“Are you okay?” I asked, looking down at her straining against the tower of books.

  “This stack is getting a little wobbly.”

  “Can you hold it steady while I grab these two Robert Louis Stevensons?”

  “Go for it,” Mom said, and pushed against the stacks with her whole body.

  “Looks like a beautiful set.” I eased the first Stevenson out and turned it over to check its condition. “Well, they used to be, anyway. Nice leather with lots of gilding. There might be more of them. I wonder if—”

  “Hurry, sweetie. It’s starting to buckle.”

  “Okay, okay.” I pulled out the second book. Treasure Island. “This one’s in better shape.”

  “Brooklyn.” Her tone was a warning.

  Suddenly I could feel the tower swaying. “Mom?”

  She squeaked out a sound. “No!”

  “I got it, Mom. I’m almost—”

  “It’s coming down!” she cried and scrambled back. Jumping up, she grabbed the back of my shirt and gave a mighty tug, yanking me away from the stacks. I did my best to scamper backward, but I wasn’t fast enough. Books began tumbling and hitting me as I turned and scurried away from the line of fire.

  “Yeow!” I howled like an offended animal. “Ouch!”

  “Oh, honey!” Mom cried.

  “I’m okay! I’m okay! Owww!”

  “Get over here!” she yelled, and literally lifted me off the ground by the scruff of my collar like a mama bear would.

  I stumbled until I managed to right myself. Out of breath, I leaned against her and watched as the domino effect took place with each tower careening into the next one. Books were falling every which way and I cringed and winced as each one struck the floor.

  Better they suffer a soft carpet landing than smack me in the noggin again, I thought, grimacing.

  “There goes another one,” Mom said, squeezing her eyes shut.

  “I can’t take this anymore.” I braced myself, then stalked back and pressed against the next tower to steady it. A few books on the top banged into my head, but I managed to staunch the worst of the toppling.

  “Good girl,” Mom said, impressed. “That was heroic.”

  I continued to splay my body against the books. “My head hurts, but I’m afraid to move.”

  “Then you’d better stay right there and try not to move.”

  “Okay. But I think I’m getting a cramp.”

  She came over and patted my back. “You’ll be fine. Let me know if you get hungry. I’ll warm up the taco casserole and feed you myself.”

  “Very funny,” I said, but was afraid to laugh for fear of shaking the tower.

  “I’ll bring you a damp washcloth so you can freshen yourself every few hours.”

  Swallowing a chuckle, I said, “You’re having the best time with this, aren’t you?”

  “Well, you wanted some books.”

  I groaned. “Stop trying to make me laugh.” I rested my forehead against a well-worn hardback copy of Gone With the Wind and willed the books to stop wobbling. “I’ll take some of that taco casserole now.”

  Forty minutes later, we had secured the towers of books as well as we could and had reassembled the fallen ones into shorter stacks.

  We were both dirty and sweaty and tired. Mom’s hair had fallen out of her ponytail and I knew mine looked straggly, too, but I felt that we’d accomplished something. I had six boxes of books and Mom had a long inventory of items to give to Guru Bob, including the dresses hanging inside an armoire, all looking as though they’d never been worn.

  “I’m a mess and I’m starving,” I said. Pushing my hair off my face, I lifted a heavy box off the floor and onto a nearby tea table to get a better grip on it. “Are you ready to go?”

  “Almost. I want to take some more of these dresses from—”

  Suddenly the front door swung open and hit the wall with a loud bang, scaring the hell out of me.

  My packing box tottered and the insubstantial tea table waivered precariously close to another tower of books. I couldn’t steady it and still keep my balance. I felt myself falling forward just as a well-dressed woman walked into the house, took one look at us, and screamed like a banshee from hell.

  Chapter Three

  “Thieves!” the woman shouted, her face pinched in fear and fury. “Get out of here!”

  My heart was pounding hard, but I couldn’t worry about some crazy woman screaming at me. I was too busy worrying that I’d wrenched my neck from the fall. I covered my head for a minute in case more heat-seeking books decided to use me as a target.

  The woman continued to shout and threaten so I finally shouted back, “Shut up! For God’s sake, stop yelling!”

