The House on Seventh Street (23 page)

“WHY HAVEN'T
I BEEN
here before? I didn't even know this paradise existed,” Winna said, almost whispering as Emily reached for her hand. She wanted to shout for joy, but could no more disturb the lyrical sounds of falling water than the quiet of a church.

A roundish pool of sparkling emerald water lay unruffled and clear at their feet, reminding her of the smooth round emerald ring she wore on her teenaged finger, the ring she lost and still missed. Winna looked again. No, here the water was topaz and there sapphire and emerald again where trout swam lazily by.

A butterfly fluttered near and settled onto a pillow of soft white blossoms as Emily zeroed in with her camera. Hugh disappeared behind green shrubs with Isabelle strapped to his back. It looked like he was heading toward the cliff wall where water tumbled over the rocks. Winna followed.

Hugh had entered a little cave behind the waterfall. Taking his tiny daughter out of his pack, he held her up where her small hands could catch drops of water coming from above. She was laughing, reaching out, drenching her hands, proud of herself, turning to look at her father's big grin.

Winna's heart ached at the sight. She thought of her father, wondering if he had ever enjoyed a moment like this with her, if he had ever delighted in her like Hugh delighted in Isabelle. She wondered if they had ever made as pretty a picture like this one for others to see: Henry smiling, kissing Winna on the cheek, nuzzling her warm sweet smelling neck—loving her.

Just as Emily appeared with her camera raised, Winna wished she'd brought her own. “Emily, get in here with Hugh and I'll take a picture of you guys,” she called.

After she shot some pictures, Winna left the young family to enjoy the waterfall. She worked her way back to the lakeshore, eager to just sit and look up at the towering cliffs, the mossy rocks below the waterfalls. From the green of well-hydrated plants, a busy squirrel darted over the straight gray trunk of a fallen tree, one of many beside the lake, lying like the remains of a tumbled-down wickiup hut. Enclosed inside the rumble of falling water, the lake felt magical, radiant with sunlight and cooling shadows. It did hang there, the water pooled in a bowl resting between the cliffs. She knew she would come back and wondered what the lake looked like in winter with the waterfalls frozen, snow powdering the cliff walls, deer coming to the shore for a drink.

They stopped for a late lunch in Glenwood Springs on Grand Avenue. Planters and pots of petunias, marigolds, and nasturtiums blazed in the sun. Just a few blocks from the roaring Colorado River, they found a table under an awning and sat in the shade looking out on a street where nineteenth-century architecture was still visible in the form of boxy two-story brick buildings. Winna felt happy. She looked at her daughter and son-in-law—who on his day off couldn't be parted from the baby—and knew she had made the right decision. By living at the house on Seventh Street, she would be part of this beautiful family.

Winna picked up Emily's camera and shot a few snapshots of her companions.

“Just ignore me,” she prompted, clicking away. She stood up, moving in from different angles, coming in for the shot she wanted.

“Be yourselves. I'm not here,” she said as they struck a pose for the camera. The tender glance that had passed between Hugh and Emily had faded to well-practiced smiles, then Isabelle began to squirm and fuss and Emily took her in to be changed.

THE TWO WELSH Corgis had been a Christmas gift for an elderly woman who no longer had the energy to care for two active puppies. She'd tried for a year and was grateful when Winna showed up at her door. Winna had always had dogs. Two summers ago, old blind Foxy had walked down to the road and met up with a truck. Her death, on the heels of the divorce, had left Winna vowing to never again form attachments with man or dog.

Luke and Leia spent their first night on Seventh Street in the upstairs hall outside Winna's bedroom sleeping in their new beds. They ate their first dinner in the kitchen from brand new pet bowls from Herb's Pet Ranch. Soon, Seth would come to supervise the installation of a fence around the back lawn—a play area for the dogs.

Since her return from New Hampshire, Winna had obsessed about the need to visit the family graves, those of her parents and grandparents. She wondered if she could find her great-grandparents—the Smythes and the pioneer Grummans—but she could not make herself get in the car and go. Finding it hard to sleep at night, she had prescribed a drink of scotch for herself every night before bed. The drink put her to sleep, but she would wake up halfway through the night with her mind racing.

Soon, she had recurring nausea and headaches—something she had never experienced before. Emily thought it was stress. Nearly a week after the dogs came home with her, what appeared to be an intestinal flu sent her to bed with both mental confusion and a terrible drowsiness. For three days, Winna had been so sick that she had asked Seth to come by twice a day to walk the dogs and feed them. There was blood in her urine and she decided it was time to see a doctor. Weak, her mind unable to focus, legs trembling, hands numb at the end of arms no longer controlled by her brain, she sought the comfort of her bed. The soft light coverlet and the big squashy pillow swallowed her body as she sank into the featherbed below, promising herself she would call the doctor as soon as she had a little nap.

