Gilt (19 page)

"Ah. I wondered about how the town got its name." He eyed Main Street as we passed. "Seems like a nice little town."

"It is. We have two grocery stores, a hardware store, a couple of clothing stores, the Java Jolt coffee shop, and other assorted businesses. It's even got a movie theater." I proceeded with caution through one of the two traffic lights in town and drove by the Post Office and the Presbyterian Church along 2nd Avenue.

I've often thought that our street was probably one of the prettiest streets in the United States. Tall trees framed the street and on each side were tidy houses, all different styles and all neat and well-cared for. It was like driving in the movie set for
It's a Wonderful Life
, except now there was no snow and green grass and flowers surrounded us.

"I can see why you enjoy visiting," Dan said as we turned onto Maple Street. "I'm sure it holds a lot of memories for you. Your husband grew up here, too, didn't he?"

I nodded. "John was older than me, though, so I didn't know him in school."

"But you both have shared memories of the town. That's important." We pulled into Mom's driveway. I put the car into park as the front door opened. Dan leaned over for his cane, his eyes on me. "Think about it, Genny. Don't you think it's time to start living your life again?"

Before I could answer, Dan extracted his cane from the floor near his feet and opened the passenger door as my mother emerged from the house onto the front porch. He raised one hand. "Hello, Mrs. Atwood. Thanks for letting me impose like this." He stood, leaning on his cane.

Was he right? Was I trying to keep the world at bay? I turned to extract my purse from the back seat where I put it earlier. My hand brushed against the gray cloth and when I raised it, I saw a fine coating of dark dust.

Ash? I sniffed warily. Definitely ash. Was that from yesterday, when John was there? Or had he been there earlier, eavesdropping? Could ghosts eavesdrop? "John?"

No answer.

I stepped out to face the inquisition that was my mother.

Chapter 11

Like me, Penny is a short woman and like me, she has a pretty good figure, especially for a woman in her eighties. She and I both tend to plumpness around the middle, but we both exercise regularly to keep it within manageable proportions. Penny's waist-long fiery red hair was now completely gray. She still wore it braided and tucked into a bun, the way she had all my life. Her skin was the envy of women thirty years younger, still porcelain smooth with only a hint of sagging and wrinkles. I had, thank goodness, inherited her skin and hair, although my face shape was more an oval like my father's while hers was round. People commented on how alike we appeared and as I aged alongside her, I decided to take that as a compliment.

Today she wore a pale blue summer sweater and navy slacks with pristine white Keds sneakers, her usual footwear of choice. Her dark green eyes landed on Dan, quickly assessing him in a one-two sweep of a glance as she descended the steps. Her welcoming smile faltered slightly when he moved to meet her, leaning on his cane, but she rallied after shooting me an inquisitive look. "I'm so pleased to meet you," she said, taking Dan's hand and giving it a brisk shake. "Genny didn't tell me anything about you."

I smiled blandly. "Dan mentioned that he wanted to experience small town life, so I figured Tangle Butte would be just the ticket." I brushed a kiss onto Mom's cheek and reached into the car for my roller bag. "How's Aunt Portia doing?"

Mom's preoccupation with bringing me up to speed on my aunt diverted her attention from Dan as he extracted his bulky nylon overnighter. I muscled my bag up the three porch steps and rolled into the house, breathing a sigh of relief as central air conditioning mitigated the humid morning we left behind us.

Mom bustled ahead of us. "She's out of intensive care and into a regular room, which is a relief. Although I have to admit, Intensive Care wasn't as bad as I thought it would be." Penny paused in the foyer and regarded Dan. "Drop your bag there and I'll give you a little tour. I've got coffee and a snack ready, and I thought we could have sandwiches later." She cleared her through slightly and gave me an inquiring look. "Do you want to rest before visiting Portia?"

I frowned. Rest? I saw her covert glance at Dan, leaning on his cane. I decided to nip any questions in the bud. "Dan's leg was amputated years ago. He uses the cane for balance. I'm hungry. How about you?" I leaned my bag near the stairs and Dan dropped his next to mine.

