Lye in Wait (35 page)

Richard took all the blame for our burglary, saying his mother
had nothing to do with it. Again, it didn't matter that she'd practically admitted her involvement to us; we couldn't prove anything,
and Richard refused to implicate her.

And he had the unmitigated gall to call Meghan and ask for
legal help. She can still practice law in Washington State, but she
was never a criminal lawyer. She had the sense to tell him to go
talk to somebody else, but I think she felt kind of bad about it.

Sheesh.

Debby went into the hospital for a few days, but while there she
decided to try making it on her own, without her brother's help.
She has a good therapist, she says, and a lot of experience with her
own demons. We all wish her well.

She decided to wait a while before meeting Tootie for the first
time. So Meghan, Erin, and I went to see Erin's new great-grandma
a couple days after the craziness in my workroom. Ambrose had
already told her the whole story, and I'd called to warn her that we
were coming.

When we arrived, Ann gave us a cheerful wave I found encouraging. In her room, the bed was made, and Tootie, dressed in
deep-red rayon slacks and matching silk tunic, stood gripping the
silver-headed cane.

Erin, sober and polite, explained to Tootie exactly who she was.
Her grandmother listened with attentive seriousness, and they
agreed to spend some time catching up on family history. Then
Erin asked if we could go out into the garden we could see from
Tootie's window. The sun shone bright and warm out there, and
for a moment I thought of the perfect fall weather on the day of
Walter's death.

Tootie agreed and even acquiesced to using a wheelchair. Meghan
pushed and I trailed behind, while Erin, loosening up after her initial apprehension about having a new grandmother, walked backwards in front of the chair, chattering away. I could tell that Tootie
adored her already.

They were discussing what Erin should call her. In their increasingly lightening tones, it sounded like "Nana Tootie" was the
favored candidate.

THE DOORBELL RANG, AND I got up from where I'd been attempting to write copy for a flyer about Winding Road Bath Products
for our upcoming booths. Barr Ambrose stood on the front porch,
grinning at me like a fool. And, God help me, I grinned right
back.

I stepped back so he could enter the house. He gave me a quick
up and down perusal, no doubt because of the white bodysuit I
wore. The sandwich boards depicting the chocolate wafers of an
Oreo cookie leaned against the wall, but I wasn't going to put them
on until the trick-or-treaters started arriving. It was too hard to sit
down in the thing, so for now I was just cream filling.

But he didn't comment, just walked past me and went into the
kitchen. Sat at the kitchen table like he belonged there. I found it
didn't bother me a bit.

"Coffee?"

"Got any tea?"

"What kind of a cowboy drinks tea?"

"The kind that doesn't like coffee much."

"You know, they might drum you out of the ranks of the roughand-ready club for talk like that."

"Might" He paused, and his expression became serious. "How
are you?"

"Not bad. Actually, better than that. Oolong?" He shook his
head, pointed at the Earl Grey on the counter.

I rolled my eyes. "I'm so glad that whole mess with Grace and
Dick is over. And knowing how and why Walter died. At least as
much as we can know. I mean, I hate that he died by accident, well,
sort of by accident, you know what I mean, but just knowing, you
know, not having to wonder and worry-it's great. So. I'm doing
great"

He laughed.

"What?"

"You sorta bubble."

"Bubble?"

"Barr!" Erin came barreling into the room, gave the startled man
a big hug, and bounced into a chair. "Hi! What're you doing here?"

"Well, I-" he began.

But Meghan walked in then, dressed as an umpire. "Hi, Barr.
Don't mind us. Erin and I are eating early so we can get going on the
trick-or-treating as soon as it's good and dark. Got a lot of houses
to hit."

She might be strict about some things, including Erin's consumption of candy, but Meghan loved Halloween. Plus, her response to the resolution of the mystery surrounding Walter's death
bordered on giddy. Tonight she was ready to rock and roll on the
treat aspect of the evening. I, on the other hand, got to stay home and parcel out goodies for the ghosts and goblins-actually I suspected they would be more along the lines of Harry Potter-who
came tramping to our door. I'd planned to pop corn and indulge
in Laurie R. King's newest mystery between rings of the doorbell.

Then Barr had called, and I ended up inviting him over. Or he
invited himself. Actually, I'm not sure how it happened, but here
he was. Ms. King, move over.

I watched Meghan as she heated soup on the stove for her and
Erin's early dinner. I'd been worried about her reaction to Dick's
slime-ball behavior. He hadn't stood up against his vile mother
when it came to his own daughter, and given that, Meghan was
ready to believe the worst about him.

Meghan was kicking around the idea of trying to adjust their
custody agreement, even more uneasy than before about his ability
to take care of Erin, even for a couple of days at a time. But since
asking for her help, Dick wasn't calling, wasn't making a peep. He
hadn't shown up to get Erin last weekend, either. Meghan had
heard from a mutual friend that he'd said something about how
much Cadyville sucked and how he wanted to move back to California. I think she was hoping he'd do so as soon as he was allowed
to leave the state.

As for Erin herself, she seemed to be on an even keel. Somehow the kid was able to accept things, not fight against them, and
not expect them to be different. The rest of us, the grownups at
least, tended to rail against the inevitable with remarkable regularity. She coasted along in the present like a little Zen monk with a
wicked sense of humor. Her dad was a creep? Yeah, well.. .what
about it?

