Death on the Family Tree (9 page)

“He was charming,” Katharine murmured, digging into her own dessert. “Not at all what I expected. The whole time we were talking, I had his undivided attention.”

“Snakes give you undivided attention, too,” Hollis muttered. “Most of the time he doesn’t know Amy exists, and he and Brandon both treat Zach like a slave.”

“They do pay his wages,” Posey pointed out.

“That still doesn’t excuse—never mind.” Hollis stood abruptly. “I’m supposed to meet somebody, so I’d better be going.”

“Oh, no!” Katharine looked at her watch in dismay. It was eight-twenty. “I forgot that Anthony is coming to my house at eight-thirty to bring Aunt Lucy’s secretary. Will you all forgive me if I thank you for a delicious dinner and beautiful presents, but take my dessert home in a box? And can you drop me off, Hollis? I don’t have my car.”

She gave Posey and Wrens both a quick kiss and hurried out after her niece.

Zach and Amy joined them while Hollis was opening the driver’s door of her little black-and-white Mini. “It was easier than I expected,” Zach murmured to Hollis.

“They hardly ever notice me if Brandon is talking,” Amy said as she climbed into the back seat.

Zach followed her in, saying to Katharine, “You ride up front with Hollis, okay?”

Katharine had feared she would have to fold herself double to get into the tiny car. Instead, there was plenty of room for four. Hollis noticed her astonishment and grinned in the dimness. “Fooled you, didn’t it?” She patted the dashboard fondly. “It’s a great little car—in spite of people saying rude things about it.” She had raised her voice on the last phrase and spoken toward the rear seat.

“I didn’t say anything rude,” Zach protested. “I just said it looks like a toy box on wheels.”

“If you aren’t nice, you will have to walk.”

“We’ll be nice,” Amy assured her. “Won’t we, Zach?” A satisfied purr in her voice bothered Katharine, but Hollis didn’t seem to notice.

Anthony’s truck was pulling up to the front walk when they screeched to a stop behind him. He climbed out and gave Hollis the frown of a man who had known her since she was in diapers. “Mighty good of you to stop before you hit my trailer,” he said mildly.

“I thought so,” she agreed. Then she saw the tall young man getting out of the other side of the truck. “Stanley! Is that you?” She jumped out and ran to throw her arms around his ebony frame. “I haven’t seen you for a hundred years. Look how big you’ve gotten!” Oblivious to his embarrassment, she turned back to the car and informed Zach and Amy, “Stanley and I used to play together when we were little. Now he plays football for Georgia Tech. What are you doing here?” she asked him.

Stanley gestured to the back of the lawn ser vice trailer, which contained a tall item wrapped in old quilts. “Helping Daddy move some furniture for your aunt.” Like most African Americans, he used the British “ahnt” rather than the white folks’ “ant.”

“Do you need any help?” Hollis put her hand on his shoulder and peered around him into the back of the trailer. “What is it?”

Katharine climbed out to join them. As she did, she glanced in the back again. Amy and Zach sat so close they could have added another person, but watching Hollis and Stanley, they wore identical expressions of disgust.

Katharine answered Hollis’s question herself. “Aunt Lucy’s secretary. It used to be her grandmother’s, and I thought it would be nice to keep as a memento of her and Uncle Walter.”
And now of Carter
, she added silently, not particularly happy with that.

Zach stayed in the car with Amy and made no offer to help Anthony and Stanley as they let down the back of the trailer and maneuvered the secretary to the ground. “Where you want it?” Anthony asked.

Katharine knew in an instant. “In the front room to the left of the hall. I’m going to fix that room up as a study, and this will be lovely in there.” She ran to unlock the front door and disarm the security system.

“No room in here,” Anthony objected when they got to the music room.

“Then leave it in the hall. I’m going to move the piano somewhere else. I’ll place the secretary then.”

“Might as well shift the piano while we’re here.” He spoke in the matter-of-fact tone he used when he pointed out that if she planned to put in another rosebush, he’d better start by moving the daylilies that were in the way. He and Stanley set the quilt-wrapped secretary carefully in the hall and went to the piano. “Where will you be wantin’ this?” he asked.

She hesitated. She hadn’t gotten that far in her planning.

