“Absolutely not.”
“One more thing. There was a message on Jonna’s answering machine from you, too, Mrs. Shay. You asked if Jonna was still mad at you about something. What was that about?”
“I—I don’t remember,” she said, but her blue-violet eyes, so like Jonna’s, fell before his steady gaze and she started to cry again.
Awkwardly, Dwight promised to keep her informed. As he turned to leave the room, Mrs. Prentice opened the door and the faithful intimates who had waited there in the hall streamed back in.
“I’ll just see him out, Laura,” said Mrs. Prentice, but when they reached the landing she touched his sleeve.
“Major Bryant—Dwight?” She looked up into his face and whatever she saw there decided her. “You do know that there have been periods when Jonna took tranquiliz-ers, don’t you?”
“Tranquilizers? When?”
“Since adolescence, I think.”
“What?”
“You really didn’t know?”
With a worried frown, she opened a door down the hall and ushered him into an empty guestroom. It was chilly and appeared not to have been used in some time.
Although there were fragile ornaments here as well, they were fewer and a window seat offered a sturdy place for him to sit. There was a heating vent on one wall but Mrs.
Prentice did not open it. Instead she drew her wool cardigan more tightly around her and pulled a chair close to him so that she could speak in confidential tones.
“Laura doesn’t like to talk about it, not even with me.
She thinks it’s something shameful. Jonna’s depression was never as severe as Pam’s, though, and—”
“Wait a minute,” said Dwight. “Her sister has depression, too?”
“With psychotic episodes. You really didn’t know?”
“We never met. I mean, Jonna used to talk about her crazy sister, but I thought that was just an expression.”
The older woman clicked her tongue in gentle exasperation. “Jonna was as bad as Laura. Pam is fine as long as she takes her meds. Frankly, I never thought Jonna really did have depression, but you can’t blame Laura for worrying. First Stacey and then—” She paused. “If you didn’t know about this, perhaps you don’t know about Stacey?”
“Eustace Shay? Jonna’s dad?”
Mrs. Prentice nodded.
“Jonna told me it was an accident, but from what I’ve heard today, it was suicide, wasn’t it?”
“Again, this is nothing that Laura ever wants to talk about. Officially it was an accident. The story was that the gun was old and unstable and that it went off while he was packing up his office. In truth, that gun was a family 14 heirloom and it was Laura’s pride and joy. She kept it in their library at home until that last day when he took it to the office.”
She sighed. “Stacey was a sweet man, but with no head for business. He should have sold the company the day after he inherited it, but he was too prideful. He couldn’t admit that he didn’t have his father’s business sense and it wore on him. Looking back now, I would guess that this is where the girls inherited their tendency to depression.”
“And not from the Morrows?”
“You heard about that, too?”
“Same gun, they tell me.”
“Did they tell you that he had gambled with Shay money?”
“Stock market losses, right?”
Mrs. Prentice shook her head. “He lost most of his own fortune in the crash of 1929, but he didn’t shoot himself till two years later when it turned out that he’d been embezzling money for his gambling debts. He would have gone to prison. That was the disgrace he could not face. The Shays covered it up and put the best face on it they could because they didn’t want to be-smirch the Morrow name. I’m not sure that Laura knows about her grandfather even to this day.”
“You’re not a Morrow?” asked Dwight.
“Oh, good Lord, no! Laura’s mother and mine were Ansons, not a speck of kin to the Morrows except by marriage.”
“Mrs. Prentice—”
“Call me Eleanor,” she said. “After all, we’re con- nected, you and I, through Cal. I’m sorry we never met before. I can’t get over how much Cal looks like you.”
Before he could reply, the door opened and one of the elderly friends poked her white head into the room.
“So this is where you disappeared,” she scolded.
“Laura needs you. You know how she asked Mr. Thomas to bring pictures of caskets? Well, he’s come and she wants you to help her choose.”