  She spluttered. “How dare you? I said get out!”

  “We belong here,” I said, indignant as I rubbed my elbow where I’d smacked it against the tea table. I managed to stand up very slowly, then glared at the woman. I fully intended to blame her for my latest round of bruises.

  Mom gasped in shock. “Elaine? Is that you?”

  The woman shot Mom a puzzled look. “None of your business. Who are you people? Doesn’t matter. Get out of this house right now.”

  “Elaine, it’s me, Becky,” Mom said in a clear tone, trying to break through the woman’s angry intransigence.

  Elaine scowled at her. “I don’t know you.”

  “Of course you do, silly,” Mom said through clenched teeth, a sure sign she was running short on patience. “Rebecca Wainwright. Don’t you remember Jim and Becky Wainwright? It’s me, Becky. I know it’s been a few years, but I don’t think I’ve changed that much.”

  “Rebecca . . . Becky?” She sounded incredulous. “It can’t be. I don’t even recognize you.”

  “Well, of course you don’t,” Mom said, getting cranky now. “I’m covered in dust and sweat and old book rot and my head is starting to throb like a son of a bitch, you’ll pardon my French.”

  I almost laughed. Mom could be a real pistol when she wanted to be. I didn’t know Elaine Bradford very well, but if she was smart, she’d back off. Mom sounded ready to kick her in the slats.

  “I’m sorry,” Elaine said, affronted. “But I wasn’t expecting anyone to be here. I thought you were stealing things. Honestly, you just about scared the pants off me.”

  “Likewise,” Mom muttered, then bent down to pick up the dresses she’d dropped. I heard her moan a little as she struggled back to a standing position. Steadying herself, she blew her blond hair off her sweaty forehead and let out an exasperated sigh. “We’ve had a busy morning.”

  “I guess it really is you,” Elaine said, then tried for a smile, but it was a little shaky.

  Mom took a moment and scrutinized the woman who remained at the edge of the pale carpet near the front door. I wasn’t sure why she didn’t come all the way into the room. Was she still afraid of us?

  “I have to say, you look wonderful, Elaine,” Mom said, back to her perky, charitable self. “The years have been very good to you.”

  “Oh, well, thank you, Becky,” she said, fiddling self-consciously with her short, dark hair. All of a sudden the crazed shouter was a delicate flower? Hmm. She was certainly petite. And she was very attractive for a fifty-some-year-old woman, which I assumed was her approximate age since she was a contemporary of my mother’s. Her outfit, a simple navy and beige striped knit shirt worn with taupe pants and sparkly sandals, was stylish and expensive.

  Apparently, Elaine wasn’t going to return the compliment, so I rolled my eyes and whispered out loud, “You look good, too, Mom.”

  She grinned and winked at me and her bedraggled blond ponytail bounced in response.

  “Yes, of course you do,” Elaine said belatedly.

  We both gazed at the woman whose belligerence seemed to have withered away, thanks to Mom’s flattering remarks.

  I remembered my manners and approached the petite woman. Wiping my hand on my jeans, I extended it to shake hers. “Hi, Elaine. I’m Brooklyn Wainwright, Becky’s daughter. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  Elaine shook my hand, blinking and staring up at me as though I’d just reminded her of the reason she was here. Then her eyes widened. “Oh, my goodness. Brooklyn? I remember you when you were this tall.” She held out her hand to estimate my height the last time she’d seen me.

  I smiled tolerantly. She was at least twelve inches off base. Fifteen years ago I was only a few inches shorter than the height I am right now. I was a tall kid.

  Mom brushed off her dusty shirt and explained, “Byron asked me to come by the house and clean out some of Wanda’s clothing and toiletries and personal items. All the things a grieving spouse would rather not have to deal with. He wasn’t sure you or Marjorie would want to go through that ordeal either.”

  “Oh. Well,” Elaine said. “No, I suppose not. I hadn’t even thought about all that. My mind’s been . . . well, it was good of him to spare us and it was thoughtful of you to offer, Becky. You’re very good to do all that for us.”

