Chapter Twenty-One. Grace
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Grace
I rinse Lou off in the new, Pepto-Bismol-pink bathtub.
There’s no mold in the corners, no missing grout.
Seashells decorate the cotton-candy-pink tile, and a darker pink commode sits next to a pedestal sink.
The beveled mirror replaced the one I threw my grandmother’s silver hairbrush at because she wouldn’t stop staring at me with her pleading eyes and gaping red mouth.
When I told Barb I’d cut my hand on a broken mirror, she was downright gleeful. Seven years of bad luck! It felt true and prescient at the time.
She’s always been a rotten friend.
I wait in the hall while Lou changes into a blue playsuit. Then I take her down to the hotel kitchen. As I’m pouring a glass of orange juice, Ma bustles in. “Oh, Grace, there you are.”
“You’ve heard?” I ask.
She nods. “Cooper came down and told us. Joan’s phoned for the sheriff. I expect Curtis will be here any moment. I thought I’d go ahead and fix everyone brunch.”
Brunch? We always have a quick breakfast before church and then Ma cooks Sunday dinner. A roast, or a roast chicken.
“Bunny pancakes!” Lou does an excited little dance.
“I was thinking eggs,” Ma says.
“No!” Lou’s face crumples. “It’s Sunday! Sundays are bunny pancakes!”
I wait for Ma to tell this spoiled child that she will eat what she’s given without complaint, because there are still starving children in Europe. Instead, the years melt off her face as she gives Lou a mischievous grin.
“Well, I don’t know if my bunny pancakes will be as good as Cookie’s, but I can try, if it means that much to you.
Maybe you can help me?” She rummages in the icebox.
“I’ve got some blueberries that could make good bunny eyes, and there’s some bacon in here …
I bet if we slice it real thin, it will crisp up into whiskers! ”
“Bacon whiskers?” Lou giggles. “That’s so silly!”
“Silly and delicious!” Ma twitches her nose like a rabbit.
I can almost picture the girl my mother was before Dad wore her down.
Ma is hardworking. Generous. An ace with a sewing machine or a skillet. She lives a life in service to her family and her community. But playful? Whimsical? No. I don’t remember that.
She looks at me and blushes, as though she’s embarrassed to be caught out. “Go on, Grace. They’re all waiting for Curtis in the lobby.”
Right. There’s a dead man in the cellar.
In the lobby, beneath the enormous chandelier, Dad is pacing and grumbling at Mrs. Langford. “I told you that firing him was taking it too far.”
That man never misses a chance to say I told you so.
Rose is leaning against the newel post, her creamy complexion curdled. Cooper hovers at her elbow. It’s strange to see him mother-henning someone who isn’t me.
Is this how it will be for the rest of the summer? The two of them and me on the outside?
Mrs. Langford sighs. “No one could have predicted this, Joe.”
“There were no scandals at the Harrow Home on my watch,” Dad huffs. “The sheriff hasn’t been called out here since…” His voice creaks to a stop. “Well. It’s been a long time.”
I look at him, surprised. He almost sounds emotional.
“I’m sorry, Joe,” Mrs. Langford says softly. “I didn’t think. This must bring back very difficult memories.”
Of what? I look at my brother. Emmeline, Cooper mouths, quicker to put two and two together than me. Dad’s sister, who drowned in a boating accident.
“It’s Sunday, and you aren’t on the clock. Go enjoy your afternoon. I can manage,” Mrs. Langford suggests.
Dad scoffs. “I can speak to Curtis without having the vapors. It’s been seventeen years.”
Does he mean—? Did Emmeline die the same year that Cooper and I were born?
Someone knocks at the front door. Dad practically races Mrs. Langford to answer it. “Curtis! Come in,” he booms in his heartiest voice, as though the place is still his.
“Joe.” The sheriff doffs his hat. His daughter, Carolyn, is two years below us in school.
She plays field hockey and basketball. She’s got his height and his unruly blond hair and his aw-shucks-ma’am friendliness, but it belies a sharp intelligence.
She’s always on the honor roll. “Coop, Gracie. And you must be Mrs. Langford.” He shakes her hand.
“Curtis Callaway. It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am, although I’m sorry it’s under these circumstances. ”
“Please, call me Joan.” She smiles, charming in her pencil skirt and pumps. “I’m sorry to interrupt your Sunday, Sheriff. Thank you for coming so quickly. This is my niece, Rose. She’s the one who found Mr. McIntosh.”
“I’m real sorry you had to see that, Miss Thorpe.
” Sheriff Callaway nods at Rose, then turns back to her aunt.
