“She appreciated it more than you will realize until you get old yourself, Lily.”
“I liked her.” I looked at an oil painting of the three Winthrop grandchildren. Somehow it felt even odder seeing Bobo’s young face in these unfamiliar surroundings. Amber Jean looked more like her mother in the picture than she did in the flesh. Howell Three looked gangly and charming.
“Of course, Marie was always conscious that she didn’t have much, and Chuck was helping her live in a tolerable way.”
“As he damn well ought to,” I said flatly.
Our eyes met. “We certainly agree on that,” Arnita said, her voice dry. I almost found myself liking her. “The point is, Marie couldn’t leave you money to thank you for your kindness to her, so she told me she wanted you to have this little ring. No strings. You can sell it or wear it, whatever.”
Arnita Winthrop held out a shabby brown velvet ring box.
I took it, opened it. Inside was a ring so pretty and feminine that I smiled involuntarily. It was designed to look like a flower, the petals formed of pinkish opals, the center a pearl circled by tiny diamond chips. There were two leaves, suggested by two dark green stones, which of course were not real emeralds.
“It’s a pretty little thing, isn’t it?” my hostess said gently.
“Oh, yes,” I said. But even as I spoke, it was occurring to me that I didn’t remember seeing the worn velvet box among Marie’s things, and I’d been familiar with her belongings for years. I could tell my smile was fading. Marie could have concealed it somewhere clever, I supposed, but still…
“What’s the matter?” Arnita leaned forward to look at my face, her own deeply concerned.
“Nothing,” I said, quite automatically hiding my worry. “I’m glad to have it to remember her by, if you’re sure that’s what she wanted.” I hesitated. “I can’t recollect ever seeing Marie wear this ring.”
“She didn’t, for years, thought it looked too young for an old wrinkled woman like the ones we’d turned into,” said Arnita, with a comic grimace.
“Thanks,” I said, there being nothing else to do that I could think of. I stood and pulled my car keys out of my pocket.
Arnita looked a bit startled.
“Well, good night,” I said, seeing I’d been too abrupt.
“Good night, Lily.” The older woman rose, pushing a little on the arms of her chair. “Let me see you out and get your coat.”
I protested, but she was adamant about fulfilling the forms of courtesy. She opened the beautiful doors to the family room so I was obliged to say good-bye to Howells Sr. and Jr. I hadn’t brought a purse so the ring box was in my hand. Howell Jr.‘s eyes registered it, and suddenly he turned white.
Then his eyes met mine, and he looked as though he were going to be sick. I was bewildered, and I am sure I looked it.
What was wrong with these people?
I said the minimum courtesy demanded, and I left the room, taking my coat from Arnita at the door. She saw me to the porch and stood there while I climbed into my car. She waved, called out admonitions to drive carefully on the wet streets, thanked me for coming, hoped she would see me again soon. At last she closed her doors behind her.
I shook my head as I turned my keys in the ignition, switched on my headlights. Then my head jerked, following a movement I’d caught out of the corner of my eye. I was out of the car as quickly as I could manage, staring through the dark shapes of the bushes lining the drive, trying to figure out what I’d just seen. I wasn’t about to run from the lamplight illuminating the drive into that outer darkness, and I wasn’t really sure that I’d seen an actual living thing. Maybe it had been shadows shifting as I turned on my lights. Maybe it had been a dog or cat. As I began to ease down the drive, I scanned the shrubbery for movement, but I saw nothing, nothing at all.
My summons and visit to the Winthrop mansion had been peculiar and strangely off-kilter, and I was tempted to think over the problems this family obviously had. But getting involved in the internecine squabbles of the most powerful family in the county was no way to earn a living. Head low, go forward; I needed to go home and write that a hundred times.
I had a bad feeling I was already enmeshed in more trouble than I could imagine.
The next day was so normal it was a relief. Though I couldn’t stop myself from looking side to side when I was out driving from one job to another, at least I didn’t have that jumpy feeling that something-or someone-was about to leap out in front of me in challenge.
The assorted minor bruises on my face and arms had faded to a dusty eggplant shade, and the worse ones on my back were at least less painful. My leg felt much better. The cut on my scalp was almost healed and the notch in my ear was somewhat less disgusting.
I had no appetite for lunch, so after eating a piece of fruit at home I decided to go make a necessary purchase, one I’d been putting off for a few days. My workout gloves were falling apart at the seams, literally. Maybe if I got new gloves, I would go back to Body Time. I hadn’t worked out or been to karate since the explosion. I knew I was hardly up to my former routine, but I could be doing abdominal crunches or some biceps work. All my energy seemed to be absorbed in just making my body get through the movements of life, and sometimes I swear I had to remind myself to breathe, it felt like so much trouble. New gloves, a little treat, might set me back on my former track.
Since my street is the bottom stroke of a U-shaped dead end, I had to take a circuitous route to Winthrop Sporting Goods. If I’d wanted to walk up the hill and cross the railroad tracks behind my house, I’d have reached the chain-link fence enclosing the huge back lot of Winthrop Lumber and Supply, which abutted directly onto the equally huge fenced back lot of the sporting goods store. But the fences and the rough ground made walking impractical, especially in my weakened state, so I had to make a ten-minute drive that routed me through a portion of downtown Shakespeare, then off to the right on Finley.
I had too much time to think as I drove, and was scowling when I walked in the front door of Winthrop Sporting Goods. Darcy Orchard looked up, flushed nearly the color of the red store sweatshirt, and flinched in exaggerated terror as I came in.
“You better smile, girl!” he called. “You gonna crack any mirror if you walk by.”
I looked around me. I was always staggered by the sheer size and complexity of Winthrop’s. The building had been remodeled inside any number of times, until now it consisted of a huge central cavern with specialty rooms lining the walls on either side of the store. There was a room for rifles, and one for bows-bow hunting is very popular in Shakespeare. There was a room over on the left wall just for fishing paraphernalia, and another for camping accessories. There was at least an acre of open yard out back for jet skis, boats, deer stands, and four- wheelers.
But the main room was full of everything else. There were high racks of camouflage gear in every conceivable shade of green and brown, in sizes down to infant sleepers. There were hunting caps, and insulated socks, and special gloves, and thermoses, and coolers. Life vests screamed in neon orange, deer corn was piled in fifty-pound bags, and oars were arranged in upright racks. There was a display of bottles containing fluids that made you smell like raccoon pee or a doe in heat or a skunk.
There were other clothes for every sport, even a small section for skiing outfits, since the wealthy of Shakespeare went to Colorado when the snow was deep. Every time I came to Winthrop’s, it was to be amazed all over again that a place this size could thrive in a town as small as Shakespeare. But the surrounding area was known for its hunting, and sportsmen came from all over the region to the numerous hunting camps in the deep woods. Engaged couples were known to keep a list of desirable gifts hanging behind the counter. Whole families came from Little Rock to shop at Winthrop Sporting Goods, and there had been a rumor Howell Jr. was going to start sending out a catalog.
I realized as I looked around that the Winthrops must be incredibly rich, on paper at least. I’d seen the evidence in the size of the houses the family lived in, their clothes and jewelry and toys: But seeing the vastness of the store, thinking of the huge lumber and home supply store right next to this place, remembering all the fences I’d seen across areas containing working oil wells marked Winthrop oil, no entrance, the amount of money the family must have in the bank just winded me.
Well, I didn’t want it. All I wanted was gloves.
I would have to safari into the camouflage jungle to reach the little area I wanted, a far hike to the rear if I
