headed for the stairs.
Here was the real test, of her nerves as well as her ankle. Willie took a deep breath, wrapped her hand around the banister and started upstairs. She made it without two-footing a single step or seeing anything that wasn’t supposed to be there. On purpose, she took a long time brushing her hair at the mirror, but no apparitions appeared in the glass.
Willie wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed. Whatever she’d seen was gone now, but not forgotten. It was time to investigate. Beaches first. Dr. Jonathan Raven second, and third, if necessary, her sanity.
She hadn’t gone ballistic when the first certified letter from Raven’s attorney in Boston had arrived; she’d called Whit, then she’d gone straight to the county clerk’s office, where Nancy Crocker had told her about Horace Raven and his will.
“Near as I can figure,” she’d said, “Dr. Raven’s from the branch of the family who moved down Boston way when the whaling gave out. Might have been another doctor in the family, but I b’lieve it was quite a while ago.”
Willie hadn’t dug any further, but she was going to now. First in a bottom drawer for the ankle brace left over from her tennis-playing days in college. She put it on with white Reeboks to give her ankle maximum support. Then she put on khaki shorts and a tropical-print blouse. Next she went down on her hands and knees and looked under the bed and behind the furniture.
She searched the closet and the baseboards for wires, mirrors, cameras—anything Raven could have used to project a hologram. Then she searched the rest of the house, even the circuit box, though she was sure if Jim and the boys had found anything funny in the wiring they would have told her. She found nothing. Which was exactly what she’d expected.
On her way to the kitchen, Willie shut off the air conditioner and opened the French doors. Probably not bright economically, but living in New York had given her a bellyful of artificial environments. Willie liked fresh air, even muggy, you’ll-be-sorry-later fresh air.
While she drank her first cup of coffee, she fried link sausages in a cast-iron skillet and wondered about the man in the knee boots and breeches. If she hadn’t imagined him, if he wasn’t her pirate or a hologram, then what was he? And what was the silvery shimmer she’d seen beside her bed?
Willie frowned, mixed pancakes and poured the first batch. She was just wondering if maybe she should have her eyes checked when Frank came through the French doors.
“How come you’re not flat on your back where I left you?”
‘“Cause my ankle feels great.” Willie turned away from the counter. “So great I’m making you breakfast.”
“Lemme see.”
Willie kicked off her shoe, peeled off her sock and the brace and stuck out her foot. Frank cupped her heel in his hand and turned her foot gently from side to side. She felt only a twinge, and gave Frank a see-I-told-you-so smile as he glanced up at her with a raised eyebrow.
“You s’pose Raven’s a witch doctor?” he asked.
He was kidding, but Willie wondered, even though she laughed as she put the brace and her sock and shoe back on. She was not hysterical; she’d never been hysterical. She’d seen something in the mirror. She just couldn’t explain it. Not yet.
While Willie flipped the pancakes onto a plate with the sausages and covered it with a towel, Frank warmed the syrup, and then followed her onto the terrace with plates and silverware. An already-hot wind snapped the yellow umbrella he opened to protect the pancakes from the gulls.
They came every morning from the beach to horn in on the grackles and blue jays that pecked out their breakfast on the back lawn beneath Granma’s fruit frees. While Frank and Willie ate, Callie stalked the birds, her ears flat and her tail twitching. The birds ignored her.
“The feathers are gonna fly here in a minute,” Frank predicted in a low voice.
“Not a
Here was the real test, of her nerves as well as her ankle. Willie took a deep breath, wrapped her hand around the banister and started upstairs. She made it without two-footing a single step or seeing anything that wasn’t supposed to be there. On purpose, she took a long time brushing her hair at the mirror, but no apparitions appeared in the glass.
Willie wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed. Whatever she’d seen was gone now, but not forgotten. It was time to investigate. Beaches first. Dr. Jonathan Raven second, and third, if necessary, her sanity.
She hadn’t gone ballistic when the first certified letter from Raven’s attorney in Boston had arrived; she’d called Whit, then she’d gone straight to the county clerk’s office, where Nancy Crocker had told her about Horace Raven and his will.
“Near as I can figure,” she’d said, “Dr. Raven’s from the branch of the family who moved down Boston way when the whaling gave out. Might have been another doctor in the family, but I b’lieve it was quite a while ago.”
Willie hadn’t dug any further, but she was going to now. First in a bottom drawer for the ankle brace left over from her tennis-playing days in college. She put it on with white Reeboks to give her ankle maximum support. Then she put on khaki shorts and a tropical-print blouse. Next she went down on her hands and knees and looked under the bed and behind the furniture.
She searched the closet and the baseboards for wires, mirrors, cameras—anything Raven could have used to project a hologram. Then she searched the rest of the house, even the circuit box, though she was sure if Jim and the boys had found anything funny in the wiring they would have told her. She found nothing. Which was exactly what she’d expected.
On her way to the kitchen, Willie shut off the air conditioner and opened the French doors. Probably not bright economically, but living in New York had given her a bellyful of artificial environments. Willie liked fresh air, even muggy, you’ll-be-sorry-later fresh air.
While she drank her first cup of coffee, she fried link sausages in a cast-iron skillet and wondered about the man in the knee boots and breeches. If she hadn’t imagined him, if he wasn’t her pirate or a hologram, then what was he? And what was the silvery shimmer she’d seen beside her bed?
Willie frowned, mixed pancakes and poured the first batch. She was just wondering if maybe she should have her eyes checked when Frank came through the French doors.
“How come you’re not flat on your back where I left you?”
‘“Cause my ankle feels great.” Willie turned away from the counter. “So great I’m making you breakfast.”
“Lemme see.”
Willie kicked off her shoe, peeled off her sock and the brace and stuck out her foot. Frank cupped her heel in his hand and turned her foot gently from side to side. She felt only a twinge, and gave Frank a see-I-told-you-so smile as he glanced up at her with a raised eyebrow.
“You s’pose Raven’s a witch doctor?” he asked.
He was kidding, but Willie wondered, even though she laughed as she put the brace and her sock and shoe back on. She was not hysterical; she’d never been hysterical. She’d seen something in the mirror. She just couldn’t explain it. Not yet.
While Willie flipped the pancakes onto a plate with the sausages and covered it with a towel, Frank warmed the syrup, and then followed her onto the terrace with plates and silverware. An already-hot wind snapped the yellow umbrella he opened to protect the pancakes from the gulls.
They came every morning from the beach to horn in on the grackles and blue jays that pecked out their breakfast on the back lawn beneath Granma’s fruit frees. While Frank and Willie ate, Callie stalked the birds, her ears flat and her tail twitching. The birds ignored her.
“The feathers are gonna fly here in a minute,” Frank predicted in a low voice.
“Not a
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