Regarding Anna (9 page)

No use going down to my office—the heating systems were connected.

December had been a good month, and I had a little extra cash, so I decided to drive over to Lou Mitchell’s and have myself one of their big breakfast skillets, something I hadn’t had in years. I knew they opened early.

I got dressed and jumped in my car, the comforting taste of eggs, bacon, and hash browns the only thing on my mind. The car’s heater was still out, so it was a chilly ride to Lou’s. I arrived at five-fifteen and had to wait for a table—the restaurant was packed.

After eating the best breakfast I’d had in a very long time as slowly as I could, I paid the bill and headed home, wishing there was somewhere else I could go that was warm and didn’t cost anything. No place came to mind.

I was at the bottom of the long staircase leading to my apartment when I heard my phone ringing. I couldn’t imagine who would be calling at that hour.

I raced up the stairs.

“Hello.”

“Miss Lindroth?” It was Minnie.

“Yes.”

“Where have you been?”

Quickly reminding myself it would serve no purpose to be sarcastic, I put on my diplomacy hat and answered her.

“I just walked in the door after having breakfast at Lou Mitchell’s. Is this Minnie?”

“Pretty extravagant for someone who lives in a one-room apartment over a two-bit lawyer’s office.”

I took in a deep breath and reminded myself of what she meant to me.

“Actually, that’s my office too. And thank you for contacting me.”

“Well, I wasn’t going to, but then I thought to myself, you owe me one big apology, young lady.”

“I know I do. Would you like it over the phone or may I come over?” I silently begged her not to hang up.

“I suppose.”

You suppose what?
“When would be a good time?”

“Would I be calling now if it wasn’t a good time?”

I took a chance she meant an in-person visit. “I’ll be there in a few minutes then. Can I bring anything?”

“How about the truth?”

She was a tough old bird, but I deserved that retort.

“I promise you that.”

As I drove, I started to rehearse what I was going to say, but then put the kibosh on that thought—better not to come in with a prepared speech. I decided to wing it and just tell the truth—like I should have done before. I would leave my PI hat in the car.

I was at the stop sign at Belle Plaine and Lawter when my car conked out. Talk about bad timing! I was less than five blocks from her house. I pumped the gas a few times and tried to start it. Nothing. I repeated the process until I became sickened by the smell of gas.

I felt the blood rise up in my neck. I threw the car into neutral, turned the steering wheel toward the curb, jumped out, and pushed it out of the lane of traffic. Then I locked the car and hoofed it to Minnie’s.

She was standing in the doorway waiting for me—a scowl on her face, clenched fists resting on her hips.

“Took you long enough. Where’s your car?”

“It died a ways down the street.”

“Where?”

I told her which corner.

“You’re just going to leave it there?”

I wondered if she was going to invite me in or if we were going to have this conversation outside until one of us froze to death.

“I can call my mechanic if I may use your phone.”

“How soon can he get here?”

What difference does it make?
“I don’t know. It’s pretty early to call and—”

“C’mon in. What do you want to do—freeze out here?”

I wondered what her husband was like.

Minnie left me standing in the foyer. I didn’t know if I should stay there, saunter in and sit down in the living room, or follow her into the kitchen. I could hear her talking on the phone.

“Pat? Yeah, this is Minnie. There’s a tan and maroon Chevy broken down at Belle Plaine and Lawter. Might be a while before the mechanic can get here. Can you make sure it’s not towed?” She paused to listen to the response. “Okay, thanks. And Patty, if old lady Shuffleherbottom complains, tell her to stick it in her ear.” She paused again. “Whatever. Bye.”

She approached me with an emotionless expression on her face.

“Sit down, for Pete’s sake, and I’ll put a pot of coffee on.”

“Minnie.”

“Yes.”

“I hate coffee.”

Her glare was penetrating.

“I’m just being really honest here.”

“How about Scotch then?”

“It’s a little early for that, don’t you think?” I knew as soon as the words left my lips that it was the wrong thing to say. “But then I’ve never tried it, so what the heck.”

“Good, because I never drink alone.” She paused. “Who am I kidding? I always drink alone. I’ll pour you a small one. Maybe you’ll like it. Maybe you won’t. But you’ll never know until you’ve tried.”

