Set Change: A Nina Bannister Mystery (The Nina Bannister Mysteries) (11 page)

He had not disappeared physically because the body was still there; but something in him had declared ‘time,’ and that meant whatever space upon his mental stage that had been reserved for Nina, was now to be occupied by other actors.

He rose—completely ignoring Nina—walked around the table, and stared out over the garden. He scanned the thinning crowd until he saw his wife, chatting with this subordinate or that Neanderthal or that would be ticket buyer. Then his gaze intensified and intensified still more until it riveted itself into the back of her neck—

––and she turned into it, wincing—she was forty feet away, but still Nina could see her wince—and nodding.

She made quick apologies and left the conversation she’d been engaged in and walked briskly into the house.

This magical—and somewhat frightening—ritual accomplished, the man across the table returned to the man across the table and managed a completely impersonal smile downward at the woman he had, only seconds ago, pretended to be conversing with.

“We must,” he not-quite-said, “abide by our schedule.”

Nina, knowing nothing at all to say, simply nodded.

Then he took a step back, turned, looked up toward the window of his wife’s room, and waited until she opened it.

After she had done so, she leaned out, staring down, first at the bayou, and then at her husband below.

She said, simply:

“Ah me!”

But this was enough.

Clifton Barrett seized the cue as though he were an alligator floating by, seizing a rodent caught in the current.

“She speaks! Oh speak again, bright angel! For thou art as glorious to this night, being o’er my head, as is a winged messenger of heaven unto the white upturned wondering eyes of mortals that fall back to gaze on him, when he bestrides the lazy-piercing clouds, and sails upon the lazy bosom of the air.”

All of the people remaining in the garden turned, became silent, and converged on the pier.

A stage
, Nina thought.
 
And actors to behold the swelling scene.

Nina could see Helen’s fingers gripping the railing, while the caves that were her eyes deepened, and the small voice that had come through the laughter in her throat, now retreated, to be replaced by the sonorous tones of soon-filled tombs:

“Fain,” said Juliet, channeling through what had been Helen Reddington, “fain would I dwell on form, fain, fain deny what I have spoke; but farewell compliment! Dost thou love me?
 
I know thou wilt say Ay!”

And so saying, Juliet turned and followed Helen Reddington’s body back into the bedroom.

The door closed behind her.

Clifton Barrett looked down at Nina, and said:

“Good night, dear lady.”

“Good night,” she answered, feeling very cold suddenly, and not knowing why.

Helen Reddington’s
 
husband—as though the crowd left in the garden were nothing but statuary,
 
motionless figures which, once vaguely admired, could now safely be ignored—whirled and strode purposefully into the house.

And was gone.

CHAPTER 7: FREE EATS!

Bright and early the following morning, Helen Reddington brought Nina breakfast.

“Bread man is here!
 
Bread man is here!”

The world was just waking, morning light creeping like kelp up onto the beach and around the stilt poles of the shack.
 
The pelicans were making their first low level sweep over the balmy waves, and the sun had yet another ten minutes in dawn’s great Green Room before making its entrance, to begin Act Four Hundred and Seventy Three Million in the classic play BEING.

“All kinds of bread for you!
 
Baking’s done, errands to run!”

Nina had made her way into the kitchen and was just getting the coffee on; Furl had pressed his nose against the sliding glass deck door and was beginning to yowl softly; but the rattle of the front door changed everything, as did the cheerful voice that could have been a mixture of sparrows singing and morning sea breeze tinkling in the wind chimes.

“All kinds of baked goods!
 
Bread for your breakfast!”

She made her way through the living room, opened the door, and saw the face of rejoicing, the countenance of youth, the smile of New Day Coming, and the biggest and ovalest brown bread loaves ever yeasted.

“Helen!”

“Bread man’s here!”

“You remembered!”

“Of course I remembered!
 
How could I not remember?”

“Come in, come in!”

She opened the front door; the smell of the bread entered first, followed by the bread itself, and then the bearer of the bread.

“Your lovely home, just as it was!”

“Well…not much potential for decorating, Helen.”

“And no need. It’s marvelous. You moved in, I remember, in October.
 
I had been in your class two months my sophomore year,—that was world literature––and idolized you, of course.
 
So I made a vow to visit you often, mornings, because mornings are always best—and bring you something that I loved as much as you loved literature.
 
And of course that was bread!”

“And so you did.
 
So you did.”

Nina could remember it as though it happened yesterday.

Her move into the shack happened a scant three months after Frank’s death; and the sight of this superb young student, the excitement she radiated—

––these things were welcome indeed.

And they still were.

For here was Helen Reddington, the great Helen Reddington, looking precisely as she had those years ago.

A bit too much rouge perhaps.

Why had Helen started wearing so much makeup?

But otherwise the same. The identical lithe and lightly muscled body which seemed to have the consistency and flexibility of spaghetti but the tensile strength of iron ore.

Here she was, coal black hair pulled tightly into a gleaming bun, athlete’s body clad only in a bare undershirt and running pants—and eyes glittering like black diamonds.

“Bagatelli’s is still open!”

She might as well have said:

“Tomorrow is Christmas—and Santa is real!”

“Yes. They haven’t missed a day. Baking every morning.”

“And do you go there often, Nina?”

“Yes I do.
 
Three or four times a week, at least.”

