The Five Strangers, page 11
“No you cannot. Tell me more.”
“Well, she was once married to a country/western musician, a guy who was in a band that had a one-hit wonder. A song called My Beloved.”
“She told me about it!” I cried out in surprise. “When I asked her about the name Beloved of Old, she told me she’d named her shop after that song. It’s an old favorite of hers; I never heard of it. But while she was telling me about it she sure didn’t mention any husband.”
“He played bass guitar. They were called The Foggy Mountaineers. They had a pretty-boy lead singer named Emerson Fogg, and the band’s name was a play on his surname. He pretty much carried the band, from what I’ve read. I hadn’t heard the song either, so I looked it up.”
She got up to bring her tablet over from the buffet, set it up and tapped the screen a few times. The song began to play.
I’m neither here nor there about country music, but most of what I’ve heard, I’ve liked. This particular song sounded vaguely familiar without my being able to remember where I’d heard it before. It was a slow number, the kind of thing you’d play over and over again, weeping, when you’re feeling blue and the empty bottles are piling up around you. It was wistful and pretty and a little bit mushy, but the vocals were especially nice, without there being a lot of harmony.
When the music finished playing and Rita set her tablet aside, we agreed it was a nice little song, something Patsy Cline could’ve worked right into her repertoire.
“So her husband was a guitarist,” I said.
“Is. Not was, is.”
“Really? She never said anything about him.”
“He deserted her, so it’s not surprising she doesn’t want to talk about him. Actually, you’re lucky she didn’t go the other way and want to talk your head off about him, if you catch my drift.”
“But she still likes the song? That doesn’t make sense.”
“Maybe it reminds her of the good old days, before he ran out on her.”
“When was this?”
“About six years ago. Just about a year after My Beloved’s royalties began to peter out and the band couldn’t manage a follow-up. It was a big scandal in country music when he ran out on her, because he didn’t go alone or empty-handed. He took the lead singer’s wife with him and stole all the band’s money, everything they’d earned on My Beloved. The band seems to have been a collection of your typical musicians, who aren’t generally known for their financial genius. Early on, Sheila’s husband had volunteered to handle the money, and like idiots, they let him.”
“Wow! Did her husband clean out the joint bank accounts with Sheila at the same time?”
“I don’t know.” As confident as a tiger stalking prey, she said, “But I’m going to find out. By the way, did you know Sheila paid me a little visit yesterday morning?”
I shook my head, thinking it sure had been a good idea to come talk things over with Rita.
She got up to refill our coffee cups, saying, “Wait till you hear this.”
Chapter 18 – Rita Undercover
Rita settled her elbows on the table and got down to telling me all about it.
“Sheila rang my doorbell yesterday morning, and after introducing herself she told me she’d been hearing all about my house and my antiques. She wanted to come in and have a look around, maybe make me a few offers.”
“That sounds like her,” I said. “Did you let her in?”
“Oh, hell yeah. I wanted to check her out. This was no buying expedition, I figured that out right away. She snooped all over the house, even in the upstairs rooms I don’t use. She even asked if there was a cellar or basement. I reminded her we were in Florida. We don’t do basements here.”
I thought about it. “She likes old things, and this place is chock full of lovely old things in very good condition.”
“She wasn’t checking out the lovely old things. It was like she had to keep reminding herself what her cover story was.”
“Maybe she thought you were hiding her husband and his girlfriend?” I joked.
We burst out laughing, but Rita quickly stopped and said, “You know . . . .”
“You do have a lot of unused bedrooms here. Could she possibly have thought you actually had a guest and nobody in town would know about it? If so, she doesn’t know Tropical Breeze. Anybody could have told her that you have no intention of reopening this place as a bed and breakfast.”
“About that . . . now don’t be mad. When you called me this morning, I was just about to call you. I already had breakfast planned, and I had an ulterior motive for wanting you here. And – yes.” As she checked her watch, the doorbell rang. “He’s right on time.”
“Who is?”
She lifted her index finger in the classic “hush” sign, saying, “Just smile, nod your head and follow my lead. Don’t look surprised at anything I say.”
“Rita – what are you up to?”
“Checking out the one newcomer you forgot about.”
She was already at the front door and had her guest inside the gallery-style foyer before I realized who she was talking about. The young male voice I was hearing belonged to Caden, Jelly’s latest conquest and Tropical Breeze’s shiny new CPA.
By then, Rita was coming into the dining room with the young man and saying, “Have you met Taylor Verone?” Without waiting for an answer, she said, “Taylor, this is Caden Vance. He’s a CPA accountant. He’s going to help me sort out how I’m going to reopen The Whitby House as a bed and breakfast. I’m just simply hopeless with numbers, and he’s going to help me set up the books and all that nonsense. Now you just come right in here, Caden, and sit yourself down and I won’t take no for an answer because I baked the quiche myself this morning and it’s still warming in the oven because I knew you were coming. Now, how do you take your coffee?”
Not only was this new development startling, after Rita had stated in front of three sober witnesses at high tea that she had no interest in running a B&B, but I was seeing my good friend instantly become another person. It was jarring. Rita was usually as cold and logical as a loaded .45, and now, all of a sudden, she was a scatterbrain.
