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Authors: Kathleen Bridge
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windows, and dug out the top from behind the seat. Hail the size of Ping-Pong balls bounced off my hands as I tried to snap on the canvas. When I finally made it back to Salvatore’s front door, he was waiting with a towel.
The clock on the mantel chimed ten and Salvatore passed me a steaming cup of tea. I sipped while he told me about the last great storm to hit the Hamptons. Apparently the junk blown ashore had been the impetus for his totem sculptures.
After the final drop of tea trickled down the back of my throat, I told him it was time to leave.
“Come visit anytime. We could do lunch. There’s a path that leads from the greenhouse to my door. Oh, and keepa lookout for a handsome, virile man who helps out at Seacliff when needed.”
“You?”
“My son, Vancent.”
“Vincent?”
“No. Vancent. His mother’s idea. She named him after Van Gogh. He’s not too keen on the name either.”
“Okay, I’ll look for him. I’m glad you have someone to watch over you.”
“I’m not lonely. You’re the fifth person this week to check on me, although I have to admit, you’re a lot prettier to look at than that Detective Shoner.”
“Now, you’re the charmer.”
“So you’ve met the guy?”
“Yes. I’m the one who found Ms. Spenser and Jillian.”
“I know.”
Darn.
Salvatore was on to me. “Thanks for the tea and towel.”
“You’d better take the towel with you to dry off your seats. Let’s go out the back door. I’ll loan you an umbrella.”
I followed him to the mudroom. He removed a plaid umbrella with a red Bakelite handle from a brass umbrella stand. “Return it anytime.”
I opened the umbrella and stepped into the deluge.
Salvatore shouted after me, “Will you be able to find the house?”
“I think so.”
“Thought you might!” he shouted through the cavalcade of thunder.
I mopped up the seats then maneuvered the Jeep back toward the road that led to Seacliff. My wipers were no match for the horizontal rain that sluiced the windshield. I felt like a kid in a car wash, only the security of my daddy’s presencewas noticeably missing. Finally, my tires hit smooth blacktop. I was almost at the iron gates when I saw a figure in a raincoat, standing thirty feet in front of me in the middle of the road. I pumped the brake, locked my elbows, and held tight to the steering wheel.
CHAPTER
NINE
The Jeep’s rear end fishtailed from left to right and stopped inches from Jillian. She held a tattered umbrella in her right hand like it was Neptune’s trident.
I hopped out and fought my way toward her. I pried the umbrella from her hand. She grabbed on to my wrist and stared straight ahead as if I were invisible. I half led, half dragged her to the passenger side of the Jeep and opened the door. When she didn’t move, I hoisted her onto the seat. Her wet raincoat made sucking noises against the vinyl as she rocked back and forth, much like the morning I found her holding her mother’s body.
I fought my way back through gale-force winds, wrenched open the driver’s-side door, and hopped in. After mopping my face with my sleeve, I took out my hearing aids and cupped my hands around them, waiting for the whistle that assured me there wasn’t water damage, then put them back in. There’s a reason you don’t take showers with your hearing aids. I reached across the gearshift and took hold of bothsides of Jillian’s hood, forcing her to make eye contact. My hands were shaking as much as her teeth were chattering. “Did someone hurt you?”
“Noooo . . .”
“Should I take you to the hospital or call the police?”
Jillian jerked forward. “I’ll be fine.”
“What happened?”
“I came outside for a walk . . .” Her eyes left my face and followed the wipers. Left, right. Right, left.
“Yes. You went outside, then what?” I leaned closer.
“It was so nice, the sun, the warm day, the birds . . . then all of a sudden the storm. There were flashes of silver.
The clock on the mantel chimed ten and Salvatore passed me a steaming cup of tea. I sipped while he told me about the last great storm to hit the Hamptons. Apparently the junk blown ashore had been the impetus for his totem sculptures.
After the final drop of tea trickled down the back of my throat, I told him it was time to leave.
“Come visit anytime. We could do lunch. There’s a path that leads from the greenhouse to my door. Oh, and keepa lookout for a handsome, virile man who helps out at Seacliff when needed.”
“You?”
“My son, Vancent.”
“Vincent?”
“No. Vancent. His mother’s idea. She named him after Van Gogh. He’s not too keen on the name either.”
“Okay, I’ll look for him. I’m glad you have someone to watch over you.”
“I’m not lonely. You’re the fifth person this week to check on me, although I have to admit, you’re a lot prettier to look at than that Detective Shoner.”
“Now, you’re the charmer.”
“So you’ve met the guy?”
“Yes. I’m the one who found Ms. Spenser and Jillian.”
“I know.”
Darn.
Salvatore was on to me. “Thanks for the tea and towel.”
“You’d better take the towel with you to dry off your seats. Let’s go out the back door. I’ll loan you an umbrella.”
I followed him to the mudroom. He removed a plaid umbrella with a red Bakelite handle from a brass umbrella stand. “Return it anytime.”
I opened the umbrella and stepped into the deluge.
Salvatore shouted after me, “Will you be able to find the house?”
“I think so.”
“Thought you might!” he shouted through the cavalcade of thunder.
I mopped up the seats then maneuvered the Jeep back toward the road that led to Seacliff. My wipers were no match for the horizontal rain that sluiced the windshield. I felt like a kid in a car wash, only the security of my daddy’s presencewas noticeably missing. Finally, my tires hit smooth blacktop. I was almost at the iron gates when I saw a figure in a raincoat, standing thirty feet in front of me in the middle of the road. I pumped the brake, locked my elbows, and held tight to the steering wheel.
CHAPTER
NINE
The Jeep’s rear end fishtailed from left to right and stopped inches from Jillian. She held a tattered umbrella in her right hand like it was Neptune’s trident.
I hopped out and fought my way toward her. I pried the umbrella from her hand. She grabbed on to my wrist and stared straight ahead as if I were invisible. I half led, half dragged her to the passenger side of the Jeep and opened the door. When she didn’t move, I hoisted her onto the seat. Her wet raincoat made sucking noises against the vinyl as she rocked back and forth, much like the morning I found her holding her mother’s body.
I fought my way back through gale-force winds, wrenched open the driver’s-side door, and hopped in. After mopping my face with my sleeve, I took out my hearing aids and cupped my hands around them, waiting for the whistle that assured me there wasn’t water damage, then put them back in. There’s a reason you don’t take showers with your hearing aids. I reached across the gearshift and took hold of bothsides of Jillian’s hood, forcing her to make eye contact. My hands were shaking as much as her teeth were chattering. “Did someone hurt you?”
“Noooo . . .”
“Should I take you to the hospital or call the police?”
Jillian jerked forward. “I’ll be fine.”
“What happened?”
“I came outside for a walk . . .” Her eyes left my face and followed the wipers. Left, right. Right, left.
“Yes. You went outside, then what?” I leaned closer.
“It was so nice, the sun, the warm day, the birds . . . then all of a sudden the storm. There were flashes of silver.
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