“Over there.” Hollis pointed to the back corner of the living room. “And we’ll put the chair that’s there now over here by the fireplace.” She bent and gave the chair a shove. Katharine watched, speechless, while Hollis rearranged her whole living room. Not one chair, sofa, or table remained in its original location. When they were finished, Hollis looked around with satisfaction. “That’s a lot better. Now people can talk to each other and you have a great place to read near the fire.”

Katharine shook her head in amazement. “Why didn’t I rearrange it that way years ago?”

“Looks wonderful,” Stanley agreed. “You’ve got a real knack, Hollyhock.” A dull flush rose in his cheeks. “Sorry. That slipped out.”

Hollis grinned. “It’s okay, Stan-the-man.” She turned to Katharine with a pucker of worry between her eyes. “If you don’t like it, Aunt Kat—”

“I love it,” Katharine assured her. “Want to help me fix up my new study?”

Hollis wandered over to the arch and considered the room. “What do you have in mind?”

“I don’t know yet. I just know I hate the rug, I hate those pictures, and I hate the drapery.”

“Good.” Hollis’s voice carried a trace of relief. “Why don’t you pick out a rug you like and we can decorate around it? Or buy a picture—something you love. Then we’ll figure out what else to do.”

Katharine wandered into the almost-empty room to get a feel for it without the piano. As she passed Aunt Lucy’s secretary—which looked very at home on the back wall—she saw in its glass-fronted door a thin, dark face with an unreadable expression. She was bending to have a better look when Hollis exclaimed, “I’d better be going. Zach will be wondering what’s happened to me. Good to see you, Stanley. You, too, Anthony.”

“It’s always a pleasure,” Anthony told her, “so long as you don’t run over my truck.”

Hollis’s laugh lingered in the room as she ran out the door.

When everyone had gone, Katharine felt like she had been taken from a place of laughter and light and thrust into a place of shadows and silence. Worse, the silence tonight seemed menacing. She returned to the music room to look in the secretary glass, but saw only her own reflection.

“Of course, silly,” she told herself as she armed the security system. “There are no ghosts in this house.” Nevertheless, she turned on lights in every room downstairs, put on the television in the den and the radio in the kitchen, and checked all the doors and windows to be sure they were locked—even though the alarm would let her know if they weren’t. She was tempted to open the front door and leave it open long enough to test how fast it took a knight in police armor to come roaring up the drive.

“Get a grip,” she said aloud. “Check your messages, eat your dessert, and go to bed. And stop talking to yourself. That’s the first sign of senility.”

She had one message, a gravelly voice that sent shivers up her spine. “Mrs. Murray, this is Lamar Franklin. I was calling to see if you got home safely. Call me back when you get this message so I’ll know you are okay.”

She considered not complying, but he would probably call again. He answered on the first ring, the sound of televised sports in the background. “This is Katharine Murray,” she said, keeping her voice carefully neutral. “I am fine, thank you. But how did you get my number?”

“That’s easy for an old researcher like me. I just Googled you.” His raspy laugh came over the wire. “You watch out for that other fellah, you hear me? I was sitting in my truck after you left this afternoon, having a smoke before going back to the library, and he jumped in his Jeep and started following you. I don’t know if you noticed us or not, but we were both right behind you for quite a while.”

“I noticed,” she assured him.

“Well, I hope you’ll put that necklace in a safe place. You never can tell who might be after it. Good night.”

She hung up and cast a look at the darkness outside her breakfast room window. Why hadn’t she put blinds on that window? She felt very exposed. She checked the alarm system again, to make sure it was armed.

While she was eating her cake with a big glass of milk, the doorbell rang. She almost didn’t answer, but it rang again and she figured it might be Anthony, who had forgotten to take his wife’s quilts. She switched on the porch light and peered out the sidelight to see Hasty standing there, a bouquet of daisies in one hand. Daisies had been her favorite flower since she was a little girl and picked them with Aunt Lucy.

“What do you want?” she called through the door.

“To apologize,” he called back. “I won’t come in, but I wanted to tell you I’m sorry. See? I have learned a few things since our high school days.” He held up the flowers. “These are a peace offering—and a belated birthday present.”