I could only admire her instant immersion in this new role, the deranged Southern belle.
* * *
I never had any children, but I get motherly feelings anyway, when a young ‘un is on his best behavior.
Caden was crisply dressed for his meeting with this new and important client, face washed, hair combed and quick with the please-and-thank-you-ma’ams. He obediently ate his quiche and drank his coffee, letting a little socializing creep into the accounting talk, then he allowed himself to be taken all around The Whitby House so he could see all of the guest rooms, especially the haunted one.
“It’s my grandmother,” Rita whispered as we stood in the Violet Room. “Can you feel her presence?”
He tried, but in the end, he had to say, “Sorry.”
“That’s all right. I can’t either. She’s a nice, quiet ghost. Be good, now, Grammy,” Rita called into the Violet Room before leaving it. Outrageously, she whispered that Grammy liked her privacy, so she always kept the door closed when company was in the house.
I watched Caden closely to see how he was taking all this, and all he did was very soberly nod his head and treat the crazy lady with way more respect than I thought she deserved.
Then I thought wistfully that if Caden’s real mother could see him now, she’d be so proud.
When we went back to the dining room, he settled Rita down to business. He went over bookkeeping systems, tax implications, insurance, market research on comparable room rates, web design, (“Don’t try to do it yourself, hire a pro”). Then there was a mild lecture on staffing issues, and an almost fatherly heart-to-heart about positive cash flow.
“And you’ll be needing a lawyer with experience in public lodging law.”
“Oh, there’s plenty of lawyers around here, and they know all about lodging,” she told him airily. “We’ve got hotels and B&Bs all over the place. Why, I bet Taylor’s boyfriend Michael would be just the one! He’s a lawyer, and he’s got plenty of experience, right Taylor?”
I nodded dumbly.
The meeting went on for well over an hour, including breakfast and the house tour, and a lot of Caden’s advice went over my head, but I was impressed with his preparation. In fact, I developed a sneaking suspicion that he was trying to talk her out of opening a B&B. It certainly sounded like a massive undertaking, and Rita was acting so flighty he may have suspected she was just doing it on a whim.
Rita listened like an obedient child, eyes big and round, and I began to think it had been too bad of her to put this young and hopeful man through all this trouble when she wasn’t really serious.
When the meeting was drawing to a close, Caden took an admiring look around the dining room and said appropriate things about the house. Then he looked out the window and said, “Oh, who is that? You have a professional gardener?”
“Him? That’s just Jasper,” she told him. “He does odd jobs.”
“Jasper,” he said. “I’ve heard of him. I’ve been wondering how to get in touch with him, as a matter of fact. I need a little help setting up my office, and he sounds like just the guy. Mind if I talk to him before I go?”
“Go ahead. Whatever you need, he’s your man.”
We were all standing by then, and I told Caden it had been nice seeing him again. “By the way, have you seen any more of Jelly?” I asked very casually.
“We’ve got a date for Friday night,” he told me, grinning as if the conquest had been his, not hers. “We’re going over to Flounder Bob’s to see a guy play. She knows him, or at least she’s met him, and she wants to hear him perform.”
“Dusty July,” I said.
“That’s him. She hasn’t known him for long, but she seems to like him a lot.”
“He’s a likeable guy.”
We walked him to the front door and said goodbye, and once the door was closed again I asked Sheila what was going on.
“Are you really considering going into business here? That was some pretty detailed stuff.”
“Of course not. At least . . . .” She took a look around. Then she gathered herself up. “If I hadn’t decided not to reopen it as a B&B, young Caden managed to talk me out of it. I hadn’t given it any real thought, but wow. It’s a lot more complicated than I ever imagined.”
“A lot. I’ll be sure to get over here quick and talk you out of it if you ever start thinking about it for real. Before I go, you never told me what it was that Sheila wanted when she dropped in on you.”
“I’m not really sure,” she said slowly. “All I’m sure of is that she wanted something. After she made me take her all over the house, she brought up Jasper. She knows he works for me, and of all things, she asked me if I’d put in a good word so he’d come back to work for her again.”
“She asked me to do the same thing!”
“You’d think she’d be worried about a lawsuit if he got himself really hurt the next time.”
“Good point. She seems awful determined to get back in his good graces, for whatever reason. And while we’re on the subject, didn’t you find it funny that Caden wants to hire a handyman to help him set up his office?”
“Why wouldn’t he?”
“The office is already set up, Rita. He’s renting space from Rocky Sanders, and her office has been there for years. She’s already got everything he could possibly need, and it won’t involve any heavy lifting or carpentry. All Caden has to do is settle into whatever desk she’s giving him and set up his computer. What does he need a handyman for?”
After a beat, she said, “I don’t know.”
By common consent, we turned and went back into the dining room to look out the window. Jasper was still working in the same place in the side yard, right where we could see him, and Caden was there now, too.
It was a curious scene. We couldn’t hear them, but we didn’t need to. It wasn’t what they were saying, it was the way they were acting. Caden was talking earnestly, going faster and faster, and Jasper was backing away and shaking his head no, looking panicky.
“Oh, Lord,” I muttered. “What now?”
