The Unloved (34 page)

But she didn’t have time to worry about Marguerite Devereaux right now. Not until she found Jenny, anyway. And when she did find Jenny—

She glanced at her watch once more. It was nearly four now, and the storm seemed to be getting worse. If she didn’t find Jenny soon, there would be no point in starting for Charleston at all. The storm would put an end to that. She pressed the accelerator hard, and the wheels of her car spun free on the slickness of the road, already turning to mud.

Marguerite watched Alicia go, then started back into the house. Suddenly she stopped, her eyes fastening on her car, which was standing next to the house, its windows wide open. Rain was beginning to blow into it, and soon it would be soaking wet. She hurried inside and reached for her keys, which should have been on the hook just inside the coat-closet door.

But they weren’t there.

And then she remembered. She’d given them to Kevin that morning. But where was Kevin?

The basement. That’s where he was, down in the basement with Ruby and Jennifer.…

She hurried downstairs and was back a few minutes later, the car keys clutched in her hand. Taking an umbrella against the rain, she hurried outside and backed the car into the garage, then swung the heavy wooden door shut. Just as she got back to the house, the first bolt of lightning flashed in the sky to the southeast, followed a few moments later by a low roll of thunder.

The wind began to pick up, and as Marguerite closed the front door, the moss-hung pines around the old house began to moan softly to each other.

Jeff pounded up the road from the causeway, his shirt pulled up over his head to protect him from the rain. It was
coming down hard now, and the wind was starting to whip the wet cloth into his eyes, nearly blinding him. But he was almost home, and he could see the lights already on in the big house at the top of the rise. He ran even faster, then slipped as he turned the corner into the driveway, sprawling out into the sticky mud. Picking himself up, he tried to scrape the mud off his pants, then gave it up and started running again. A minute later he burst into the house, slamming the front door behind him.

“Dad?” he yelled. “Dad, I’m home!” He leaned against the wall, panting, then began pulling off his muddy shoes. But as he set them down next to the front door, he suddenly became aware of the silence in the house. He listened carefully, then again called out for his father.

There was no answer.

“Dad?” he said once more, his voice dropping as he felt the first stirrings of fear deep inside him. “Wh-Where are you?”

There was still no answer, and the silence in the house began to close in on him. He took a step toward the staircase, then froze as there was a sudden clanking sound, followed by the scrape of gears meshing. As he watched, the chair lift from the second floor began making its slow descent.

Jeff swallowed hard, but the lump in his throat only grew as he saw the lift come slowly down the stairs. Then it came around the curve, and he found himself staring up at his Aunt Marguerite.

Except it didn’t look like his aunt.

The woman in the chair had her hair combed strangely, so that it looked old-fashioned, and her face was covered with makeup. He frowned then, and his heart began to race as he realized who his aunt looked like.

His grandmother.

She wasn’t as old, and she wasn’t as wrinkled, but the face was the same, and when she looked at him, it was like looking into his grandmother’s eyes.

“Wh-Where’s my dad?” he managed to whisper as the chair lift came to a halt and Marguerite rose to her feet and stepped off it.

“He’s not here,” Marguerite told him. “He had to go back to town for something.” She took a step toward him, and Jeff shrank away from her.

“He didn’t either,” Jeff replied, his voice trembling now. “He was going to come back here and find out what you did to Ruby.”

“Ruby?” Marguerite echoed, her voice sounding hollow in the large space of the entry hall. “Why, Jeff, darling, what are you talking about? I didn’t do anything to Ruby.”

“Y-Yes you did,” Jeff quavered. “Emmaline told me, and I told my dad. I told him all about you.”

Marguerite’s eyes narrowed. “All about me?” she repeated. “But there’s nothing to tell. And you shouldn’t tell stories, Jeff. Don’t you know what happens to small boys who tell stories about people?” She took a step toward him, and Jeff cowered back against the door.

“You leave me alone,” he whimpered. “Just leave me alone!”

“Now, now,” Marguerite said, her voice suddenly soothing. “Why would I want to hurt you? Aren’t you my little boy now? Don’t I love you? Why would I want to hurt you?”

She was close to Jeff and reaching out to him, and Jeff could feel his heart pounding.

“No!” he shouted. “Don’t you touch me!”