She opened the door, turned and quickly punched the buttons to disarm the alarm. She turned back to see he was wearing a lopsided grin. “Forgive me?” he asked.

In spite of herself she felt the old tingle she used to get at that grin. To make sure her voice wouldn’t quaver, she gave a huff of surrender. “Sure. And thanks.” As she stepped forward to take the flowers, she exclaimed, “You’ve got a black eye.”

He touched it gingerly. “And a red nose, not to mention damage to my pride, but I’m sorry I let my temper get away with me at lunch. I didn’t mean to spoil your birthday.”

She considered inviting him in, but it didn’t feel like a good idea. For one thing, she was lonely and, in spite of herself, feeling some of the old pull toward Hasty. For another thing, he
had
followed her that afternoon. She stood in the doorway with the bouquet between them. Since he was a step down, their eyes were nearly level. “Why were you following me?” she asked.

“I didn’t like the looks of that character at the next table—and rightly so. When I picked myself up off the sidewalk and got to the garage, he was sitting in a big black truck, ready to go after you.” He stepped back and leaned against a small column that held up the veranda roof, crossing his arms on his chest. He used to lean against the supports to her parents’ porch like that. Her mother often joked that their porch would fall down if Hasty stopped holding it up.

The night was warm and sultry, with lightning bugs dancing on the dark lawn. Without conscious thought, she stepped down and leaned against the doorjamb across from him. They used to stand like that on evenings after he’d brought her home, when neither of them wanted to say goodnight.

“Maybe he was having a smoke,” she suggested.

“Not a chance. As soon as I got in my Jeep, he started his engine. I didn’t have your cell phone number, so I couldn’t warn you, but I managed to get between you and him. I could tell you had noticed me, but I wasn’t sure you had noticed him, and he stayed right behind me the whole time. I decided to follow you long enough to make sure you didn’t do something stupid, like go home and show him where you live. That was a smart move, by the way, running into the store like that.”

“What happened afterwards? I didn’t stick around to see.” She propped herself more comfortably and prepared to listen. Hasty always could tell a good story.

“Yeah, so I noticed. I’d barely gotten out of my car when he jumped down from his truck, shouted something, and came at me like a crazy man. Ripped off my glasses, knocked me down, and blacked my eye before I saw him coming. Lordy, he like to scared me to death. Fortunately, somebody called the cops. I was bleeding all over the sidewalk, woozy as all get-out, not your typical knight in shining armor but willing to get up and defend you again—”

She chuckled in spite of herself. “So what happened when the police arrived?”

“I can tell you what
didn’t
happen. You didn’t come out to vouch for my good character. I tried to explain to the cop—who didn’t look much older than my daughter—that I was protecting you from the other man, but then
he
jumps in and starts claiming he was protecting you from
me
. I pointed out that you and I have been friends since Moses came down off the mountain and that the other fellow had been awfully familiar at lunch, but he said—oh, never mind. Anyway, the cop gave us each a warning and let us go.”

“Well, after that, some customer in the store decided my car might belong to a terrorist who was going to blow them all up, so he called and had it towed.”

Hasty’s laugh was pleased. “Served you right.”

As they laughed together, Katharine again considered inviting him in—nothing serious, she told herself, just a cup of coffee between friends. But before she spoke, he spoiled the mood.

“You watch out for that hippie, you hear me? He had his ears cocked to every word we said about the necklace and that diary, and I wouldn’t put it past him to try and track you down to get them. Where are they, by the way?” As he waited for her answer, she had the feeling he was holding his breath.

She felt like he had dowsed her with cold water. He wasn’t there to apologize. He wasn’t even there to rekindle old feelings. He was a man on a mission to find out where she had put the necklace and diary.

“In a safe place,” she replied coolly. She stepped up into the house. “Goodnight. Thanks for the flowers. It was nice of you to bring them.”

He gave her a little salute. “Goodnight. Sleep well. And happy birthday.”

When he’d gone, she rearmed the alarm, and put the daisies in a vase. They looked so fresh and pretty, she decided to carry them up and put them on her dresser.

Her sense of humor kicked in halfway up the stairs. “Nobody was pursuing you,” she said aloud. “Both guys were protecting you. Doesn’t that make you feel a hundred and three?”