Page 71 of The Guests on South Battery
He continued to thrum the pencil against the pad. “How many years ago was that—thirty-two? That’s really not that long ago. Rosalind’s husband said he’d hired a local couple—and they were newlyweds in 1960. It’s possible they’re still alive, and might even still live locally. I’m thinking I need to take a research trip to Alabama and see what I might be able to turn up.” He tossed down the pencil and began unbuttoning my blouse. “I certainly can’t get any writing done here, so I might as well see if I can be productive someplace else. In the meantime...”
He’d just pressed his mouth to the little triangle of skin above my bra when the doorbell rang. Reluctantly, he sat back and began rebuttoning my blouse. “The doorbell always thinks it knows when it should start working again.”
“It’s probably someone coming for Lindsey. It’s almost ten o’clock.” As if on cue, the grandfather clock struck four.
Jack came with me to the door and opened it to find Michael Farrell, Lindsey’s father. The men shook hands and then Jack excused himself to go get Lindsey. Out of politeness, I asked Michael if he’d like something to drink and he surprised me by saying yes and following me into the kitchen.
I poured him a glass of sweet tea from the pitcher in the fridge, then joined him at the kitchen table, feeling awkward while gradually growing aware that he was trying to find the right way to say something.
“Is everything all right?” I preempted. “Lindsey okay?”
He took a sip of his tea and nodded. “Yes, everybody’s good.” He regarded me for a long moment. “I’m trying to find the right way to ask you for a favor.”
“A favor?” I said, surprised. “A favor to do what?”
“Actually, it would be a favor to ask younotto do something.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know what—”
“I’ve been doing some research on you and your mother.”
“Oh,” I said, sitting back in my chair, finally understanding where he was leading.
“Veronica said that she was only hiring your mother, but from what I’ve read, you also claim to be ‘psychic.’ I can certainly understand why you would have tried to evade the truth when we talked about it at your party.”
I sat up. “I wasn’t trying to ‘evade’ anything, and I certainly have not made any claims about being psychic despite what you may have read.”
He crossed his arms and watched me dubiously, his sweet tea forgotten. “Yes, well, when I asked Veronica about it, she admitted that you and your mother have both agreed to help her find out what happened to Adrienne.”
When I didn’t respond, he said, “I’d like to ask you not to.”
“Look, Michael, regardless of what you do or don’t believe, don’t you want your wife to find some kind of closure about her sister’s murder?”
He placed his fingers flat on the surface of the table, and I noticed how his cuticles were ragged and torn as if he chewed on them regularly. He laughed, but it wasn’t a humorous tone. “Of course I want my wife to have peace of mind. And Lindsey, too—Adrienne’s middle name was Lindsey, did she tell you? Veronica has got Lindsey all hyped up about finding Adrienne’s killer, and there’s nothing else those two think about anymore. It’s not healthy.”
“But that’s what I’m saying. There’s new evidence that might lead to the killer. Thereishope that the peace they need can be found.”
He shook his head. “No! The new evidence meansnothing. Even Detective Riley agrees with that. Building up their hopes by saying you can use some mumbo jumbo to solve Adrienne’s murder is cruel. And I want you to stop.” He leaned forward, lowering his voice. “I’m not asking you. I’m telling you.”
I stood, feeling more angry than threatened. “I’m sorry you feel that way. But as I mentioned before, your wife is working with my mother....”
He slid back his chair so quickly it almost toppled backward. Hewagged his index finger at me. “I’ve read about you and your ‘adventures’ finding dead bodies. I’ve even spoken to that reporter, Suzy Dorf. We had a nice conversation about you, as a matter of fact. And how it’s so convenient that dead bodies are always turning up around you. It’s easy to pass off as ‘psychic powers,’ isn’t it? Sounds so much better than insider information.”
We heard Jack outside the door, and Michael’s demeanor immediately softened. “I’m sorry. It’s just my whole household is in such turmoil because of all this. And I just want it to... go away.”
The door opened and Jack poked his head in. “There you are—we were wondering where you’d gone to. Lindsey’s ready to go. They both look dead on their feet.” He opened the door wide to allow us to pass through.
Michael smiled amenably. “I was parched, and your lovely wife invited me to have a glass of tea.”
We found the girls in the foyer, still in their rumpled school uniforms, looking exhausted. I put my arm around Nola’s shoulders and she leaned into me. “Want to know about Manifest Destiny and the acquisition of Texas?”
“Sounds fascinating, but not tonight. I think you both need to get to bed. And, Nola, please pick up your room first—Mrs. Houlihan said she’d like to be able to fit a vacuum in there tomorrow.”
Nola pushed away from me. “But I’m so tired!” she said, her shoulders and body slumping as if she’d been excavating rocks and moving them uphill all day.
“You should have thought about that when you were dropping your dirty socks on the floor instead of in your laundry basket,” Jack said, and I looked at him appreciatively.
We said our good-byes and watched as Nola slowly climbed the stairs, her feet dragging exaggeratedly. “Time to milk the cows, plow the back forty, feed the chickens...”