She heard Luke and Leia bark when Seth arrived later that morning and called out to him, but he did not come to her. She could hear him moving around the kitchen, feeding the dogs, and called again. When no answer came, she succumbed to what felt like a drugged sleep.

WINNA WOULD NOT remember Seth finding her semi-conscious, or his picking up the bedside phone to call an ambulance, or the race through town, siren screaming, to Saint Mary's emergency room. From her hospital bed, she would not remember the anxious faces of her family: Emily and Hugh, Chloe and Todd as they waited for the doctor to talk to them, or John sitting at her bedside holding her hand as she struggled to breathe.

Lab results showed that she had suffered from arsenic poisoning. The police searched the house for obvious sources: rat poison, the tap water, every open bottle in the house, and all the leftovers in the refrigerator. They found arsenic in the bottle of scotch. Someone had poisoned her.

Within hours of her arrival at the hospital, Winna was treated with an antidote and in two days was sitting up in bed, still weak and confused, but missing her dogs. Family and friends came every day to sit with her. Emily brought Isabelle for her to hold, Chloe read to her from
The Hobbit
, John came twice a day, and, at the end of the week, Kate came with her arms full of flowers. Kate's visit happened to coincide with Seth's who brought Luke and Leia. He lifted the dogs up on the bed and Winna received their kisses. She thanked Seth for saving her life. When Kate heard the story, she embraced him and thanked him too.

Todd came with a box of prettily wrapped hard candies and two slightly used magazines:
Cosmopolitan
and
Motor Trend
. He pulled a chair up to her bedside and looked prepared to stay a while.

“Look, Winnie, I really want to give you a hand at the house when you get better.”

“But you are so busy and I have Seth,” she said, feeling drowsy.

“You have to pay him. I'm free.” He grinned looking pleased with himself.

Winna laughed. “I know you are good with a hammer and saw, but what else can you do?”

“I can put up curtain rods—Chloe just had me install some new ones in her living room. She wants to get the house ready to sell. She thinks we need something bigger and better.”

“Thanks. I'll remember that Todd knows how to install curtain rods. You'll be sorry,” Winna said, closing her eyes for a moment, feeling herself drop into the mattress, her eyes glued shut. “Oh my,” she said, fading. “I guess I'm going to nap now.” She patted his hand, wishing he'd let her sleep.

AS SOON AS her head was clear enough for her to talk, Detective Lieutenant Matthew Dougherty paid her a call. He stood at the foot of her bed, a young man in a sport coat and tie, his hair redder than his sunburned face. Winna could tell exactly how he looked when he was ten.

“We made a couple visits to your house this summer—break-ins.” He looked at the paperwork on his clipboard. “Officers Wilkins and Crawford.”

“Yes, there were break-ins and someone is trying to kill me.” It had taken lots of talking with family and thinking about what had happened to her for Winna to be able to say “someone is trying to kill me,” with certainty and without tears.

Dougherty's eyes narrowed. “Yes, it appears so. Do you have any idea who that might be?”

“No—I can't even imagine. I'm under the illusion that I'm well liked—loved even—but there were two accidents before I drank the poisoned scotch. Both could have been fatal, and I don't know if the accidents are in any way related to the break-ins—whether or not it's the same person behind all of this. Did anyone tell you about my other accidents?”

“No, Mrs. Jessup. I think it's time for you to tell me.”

Lieutenant Dougherty listened as Winna described her car's brake failure on Little Park Road, her talk with the mechanic about the brake fluid reservoir, and her fall down the basement stairs. She also informed him that she and her sister were recently made rich by her father's death and that the house was full of valuable antiques and jewelry.

“Who would benefit from your death?” he asked.

Winna looked startled—her face paled. “Everyone—absolutely everyone,” she said blankly.

Dougherty looked amused. “Sounds like you're doomed, Mrs. Jessup.” They had a laugh.

Though he asked, she was unable to name names—to accuse anyone. “Maybe if I put it to you this way—give me the names of your family and friends and any other close associates. We won't put suspicion on anyone particular. How's that?”

When she had finished her list, Dougherty said, “I'll want to talk with your handyman first.” He looked at his notes. “Seth Taylor. He may be able to tell me more about the basement stairs and other things about the house.”

“The locks on the doors have been changed and I've given the key to no one but my sister and daughter.”

