I cursed myself and began to gather them quickly, feeling even more like an intruder. The aging paper felt dusty and smooth at the same time, crusted with its presence near the sea and worn with handling. I abandoned sorting the letters, gathered them in a fist, and shoved them back into the box. I stood to replace the box on the shelf and only gasped when I looked down at the ground to see if I'd missed any correspondence.
A couple of stray words, pruned from magazines, lay on the floor. I knelt down on the ground again and began to paw through the box, my breath feeling tight in my chest. I found the first card wedged in a rubber-banded mass of old love letters to her husband.
The card was a festive one, a gaggle of puppies and kittens gathered around a humongous birthday cake. The preprinted message on the inside read: YOU'RE GOING TO HAVE A SPECIAL BIRTHDAY!
Words culled from other sources spelled out an additional wish below: CAUSE IT'S GOING TO BE YOUR LAST ONE
My hands trembled as I replaced the card. A quick survey through the rest of the box provided no further evidence of Lolly's peculiar pastime.
She had been sending me this hateful mail? Why? And what did this have to do with her death? I stood-I had to call Mendez.
That's when the door to Lolly's room opened. Or rather, I heard it open. I'd shut the closet door behind me when I'd come in as a precaution (this makes me sound like a professional prowler, but I did it without overmuch thought) and I jerked my hand back from the closet door as though it were a hot stove. I tried to think of an explanation for what I'd done, and unfortunately, my imagination dried up. I reached for the light pull, thinking that whoever it was might notice that the closet light was on. But the snap of the string and the sudden quenching of the light would be a sure indicator of my presence. I quickly replaced-with careful quiet-the box of letters on Lolly's shelf. I hunkered down on the floor and tried to peep through the narrow crack of the closet door. It was too thin to permit viewing into the room. I cursed silently and listened carefully.
I could hear someone moving around the room with stealth. Had Deborah returned? Gentle footsteps sounded from different parts of the room. I wondered what the reaction would be if I suddenly leaped out from the closet-but I had no explanation for my own presence. I could hardly demand it from someone else. I tried to breathe quietly through my mouth, thirsty for any sound that might tip off the other intruder's identity.
Silence held for a long moment and then I heard a soft, tearing sound, like fabric being gently ripped. The noise lasted about five seconds then stopped. I heard excited breathing-and I would guess that it belonged to a man, sounding deeper and raspier-then hurrying footsteps, the door to Lolly's room opening, then silence.
I pressed my fingertips against the cool wood of the closet door. I decided not to give immediate chase. What reason would I have to confront someone? I bit at my lip and decided to count to ten before creaking open the closet door and getting the hell out.
I didn't get that long. As I reached eight I heard bustling noise come into the room and the closet door swung open hard. Still crouched on the floor, I found myself staring at Wendy Tran's shapely knees.
“And just what do you think you're doing?” she demanded.
10
Her knees were as gorgeous as the rest of her, cups along the perfect curves of her dark legs. I slowly stood, wondering just how stupid I looked. It's disconcerting to be caught with your whole body in the cookie jar.
“Cat got your tongue?” Wendy moved past me to hang two embroidered, peasant-style dresses on the rack. She smoothed them out with a practiced hand. “Poor Lolly loved these dresses. She got them in Mexico on a trip with Mutt. Well?”
Her sangfroid at my presence in a closet where I had no business made me believe I could fib my way out of my predicament. “If I were Aunt Sass,” I began softly, “I'd probably just say that whatever I was doing here was none of your beeswax.”
Wendy glanced back at me. “I'm sure it's none of my business. But if you think I'm not going to mention this to Mutt, you're mistaken.”
Let her tell Mutt. I'd give him the real explanation later. Good news, Uncle – it was your dead sister sending me psychotic, threatening letters. All cleared up now. Maybe the wrong tack. I decided to bluff until I could think straight and plan a course of action. Smiling at Wendy, I held up my hands in mock surrender. “You've got me. I was snooping, but only sort of.”
“Only sort of?” One perfectly sculpted eyebrow went up.
I weighed my options, which took very little time as I seemed to have very few. Just bolting past Wendy was sure to result in an unfavorable report to Mutt, and I'd have to explain my presence to him-of that I had no doubt.
Spilling every bean I had didn't seem to be an option either; I didn't know where Wendy stood in the odd spiderweb of relationships that seemed to link the various members of this family. She was hired help, but I knew she was also far more.
“Listen, Wendy, I'll be straight with you.”
She crossed her arms, prepared to listen.
“I saw a member of the family sneak in here a few minutes ago. I was curious as to why someone would be prowling around in Aunt Lolly's room, so after said prowler left, I came in to investigate. I was looking in the closet when another person-or maybe the original prowler- came back. I hid in the closet. Whoever it was just left right before you came in.”
She didn't answer for a moment, then she looked at me with her smoke-dark eyes.
“Did you see anyone in the hallway right before you came in?” I asked.
“Maybe. Who'd you see skulking in here in the first place?”
I considered declining-being a tattletale was sure to land me in trouble. But I'd been caught red-handed, so I might as well confess. “It was Deborah. I wouldn't have been suspicious if she'd just walked into Aunt Lolly's room and walked out, but she obviously didn't want to be seen.”
Wendy looked surprised. “Well, it wasn't Deborah I ran into when I was coming down the hall to bring back these dresses. It was your father.”
I went straight back to my room and lay down. Playing detective is damned hard on the nerves. I closed my eyes. This was one of those mornings when I should have stayed in the proverbial bed. In short order I'd been bullied by Uncle Jake, fought with Aunt Sass, gotten slapped by Gretchen, bickered with Candace, spied on Deborah, and been caught sniffing around a dead woman's closet by Wendy. Perhaps I could fit in shooting myself in the foot before lunch, or perhaps I should just make a list of the clan members I hadn't alienated and proceed to tick them off in alphabetical order. Good-that would make Aubrey first.
I sighed and closed my eyes, rubbing my eyelids gently, trying to stem the rising headache I felt. First traumas first. Lolly had been my persecutor-why? What did she hope to gain by keeping me away from the reunion? Why did she hate me so, sight unseen?
I thought of her, snipping words from magazines and forming them into poems of hate, while the affable Sweetie looked on, tail wagging. I shuddered. I'd seen an unpleasant side to my great-aunt at the dinner before she died-the harshness of her tone, the unnecessary humiliation of Deborah, the blatant disregard for propriety as she spilled venom toward her family. Perhaps she was insane. Her odd insistence about her pet being her husband reborn might have been more than an amusing affectation. A cold anger began to course through me. I'd been scared witless by Lolly? It was a tribute to the power of words, wielded by a mad fury.