  “And Brooklyn is taking some of her books,” Mom rushed to add, wearing a proud smile. “She’s a very talented bookbinder, so she’ll repair them and use them for teaching classes.”

  “Oh, how fascinating,” Elaine said, but I could tell she was distracted as she glanced around at the massive amount of furniture and tchotchkes. “So, you make books?”

  “Yes, and repair and restore them, too.”

  “How clever.” She nodded, but was still too unfocused to show much real interest. I couldn’t blame her, since her sister had died so recently. However, the weird vibe I was getting from her didn’t have a thing to do with mourning.

  Glancing around the room, she asked casually, “So, is Byron here?”

  “No, he’s at work,” Mom said. “I doubt he’ll be home much before six o’clock tonight.”

  Elaine seemed relieved by the news, but as she continued to gaze around the cluttered space, her eyes clouded up. “I’ve never been inside Wanda’s house. Marjorie warned me not to come here today, but I thought . . .”

  “It’s good that you came,” Mom assured her quickly. “Do you want to look around?”

  But Elaine wasn’t paying attention as she drifted over to sit on the edge of a faded toile-covered settee with a high back and spindly legs. She stroked the wood frame along the back of the piece. “This was my grandmother’s. I remember it from the family farm in Saratoga.”

  I thought the fragile loveseat didn’t look strong enough to have survived a house full of farmers. But it dawned on me that by family farm, Elaine probably meant massive country estate with multiple servants and elegant stables and thoroughbred ponies cavorting on the lawns.

  “It’s a lovely piece,” Mom said agreeably.

  Elaine’s gaze slowly swept the room. “She has everything. All of Grandmama’s and Mummy’s furniture is here, and most of Aunty Bitsy’s things, too.”

  Mom shot me a look of concern, then fixed a smile on her face for Elaine. “How nice that everything is in one place now. You and Marjorie will be able to—”

  “Oh, my God!” Elaine stood abruptly. She darted around and through the obstacle course of furniture over to a gilded table in the corner. There she held up a delicate porcelain figurine of a shepherd girl. “This is mine!”

  I cleared my throat. “Wasn’t it sweet of Wanda to keep it safe for you?”

  Elaine’s shoulders fell and she whirled around to face us. “You must think I’m awful. But there are so many memories in this room, I’m a little overwhelmed. I should just take this piece and go.”

  “You don’t have to go,” Mom said, winding her way over to Elaine, then putting her arm around the smaller woman. “Stay here and go through Wanda’s things. I’m sure Byron would want you to have anything you wanted to––”

  “He won’t,” she said, shaking her head vigorously. “He hates me. We had a fight.”

  “Oh, sweetie,” Mom said, and wrapped both her arms around Elaine. “I’m so sorry. But this is the perfect time to mend fences, don’t you think?”

  It was all the permission Elaine needed and she burst into tears, burying her face in Mom’s shoulder. My own eyes were glittering with tears since I was a sympathetic crier.

  After a moment of quiet weeping, Elaine lifted her head and sniffed a few times. “Oh dear.” She took a quick step back, opened her navy Coach purse, and found a tissue, then used it to dab her eyes and blow her nose. “That’s not the first time that’s happened since I got the news.”

  Mom squeezed her arm lightly. “We all need to let our feelings out once in a while.”

  “I suppose, but . . .” She sucked in a heavy breath, then took a step back from my mother, clearly flustered by her emotional display. “We don’t do that.”

  We don’t do what? I wondered. Show emotion? And who was we? Did she mean the Royal We? Is that what came from spending too many years living in a drafty English castle?

  Mom chose to ignore Elaine’s statement. “Gosh, Elaine. It must be at least fifteen years since we’ve talked.” Mom’s voice was cheerful in an obvious attempt to redirect the conversation and the mood. “You moved away around the time Wanda and Byron were married, didn’t you? I know you’ve been back and forth a few times, but we haven’t had a chance to spend any time together. What have you been up to all these years?”

  “Yes, it’s been at least fifteen years.” Elaine sighed, then shook her hair back and straightened her shoulders, fighting to regain her composure. “Well, I traveled quite a bit. Then I married the Earl, of course, and we lived overseas. Then he was indicted and . . . Oh, dear. That’s a lot of water under the bridge at this point, isn’t it? Nobody wants to hear my tired old problems.”

