decided with some satisfaction that she had out-waited Gramps’ most recent hireling. She crept out from her leafy lair, looking around to be sure the woman wasn’t lurking somewhere near the French doors.

Satisfied that she was alone, Brodie took up the book and sat down on the chair. The cover depicted Blarney Castle, one of her favorites. Like her, it was not fancy or prettied up. It was what it was. Carefully, she opened the book’s pages, and within a few minutes was transported across the ocean, visiting Edinburgh Castle, Floors Castle, Conwy Castle, and others she had never heard of. She wondered what it must be like to see those places for real, not as pictures in books or on TV.

“I’ve been to Blarney, and some of the others as well,” said a voice behind her. Brodie knew in an instant that she had been had. The Scarlet person had left the book on purpose. Someone had blabbed, probably Arnold the Mouth. She tried to be angry, but she was fascinated that this woman had been where she wanted so much to go. In fact, she heard a lilt in Scarlet’s voice that revealed more.

“Are you Irish?” Brodie used her voice so little that she had to clear her throat before asking.

Scarlet made a little curtsey. “Have you heard of the Ring of Kerry?”

“No.”

She came a step closer, and Brodie caught the scent of apples. “May I see the book? I can show you Ballycarbery, the castle nearest my home town.”

What must it be like to live near a castle, to see it as you passed by every day? Brodie handed the book over, and while the woman paged through to find the picture, she made a decision. She had loved Gramps. She liked Shelley and Briggs. For reasons she did not yet understand fully, Brodie decided Scarlet might be a fourth person on the earth she could like.

Scarlet became her guide, helping her see that behaving herself was not so bad. There were no lectures about expectations, no fake “Let’s be friends” talks. Scarlet was firm but not demanding, authoritative but willing to listen to Brodie’s side of things and compromise.

In the last year Brodie’s reading skills, which were good but had been limited to what she chose to read, widened and deepened. Scarlet let her dress as she chose, never criticizing her odd clothing choices the way Arlis did. Scarlet served as a gentle example of what was proper and gave advice, if asked. She also showed Brodie ways to manage her wild mop of hair, having her own unruly auburn curls to conquer.

With Scarlet’s encouragement, Brodie began to mix with the people who came to the house. Scarlet suggested she might spend a few polite minutes with Gramps’ dinner guests before returning to her own pursuits. Once she found that none of them pointed at her or went into hysterics, Brodie agreed to remain through dinner from time to time. She and Scarlet practiced together which fork to choose and how to eat and answer questions at the same time. Scarlet made it a sort of game, and Brodie had done okay. She decided she didn’t mind people too much, at least for short periods of time.

The first time she stayed for dinner, Gramps embarrassed her by asking all sorts of questions about what she’d been reading. She’d been uncomfortable, balancing questions about
Great Expectations
with concerns about ending up with a lapful of succotash. Scarlet explained later that he was proud of her and wanted his guests to know she read things other kids her age had never heard of. “He wants everyone to see how intelligent you are.”

Brodie never thought of herself as smart. She had learned a lot of stuff from the array of companions Gramps had hired over the years, but it wasn’t hard. Stuff stuck in her head, but that didn’t make a person smart. Brodie had learned early on what she was.

“Watch this,” Jeannie said to the current boyfriend. “Hey, Brodie! Hey, little girl. What’s Brodie?” She held up a cookie, just out of the child’s reach, and repeated, “What’s Brodie?”

“Tupid.”

Jeannie chuckled, elbowing the guy, who smiled disinterestedly. “What’s Brodie?”

“Tupid.”

“—and what else?”

“Ug-wy.”

“Ug-leee,” Jeannie corrected.” Ugly. And what else?”

The child hesitated, trying to recall the word that would get her something to eat. “Weed.”

Jeannie shook her head. “Not weed. Weirrrrd.”

“Weerrd.”

“Right.” She gave the child the cookie and watched her bite into it. “Stupid. Ugly. Weird. That’s Brodie.”

Even if she knew some stuff, Brodie was still ugly. Maybe better now with Scarlet’s help, but nothing anyone would want to look at for long. And surly. Arlis reminded her of that often enough. And crazy. Not normal, not like normal people. Weird.

She knew her oddness had bothered Gramps. He had not said it out loud, and it was not something Brodie talked about, even to Scarlet. She could tell Scarlet lots of stuff, but not what went on inside her head. She couldn’t tell anyone, although she always thought that if she ever had to, Gramps would have understood.

But Gramps was gone. And she was afraid to tell anyone else how weird she felt, how unlike everybody else.

Chapter Five

S
EAMUS
CONSIDERED
the case and his responsibilities to both Dunbar and Gabe. He had doubts. Mildred was intuitive and intelligent, but he had already noted her strong will and her tendency to speak first and think later. Her charming apologies might smooth the way in face-to-face conversations, but a cross-back could not apologize and explain to her host that she was sorry to have spoken out of turn.

“Keep in mind what I said,” he warned as he went over the specifics of the trip. “We aren’t there to change anything.”

“And you are the boss. I get it.” Mildred’s tone was politely impatient. “I won’t do anything you don’t explicitly tell me to do.”

“Good. Then you won’t get into trouble.” Seamus took a step toward her. Realizing that the moment had come, Mildred stepped back. “I can’t go like this!” she protested. “I have to change.”

At first he didn’t comprehend. When he did, his brow furrowed in disapproval. “They won’t—”

She put a hand on his arm. “Five minutes,” she pleaded. “I will run—literally run—to the Ship Store and get something suitable. I promise. I won’t be long. I can’t go feeling unprepared.”