"A snack sounds good." He nodded to my mother. "Lead on."

Mom toured the main floor, updating us in her inimitable train-of-thought way as she went. "Here's the dining room," she said, leading the way to the room immediately on our left. "The doctor said Portia can probably go home tomorrow. Did I tell you Amy called? She expects to get in to Winona at around four this afternoon so she'll be here by six tonight, maybe later. She's renting a car. I suggested she stay with us tonight and she said she'd think about it. There's a dance tonight you kids might want to attend. It's at the courthouse. You remember how they always have a dance twice a week in the summertime in the square? Through here is the kitchen." Mom waved a vague hand toward the back of the house. "Help yourself to anything in the fridge." She went into the hallway, heading back the way we came.

I absorbed this blitz of information as Dan leaned into the kitchen and gave it a fast once-over. Most of the house had oak floors scuffed by years of use, with throw rugs or carpet runners in spots, and white crown molding that highlighted the nine-foot ceilings. The kitchen, though, had black and white linoleum tiles that contrasted with the white woodwork and cabinets, all shining faintly in the light coming in the side windows. "I may take you up on that offer of a fridge raid," he said.

"I hope you do. Portia is mainly wobbly now. But the doctor said it was a near thing. Those were his words. A near thing. Here's the living room, and my bedroom and bathroom are back there, across from the kitchen." She once again gestured toward the rear of the house.

"Has Mrs. Winslow been able to tell the doctor what happened?" Dan asked, following Mom to the maple staircase. Penny looked back at him, surprised. "Genny told me about it. I'm glad we were able to come to visit earlier than planned." He smiled again, dimples appearing at the corner of his mouth and his dark eyes warming. "It's nice to be retired like this." He touched my arm quickly. "Or semi-retired, like Genny is."

"You look too young to be retired," Penny said, hand on the banister. "Of course, when I was younger, people didn't retire until they about dropped over. Now folks can quit working whenever they feel like and do whatever they feel like doing." She shot me a disapproving glance, reminding me that she thought I acted foolishly to quit a hundred-thousand-a-year job.

I sighed. "Aunt Portia?" I prompted. "What happened?"

Penny sighed, too, deprived of her opportunity to question my sanity once again. "Portia told me she gave herself an insulin shot, like always. Almost immediately she felt awful, all dizzy and weak. Myra Jones called her because they always play cards on Tuesdays and Myra was checking to see who was driving. I thought you might want to stay at Portia's tonight, but I got a room ready for you in case you want to stay here." Penny went up the steps, moving slowly. Gone were the days when she scurried from one floor to the other, laundry basket balanced on her hip. "I thought Mr. Steele could use Sammy's room."

"Please. Call me Dan." Dan paused with Penny on the landing that was halfway up the twelve-step staircase. "I appreciate the offer of a room."

"Oh, not a bother at all. Of course, Myra shouldn't be driving because her eyesight is worse than Portia's, but I swear, people see that pink Chevrolet of Myra's and they get out of the way. That's one of the benefits of living in a small town where everybody knows everybody's business. People know when the old folks are driving and get off the street." Penny continued her trek upward, puffing slightly, unmindful of the amused glance that Dan and I exchanged.
Old folks, indeed
, I thought. "Make sure to watch your head," she said, gesturing upward. "The top floor used to be the attic and the ceilings all slope. Sammy's room is at the back of the house and it's nice and quiet."

"All the rooms up here are nice and quiet, Mom," I commented, pausing by my old bedroom door at the top of the stairs, on the left. "The only disturbance around here in the summertime is the stock car races on Sunday night at the fairgrounds on the other side of town."

I followed Mom and Dan down the short hall. The top floor of the house was divided into fourths like the main floor, with my room in the northeast corner, next to what used to be Jimmy's in the southeast. Sammy's room was in the southwest, and the northwest corner had been a playroom and was now storage space.

"Here you go," Penny said, opening the white painted door to Sam's room.