After she poured the drinks and handed me one, she sat down on the opposite end of the sofa and held up her glass. “To the truth then?”

I held up my glass as well. “To the truth.”

I took a sip and tried not to wince as it took a burning glide down my throat. How could anyone drink this stuff? But then it was barely seven A.M. Surely, that made a difference. Or maybe it was an acquired taste.

“Talk,” she said.

I wasn’t sure if I could. “Okay,” I stammered. “Here’s the short version. I have reason to believe my real mother was Anna Vargas, the woman who was killed in this house right before you bought it. I’m looking for answers, and you have some knowledge of what went on here. That’s all I ever wanted from you. I promise.”

“Then why didn’t you just tell me that in the first place?”

“I have a private investigator’s license, and I think I got carried away with assuming that role instead of being me—just a lonely girl searching for the truth.”

“You don’t look so lonely to me.”

“Minnie, my parents, the two people who raised me, died in our home from carbon monoxide poisoning when I was seventeen. I just spent Christmas and New Year’s by myself in an apartment not much bigger than your living room, and I’m living on a shoestring budget not knowing if I can make the next month’s rent.”

She didn’t say anything for several seconds.

“I’m not at all happy with the way you’ve conducted yourself. You ought to be ashamed.”

“I
am
ashamed of the way I handled myself, and I apologize to you for that.”

“Look, Gracie. I may not have gone to some fancy school like you, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know how to get to the bottom of things. So if you’re done feeling sorry for yourself, let’s get down to business. What makes you think Anna Vargas was your mother?”

The only person who had ever called me Gracie was my mother. I pleaded with my emotions to remain under control.

I told her about the box of mementoes and other things I’d found in the attic, including the photo of the woman I was convinced was Anna holding a baby I was convinced was me. Then I told her about the second photo of the woman in the rocking chair and the inscription on the back, CELINA THALIA VARGAS—JUST HOME FROM THE HOSPITAL, and my own photo of me as a baby wearing the same dress as the baby in the first photograph.

“What does that prove? Maybe your mother and Anna knew each other.”

“But the inscription on the back of the one in the rocking chair wasn’t one a friend would write—it’s something a mother would write.”

“All babies look alike. Maybe that wasn’t you.”

“But the dress—”

“Walk into any Monkey Wards. They have more than one copy of the same dress.”

“And here’s the other thing, Minnie. My middle name is Thalia. And the baby she’s holding has the same middle name. And guess what Anna’s middle name was. Thalia. That’s a pretty uncommon name, don’t you think?”

“Well, I’ll give you that.”

“So you’ll help me?”

She shrugged. “I’ll tell you everything I know, but I’m not sure how much that will help you.”

“Thank you.”

“God only knows why, but I like you.”

“I like you too.”

“Of course you do—you want something from me.”

“No, it’s—”

“How’s the Scotch?”

“It’s beginning to grow on me.”

“Another?”

“Maybe just half, and while you’re pouring, may I ask you something?”

“Do you see anything stopping you?”

“What made you change your mind on talking to me?”

She turned to face me and heaved an audible sigh. “You put a lot of thought into that winterberry bush, and a lot of effort getting it here, even if it was utterly stupid to think it would survive a winter planting. But stupidity aside, I was touched by what you did—says something about your character.”

She handed me my glass and sat back down.

“So do you want to know what I know, or do you want to spend the next hour getting all sappy over each other?”

“I like a little sap now and again.”

“Well, I don’t, so here’s what I know.” She looked down at her lap and played with one of the buttons on her dress. For a brief moment, I thought she was going to say something else that would fit into the category of “sappy,” but then she didn’t.

“I think I told you after I lost my Clarence and little Muriel, I couldn’t live in that house any longer, so I sold it and bought this place. It was the summer of ’43. Apparently, Anna didn’t have a will or any family because I bought it from the state. And the funny thing is that less than a week after I bought it, someone offered to buy it from me for a thousand dollars more than what I paid for it. Can you imagine that?”

“Do you remember the name of the person who wanted to buy it?”

“No. But I never throw anything away. If I wrote it down, I probably still have it somewhere. I’ll hunt for it if you like, even though I don’t know how it will help you.”

