From her seat, Ivy could see into the hall. Two police officers, a man and a woman, talked with Andrew. Gregory leaned into Ivy to see what was going on.
'What do you think it's about?' Ivy whispered.
'Something at the college,' he guessed.
Tristan looked across the table questioningly and Ivy shrugged her shoulders. Her mother, unaware that there might be something wrong, kept cutting the cake.
Then Andrew stepped back into the room.
'Maggie.' She must have read something in his eyes. She dropped the knife immediately and went to Andrew's side. He took her hand.
'Gregory and Ivy, would you join us in the library, please? Tristan, could you stay with the boys?' he asked.
The officers were still waiting in the hall. Andrew led the way to the library. If there were a problem at the college, we wouldn't be gathering like this, thought Ivy.
When everyone was seated, Andrew said, 'There's no easy way to begin. Gregory, your mother has died.'
'Oh, no,' Maggie said softly.
Ivy turned quickly to Gregory. He sat stiffly, his eyes on his father, and said nothing.
'The police received an anonymous call about five-thirty P.M. that someone at her address needed help. When they arrived, they found her dead, a gunshot wound to her head.'
Gregory didn't blink. Ivy reached out for his hand. It was cold as ice.
'The police have asked- They need- As a matter of normal procedure-' Andrew's voice wavered. He turned to face the police officers. 'Perhaps one of you can take over from here?'
'As a matter of procedure,' the woman officer said, 'we need to ask a few questions. We are still searching the house for any information that might be relevant to the case, though it seems fairly conclusive that her death was a suicide.'
'Oh, God!' said Maggie.
'What evidence do you have for that?' Gregory asked. 'While it's true my mother was depressed, she has been since the beginning of April-' 'Oh, God!' Maggie said again. Andrew reached out for her, but she moved away from him.
Ivy knew what her mother was thinking. She remembered the scene a week earlier, when a picture of Caroline and Andrew had somehow turned up in the hall desk. Andrew had told Maggie to throw it in the trash. Maggie could not. She didn't want to think that she was the one who had 'thrown Caroline out' of her home-years earlier, or now. Ivy guessed that her mother felt responsible for Caroline's un-happiness, and now her death.
'I'd still like to know,' Gregory continued, 'what makes you think that she killed herself. That doesn't seem like her. It doesn't seem like her at all. She was too strong a woman.'
Ivy could hardly believe how clearly and steadily Gregory could speak.
'First, there is circumstantial evidence,' said the policeman. 'No actual note, but photographs that were torn and scattered around the body.' He glanced toward Maggie.
'Photographs of…?' Gregory asked.
Andrew sucked in his breath.
'Mr. and Mrs. Baines,' said the officer. 'Newspaper photos from their wedding.'
Andrew watched helplessly as Maggie bent over in her chair, her head down, wrapping her arms around her knees.
Ivy let go of Gregory's hand, wanting to comfort her mother, but he pulled her back.
'The gun was still twisted around her thumb. There were powder burns on her fingers, the burns one gets from firing such a weapon. Of course, we'll be checking the gun for prints and the bullet for a match, and we'll let you know if we find something unexpected. But her doors were locked-no sign of forced entry-her air-conditioning on and windows secure, so…'
Gregory took a deep breath. 'So I guess she wasn't as tough as I thought. What-what time do you think this happened?'
'Between five and five-thirty P.M., not that long before we got there.'
An eerie feeling washed over Ivy. She had been driving through the neighborhood then. She had been watching the angry sky and the trees lashing themselves. Had she driven by Caroline's house? Had Caroline killed herself in the fury of the storm?
Andrew asked if he could talk later with the police and guided Maggie out of the room. Gregory stayed behind to answer questions about his mother and any relationships or problems he knew about. Ivy wanted to leave; she didn't want to hear the details of Caroline's life and longed to be with Tristan, longed for his steadying arms around her.
But Gregory again held her back. His hand was cold and unresponsive to hers and his face still expressionless. His voice was so calm she found it spooky. But something inside him was struggling, some small part of him admitted the horror of what had just happened, and asked for her. So she stayed with him, long after Tristan had gone and everyone else was in bed.
'But you told me Gary wanted to go out
'He did,' Tristan replied, lying back next to her in the grass. 'But his date changed her mind. I think she got a better offer.'
Ivy shook her head. 'Why does Gary always chase the golden girls?'
'Why does Suzanne chase Gregory?' he countered.
Ivy smiled. 'Same reason Ella chases butterflies, I guess.' She watched the cat's leaping ballet.
Ella was very much at home in Reverend Carruthers's garden. In the midst of snapdragons, lilies, roses, and herbs, Tristan's father had planted a little patch of catnip.
'Is Saturday night a problem?' Tristan asked.
'If you're working, we could make it a late movie.'
Ivy sat up. Tristan came first with her, always. But with their plans set for Friday night and Sunday too-well, she might as well blurt it out, she thought. 'Gregory has invited Suzanne, Beth, and me out with some of his friends that night.'
Tristan didn't hide his surprise or his displeasure.
'Suzanne was so eager,' Ivy said quickly. 'And Beth was really excited, too-she doesn't go out very much.'
'And you?' Tristan asked, propping himself up on one elbow, twisting a long piece of grass.
'I think I should go-for Gregory's sake.'
'You've been doing a lot for Gregory's sake in the last few weeks.'
'Tristan, his mother killed herself!' Ivy exploded.
'I know that.'
'I live in the same house with him,' she went on. 'I share the same kitchen and hallways and family room. I see his moods, his ups and downs. Lots of downs,' she added softly, thinking about how some days Gregory did nothing but sit and read the newspaper, thumbing through it as if in search of something, but never finding it.
'I think he's very angry,' she went on. 'He tries to hide it, but I think he's furious at his mother for killing herself. The other night, one-thirty in the morning, he was out on the tennis court, banging balls against the wall.'
That night, Ivy had gone out to talk to him. When she had called to him, he turned, and she had seen the depth of his anger and his pain.
'Believe me, Tristan, I help him when I can, and I'll keep on helping him, but if you think I have any special feelings for him, if you think he and I- That's ridiculous! If you think- I can't believe you'd-' 'Whoa, whoa.' He wrestled her down in the grass with him.