Then I remembered her sitting on the sofa, acting like she was
reading The Wolves of Willoughby Chase but feeling lower than slug
snot because Dick had brought her home early. Maybe her aplomb
wasn't quite so seamless. Maybe Meghan and I should be keeping a
close eye on the little one for cracks and broken places.

"So, what's your costume going to be?" Ambrose asked Erin.

Her mouth full of the cheese and crackers her mom had put in
front of her, Erin pointed to her chest. She was wearing a knockoff
Seattle Mariners jersey with a big 51 on the front.

"You're going as a baseball player?"

She chewed and nodded emphatically, pointing at her chest
again.

"You're going as Ichiro."

Her head bobbed in the affirmative.

Ambrose sat back. "Cool"

Erin swallowed. "I'm gonna slick my hair down, and I've got
these cool shades just like his. And I've got a bat and a ball and a
glove and stuff."

"Sounds like a lot to carry," Ambrose said. "Good thing your
mom'll be along."

Meghan grinned. "I may have to charge a percentage for hauling around all that candy."

"Oh right, Mom. Like you won't eat half of it, anyway."

Meghan waggled her eyebrows at her daughter, and they both
giggled.

"Do you play baseball?" Ambrose asked.

"No. I suck at sports," Erin said. "But I like to watch."

"Erin," Meghan said.

"Sorry. I'm really bad at sports."

"No, you're not."

"Whatever. I'm gonna go get my stuff and show it to Barr."

"But your soup's ready," Meghan said-to the sound of Erin
pounding up the stairs to her room.

Moments later, she came back into the room with a Mariners
cap on and lugging a ball, bat, and glove. Meghan set a bowl of
soup on the table and pointed at the chair.

"Eat."

Erin wrinkled her nose and set her props in the corner.

I got up and dug salami, olives, and pickled asparagus out of
the fridge to round out the snack, and Erin ate her soup while we
chatted. When she'd finished, she rinsed her bowl and put it in the
dishwasher. Meghan got up, and they both went upstairs.

When they returned, Erin's hair was gooed down to her skull
and tucked into the back of her collar. Meghan had drawn thin
sideburns and a narrow moustache on her heart-shaped face with
eyebrow pencil and smudged a hint of a beard across her chin.
Erin put on her shades and struck a pose, then bent to put on her
tennis shoes.

"That'd be easier if you could see what you were doing," I said.

She ignored me, squinting, but after a few more moments gave
up and removed the sunglasses.

Meghan looked up. "Ready?"

"Uh huh," Erin said, gathering her baseball paraphernalia.

Barr cocked his head. "What's on the ball?"

Erin held it up, turning it in order to see better. "Just a bunch
of names."

"Let me see," he said.

She brought him the ball. As I leaned closer, he rotated it so we
could see all the signatures.

"Where did you get this?" he asked, reverence in his voice.

"Walter gave it to me. He made me promise not to play with it,
but since I don't actually like to play baseball, that was okay. And
this isn't playing with it, is it?" She seemed worried.

Meghan had been watching Barr's face. "What is it?"

He took a deep breath. "I think it's a 1927 World Series ball.
Yankees-see, here's Ruth, and Meusel, and Gehrig. Lazzeri, Huggins, Pennock." He looked up. "If it's real, it's worth at least twenty
grand."

Meghan's eyes widened.

"He gave me other ones, too," Erin said. "I just thought they
were plain old baseballs."

Barr stood up. "Where are they?"

Erin leading the way, we all trooped up to her room. She knelt
and dug into the junk on the floor of her closet, pulling out four
more baseballs. All had signatures.

Barr identified one as a Yankee World Series ball from 1928,
and another from 1932. The other two he wanted to have someone
look at. In fact, he said, we should have the balls appraised by a
professional and then put them in a safety deposit box.

Erin agreed, but still wanted to take one trick-or-treating.

Meghan considered her for a long moment. "Okay. But take
that one-" she pointed to the one Barr said was worth the least,
only five or six thousand dollars-"and only this once. These are
going to pay for your college."

Just as Walter had intended. And Grace had probably looked
right at them while rifling through Erin's room.

Barr looked appalled as Erin skipped down the stairs with her
collector's item. He turned to me. "She's letting her...?"

I took his arm and led him back downstairs. "It'll be fine"

"Be careful," he called out before the front door closed.

In the kitchen, he helped me put away our makeshift dinner.
I was starting coffee when the doorbell rang for the first time. I
slipped on my sandwich boards and went to hand out miniature
Snickers bars to a little dinosaur and a tiny tiger, barely able to
walk. I gave one to Mom, too, figuring she could use the energy
tonight.

Back in the kitchen, Barr had finished the coffee. I put some of
Meghan's peanut butter cookies on a plate.

"Wanna cookie?"

And as Barr Ambrose stood looking me up and down, I realized what I'd said.

He blinked. Slow.

Like a cat about to lick the cream filling out of an Oreo.

Oh.

Oh, my.

I decided right then and there Halloween was my new favorite
holiday.

1 cup powdered goat's milk
1 cup colloidal oatmeal
11/a cup Epsom salts
Scant 1/4 cup dendretic salt
1/2 teaspoon liquid glycerin
1/2 teaspoon essential oil (lavender, orange, balsam peru,
sandalwood, fir needle, or rosewood)