days ago. These people would be just as relieved as Varena to have the wedding over with. More people seemed to have been invited to this shower; maybe since Grace had such a large home, she’d told Varena to expand the basic guest list.
Because I’d been thinking of their daughters, I particularly noticed Meredith Osborn and Lou O’Shea. Mrs. Kingery was sitting on the other side of Varena, which was a relief. It seemed unfair to me that Dill should have such a nerve-wracking mother after his wife had been unstable enough to kill herself. I could see why he’d be attracted to Varena, who had always seemed to be one of the most stable and balanced people I’d ever known.
It was the first time I’d realized that. It’s strange how you can know someone all your life and still not spell out her strong and weak points to yourself.
This shower had a kitchen theme. All the guests had been asked to include their favorite recipe with their gift. As we began the grand opening, I got busy. My handwriting is not elegant, but it is clear, and I tried to do a thorough job. Some boxes were stuffed with little things rather than a single gift, like a set of dish towels. Diane Dykeman (she of the snatched purse) had given Varena a set of measuring spoons and measuring cups, a little scale, and a chart of weight equivalencies, and I had to use my most microscopic writing to enter everything.
This was really an excellent job to have, I decided, because I didn’t have to talk to anyone. The story about me kicking the purse snatcher wasn’t town currency yet, and Mother and Varena were avoiding the subject. But I was pretty sure it would begin to make the rounds when time came for refreshments.
When that moment arrived-when all the gifts had been opened and Grace Parks had vanished for a significant time-she reappeared at my elbow and asked me to pour the punch.
It occurred to me that Grace understood me pretty well. I gave her an assessing look as I took my place at one end of her massive oval dining table, polished to a gleaming shine, bisected by a Christmas runner and covered with the usual shower food: nuts, cake, finger sandwiches, mints, snack mix.
“You’re like me,” Grace said. She gave me a direct look. “You like to be busy more than you like to sit and listen.”
It had never crossed my mind that I was in any way like the elegant Grace Parks. I nodded and began to fill my ladle for the first one around the table-Varena, of course, the honoree.
I had to do no more than say “Punch?” after that and smile and nod.
After a long time, it was over, and once again we loaded gifts into the car, thanked Grace profusely, and drove home to unload.
After I’d changed back to jeans and the sweater, Varena asked me if I’d go to her cottage with her to help pack. She’d been moving her things slowly into Dill’s house over the past month, beginning with the things she needed least.
Of course I agreed, relieved both at the prospect of being busy and of being helpful. We had a quick sandwich and went over to the cottage, with a few stops along the way. Dill, Varena told me, was spending some quality time with Anna, who’d been showing signs of being overwhelmed by all the wedding excitement.
“I’ve reached the point where all I can do here at my place is sleep,” she told me, after she’d put her sweats on. “But I kept the lease up until the end of December, because I really didn’t want to move back in with the folks.” I nodded. I could see that once she did that, she and Dill would have lost whatever privacy they had. Or did Varena just want to ensure she had a break from our parents?
“What do you have left to pack?”
Varena began to open closets, showing me what she hadn’t managed to empty out before now.
We’d stopped behind some stores to collect boxes. Downtown had been empty, now that most of the businesses were closed. It was fully dark at six o’clock this time of year, and the night was very cold. The cottage seemed warm and homey in contrast to the blackness outside.
I was assigned to pack the tiny closet by the front door, which contained things like extra lightbulbs, extension cords, batteries, and the vacuum cleaner. As I began to pack them in a sturdy box, Varena started wrapping some pots and pans with newspaper. We worked in comfortable silence for a little while.
Varena had just asked me if I wanted some instant hot chocolate when we heard the sound of someone walking outside the cottage.
The scare we’d had that morning must have made us jumpy. Both of us raised our heads like deer hearing the sound of the hunter’s boots. Peripherally, I saw Varena turn to me, but I shook my head slightly to make her keep silent.
Then someone kicked the front door.
Varena shrieked.
“Who is it?” I called, standing to one side of the door.
“Jack,” he yelled. “Let me in!”
I caught my breath in a rattling gasp, frightened and furious at being so. I yanked the door open, ready to let him know how much I appreciated being jolted like that. The words died in my throat when I opened the door. Jack was carrying Meredith Osborn. She was covered in blood.
Behind me I heard Varena pick up the phone, punch in 911. She spoke tersely to whoever answered.
Jack was haggard with shock. Some of Meredith Osborn’s blood was smeared on him. He was breathing raggedly. Though she was a small woman, he’d been carrying her as a dead weight.
Varena picked up a sheet she’d just folded and flung it over the couch in one movement, and Jack gladly laid the little woman down. When he’d deposited his burden he stood for a moment with his arms still curved. Then with a groan he straightened them, his shoulders moving unconsciously in an effort to relax strained muscles.
Varena was already on her knees beside the couch, her hands on her landlady’s wrist. She was shaking her head.
“She’s got a pulse, but it’s…” Varena shook her head again. “She’s been lying outside.” The dying woman’s face was ice-white, and the cold was rolling off the tiny body, eddying through the warm room.
We heard the sound of the ambulance in the distance.
Meredith Osborn opened her eyes. They fixed on mine.
Someone had struck her across her face, and her lips were cracked, had bled. Underneath the blood, they were blue, to match the tinge of her fingernails.
Her mouth opened. “The children,” she whispered.
“Don’t worry,” Varena said instantly. “They’re fine.”
Meredith Osborn turned her gaze from my face to Varena’s. Her mouth moved again. She tried as hard as she could to tell Varena something.
Instead, she died.
Chapter Five
I held on to Jack. He held on to me. We’d seen people die- bad people, violent people, people who had the misfortune to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. This young woman, newly a mother, beaten and left in the freezing air, was something else again.
It was Varena who ran over to the Osborn house to see if the children were there, Varena who discovered that the house was empty and silent. And, twenty minutes later, it was Varena who saw the car with Emory Osborn, Eve, and the baby Jane pull into the driveway, to be met with the news that would change their lives forever.
Lanky Detective Brainerd was on duty again, or still on duty, and he eyed me dubiously, even after we explained what had happened.
“What were you doing here?” he asked Jack directly. “I don’t believe you’re from here, sir.”
“No, sir, I’m not. I’m here to visit Lily, and I’m staying at the Delta Motel.” Jack let go of me and stepped closer to Brainerd.
I kept my gaze on the floor. I didn’t know if Jack was making a mistake or not, keeping his business in Bartley a secret.
“How’d you know Miss Bard was here?”
“Her car is here,” Jack said.