Dan preceded her into the room. I watched as he evaluated the space, the windows facing south and west not yet drawing in sunlight like they would later in the day. I made a mental note to check the setting on the central air conditioning. Penny tended to keep the house warm, and these upstairs rooms could turn into cookers in the summertime despite the shade from the trees that surrounded the house.

I wondered what Dan thought as he glanced around the room. Like the rest of the house, this was a plain room, with white enameled woodwork and simple cotton curtains on the windows. This room was pale green. Mine was pale yellow, Jimmy's was blue, and the playroom was beige. Mom had drawn the line at pink, although her bedroom downstairs was a dusty shade of lavender, painted that way after Dad died and could no longer object.

As though sensing my curiosity, Dan touched the old footlocker at the foot of Sam's single bed. "It's a pleasant house." He peered through the window at the maple tree in the back yard. "It would be a nice place to raise children."

"Do you have children, Mr. Steele?" Penny asked politely. Then she smiled. "Dan."

I turned away and went back down the hall. I recognized that tone of voice. Penny was going into Mom Mode, gathering intel about the Man in my Life. I heard them chatting as I opened the door to my room. The ceiling slanted to the two dormer windows on my left, the ones that overlooked Maple Street in front of the house.

Nothing had really changed since I graduated from high school. Landscape pictures were on the walls, a bookcase held a few mementos, and the closet, tucked under one of the eaves, was still claustrophobic and tight. I started to go back downstairs, thinking I'd grab my bag and hang up a few blouses.

John stood near the windows, the summer sunlight making a halo around his turnout gear. I took a step backward, bumping my head on the sloping ceiling. "Ow," I muttered angrily. "Can't you warn me before you drop in?"

The dark streaks of dirt on his face curved upward with his lips. "Sorry. I don't mean to scare you. Sometimes I'm not even sure when I'll appear."

"I wasn't sure if you knew I was here. At home, I mean." Penny and Dan's voices drifted toward us, their voices muffled. They were probably inspecting the bathroom at the end of the hall. "I tried to tell you I was coming here but I don't know how this ghost stuff works." I thought about my conversation with Paul. "Did you hear what Paul told me? Were you there when Michael came to the house?" I had a brilliant idea. "Can you eavesdrop on Paul and Michael?"

"I don't think so. You're my entry, I guess you could call it. I can't drop in and see anybody unless you're around." John smiled, looking around the room. He and I used to sleep here when we came to visit. The double bed was barely large enough for the two of us and his feet always hung over the end. We used to laugh about it.

"Rats." I went to the desk built into the wall overlooking the street. I spent many a high school night there, dreaming about my future. I never dreamed that the ghost of my dead husband would stand there and stare at me. "It would help a lot if you could spy."

"Sorry." He reached toward me and I stilled, waiting for his touch. All I felt was a cool breeze with a faint smell of smoke. "You don't have to do this."

I turned away. "Someone killed you and those others. Whoever did it should pay."

"Tell Tinsley whatever Paul told you."

"They need evidence. Paul can't testify." I thought of Paul's desperate face, his frightened, tense voice. "It's too dangerous. We need to find evidence."

"And you think you'll find it here, in town?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "But I feel like Portia is in the middle of everything. I'll talk to her and see what she says." I eyed him warily. He seemed so solid, so real. If I touched him, what would I feel? I swallowed hard, not sure I wanted to know. "Amy is coming to town. Will you see her? Will you, I mean, will she see you?"

He shook his head, his black hair tousled and disarrayed from the helmet dangling in his hand. "You're my tie to life, not Amy. But it's hard for me to appear when you're thinking about him." He nodded toward the hallway.

"Dan?" I tried to inject incredulity into my voice. "He's just a cop. His wife died and he needs to know what happened."

John shook his head. "He wants to be more than just a cop to you and you know it. Don't let me hold you back."

His gray eyes were so full of love and understanding. I picked up our framed wedding picture that sat on the desk. "There's nothing to hold," I murmured.