  Yes, we do! Yes, we do! I wanted to shout, but I didn’t, of course, because I’m actually capable of behaving myself once in a while. Happily, my discretion was rewarded when Mom spoke up.

  “Of course we want to hear your problems,” she said, her tone confidential as she tucked her arm through Elaine’s. “Are you staying in town for a few days? Can we meet for lunch and talk?”

  I smiled blandly when what I wanted to do was give my mom a high five. Mainly because I knew she’d invite me along to lunch so I could hear all the scoop on Wanda and her sisters. And the indicted Earl? No way was I going to miss that lunch.

  Elaine sniffed again, overcome once more by my mother’s sweet invitation. “I would love that, Becky.”

  They discussed schedules. Then Mom suggested they meet Wednesday at Umbria, an excellent Italian restaurant on the Lane in downtown Dharma. It was one of my favorites. Another high five for Mom!

  Mom glanced around the room. “I guess we’d better get back to work.”

  “Do you need help?” Elaine asked. It was a feeble offer and we all knew it.

  Mom chuckled. “You’re dressed much too nicely to get yourself all sweaty and mucked up. Besides”—she leaned in close to Elaine—“it might stir up some memories that you’re not ready for.”

  Elaine’s lips quivered again. “You’re probably right. I’d better go. But I’m looking forward to our lunch.”

  “I can’t wait,” Mom said jovially. “It’ll be so nice to—”

  Without warning, the front door flew open again and a tall, handsome older man walked into the house.

  Elaine drew in a sudden breath. “Byron.”

  He took one look at Elaine and visibly blanched. “Elaine.”

  “Byron, please, I don’t—”

  He thrust his hand out to stop her. “Don’t say another word.”

  Mom and I exchanged anxious glances; then she stepped forward. “Byron, I really think it’s time to let go of the past and—”

  “God, Elaine,” he whispered, ignoring my mother. Then he rushed over and grabbed his sister-in-law in a passionate embrace and kissed her fully on the lips.

  Chapter Four

  “Oo-kay,” Dad said at dinner that night after Mom and I had regaled him with the whole story. “Guess Byron was willing to let bygones be bygones.”

  “No kidding,” Mom muttered. “I thought we’d have to turn the hose on those two.”

  Dad swirled his pinot noir, then held the glass up to study the legs of the wine, and finally took a sip. After a moment, he nodded his approval, then winked at me. “Never a dull moment around these parts.”

  “I’ll say. One thrilling adventure after another.” I rubbed my sore head in memory of all those falling books. “Byron showing up was the capper to the whole day.”

  “I assume they stopped eventually. Kissing, I mean. Or did you have to sneak out of there? What happened?”

  I made a face. “The grieving widower finally realized he had an audience and politely showed us to the door.”

  “What about Elaine?”

  “Whether he wanted her to stay or not, I think she realized what would happen if she did. So she scurried out after us, completely flustered and unsure what to say.”

  He raised his eyebrows at Mom. “I’m sure you had plenty to say.”

  Mom held up both hands. “I just smiled serenely.”

  “Don’t believe her.” I laughed. “Mom told Elaine that Byron seemed happy to see her.”

  “Subtle,” Dad said drily.

  “Wasn’t it? Then she went on to say how nice it was that Byron hadn’t harbored any hard feelings toward her, after all.”

  “And then I smiled serenely,” Mom insisted.

  Dad and I exchanged amused looks and let it go at that.

  I wondered briefly what Byron and Elaine had fought about all those years ago. Had he always been in love with her? Was that why Wanda committed suicide? I hated that possibility so much that a shiver ran across my shoulders. I took a quick sip of wine and brushed off those morbid thoughts. “We’re going back tomorrow to get some books and go through more of Wanda’s stuff.”

  “You’re going back so soon?” Dad said.

  Mom shrugged. “We have a lot left to do.”

  “Becky,” Dad said, leaning forward in his chair. “I hope you’re not thinking of sniffing around in someone else’s business again.”

 

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