Part 4 (2/2)
Alex wanted to live in this area, and I knew that when I married him. I sipped my coffee and reflected on that simple fact. Summit is only half an hour from here, and he was already a member of the Peapack Club when I met him. Is it possible that subconsciously I have always wanted to come back here to the familiar scenes that are embedded in my memory? Generations of my ancestors have lived here, after all. Certainly I could not in my wildest dreams have imagined that Alex would happen to buy my childhood home, but the events of yesterday and the pictures in these newspapers have proved to me that I'm tired of running.
I sipped the coffee slowly. I want to clear my name. I want to somehow learn the reason that my mother became deathly afraid of Ted Cartwright. What happened yesterday has given me the cover to investigate that need, I thought. As the new owner of the house, it would not seem inappropriate for me to go to the courthouse and make inquiries, saying that I would like to learn the truth of that tragedy, devoid of the rumors and sensationalism. In attempting to clear the stigma on the house, I might even find a way to clear my own name.
”Excuse me, but aren't you Celia Nolan?”
I judged the woman who was standing at the table to be in her early forties. I nodded.
”I'm Cynthia Granger. I just wanted to tell you how terrible the townspeople feel about the vandalism to your house. We want to welcome you here. Mendham is a beautiful town. Do you ride?”
I skirted the answer. ”I'm thinking of starting.”
”Wonderful. I'll give you a chance to get settled, and then I'll drop a note. I hope you and your husband will join us for dinner sometime.”
I thanked her and, as she left the coffee shop, repeated her surname to myself: Granger.
Granger. There had been a couple of Granger kids in the upper cla.s.ses of St. Joe's when I was there. I wondered if any of them belonged to Cynthia's husband's family.
I left the coffee shop and for the next hour drove around town, up Mountainside Road to get a look at my grandparents' home, around Horseshoe Bend, along Hilltop Road. I drove past the Pleasant Valley Mill, the property better known as ”the pig farm.” Sure enough, there was a sow grazing in the enclosure. Like every child in town, my parents had taken me to observe the litter of piglets in the spring. I wanted to show it to Jack as well.
I did some quick food shopping and got back to St. Joe's well before twelve to be sure that Jack would spot me the minute his pre-K session ended. Then we went home. After Jack had gulped down a sandwich, he begged for a ride on Lizzie. Even though I refused to ride after my father died, the knowledge of how to saddle the pony seemed to be second nature as my hands moved to tighten the girth, to check the stirrups, to show Jack how to hold the reins properly.
”Where did you ever learn that?”
I whirled around. Alex was smiling at me. Neither one of us had heard the car pull in. I guess he'd left it in front of the house. If he had caught me going through his pockets, I could not have been more embarra.s.sed or chagrined.
”Oh,” I stammered, ”I told you. My friend Gina loved to ride when we were kids. I used to go and watch her when she took lessons. Sometimes I'd help her saddle up.”
Lies. Lie following lie.
”I don't remember you mentioning that at all,” Alex said. ”But who cares?” He picked up Jack and hugged me. ”The client I was supposed to spend the better part of the afternoon with canceled. She's eighty-five and wanted to change her will again, but she wrenched her back.
When I knew she wasn't coming, I beat it out fast.”
Alex had opened the top b.u.t.ton of his s.h.i.+rt and pulled down his tie. I kissed the nape of his neck and his arm tightened around me. I love the outdoorsy look he has, with his tanned skin and the sun-bleached highlights in his brown hair.
”Tell me about your first day at school,” he teasingly demanded of Jack.
”First, can I have a ride on Lizzie?”
”Sure. And then you're going to tell me about your day.”
”I'll tell you about how they asked us to talk about our most exciting day this summer, and I talked about moving here and the cops coming and everything and how today I went out to see Lizzie and there was a picture-”
”Why don't you tell Alex all about it after your ride, Jack?” I interrupted.
”Good idea,” Alex said. He checked the saddle, but found nothing to adjust. I thought he looked at me quizzically, but didn't make any comment. ”Jack just had a sandwich, but I'll start lunch for us,” I said.