“When you go home on Friday—that's what the doctor told me—I want you to keep your doors locked when you're at home and when you go out. Ask your sister and daughter to return the keys. Do it without notice so that they don't have time to get copies made.”

Winna's mind raced. She'd have to ask for the keys? How could she?

“The dogs were a good idea—a great safety alarm,” he reassured. “I have one more question. Who do you trust the most?”

She thought a moment and said, “My daughter Emily—and Seth Taylor—and—Chloe—and—I don't distrust anyone.”

“Except for your daughter, I don't want you to talk about this or any of your business—especially your movements—when you plan to come and go from the house, with anyone,” he said.

“I can't ask my daughter or Chloe for their keys. I just can't.”

“Okay, then I want you to call a locksmith and get the locks changed again. Would you like me to do that for you today?”

“Would you?” Winna reached for her handbag, fished for the key, and handed it to him. “Are you sure I can trust you?”

He laughed. “Yes, of course. Now get better and I'll go to work.”

WHEN WINNA HAD been home for ten days and was feeling well, she took comfort from her doctor's words. “You have made a remarkable recovery from a mild case of arsenic poisoning,” he had said, adding that she was lucky she wasn't a heavy drinker. “I recommend everything in moderation, including arsenic.”

John visited her every evening after work and had made dinner for her twice. Emily and Chloe had gotten together to make sure one of them spent time with her every day and Todd had stopped by with more flowers. She and Seth had planned to start working on the house again on Monday.

After the entire family, and John and Seth, had been fingerprinted, Detective Dougherty stopped by for a visit. He said that the only prints on the scotch bottle were hers. The kitchen cupboards had been examined for fingerprints. All they found were the prints of family and friends.

“So this is an inside job,” Winna said.

Dougherty laughed. “Or someone wearing gloves. Look, Mrs. Jessup, I don't want to alarm you, but we are looking at family and friends—and you should too.”

“I'll cry about that after you leave,” Winna said, trying to stop the tears that raced to her eyes.

JOHN HAD
AGREED
that Winna could bring the dogs. She could come early for dinner and drive home before dark. He promised not to serve martinis and to show her how to fry trout. After greeting her and the two dogs jumping at his feet, John gave her a kiss.

“What's this about you teaching me how to fry trout?” she asked. “I'm great at trout, you know that.”

The dogs sniffed around the corners of the kitchen and John handed her a glass of white wine. “Why don't we let them outside?” he asked. “There aren't any cars up here and they could explore.”

“I don't know, they aren't used to playing with coyotes and I'm not sure they'll come when I call them. Aren't they cute?”

He nodded and smiled at her as if she was the cute one. “They look like they belong at Balmoral Castle. I just hope they bark.”

“Haven't you heard them?”

Winna went to work making a big salad with romaine, avocado, and fresh grapefruit segments while John put baking powder biscuits in the oven and fried some bacon. He made the trout just like Winna had: dipped in cornmeal and fried in bacon drippings. They took their plates out on the deck. The dogs followed.

“It's awfully quiet over on Seventh Street these days,” Winna said, settling herself at the table. “Nobody's stopped by to rob or kill me for almost three weeks.”

“Winna, that's not funny,” he said, his eyes sparked with anger.

“It's meant to be, John. I have to laugh or I'll go crazy. I'm supposed to suspect someone in the family—or a friend. Can you imagine how it feels knowing that someone I care for wants me dead?”

“Yes, I can imagine, Winna. I don't envy you. I'm terrified for you. I want you to come and stay here with me where I can protect you—or I'll come and stay with you. All you have to say is ‘yes,' and I'll pack my bags.”

“Oh, John—I don't know. You'd do that?”

“Of course I would. I love you—I'd have you in bed with me every night.” He reached for her hand and pulled her up into his arms. “I want you to marry me. Come on,” he whispered. “We can eat later.”

She laughed. “We aren't seventeen, my darling. We can wait. The bed will still be there. I'm hungry.”

“This I must remember,” he said. “Winna's stomach comes first.”

“Yes—remember that.” She looked at him. He looked hurt. “Come on, John, don't make too much of it. Your dinner is getting cold.”

John seemed to let go of whatever he was feeling. He smiled at her and they both sat down.

“More wine?” he asked, tipping the bottle over her glass.

“Sure,” she said, looking over her shoulder at the dogs sitting side by side near the door with their heads cocked.

“Look at them,” she whispered. “They're just sitting there watching us eat.”

“They've been trained not to beg,” he whispered back.

“I think I love them.”

“I'm jealous,” he said. “I wasn't kidding about coming to stay with you or you staying here with me. I want to marry you, Winna.” He reached out to touch her cheek. “I should have married you in the first place.”

