it.
“Aunt Iris, when I got home last night, I found some stones on my bed.”
She chewed and said nothing.
“They were painted like the ones Audrey placed over the hole where you buried Uncle Will’s ashes. I put the stones in a box and left them in the den. When you’ve finished your cereal, will you come see?”
“I know what they look like.”
“They were arranged on my bed,” I went on, “in the same pattern as those placed on the ashes.”
Aunt Iris raised her mug of Cheerios to her mouth and gazed at me above the rim.
“Do you know why?” I asked.
“No.”
“Well, can you guess why?”
“I don’t wish to.”
I turned on the teakettle, then tried another tactic. “What do stones that are painted like that mean?”
“Whatever you want them to mean.”
“I don’t want them to mean anything.”
“Then why did you ask?”
She tipped the mug and made small mouse noises, crunching on her cereal. I felt like banging my head against the kitchen cabinets.
I carried my tea to Uncle Will’s den and sat for a few minutes, studying the stones that had been laid on my bed.
They were obviously hand-painted. I carried two of them outside to compare them to the ones that had been set on Uncle Will’s plot — they were very similar — then headed toward the Flemings’ house, hoping Audrey would answer the door.
When I reached the gate between the two properties, I saw Clyde racing toward the creek in an effort to catch up with his duck friends. Audrey stood on the patio, watching him, her arms crossed.
“Mrs. Sanchez,” I called. “Mrs. Sanchez!”
She cocked her head and looked about.
“Can I talk to you?”
“Yes. Yes, I’m coming.” She walked briskly toward me, meeting me halfway between the gate and the house.
I held out the rocks. “I found these on my bed last night.”
She stared down at them. “You found these — on your bed, you say?”
“They’re like the ones you placed on Uncle Will’s plot of ashes.”
She frowned.
“I saw you the night you put them there.”
She glanced up at me, her brow knitted with concern.
“Why did you put these on my bed, Mrs. Sanchez?”
Audrey’s tiny upper teeth pressed into her lower lip. “Iris must have.”
“But I saw you do it! I saw you put them on my uncle’s plot.”
“I mean Iris must have put them on your bed. She’s imitating me — I don’t know why.” Audrey looked toward the house and shook her head. “You must be very careful, child,” she said, moving away from the stones, as if she thought it unwise to stand too close to them. “Don’t let what happened to me happen to you.”
“Meaning?”
“I was lured into believing in them, in their special powers.
They will betray you.”
“They. . who?”
“You know who I mean.”
“But I don’t,” I insisted. “Are you referring to my mother?
My great-aunt? I know that you were a client of my mother.
You depended on her, then you blamed her when your husband died. You thought she should have foreseen the accident and warned you.”
Audrey’s lips pulled over her tiny teeth. “Psychics are the tools of the devil. Joanna tempted me with knowledge not meant for human minds, and I was punished. So was William, but his debt is paid now. Better fire here than fire hereafter.”
“The fire here was set by kids, people who didn’t know he was in the car.”
“Willing or unwilling,” she replied, “knowing or not, any one of us might be called to do God’s work. Joanna’s killer saved her soul, ending her life before she could delve too far into evil.”
I stared at the woman in disbelief. “You’re saying her soul was saved by a thief and murderer?”
“Sometimes the least among us are chosen for holy work.”
I shook my head. People who attributed events that they desired to God’s will were crazy — and dangerous.
Audrey reached for me. Her fingers felt dry and papery on my arm. “You look upset, child. You see what Iris is trying to do, don’t you? She is telling you these things to turn you against me. She fears I will convert you.”
“It was Elliot Gill who told me.”
“Elliot.” She said the name with distaste. “Do not trust him. He was obsessed with your mother, and obsession does not come from God.”
“How about forgiveness?” I asked. “Where does that come from?”
“I will give Elliot a little credit,” Audrey said. “He contacted Social Services and told them what was going on in that house and that a child’s life was in danger.”
“Meaning me.”
“After your mother died, he called Social Services, and you were finally moved out of there. William hated him for it.
It is true that Elliot’s reason for doing that was revenge — he was still angry at William for discouraging Joanna’s affections. But all’s well that ends well. You were out of that house of evil. You see now why I feel I must help you leave again, before you come under her influence.”
I saw now a lot of things: the intense dislike between my uncle and Elliot Gill; the extreme views of Audrey that would allow her to sanction even acts of violence; and the longterm mental problems of my great-aunt. What I couldn’t see was which of these things had led to the death of my uncle.
AFTER LEAVING AUDREY, I considered dumping the stones in the creek, but I changed my mind and left the crate in Uncle Will’s den. As soon as I had time, I would get a magnifying glass and compare the two sets more carefully to see if there were telltale differences, enough to suggest that Audrey was telling the truth. When I passed through the kitchen, Aunt Iris was gone, her mug of cereal left behind. I ate a quick breakfast and headed for work.
Marcy greeted me with a preoccupied hello, followed a moment later by a quick survey of my outfit. “Am I keeping the temperature too cool for you?”
I faked a laugh. “No, I haven’t had a chance to do laundry.
These are my only clean clothes.”
It was a lame excuse, but I thought she believed it. Fifteen minutes later, when we were ready for business, she leaned over the glass counter where I was standing and pushed back my hair, revealing the long scrape on my cheek. “How did it happen?” she asked. When I didn’t respond immediately, she added, “What are you hiding beneath your long sleeves?”
“Just a few bruises.”
“How did it happen?” Marcy repeated.
“I fell. Tripped, actually. Aunt Iris doesn’t like to keep lights on. The house is really dark at night.”
“How many times did you fall?”
I hesitated, and she didn’t wait for me to fumble into a lie.
“There are scrapes on both sides of your face, widely spaced scrapes, close to each ear.”
Which meant, of course, I had to fall at least once on each side — kind of clumsy, even for me.
