She got to her feet, ignoring the heaviness of her body, and wondered how it was that a building that had been abandoned for so many years could have become so filled with junk.
In one corner she spotted a trash barrel, which was, miraculously, empty. Minutes later it was filled, and June considered the wisdom of climbing into it herself to compact its contents.
Congratulating herself on her restraint, she put the idea aside, knowing that if Cal caught her at it, he would be outraged at her carelessness. Besides, it would be just like her to break a leg and bring on a premature birth at the same time. Just now, she had entirely too much to do to risk such a thing. She settled instead for pushing the mess in the barrel as far down as it would go, then adding more until it was in danger of bursting. Then she began looking for something to clean the floor with.
Just inside the closet, disappointingly empty of long-secreted treasures, she found a broom, a pail, and a mop. Opening the window a crack in hope of freshening the stale air, June began sweeping the dust into a pile.
She was nearly halfway across the floor when the broom suddenly dragged against something. She poked at the caked dirt. When it didn’t break up, she stopped to look at it more closely.
It was a stain of some sort that covered a couple of square feet of the floor. Whatever had been spilled there had apparently been left to dry on its own, and, as it dried, dust had settled on it, worked its way in until now the mess lay, perhaps a quarter of an inch thick, impervious to the broom.
June stood up and reached for the mop, wondering what the chances were of finding the old plumbing still in working order. But before she had a chance to experiment, Cal and Michelle appeared in the doorway.
Cal gazed around the potting-shed and shook his head. “I thought you were just going to look around and make some plans.”
“I couldn’t resist,” June said ruefully. “It’s such a pretty room, and it was such a mess. I think I feel sorry for it.”
Michelle stared around the cluttered room, and her arms involuntarily hugged her body as if she had been seized by a sudden chill. Still standing by the door, an expression of distaste on her face, she spoke. “This place is creepy — what did they use it for?”
“It’s a potting-shed,” her mother explained. “The gardener’s headquarters, where he kept all his tools, and raised seedlings, and that sort of thing.” She paused for a moment, as if thinking something over, then went on. “But I have the strangest feeling they used this for something else, too.”
Cal’s brow arched. “Playing detective?”
“Not really,” June replied. “But look at it. The floor’s solid oak. And those cabinets! Who would build something like this just for the gardener?”
“Until about fifty years ago, a lot of people would have,” Cal said, chuckling. “They used to build things to last, remember?”
June shook her head. “I don’t know. It just seems too nice to be a potting-shed. There must have been something more to it …”
“What’s that?” Michelle asked. She was pointing to the stain that June had been working on when they came in.
“I wish I knew. I think someone must have spilled some paint. I was just going to try to mop it up.”
Michelle went over to the stain and knelt beside it, examining it carefully. She started to reach out and touch it, but suddenly drew her hand away.
“It looks like blood,” she said. She stood up and faced her parents. “I’ll bet somebody got murdered in here.”
“Murdered?” June gasped. “What on earth would put such a morbid thought into your head?”
Michelle ignored her mother and appealed to her father instead. “Look at it, Daddy. Doesn’t it look like blood?”
A small smile playing around his mouth, Cal joined Michelle and examined the stain even more carefully than she had. When he stood up, his face was serious. “Definitely blood,” he said solemnly. “No question about it.” Then his smile got the best of him. “Of course, it could be paint, or some kind of clay, or God knows what. But if it’s blood you want, I’ll go along with it.”
“That’s disgusting,” June said, wanting to dismiss the idea. “It’s a beautiful room, and it’s going to make a wonderful studio, and please don’t try to tell me horrible things happened in here. I won’t believe it!”
Michelle shrugged, glanced around once more, and shook her head. “Well, you can have this place — I hate it.” She made a move toward the door. “Is it all right if I go down to the beach?”
“What time is it?” June asked doubtfully.
“Still plenty of time before dark,” Cal assured her. “But be careful, princess. I don’t want you taking a fall the first day here — I need paying patients, not my own family.”
As Michelle started toward the path that would take her down to the cove, her father’s words rang in her head: I don’t want you taking a fall. But why should she? She had never fallen in her life. Then it came to her. It was that boy. Her father was still thinking about that boy. But that hadn’t been his fault, and even if it had, it didn’t have anything to do with her. Happily, she started down the trail.
Cal waited until Michelle was out of sight, then took his wife in his arms and kissed her. A moment later, when he had released her, June peered up into his face with a quizzical look.
“What was that all about?”
“Nothing in particular, and everything in general,” Cal said. “I’m just happy to be here, happy to be married to you, happy to have Michelle for a daughter, and happy to have whatever this is on the way.” He patted June’s belly affectionately. “But I do wish,” he added, “that you’d be a little more careful about what you do. Let’s not have anything happen to you or the baby.”
“I’m being good,” June replied. “I’ll have you know that in the name of propriety, I didn’t get into that barrel to tamp the trash down.”
Cal groaned. “That’s supposed to make me happy?”
“Oh, stop worrying. I’m going to be fine, and the baby’s going to be fine. In fact, the only one I worry about is Michelle.”
“Michelle?”
June nodded. “I just wonder how the baby’s going to affect her. I mean, she’s had all our attention for so long, don’t you think she might resent the competition?”
“Any other child might, I suppose,” Cal mused. “But not Michelle. She’s the most repulsively well-adjusted child I know. It must be genetic — Lord knows it can’t be the home we’ve provided.”
“Oh, stop it,” June protested, a hint of seriousness hiding behind her bantering tone. “You’re too hard on yourself. You always have been.” Then the banter was dropped, and her voice grew quiet. “I’m just afraid she might feel threatened by a natural child. It wouldn’t be unusual, you know.”
Cal sat heavily on the stool, and crossed his arms over his chest in a manner that June associated with his talking to a patient.
“Now look,” he said. “Michelle takes things in stride. My God, just look at the way she’s reacted to moving out here. Any other kid would have squawked like hell, threatened to run away, done all kinds of things. But not Michelle. For her, it’s just a new adventure.”
“So?”
“So that’s the way it’ll be with the baby. Just a new member of the family to get to know, and take care of, and enjoy. She’s just the right age to become a babysitter. If I know Michelle, she’ll take over the mothering, and leave you to your painting.”
June smiled, feeling a little better. “I reserve the right to mother my own child. Michelle can wait till she has one of her own.”
Suddenly her eyes fell to the strange stain on the floor, and she frowned. “What do you suppose it is?” she asked Cal as his gaze followed her own.