Seamus didn’t agree or disagree. She was gone before he had a chance to.

As she hurried off, he looked around blankly. Finding an empty lounge chair, he threw himself into it, already regretting his decision to take Mildred along. His gut told him she was trouble, but when she was standing right in front of him, he found it hard to say that to her. “It’s those blue eyes,” he muttered aloud. “The worst reason ever for agreeing to anything.”

M
ILDRED
WENT
FIRST
to the Store, where a pleasant woman with a French accent helped her choose an outfit for the trip, complete with earrings, shoes, and a scarf for her hair. She marveled, as she had the first few times she’d visited, at the endless array of choices. Anything a person could ask for seemed to be a touch away, and the woman behind the counter took the right tone, helpful but not pushy. Mildred went to her stateroom and changed, turning before the mirror to be sure the outfit looked good from all angles. She laughed at herself a little for caring about something no one but Seamus would see, but it was important to
feel
like she looked good. How could a person accomplish anything otherwise?

As she came onto the deck, Mildred passed the ship’s salon. She paused, unsure, and then turned and went inside. Seamus could not begrudge her the time to make herself look her best.

Sometime later she emerged from the salon, hair styled and peach-scented, and all twenty nails colored to match her outfit. She was ready to go.

As she navigated the hallway, however, she thought of Nancy, counselor for the recently dead. Nancy first explained the possibility of crossing back. She deserved word of Mildred’s imminent departure. Seamus would understand that.

When she knocked on the door, Nancy called out, “Come in.” Mildred entered the tastefully appointed office, approaching the angel with arms outstretched. Nancy bore a strong resemblance to Mildred’s mother, though without the half-glasses Mom had worn the last decade or so of her life.

“I’ve come to tell you how grateful I am for your help,” she said, giving Nancy an enthusiastic hug before sitting in a chair opposite the desk.

“You found a detective to take you back?”

“Yes. He’s an odd duck but very sweet. Seamus.”

“Oh, yes, I know of him.”

“He’s given me all the background and we’re ready to go.” She wriggled a little in her chair. “It’s just so exciting, to be going back to life to share with others the assurances I have.”

Nancy’s brows rose. “Seamus did tell you that it is not your place to share anything with the living, didn’t he?”

“Oh, of course. I didn’t mean that I will
talk
to anyone. I meant that I hope my presence will give the
feeling
of comfort, like a spirit of peace.”

Nancy was direct. “I’m told your presence makes them feel sick.”

Mildred’s smile faltered. “I intend to be very light, so they won’t even know I’m there.”

“That’s the idea.” Nancy folded perfect hands on the perfectly clean desktop. “Listen to Seamus. He knows what to do.”

“Oh, I will,” Mildred said. “I can see that he’s very good at what he does, although men like that are a little bossy sometimes, don’t you think? But I will listen very carefully to his advice.”

“I hope so,” Nancy answered. Her tone was even, but something in her eyes conveyed uncertainty that Mildred’s words, however much she thought she meant them, were true.

S
EAMUS
HAD
NO
IDEA
how long he waited in the chair before dozing off, no idea how long he slept, but he woke with a sense that he was losing time. Mildred was nowhere to be seen. Should he go without her? He glared at the empty deck, disgusted with himself. Why shouldn’t he leave her behind? Let her go on to Detective number five and see if
that
worked out!

Three guys had been smart enough to pass Mildred by, so why had he taken her on? With a disgruntled, tooth-sucking sound, he admitted the reason. Because Gabe was wrong about him.
I am a sucker for a beautiful woman,
Seamus thought
. A sap.

“There you are!” Mildred’s tone implied that he had been hiding on her when he was no more than three steps from where they parted. She wore white pants and a long, flowery top that draped almost to her knees on one side. She had done something different with her hair too, and the shoes she wore matched the brown tones in the top. “I’m sorry to be a little long, but a person has to feel right, don’t you think, when starting something new?”

Seamus could think of nothing to say, having worn the same suit for—well,
eternity
seemed like a good word for it. “Let’s go.”

“One more thing.” She held up a finger, looking at him sideways in a flirty manner. In a moment, she was gone again, disappearing into a shop whose door stood open down the way. She was only gone a few seconds, and she returned proudly holding a chrysanthemum. “Just what that suit needs,” she told Seamus, tucking the flower into his buttonhole. Standing back, she nodded. “Perfect. Now we can go.”

He touched the flower’s soft petals, almost unbelieving. A flower? Sighing, he chose not to comment lest they delay any longer.

Seamus took Mildred’s hands in his, and immediately, the pain hit. Despite long experience, the agony surprised him every time. It was like being stretched in every conceivable direction, maybe worse than that, if there was something worse. Only one thing helped. “Moan!” he ordered. Soon he heard his own voice, in his head and all around him, giving sound to his suffering in low, anguished tones.

Beside him, Mildred wailed like an Irish banshee. Around them both, something, or maybe nothing, swirled furiously. When the pain became so bad that Seamus thought he could not stand any more, he counted breathlessly: “One, two, THREE!”

He opened his eyes. Mildred, who seemed to be leaning on him, although there was no longer anything of her to lean or of him to lean on, asked, “Where are we?”

“The last place William Dunbar saw in his life.”

“So this is where we pick up—” She stopped. Before them a young girl hung suspended on the wrong side of the cautionary fence. Her toes extended over the edge of the cliff, her arms reached backward, gripping the top rail. Most of her stretched over thin air.