His sudden yell startled Marguerite, and she stepped back. Instantly Jeff darted around her and raced toward the stairs, his feet drumming on the hardwood. Then he was on the stairs themselves, bounding up them two at a time, his heart thumping in his chest. He got to the second-floor landing, then raced down the hall to his room, slamming the door shut behind him and twisting the key in the lock. Only when he was certain the door wouldn’t open did he run to his bed and throw himself on it, wrapping himself in the quilt folded at the foot of the bed. For a few minutes all he could hear was the racing of his own heart and the panting gasps of his own breath, but after a while his heartbeat slowed and his breathing returned to normal. He listened for a few minutes, certain that any second he would hear his aunt’s strange, lopsided gait as she came after him.

But the seconds dragged on, turning into minutes, and Jeff heard nothing.

Once again the house seemed filled with a strange and ominous silence, broken only by the sound of the rain outside as it slashed against the windows.

Kerry Sanders pulled the old convertible to a stop in front of Sea Oaks. The rain was coming down in sheets now, and a steady stream of water was running through a tear in the canvas, draining onto the backseat. He glanced over his shoulder in disgust. “Guess nobody’s gonna ride back there for a while.” Then his gaze shifted to the house. “Want me to come in with you?”

Julie shook her head. “I don’t think you better. You know how Aunt Marguerite feels.”

“She’s not gonna be mad at you, is she?” Kerry fretted. “I guess maybe I should have brought you back earlier—”

“It’s all right,” Julie insisted. “It isn’t even five yet. It’s not like we stayed out till midnight or something. And Daddy should be home, anyway, and he’ll fix it with Aunt Marguerite.” She put her hand on the door handle, but didn’t open it. Instead she turned once more to Kerry. “Do you think Mrs. Mayhew found Jenny?”

Kerry shrugged. “I don’t know. But it sure sounds like something weird is going on—I mean, when we saw Jen, she was coming out here.”

“M-Maybe she changed her mind,” Julie suggested. “Maybe after what I said about Aunt Marguerite …” Her voice trailed off, but her eyes, too, went to the house, where a single light glowed from the living room window. Other than that, the house seemed dark.

“You’re sure you don’t want me to come in?” Kerry said again. “I mean, if you’re scared of your aunt—”

“No,” Julie decided. “I’m not scared of her. She just wasn’t feeling well yesterday, that’s all.” As if to emphasize her words, she opened the car door, but Kerry took her hand
and pulled her toward him. Before she knew what was happening, he was kissing her.

She stiffened, then felt a tremor run through her body as his lips caressed her face. He held her close for a moment, then suddenly released her, and when she looked at him, he was blushing with embarrassment.

“I—I don’t know why I did that,” he said, and Julie put a finger over his lips.

“It’s all right. I’m glad you did.” She smiled at him as she slid out of the car. “But let’s hope Aunt Marguerite didn’t see us,” she added, giggling softly. “See you tomorrow!” She slammed the car door and ran to the house, ducking her head low against the rain.

Neither she nor Kerry saw Marguerite standing stiffly at one of the living room windows, her eyes smoldering darkly. By the time Julie was inside the house, Marguerite had moved back to the large wing-back chair near the fireplace, where she had been sitting when she heard Kerry’s car grind up the drive.

Julie shoved the front door closed behind her and did her best to dry her hair with the beach towel. But as she threw her head back and ran her fingers through her damp hair, she paused, standing perfectly still.

Something in the house had changed.

It felt emptier than usual, as if something were missing.

It felt wrong.

Tentatively she took a step toward the double doors to the living room. Seeing Marguerite sitting on the chair by the fireplace, she let herself relax slightly.

“Aunt Marguerite?” she asked, unconsciously dropping her voice to little more than a whisper. “I’m home.”

For a split second she didn’t think her aunt had heard her, but then Marguerite stood up and turned to face Julie. “I know,” she said. “I saw you just now.”

Julie felt herself flush, and bit her lip. “Where’s Dad?” she asked. “And Jeff?”

Marguerite hesitated. “Your father had to go back to town,” she said. “And Jeff’s upstairs, sulking.” She stepped forward
then, and for the first time the light from the lamp fell full on her face.