Winna shook her head as if she couldn't believe what she was hearing. “You are very sweet, John. I love you too. You know that. It's something we should think about together. But first, I want to talk about the past—like why you said such awful things to me when we fought as teenagers.”

“I don't remember saying worse things to you than what you said to me.”

“Well you did—you said no one would marry me because I wasn't a virgin.”

“I did? I think you are making that up, but I have to admit that us guys did think things like that back then. Don't you know I'm a feminist now? I'm glad you're not a virgin and that I had the honor of being your first.”

Winna laughed. “I guess this isn't going to be a serious conversation—let's forget it.” She reached across the table and gave his beard a tug.

After dinner, Winna reminded John that she would be going down the mountain early, before it got too late. They cleaned up the kitchen and he poured her another glass of wine.

“Sorry, I don't want another drink. I'll make some tea,” she said. “You get settled and I'll join you in a minute.”

John took a seat on the sofa with a view of the mountain. It was dusk and clouds had moved in—the perfect set-up for a spectacular sunset. Soon, Winna joined him. She put her tea mug on the table and leaned into his arms for a kiss. His kiss, his arms around her, made her feel safe and loved, or was it his desire for her that felt so good? She didn't care.

“Stay where you are,” she said. “I'll be right back.”

“Use mine—it's closer,” he said, and she headed toward his bedroom.

On her way to the bathroom, she noticed how nicely he had made the bed and the glow from the impending sunset coming in through the window. She liked that John was tidy in his habits. As she passed his dresser, she saw a small wooden box and stopped to look. It wasn't there after their picnic—not that she'd noticed.

She went to the bathroom and while washing her hands at the sink, she took a look at herself in the mirror. Pleased with what she saw, she realized that, except for the seventies when she'd worn her hair long, she really hadn't changed her basic short style since high school. Now the hair was streaked with silver and waved gently around her face. Her skin was plump and healthy looking without obvious wrinkles. Her large dark eyes stared back at her and she smiled at herself. She was still a pretty woman and her lover was waiting for her in the living room.

On her way back to John, she looked again at the little box on his dresser. It was carved rather crudely as if handmade. She wondered if John had made it. Curious, wondering what kinds of things John kept there, she picked it up. Did he save buttons while they waited to be sewn back on and safety pins? Opening the hinged lid, she saw a collection of old coins and keys and there on top, as if it had been waiting forty-three years for her, was her emerald ring. The ring her grandmother had bought her when she was fifteen. The ring she had lost and had mourned. Her heart beating fast, she picked it up. Tears came as the dark emerald caught the rays of the setting sun.

“Hey, Winna, what's taking so long?” John called from the living room.

Quickly, she put the ring back and closed the box. Why was her ring in this box? Had she somehow dropped it in his car way back then? Had he stolen it from the kitchen or the bathroom counter in her old house? Even as a girl, she never took her rings off except when she did the dishes or was going to clean them.

“I'm coming,” she called. Her whole body burning, she decided not to confront John then. Frightened, she wanted to get away.

Hoping she seemed like her normal self, Winna returned to the living room. “I'm sorry, John, but I'm just not feeling well. I must go home. I'm so sorry.”

“Me too,” he said. “What's the matter?”

“A lot of stomach upset. Maybe I'm not as well as I thought—or maybe it was the way you fry trout.” She had to make a joke.

He didn't laugh, but stood up, his expression troubled. Winna called her dogs and grabbed her handbag. He reached for her and she pulled away.

“I may have a bug of some kind and believe me, you don't want it,” she said, heading for the door.

John stood in the doorway frowning, watching her go. He looked worried, or was it anger? The dogs jumped into the back seat. Winna hopped inside, turned the key in the ignition, and backed out of the driveway to the dirt road.

THE CHURCH HAD been there since before she was born, but Winna had never been inside. Shafts of colored light from the windows lit the nave. She had not slept well and after breakfast, hoping to clear her head, had gone for a walk. Passing through a little park, she found the church, tried the door, and found that it was open. She moved to the front of the nave and knelt in the shadows near the altar rail.

Why had John kept her ring all this time? She must have told him that she lost it. She remembered looking everywhere, crying because she couldn't find it, hiding her hand from her grandmother until she went away to college.

She'd spent the last night drifting in and out of sleep with John holding her in her dreams—a stranger with a body she knew like her own. When she awoke before sunrise, she got up and sat in the parlor with the dogs. Their warm silky bodies comforted her, their brown eyes gazing openly, honestly. No human being, except for Isabelle, had ever looked at her like that. She made coffee and relived her horrible discovery. What did it mean? Why did it terrify her? She shivered, wondering whom, besides Emily, she could really trust. Then she remembered Dougherty's warning.