“Hank McIntosh, huh? His brother Mikey was killed at Normandy. Their poor mom.” Callaway looks up at the sparkling crystal chandelier and whistles.
“You’ve done a beautiful job with the place. ”
“Thank you,” Mrs. Langford says. “There’s still a great deal of work to be done.”
“It’s been years since I’ve been out here. Since…” The sheriff trails off, eyeing Dad.
“Oh, for God’s sake, you can say her name,” Dad snaps.
The sheriff clears his throat. Rubs the freckled nape of his neck. “What was McIntosh doing out here? I understand he was let go.”
“Yes, last Saturday. He was pretty ticked off,” Dad says. “Can’t say I blame him. He was a good worker. Steady. Dependable.”
Mrs. Langford tosses her hair. “He was overly familiar with my niece. Not Rose. Her younger sister.”
“Can’t have that. I have a daughter myself,” the sheriff says, and Dad scowls. “Any ideas why he would’ve been prowling around your cellar?”
Mrs. Langford smooths her gray skirt. “We keep the hotel’s wine and spirits down there. I hate to attribute ill motives when the man can no longer defend himself, but…”
The sheriff nods. “You think he came back to lift some booze?”
“Maybe he thought he was owed it.” Rose’s aunt wraps an arm around her. “Rose was taking her little sister to wash up in the construction sink. They saw the body first. The twins came in next. Cooper checked to make sure that McIntosh was deceased.”
“I sorta nudged him with my shoe, and he didn’t move. Then I lifted him up—he was lying face down. He was pretty beat-up, but Rose recognized him. I didn’t mean to disturb the body,” Cooper says nervously.
That’s my twin, always following the rules. Never wanting to make any trouble.
“That’s all right, son,” Callaway reassures him.
“I’ll go down and take a look. I called Linwood—that’s Linwood Hollis, the county coroner, ma’am—and he’ll be here directly.
Hopefully he’ll find the turn all right.
He wasn’t in office yet when Em…” Callaway trails off again.
Dad glowers. “When Emmeline went missing.”
Missing? I look at the sheriff hard, then at Rose, then back at the sheriff. Two girls went missing from the Harrow Home that summer? Isn’t that odd? Daisy Wheeler turned up in New York, but my aunt drowned in the Bay.
Is there anything to that? Could my aunt be our ghost?
That doesn’t fit with the clue the ghost gave me, though. The letter D.
I’ve never seen a single photo of Emmeline. I wonder if Ma has any squirreled away.
“Missing?” Mrs. Langford asks. “I’m sorry, I thought—”
“Her boat washed up down shore, but her body was never found,” Callaway explains.
“We had the whole county out hunting for her. Everybody turned out to help. Em was a great girl. A real spitfire.” He grins.
“She and my sister were inseparable in school. Poor Kath cried her eyes out when they declared her.”
Declared her dead, he means.
“Are you here to relive my sister’s death, or to find out what happened to Hank McIntosh?” Dad asks in a biting voice he usually reserves for me.
The sheriff looks taken aback. “My apologies, Joe. Clearly it’s a sore subject.”
“Let’s go down to the cellar.” Dad’s face sours. “I imagine a lady such as yourself would prefer not to deal with such unpleasantness, Mrs. Langford. Curtis and I can manage.”
Rose’s auntie smiles with all her teeth. “I’m not in the habit of having the vapors, either, Joe.”
As the kitchen door closes behind them, the smell of fried bacon and maple syrup wafts toward us. Rose sinks to the bottom stair.
“Ma’s making brunch for everybody. Bunny pancakes,” I say.
“I couldn’t eat.” She knots her fingers in her lap. “I don’t understand why he came back.”
Is she worried that McIntosh was trying to see Ella? “You heard the sheriff. The man was foxed, and ticked about being let go. He thought he’d lift some of your dad’s booze.”
“Maybe.” Rose doesn’t sound convinced. “Coop, could you get me some water, please?”
“Yeah. Sure.” Cooper is gone in a flash.
“I asked Ella if she saw McIntosh. She denied it. But Magnolia’s upstairs with her, and she said—” Rose takes a deep breath. “She said that you weren’t in your room in the middle of the night. Where did you go, Grace?”
“I couldn’t sleep. I was out by the pool,” I explain.
“Did you see her? Feel her?” Rose bites her lip.
My brain churns slowly, like it’s stuck in molasses.
I didn’t sleep well. Then Stan was flirting with Lottie at church.
Dad noticed this time. The whole drive home, he berated me about how stupid and selfish I’ve been to jeopardize our relationship with the Grotowskis.