Julie gasped. “Aunt Marguerite,” she breathed. “Wh-What’s wrong? You look—” She had been about to say “terrible,” but suddenly caught herself.

“Do you like it?” Marguerite asked, her right hand moving up to lightly brush against her own cheek. “I—well, I didn’t have much to do today, and I thought I might just try something new.”

“It—It’s different,” Julie managed. “I guess I just wasn’t expecting it, that’s all.”

“And I think it suits me,” Marguerite went on, almost as if she hadn’t heard Julie. “It’s the way Mother used to look, and she was so beautiful.” Her voice took on a faraway tone. “So very beautiful. And I look so much like her.” Her eyes, which had been flickering about the room, suddenly came to rest on Julie. “And so do you,” she breathed, her voice barely audible now. “You’re so much like Mother … and like me.…”

“I—I’d better go up and see Jeff,” Julie stammered. “What happened? Why is he mad?”

Marguerite stiffened, then seemed to relax. “I’m not sure,” she said at last. “I suppose I must have said something to him, though I can’t imagine what. But he’s a little boy, isn’t he? And I’ve never understood little boys. I think when Kevin gets back, I shall have to talk to him about Jeff. I’ll have to decide what to do with him.…”

Her last words were spoken to herself, for Julie was hurrying up the stairs to the second floor. A moment later she knocked softly on her brother’s door.

“Jeff? It’s me—Julie. Can I come in?”

There was a short silence, then she heard Jeff scuttling across the floor. There was a click as the key turned in the lock, then the door opened a crack and Jeff peered fearfully out at her. When he recognized his sister, he opened the door to let her in, then closed it again, relocking it.

“Jeff!” Julie exclaimed as he tried the door once more before turning to face her. “What’s wrong? Aunt Marguerite
says you’re sulking. And how come you’ve got the door locked?”

“Because she’s crazy!” Jeff said. “She killed Ruby, and she killed Daddy, and she wants to kill me too.” He hurled himself into Julie’s arms, clinging to her. “Didn’t you see her?” he sobbed. “Didn’t you see what she looks like?”

“Oh, good grief,” Julie said, picking her brother up and carrying him to the bed, then plumping him down against the pillows. “Of course I saw her. And she does look a little strange, but that’s just because she was experimenting with her hair and makeup.”

“It’s not!” Jeff insisted. “She looks just like Grandmother, and she came down in the chair lift and stared at me all funny. I’m scared of her!”

“Well, you don’t have to be,” Julie insisted with a lot more conviction than she felt. She remembered her shock when she’d first seen the lamp light strike her aunt’s face. And Jeff was right—in a strange way, her aunt
did
look very much like their grandmother. “And what do you mean, she killed Daddy and Ruby? Ruby went to visit her family, and Dad’s in town. She just told me so.”

“That’s what she told me too,” Jeff wailed. “But it’s not true. I saw Daddy in town and told him all about Aunt Marguerite, and he was coming out here to—”

He fell silent as there was a loud rapping on the door.

“Julie?” they heard Marguerite’s voice calling from the other side of the door. “Are you in there?”

“Y-Yes, Aunt Marguerite,” Julie called back.

“Well, I need you, dear. I’m trying to get supper ready and I need you to help me. And maybe Jeff could set the table. I’d like to have it all ready by the time your father gets back.”

Julie looked at Jeff, who was still cringing against the pillow. Once again she remembered the strange feeling she’d had when she’d come into the house a few minutes ago.

And yet just now—when her aunt had spoken—there’d been nothing odd about what she’d said. How could Jeff even think she might have killed their father, or Ruby, or anyone
else? It just wasn’t possible. She got off the bed, making up her mind.

Going to the door, she twisted the key and pulled the door open. Marguerite stood in the hall, looking worried.

“I don’t know what we’ll do if your father can’t get home,” she fretted.

Julie frowned. “Not get home?” she asked. “Why wouldn’t he be able to?”

Marguerite was silent for a moment, then nodded toward the window. “The storm, dear. If it gets much worse, there won’t be any way to get to the island at all. Then the three of us will be all alone here.”

As if to punctuate Marguerite’s words, a bolt of lightning flared in the sky outside and a sharp clap of thunder shook the house.

And the wind began to howl.