Winna sat in silence in the comforting shadows of the nave, her questions holding her for a long time. Kneeling, her hands fell on the back of the pew and she bowed her head. Feeling utterly alone, she waited, taking in the quiet, calming her mind so that she could think. She had already tried to make sense of everything: the break-ins, the accidents, the poison, and now the discovery of her ring. Nothing seemed connected.
This isn't helping
, she thought. She took a deep breath and let it go. It's too big for me. In the calm that followed, she knew there was one other person she had to trust.

The sound of the church door opening, followed by footsteps on the terra cotta tiles, informed her that she was no longer alone. She crossed herself and stood to go. As she turned toward the door, she saw Seth slide into a pew and bury his head in his hands. She hoped he hadn't recognized her and left quietly by the side door.

MORNING DAWNED COOL, almost like a fall morning in New Hampshire, with bright sunshine and a cloudless sky. The day after she had called her friend, Winna drove out to Kate's. She'd been invited to go riding. They saddled up and rode north toward the Book Cliffs hoping to visit some of their old haunts. Kate rode like she was part of the horse. Winna tried to remember how to sit in a saddle. She had not been on a horse in years.

“You're going to be sore,” Kate warned as they rode side by side.

“I know.” Winna grinned at her friend, tipping her hat as they approached a field of ripening cantaloupes.

“Remember? We used to steal these,” Kate said, gesturing toward rows of thirsty vines.

“Nothing like a stolen melon ripe and warm from the field,” Winna said. “Where are you taking me?”

“The ghost ranch is really old now—everything has leaned or fallen. You have to see it. We'll have lunch there.”

“I can't thank you enough—Kate—I—” Suddenly, Winna could not go on without tears. “I'm sorry, but I'm—”

Kate looked concerned. “What's wrong, Winna? Nothing new, I hope.”

“I'm just happy to be here with you
,
” she said, regaining her composure.

Kate looked at her friend and smiled. “Same here, honey.”

They rode on in silence, stopping now and then for Winna to take pictures of the barren landscape: a dry stream bed's baked mud curls, golden tufts of grass against blue sage, and her friend smiling at her under a Stetson. Finding the mare's spotted rump especially photogenic, she slowed and rode behind Kate's Appaloosa.

The remains of the old corral still stood beside the skeleton of a tree and a dried-up well circled in rocks. The farmhouse, battered by prevailing winds, listed toward the cliffs, its porch rails cracked and broken. At noon, the scene was an abstraction in sunlight and black shadows. Winna swung down off her horse and headed for the house.

“Don't try to go in there,” Kate called.

Winna waved her off and poked her head through a broken window. The house looked familiar except that the walls now leaned in divergent angles and the pine board floors looked perfect for a fun house. Winna caught her breath as a stunning image came into view. She looked at the placement of the sun in the sky and called to her friend.

“After lunch I'll need some time and my tripod.”

Finding shade against the rear of the house, Winna helped with the picnic things. They ate the lunch Kate had packed and drank chilled water. Kate shared her news: her daughter wanted her to babysit and Kate would be in Denver for a couple of weeks. Briefly, they fell into silence.

“Something's wrong, Winna. Are you going to tell me?”

Kate had opened the faucet and Winna's story poured out. Her words came in a flood filled with attendant emotions. She ended with a question. “What's going on? Is John behind all this?”

“Winna, I'm breaking a confidence by telling you this—but John is in financial trouble.”

Winna's heart sank, but she said nothing.

“Thanks to Jim, the company is okay, but John's personal finances are a shambles. As to his obsession with you, that's old news. When he lost you, I guess he couldn't part with the ring—still can't.”

“Why are his finances in trouble? Is he gambling?”

Kate looked at her blankly. “I really don't know. Jim won't tell me much, just that he's worried about him—says John's thinking about selling his house.”

“He must be in some kind of trouble. Maybe that's why he's asked me to marry him. I'm rather wealthy now, but what does John gain by helping me to my death? I just don't buy it.”

Kate gave her friend a questioning look. “Maybe somewhere mixed up with his obsession is rage—maybe he wants revenge because you broke his heart.”

Winna shook her head. “That was so long ago—unless he's insane. So you think he would try to poison me?”

Kate shook her head. “No—I can't think that of him.”

“It seems to me that if I were plotting this crime, I'd marry the wealthy divorcée, then, once the sex gets boring, arrange an accident.”

Kate laughed. “If you keep seeing him, you are nuts.”