How I better fix this—fast. How those Thorpe girls better not be putting ideas in my head, making me think I’m too good for Stanley.
And then we came up here and found a dead man in the cellar.
And instead of comforting me, recognizing how stuck I am, Cooper is only worried about Rose.
And Ma only cares about Lou and her bunny pancakes.
And now Rose is worried about … what? I finally fell asleep on one of the lounge chairs, watching some far-off lightning flicker through the clouds, waiting for my head to get quiet.
I did see the ghost. But only for a moment, there and gone. Her white face glimmering like—well, like an apparition; her white teeth; the whites of her dark eyes. She was terrible and beautiful in the moonlight.
“Briefly, I think. What are you getting at?” I ask.
“What if you lost time again?” Rose’s eyes are like deep blue pools. “What if you saw McIntosh and you followed him to see what he was up to? What if—?”
“I didn’t.” I only lost time once, when I was already furious and desperate. It was unsettling, but the ghost was helping me. I asked for her help.
“Are you sure? It’s…” Rose falters. “What if the ghost wanted to hurt him? She wanted you to attack Stanley and your dad because they were mistreating girls. McIntosh treated Ella poorly, too … Maybe it was only a little shove. McIntosh was already blotto, unsteady on his feet…”
Someone would have had to do the shoving. Someone corporeal.
The penny finally drops: Rose thinks it was me.
“You’ve been reading too many novels,” I say coolly. “He was drunk. He tripped and fell. She had nothing to do with it. I had nothing to do with it.”
“All right. If you say it’s not true, it’s not true.” Rose doesn’t look certain.
“I would know if—” I break off, irritated. “I would have woken up, Rose. Like when Magnolia came into my room!”
I would remember if I had seen McIntosh.
Wouldn’t I? Or would it feel like going to sleep, then waking up in the moonlight?
No. If McIntosh had seen me, he would have spoken. That would have woken me up. What happened the other day—her possession lasted long enough to uncap a lipstick and write a single letter on my mirror. A minute, no more.
She was helping me.
“I’m sorry, Grace. I had to ask,” Rose says.
“Did you?” I ask, acerbic, to hide my doubt. “I thought we were friends.”
“We are! But the sheriff is going to question me. I found the body. I want to be able to protect you.”
“I don’t need your protection!”
That voice. I learned that from my father. It’s like the lash of a belt.
For once, Rose looks cowed.
“Did I make a mistake, confiding in you? Trusting you?” I hiss.
I don’t do this. I don’t let anyone close. How did Rose weasel her way in so that this interrogation of hers, this suspicion, makes me feel like someone’s hit me in the gut? That she thinks I could do this, that I could hurt a man, murder him and not even know I did it—
I’m not capable of that. I would know!
Cooper comes back with a glass of water, munching on some bacon. “Here. You okay?” he asks Rose. “Sorry, that’s a foolish question. Of course you’re not.”
He doesn’t ask if I’m okay. For once, I would like for him to ask.
Someone pounds on the front door.
“What in the—” Cooper mutters, pulling it open.
It’s Stan. “Gracie! Thank God, you’re all right!”
What is he doing here?
He’s breathing hard, like he ran from the truck to the front door.
“Dad was out with his tomatoes”—Mr. G. is devoted to his prizewinning tomato plants—“and talking over the fence to Mr. Hollis”—that would be the Grotowskis’ next-door neighbor, Linwood Hollis, the coroner—“and Mrs. Hollis came out and said he had to get over here quick because there was a body. But she didn’t say who it was. What happened?”
He stares at me, clearly hoping I’ll say that he was right to rush over here, fight forgotten.
I glance in the hall mirror. There’s no ghost this time, only me.
Do I need Rose’s protection? Or am I a monster that others need protection from?
I look at Stan. He’s ready to forgive and forget. I stuff my simmering resentment down deep.
I’m Stanley’s girl. The prettiest girl in this one-stoplight town.
“It’s one of the workmen. He’s dead!” I hurl myself at Stan’s wide chest. Let him envelop me in his strong arms. Let myself feel small and delicate and cared for.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers in my ear. “I’m so sorry, Gracie. I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to you.”
“I know.” I go up on my tiptoes to kiss him. “I know.”
Cooper coughs. He and Rose are judging me for this, I know they are, but I don’t care. They have each other. Why can’t I at least have this?
Stan tucks me against his side. “I never wanna fight with you again. You’re my best girl.”
“I better be your only girl,” I tease, but there’s a note of warning in my voice.
“Course you are.” He flushes, like he knows he went too far with Lottie.
But I don’t want to think about that now.
It will only make me angry, and nobody likes an angry girl.