“So you wanta bring him back here to die. Is that it?”
“Not at all. I was just wondering if you’d consider letting him stay with another family that really wants him.”
“You mean give him away?” Thurlow’s face reddened with anger. “Is that what you’re sayin’? What do you think I am, anyway? Just give away my dog like he’s a . . . a lemon tart or something?”
“No, actually I was thinking more along the lines of boarding him with a certain family. He’d still be yours, but he’d have a home with children who love him, and he’d be inside all winter long.”
“Who’re you talkin’ about? What kinda family wants my dog?”
“The Pickens family,” I told him. “You know them—Hazel Marie and J. D. Pickens and their children. Mr. Pickens is often away from home for days at a time. He would feel so much better about his family’s safety if Ronnie were in residence. So, see, they not only want him, they need him.”
“I’d take him if I could,” Mildred said, surprising me, “but there’re too many bibelots in my house. His tail alone would wreak havoc with my Boehm birds.”
Thurlow responded with a disdainful glance at her. Then, looking away, he began to pick at the sheet that covered his legs. No one said anything else until Helen said, “The Pickens family could be the ideal solution, Thurlow.”
“What do you know, woman?” Thurlow yelled at her. “All you care about is this house and spendin’ my money.” Thurlow turned to me and, still red faced and angry, said, “Well, hell. Tell Pickens to come see me.”
Helen soon ushered us downstairs, subtly apologizing for Thurlow’s crankiness. “He just doesn’t appreciate how decrepit this house had become. Why, mortar had even fallen from between bricks, so I’m having them all rechinked, and the roof was leaking, so it had to be replaced. And that meant, of course, that many interior walls had to be reconstructed because of water damage. It’s just been one headache after another, none of which Thurlow is remotely concerned about. It’s all fallen to me to resurrect and restore.”
“But you’re good at that sort of thing, Helen,” Mildred said. “I hope it’s not getting to be too much for you.”
“Oh, no. I love doing it, but I do have to put up with his complaints about every little thing I do. If it were left to him, he’d let the house fall down around him.” Helen walked with Mildred and me down the stairs, then guided us from one door to the next leading off the foyer—the dining room, the sunroom, the library, the den, all with ladders and drop cloths still in evidence. Two people were measuring windows for valences, cornices, and draperies—indications that the last stages of reconstruction and redecoration were under way.
Mildred was properly awed, and I could almost see her beginning to think of redoing her own house—something she was often inclined to do anyway.
After a little more inconsequential conversation about the house, we neared the front door and our leave-taking.
“Julia,” Helen said as she opened the door, “I do hope Hazel Marie knows what she’s getting into with that dog, though I wouldn’t want to discourage her. It would certainly ease Thurlow’s mind to have Ronnie taken care of. Maybe then he’d show a little appreciation for what I’m doing.”
“Let’s just hope it works out,” I said, and soon afterward, Mildred and I took our leave.
On the walk home, we had little to say, processing, I supposed, the situation we’d just left.
Finally, Mildred said, “Julia, I didn’t get a good feeling about what’s going on in that house. Those two may have made a mutually agreeable contract at one time, but Thurlow seems to be getting the short end of the stick. Maybe we should begin to think of staging an intervention.”
“For who? Whom, I mean—Thurlow, Helen, or Hazel Marie and Mr. Pickens for wanting Ronnie?”
“Why, for Helen, of course,” she said. “That woman is so house-proud that she can’t see straight. Listen, Julia, I know what things cost—I’ve redecorated my house so many times that I know what I’m talking about. Helen has obviously already spent a fortune, and she’s far from finished. I think an intervention is what she needs—for Thurlow’s financial sake, if for no other reason. He’s well-off, that’s for sure, but Helen could be close to scraping the bottom of the barrel.”
So upon that stunning note, I went home thinking that the Ronnie problem might soon be settled, but another, stickier one might have just popped up.
Chapter 20
The idea that Helen might need an intervention to point out the error of her ways occupied my mind to the extent that I was able to put aside worries about the arrogance of the Homes for Teens people—at least for the afternoon. If Mildred could look around on one visit and be able to count the cost, the situation was serious indeed.
What if Helen was actually spending Thurlow into the poor house? What if she was truly taking advantage of a sick old man? Would she do that? I couldn’t imagine that she would, but I knew that she had an inordinate interest in old houses and the restoration thereof. She loved to remodel and decorate, and she was good at it, there was no doubt about that. And there was no doubt that she was providing the care that Thurlow needed. The question was, just how much was that care costing him?
I had no idea and no idea of how to find out. All of those concerns had to be put on the back burner, though, when the Pickenses showed up just as Lloyd and I were finishing supper. They all piled into the kitchen, the little girls running squealing to Ronnie, who lumbered to his feet from his place in the corner. He endured their little hands all
