Chapter Twenty-Nine
In spite of, or maybe because of, all that happened, Sonya insisted on decorating for Halloween.
They bought pumpkins and gourds, and hauled out Collin’s collection.
In that collection, she found a long string of lanterns that spelled out SPOOK CENTRAL.
“How perfect is this!”
Because he remembered it from his childhood, Trey felt a quick pang. “Where the hell are you going to put it?”
“It should hang under the half turret. Just the right length.”
“That’s where Collin always put it.”
“Is it? See, perfect.”
“It did look pretty cool.” And Owen finished with a mutter: “I’ll get the ladder.”
“Not yet! We have to see what else. Look, here’s a trio of broomstick-riding witches.”
“Some consider that insulting.”
Sonya barely glanced at Cleo. “But we won’t. And there’s this vampire on a stake. Oh, oh, look at this skeleton guy with the tattered cloak. You put him in the yard, right, so he’s clawing out of his grave. And these ghost things light up! We can hang them on the tree.”
She stopped herself.
“I’ve just become my mother. And I don’t care. This is so much fun! When we’re done, I’m going to send her a video. She’ll love it.”
It took most of a weekend, but Trey considered it worth it. Not only did Sonya simply sparkle throughout, but it did bring back memories of his childhood.
“We’d always come here.” Trey stood with the others in the brisk October wind, watching ghostly wind spinners whirl and goblin lights glow in the magic of dusk. “We’d do trick-or-treat in the village, that was a must, then come up here. Anna and me, Owen and Hugh, plenty of other kids.”
“He’d always have this going on. He had that fog machine for a while, Trey, remember?
And creepy music blaring. He’d mix it up, too.
One year, a severed head on a platter, or that time he had a coffin out here.
Must’ve had a remote because the lid would creak open and the bwah-ha-ha and a skeleton hand came out of it. ”
Picturing it, Owen hooked his thumbs in his belt loops. “He’d always answer the door in costume.”
“And had a ton of serious candy,” Trey added.
“Damn right. No stingy little bags of candy corn or bite-sized bullshit. Full-size Snickers, Milky Ways, Hershey bars.”
“We could do that. We could do all that. Not this year, I get that, but next year? We could do all that.”
Catching Sonya’s enthusiasm, Cleo chimed in. “We could make up some flyers. Would you dare a Halloween visit to Lost Bride Manor?”
“Your trick is our treat.” Sonya pushed at her blowing hair. “Next year. But this year? It looks great. I’m going up to send the video to my mother. Then how about a Sunday night movie?”
“Not a spooky one.”
“Man, Lafayette, it’s October. There’s horror movie marathons for a reason. And that doesn’t count Collin’s collection, which is righteous.”
Clearly seeing she was one against three, Cleo drew her line.
“Not a gross spooky one. I draw the line at gross and spooky. And if I’m going to sit through any kind of horror movie, I’ll need wine.”
“Get Out. The movie,” Owen added quickly. “It’s not just horror, it’s funny and socially relevant.”
“He’s right,” Trey said.
“And that’s three for it.” Sonya clapped her hands together. “I need to watch it again anyway. Get the wine, popcorn, and I’ll run up and send the video.”
She ran up to the library to edit the video, add music, a few sound effects. Then added a tag.
Greetings from Spook Central. Capping the evening with a scary movie, talk soon! Love you.
Pleased, she sent it off.
When she stood, she turned to the steps up rather than down.
Not a peep out of Dobbs since the attack. Workers had come for the game room, and still nothing. The pinball machine had arrived, and they’d tested it out with a competition.
Trey nipped Owen by a handful of points, and both had trounced her and Cleo.
They’d practice and change that.
She still needed to arrange the display cabinet, set up the jukebox, wait for the pool table. And the reupholstered furniture. But with the rest of the furnishings in place, the new lighting, the wall screen installed, it was happening.
Still, all through the progress, the work, and the fun, Dobbs stayed silent.
But Sonya wanted to go upstairs. Not a pull, not exactly, but more of a sense.
Her phone played “Time Has Come Today.”
“For what?”
She wouldn’t go in the Gold Room. Not only a breach of trust, but stupidity. When they went in, and time was ticking down there, they’d go together.
Then she paused at Cleo’s studio.
“Of course. Jesus, of course.”
She walked to the closet, opened it.
And found Astrid.
She stood in her white gown with the sea, calm and blue, behind her. Her eyes, reflecting that warm blue, seemed to look into Sonya’s. She carried her flowers in the crook of one arm, with her hands crossed at the wrists beneath them.
Her wedding ring shined gold.
The painting didn’t replicate the one in the foyer, as the bride’s body angled, her head tilted. Much, Sonya realized, as Cleo had painted her.