Jasper suddenly turned to the window and saw us. Immediately he snapped something at Caden and turned his back on him, obstinately going back to work.
Caden seemed crushed.
Before he could turn and see us too, Rita and I backed away from the window and stood beside it, staring at one another.
Rita said, “Do you think Jasper told him to get lost because he didn’t want the boss lady to see him gossiping while he was supposed to be working?”
It was a reasonable question, knowing Jasper.
But after thinking it over I had to shake my head, and Rita said, “I don’t either.”
Chapter 19 – Jasper Comes Unglued
I thanked Rita for an unexpectedly interesting morning, told her to let me know what else she managed to find out about Sheila, and said I’d see her Friday evening before Dusty’s debut at Flounder Bob’s. Then I left the crisp, air-conditioned comfort of Rita’s house and stepped outside into the hot-buttered sunshine of July.
After you’ve been surrounded by air-conditioning for too long, there’s something soothing about warmth and humidity. They wrap around you like a comforting blanket, and for a little while at least, it feels good. Before the heat penetrated my pores, I intended to be in my air-conditioned SUV and on my way home.
But that scene between Caden and Jasper, both of them behaving like hams in a silent movie, still bothered me. Caden was a nice kid, and I couldn’t imagine what it was about him that spooked Jasper.
I debated the wisdom of the idea for maybe six seconds. Then I headed around the side of the house.
Jasper was fertilizing the flowerbeds, but I’m used to general smelliness, and the stench didn’t hold me back. I walked right into the heart of the dung cloud and said good morning to Jasper.
“I saw you talking to Caden just now,” I said cheerily. “Isn’t he a sweet kid? He’s helping Rita with some bookkeeping problems she’s having.”
He paused to glower, then threw another handful of stinky stuff at a Plumbago.
“I really like him,” I persisted, “and Jelly’s already bowled him over. They’ve got a date Friday night.”
He glowered harder this time, and when I made it obvious that I wasn’t going anywhere until he said something, he barked, “Kid’s too nosy. Nothing but questions about what’s none of his business.” He paused to become fierce, which on him just looked like ineffectual crankiness. “Everybody’s been getting too nosy lately, or haven’t you noticed? ‘Cause I sure have, and it’s gettin’ on m’nerves.”
I lifted an eyebrow. Talking this way to the woman who had been chauffeuring him all over town like royalty? I think not.
“Jasper,” I said, gentle and soft with the promise of fireworks on the way. “As I remember it, it was you who came to Ed and me, begging for help. Naturally, we asked a few questions. And when people inquire politely, as I just did, it is only because they care. About you. Why, I don’t know. We – meaning me – haul your helpless and truckless person into town repeatedly and return it safely home at day’s end because we care, and not for the generous tips or the slobbering gratitude. When available, we come to the beach and hear you serenade the sunrise, and afterwards, we let you know how much we’ve enjoyed it. Your voice is . . . unique, but it has a certain earthy appeal. So I’d appreciate it if you showed a little respect. In short, stop being an ass.”
I would have turned on my heel and made a magnificent exit, but he began to cry. And an old, weatherbeaten man in tears in something no decent human being can bear.
“Oh, come on, don’t do that now!” I said. “I was just . . . you know, I was just . . . .” Well, he’d actually deserved it, but I hadn’t meant to bring him to tears.
“No, you’re right,” he said in his reedy old voice. “I’m a stupid old bastard who sings like a rusty hinge and does a half-assed job on everything I do, and I’m lucky people even tolerate me, let alone give me jobs and pay me cash money. I’m an awful excuse for an old fool, and I may as well just – just –”
He stopped talking because I assaulted him. Not violently. I went at him the way you shake somebody out of it because they’re scaring you. Then I wrapped my arms around his shaking body and looked up to the window for reinforcements. They (she, actually) were standing by, observing with concern and awaiting my signal. I yanked my head backwards to show Rita the direction she needed to run, and she came running.
Once we had him flanked, I held him at arm’s length and tried some tough love.
“Now, Mister . . . Mister . . . do you have a last name, Jasper?” I said, getting off to a false start.
He blinked, as if trying to remember.
“Everybody’s got a last name,” he mumbled.
“Well? What is it?”
“Wise. My full name is Jasper Jesperson Wise, if you really have to know.”
“Really?”
Rita and I shared a look, then steadied ourselves.
“All right,” I said, getting back down to it, “Mr. Wise, just what is going on with you? You think you’re cursed, and Ed thinks you’re possessed, and the story’s going around town that you have a vampire hanging around your house, which everybody thinks is funny because after all, you’re just Jasper and you come up with stuff like that all the time. You’re afraid of strangers and you’re refusing work, and now you’re insulting newcomers of the highest possible caliber, the kind of people we need in this town, just because you’re letting yourself believe in witches and vampires. This has to stop.”
His eyes grew wide with dawning realization, and his mouth fell open.
“That vampire. She sent him! Sent him to suck the life right out of me. Dr. Ed says I’m possessed? Possessed? He has no idea. I’m possessed, all right, possessed by a vampire and a witch. You’ve got to tell me what to do! You know all about things like that.”