“I’d appreciate that. And if you don’t mind me seeing all the closing documents, they may reveal something as well.”

“Okay. Like I said, I don’t throw anything out.”

“I’m sorry. Go on.”

“I didn’t know what had happened to Anna before I bought the house, and when I found out, I was horrified.”

“You had started to tell me last time about some rumors going around about Anna.”

“Let me tell you about the boarders first. Then I think the rumors will make more sense.”

I was feeling a little buzz from the alcohol and was afraid I’d forget some of what she had told me by the time I got home. “Do you mind if I take notes?”

“Be my guest. The boarders. They were something else. Let me tell you about the dead one first—Mark Smith. I bought the house in late May, moved in all my things within a week. Met all but Mr. Smith that same week. Didn’t meet him until a month later when the rent was due. Before that, I had knocked on his door to introduce myself a few times, and even though I knew he was in there, he didn’t answer. Then, late one evening, I couldn’t sleep and went to the kitchen to warm up a glass of milk. As I was drinking it, I saw a dark figure pass by the window. Well, I grabbed a baseball bat I keep for just such occasions and stood by the back door ready to clobber the person in case they tried to break in.”

“You must have been scared to death.”

“Nothing much scares me, sweetie, but I suppose my heart was pounding a little fast. Anyway, he didn’t try to break in. Instead he slipped an envelope under the door. I opened it, and inside was seven dollars and fifty cents and a note that read ‘July rent from Mark Smith.’ So I dashed outside—I’m in my nightgown, mind you—and I reach the bottom of the outside staircase just as he reaches the top, and I yell up at him, ‘Hey you. I’m Minnie Lawless. Nice to meet you.’

“He looks at me—I can barely see his face. He gives me a little wave, and disappears inside. And that’s pretty much how it was until he died.”

“How did he die?”

“As far as I know, he had a heart attack. At least that’s what the paper said. All I know is one morning I went to the A&P to buy groceries, and when I got home, there was an ambulance out front. The police came, and I asked them what I was supposed to do with the little stuff he had. And after they looked around, they said throw it out unless I wanted anything. There wasn’t anything to speak of—worn-out clothes, some books, an old Philco radio, and a pile of newspapers.”

“How old was he?”

“He was an older man, maybe in his seventies. Then there was Henry Sikes. Pale-faced little busybody. Mousy-looking, that’s what he was, afraid of his own shadow, but into everybody’s business. And he wasn’t even a decent busybody…you know, one who shares what he knows. No, he stuck his nose in where it didn’t belong and then kept it all to himself. Except about Anna, but I’ll get to that.

“The last character was... Give me a minute to think of his name. And I use the term ‘his’ loosely. Ah, yes, Dorian Ross. I know he was a man—no woman I know has an Adam’s apple—but he dressed like a woman. The whole nine yards. Full makeup, blond wig, dresses, and high heels. Hell, he had prettier clothes than I did. Can you imagine that? A real weirdo.”

“Any idea where he is now?”

“No, and I don’t want to know.”

“You said before there were four rooms upstairs.”

“Two large ones—I charged seven-fifty for those. And two smaller ones for five bucks. One bathroom. Would you like to see them?”

“Yes, of course.”

“C’mon. I’ll take you up the inside staircase, and you’ll see how the rumor story fits in.”

We walked through the foyer and down a hallway to the back of the house.

“This is my bedroom,” she said as we entered a good-sized room. It was sparsely decorated with a double bed and matching dresser; two nightstands; a well-worn overstuffed armchair; the winterberry bush I had given her, now planted in a large terra-cotta pot; and a rocking chair.

I couldn’t take my eyes off the rocking chair.

“What’s the matter, Gracie?”

“That’s the chair!”

“What chair, dear?”

“The same rocking chair Anna was sitting in as she held me. It’s in the photo!”

“It can’t be. I...” Her voice trailed off.

“You what? Where did you get it?”

“I don’t remember. This is a very common chair. You could buy one like it anywhere back then.” She paused a moment. “Come to think of it, it
was
left here. I found it in the basement and thought it was a shame to leave it down there. It was in such good shape and all. So I brought it up here.”