And the style of the artist, of course. The style …
She made a sound caught between grief and joy as she saw Collin’s signature in one corner, her father’s in another.
She stood where she was and wept.
In the kitchen, wine opened, corn popped, Trey glanced toward the hallway.
“She’s been up there awhile. Maybe she decided to call her mom. I’ll just go check.”
Halfway down the hall, he heard her on the stairs.
“She’s coming now,” he called back, and waited for her.
He saw the painting she carried; he saw the tears.
“Astrid,” she said as he went to her. “It’s Astrid.”
He laid a hand on her damp cheek. “Here, let me take her.”
“I felt I needed to go up. Felt I needed to look.” Another tear spilled as Cleo and Owen came out of the kitchen trailed by the dogs and Pye. “It’s Astrid.”
Cleo put an arm around her. “Let’s take her into the music room.”
“They painted her together. The signatures … The mirror. It had to be.”
Cleo’s arm tightened around Sonya when Trey set the portrait against the wall. “She’s only more beautiful because they did.”
“She’s standing facing the house, back to the sea, but the angle’s more like how you painted her, Cleo. We have to get your painting.”
“I’ll get it.” Owen started out.
“Hold it by the edges. It still needs drying time.”
“I’m not sad.” With a quiet sigh, Sonya swiped at tears.
“Just emotional. I know we’ve waited for this.
For her. So it’s a relief to have that wait over.
Knowing they painted her together? It’s just …
My heart’s so full. Then there’s the bookend.
When we hang her, will that open some door, turn a key in some lock? Or not?”
“It’s going to matter.” Turning from the portrait, Trey took Sonya’s hand. “We’re about to find out how. You want Cleo’s painting on the wall facing them. I’ll take that art down.”
As he did, Owen carried Cleo’s painting in, and nodded toward the wall. “That’s where you want them, right?”
“Yes, but not until Astrid’s up. She should come first. Sorry.” Cleo shoved at her hair. “I should’ve gone for the hammer, the hook. I couldn’t stop looking at her.”
“I’ll get them.”
As Trey went out, Owen yanked tissues out of his pocket. “Here, I brought these down. Figured you could use them.”
“Thanks.”
He pulled some out of his other pocket, handed them to Cleo.
“In case. Another beauty,” he said, studying the portrait. “I’m going to say, she doesn’t look as regal as she does in the big one in the foyer. More, I don’t know, approachable.”
“You’re right.” Cleo tucked the tissues in her own pocket. In case. “I like that she’s facing the manor, where she should have been mistress. They’re all painted with such skill, such wonderful detail. And more.”
“With love,” Sonya finished. “There’s love in the brushstrokes.”
When Trey came back, they measured, they marked. They nailed in the hanger.
“It’s for you, cutie. You put her in place.”
“Okay.” She gripped her hands together first. “Here goes.”
She lifted the painting, positioned it.
“Might need a little help with getting the wire on the hook.”
“I’ve got you.” Moving to her, with one hand on her shoulder, Trey reached behind the framed portrait to slide the wire on. “She’s secure.”
Sonya didn’t hold her breath because it was already trapped in her lungs as she looked into Astrid’s eyes, adjusted the painting as Cleo instructed.
And stepped back.
The seven brides filled the wall.
Sonya waited, gripping Trey’s hand on one side. Cleo’s on the other.
Her breath expelled on a half laugh. “I think I expected a crescendo of music or bright, flashing lights. Maybe a voice whispering: To retrieve the rings, click your heels together three times.”
She jolted when her phone rang out with Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin’.”
“No, Clover, we won’t stop believing. I know you’re right, Trey. It matters they’re all up there together. But I guess we’re going to have to wait to find out how.”
Owen stepped back. “Help me get Cleo’s up, Trey. Maybe they just need a boost.”
“Edges,” Cleo reminded them. “Maybe we have to wait until three. Or something’s changed somewhere else in the manor, and we don’t know it yet.”
She turned. “Up a half inch on your side, Trey. Another smidge. That’s got it.”
“Wait!” Sonya waved her hand back, bumped it against Cleo’s shoulder. “Did you see that?”
“What? See what?”
“I thought … Yes! Did you see that? The rings.”
“Where?” Trey moved to her.
“In the paintings! The rings in the paintings. I saw— There! Johanna’s. It glinted. Sparkled. Clover’s. Now it’s Clover’s.”
“I saw that!” Thrilled, Cleo gripped Owen’s arm. “Lisbeth’s. Now hers. One, two,” she counted. “Agatha’s.”
“Now Marianne’s. Wait a beat,” Sonya murmured. “Wait two, yes! Catherine’s. Oh, oh, and Astrid’s. Did everyone see that?”
“Hard to miss if you’re looking.” And because he wanted a closer look, Owen moved forward.