“I love it! I’ve just come from there, and they are exactly the same, he always covered in flour, she always bustling around with the same absolutely perfect blue striped apron, both of them yelling at each other at the top of their lungs:
 
‘ADEPENTO! ADEPENTO, DECCOLATERI, SOPALIUSCIA!’ or some such gibberish, that nobody in town can ever understand—they still do that and it’s so wonderful!”

“Yes they do, Helen. Haven’t changed one syllable, or lost one gram of flour.
 
Here.
 
Come on in.
 
Let’s slice this bread and get it out to the deck with some coffee and butter and jam and whatever we can find. Then I want to hear everything.”

“Everything?”

“Absolutely everything.”

“Well, that might take some time.”

“You brought two loaves, didn’t you?”

And, laughing, they set about confirming that the last years had gone nowhere, and were in fact out there in front of them, as ready to be lived through as the ocean was to be sailed out onto.

At least ten minutes of this newly regained decade were given to the pleasantries of the kitchen; but after these matters had been accomplished they found themselves sitting on the deck, the cat dealt with, the bread smeared with half an inch covering of everything in the refrigerator that came in small glass bottles, and the coffee showing once again why several empires had been made and destroyed just so two women such as these could drink it every morning.

“I’m sorry, Nina, that Clifton left you so suddenly last night.”

“I don’t know what you mean, Helen,” lied Nina.

“It’s just—he has very strict ways of doing things. It can be difficult to get used to.”

“He simply saw the chance to do a moving exit scene.
 
We were all quite delighted.”

This was a lie too, but it seemed to relieve Helen, so, Nina mused, let it go and enjoy the sesame rye.

“When I met Clifton I was so—I was just so inexperienced.
 
I knew nothing. Nina, I didn’t even know how to walk.”

“I seem to remember,” Nina said, pouring a bit of cream, “that you walked quite effectively.”

Helen smiled.

“I thought so. I used to think so many things. When I look back…”

She looked back.

After she had done so for a while, Nina asked:

“Where did you meet him, Helen?”

“New Jersey.”

“Really?”

“Yes! Yes, I was there doing an off- off-Broadway production of something or other. I’d only known him a short time, and he invited me to go with him to London.“

“What a fairy tale story.”

“Well it’s not…”

She was silent for a time.

Then she leaned forward and said:

“Nina—there are some other things I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Certainly, Helen.
 
Anything at all.”

“First, I want to thank you for taking care of Grandmamma.”

“Helen, I’ve not taken care of your grandmother.”

“Yes, you have. You all have. The whole town.
 
So many wonderful ladies. The people from the church. I know what you’ve done.”

“They more than I.”

“All of you. And it was necessary, because I wasn’t here.
 
I just—well, I went off and did my thing.”

Nina leaned forward:

“But what a thing, Helen! Interlochen, then on to New York—now this! Everyone is so proud of you, your grandmother most of all.”

There was a pause.
 
Finally Helen asked:

“Is she all right, Nina?”

“Hope?”

“Yes. I know she’s frail. But last night there were times—of course there was so much confusion, and the reporters, and the lights––but there were times when I wondered whether she—I don’t know how to put this—I just wonder if she’s all right.”

“She’s fine, Helen.
 
Really she is.”

“Excellent then. So that leaves one other thing to be taken care of.”

“And that is?”

“Rehearsals. I think it’s been decided that you and Grandmamma are to come to rehearsal next Thursday.”

“Next Thursday?”

“Yes, Thursday morning at ten o’clock. We’ll be blocking then.”
     

“All right.
 
It will be an honor to come.”

“Good.
 
It’s just that…”

“What, Helen?”

Helen pursed her lips:

“Nina, this visit to rehearsal has been set up by the Bay St. Lucy newspaper as a kind of publicity event.
 
Hometown girl makes it big, comes back, eager to perform for favorite teacher. You know.”

“Well, I can imagine.”

“So it must be done.
 
But you also have to understand, we don’t have too much time to get this production ready.
 
Only three weeks. And it’s going to be filmed, so that adds more pressure.”

“Should I not come?”

“You have to come; it’s arranged.
 
It’s one of those things that can’t be changed.
 
And Grandmamma has to come…it’s just…”

“Yes?”

A longer pause.

And those deep, enigmatic eyes, darkening.

“Clifton can be very demanding. The last year, my time married to him, it’s—it’s perhaps not all that one might think.
 
If something happens at rehearsal…”

Like what?
Nina found herself thinking.

But the subject died, drifting out to sea like flotsam, while Helen, her thoughts forced elsewhere, looked at her watch.

“I have to go now, Nina.
 
But I can come again, can’t I?”

“Of course.”

She’d just opened the front door when she asked the question that had probably been on her mind the entire time.

“Nina––”

“Yes, Helen?”

“There is one more person I wanted to ask about.”

“Who?”

“Is—well––”

“Go on.”

“I wondered about John.”

“John Giusti?”

“Yes.
 
I just wondered if he ever––”

“Married?
 
No, Helen, he never did.”

She nodded.

“I’m not surprised.
 
Is he still here?”

“Oh yes. He’s our vet. His clinic is called ‘The Pelican Skeleton.’ There’s a three foot statue of a pelican outside it, with the bones all showing.”

She smiled.

“That’s like John.”

“You never were in contact with him after you left?”

“No. No, but I––Nina do you think he’d be upset with me if I went by sometime today, just to say hello?”

“I can’t imagine John Giusti being upset with anybody.
 
He just doesn’t have that kind of personality.”