”How about having it on the patio?” Alex suggested. ”It's too nice to be inside.”
”That would be fun,” I said hurriedly and headed into the house. I rushed upstairs. My father had redesigned the second floor to have two large corner rooms that could be used for any purpose. When I was little, one of them was his office, the other a playroom for me. I had directed the movers to place my desk in Daddy's office. The desk is a nondescript antique I purchased when I had my interior decorating business, and I chose it for one primary reason.
One of the large file drawers has a concealed panel that is secured by a combination lock that looks like a decoration. The panel can only be opened if you know the combination.
I yanked the files out of the drawer, tapped out the code with my index finger, and the panel opened. The thick file about ”Little Lizzie Borden” was there. I pulled it out, opened it, and grabbed the newspaper photo that had been taped to the post in the barn.
If Jack ended up telling Alex about it, Alex, of course, would ask to see it. If Jack then realized he had promised me not to talk about it to Alex, he'd probably blurt that out, too. ”I forgot, I promised Mommy I wouldn't tell...”
And I would have to cover with yet more lies.
Putting the picture in the pocket of my slacks, I went downstairs. Knowing Alex loved it, I had bought smoked salmon at the supermarket. In these six months, he'd given Jack a taste for it, too. Now I fixed it on salad plates with capers and onions and slices of the hard boiled eggs I had prepared while Jack was having his sandwich. The wrought-iron patio set Alex had bought so that we could celebrate my birthday with champagne and tea sandwiches was now on the patio. I set out place mats and silver, then the salads and iced tea, along with heated French bread.
When I called out that everything was ready, Alex left the pony tethered to a post of the enclosure. She was still saddled, so that meant that he was planning to give Jack more time with the pony.
When they came to the patio, I could have cut with a knife the change in the emotional atmosphere. Alex looked serious, and Jack was on the verge of tears. There was a moment of silence, then, in a level tone, Alex asked, ”Was there any reason you weren't planning to tell me about the picture you found in the barn, Ceil?”
”I didn't want to upset you,” I said. ”It's only one of the pictures of the Barton family that was in the newspaper.”
”You don't think it upsets me to learn by chance that someone was trespa.s.sing here during the night? You don't think the police should know about that?”
There was only one answer that might be plausible: ”Have you seen today's papers?” I asked Alex quietly. ”Do you think I want any follow-up on it? For G.o.d's sake, give me a break.”
”Ceil, Jack tells me he went out to see his pony before you woke up. Suppose he had come across someone in the barn? I'm beginning to wonder if there isn't some kind of nut loose around here.”
Exactly the worry I had but could not share. ”Jack wouldn't have been able to get out if you had reset the alarm,” I said sharply.
”Mommy, why are you mad at Alex?” Jack asked. ”Why indeed, Jack?” Alex asked as he pushed back his chair and went into the house.
I didn't know whether to follow him and apologize, or to offer to show him the crumpled newspaper picture that was in my pocket. I simply didn't know what to do.
CHAPTER 12.
The morning after her new neighbors moved in, Marcella Williams was enjoying a second cup of coffee and devouring the newspapers when her phone rang. She picked it up and murmured, ”h.e.l.lo.”
”By any chance, would a beautiful lady be free for lunch today?”
Ted Cartwright! Marcella felt her pulse begin to race.
”No beautiful ladies around here,” she said coyly, ”but I do know someone who would very much enjoy lunching with the distinguished Mr. Cartwright.”
Three hours later, having carefully dressed for the date in tan slacks and a vivid, printed silk s.h.i.+rt, Marcella was sitting opposite Ted Cartwright in the pub of the Black Horse Tavern on West Main Street. In breathless detail she told him all about her new neighbors. ”When they saw the vandalism, Alex Nolan was furious, and his wife, Celia, was really upset. I mean it's obvious isn't it? She fainted, for heaven's sake. I can understand that she probably was worn out from getting ready for the move. No matter how much help you have, there's always so much you have to do yourself.”
<script>