Under the Skin (15 page)

Thursday, May 17

T
here’s no sign of any Hummer; I think it would be safe for you to sit up now.”

Phillip glanced across at his passenger, slouched low in her seat. A bright green scarf covered her hair and big goggle-like dark glasses hid her eyes.
Damned if she doesn’t look like some weird bug
, he thought and fought back the grin that was starting to spread over his face.

“Are you positive?” Gloria inched a little higher and peered cautiously up and down the almost deserted highway. “Aren’t we there yet? That sign said that it was only fourteen miles to Hot Springs. It’s been almost a half hour.”

“This isn’t Florida, Gloria. Mountain miles are different.”

The bug eyes turned and fixed him in their black lenses. “Phil, I know for a fact that’s not true. And, by the way, I am
not
a dumb blonde, whatever my sister may have told you.”

He suppressed another smile. “All I meant is that you can’t make the kind of time on a twisting mountain road that you can on a sixty-five-miles-per-hour highway. I’ve noticed you Florida people always seem to think that twenty miles means twenty minutes.”

Gloria sighed and looked away. “I guess I do think
that way. I just can’t quite get used to how long it takes to get
any
where up here—at home almost everything is five or ten minutes away.”

Was that a note of wistfulness in her voice? he wondered. She was gazing out the window at the wooded mountain slopes flashing by.

“See that overhead bridge up ahead? That’s the AT—the Appalachian Trail.” He pointed at the footbridge spanning the highway. “It runs through Hot Springs—we’re almost there.”

He had awakened earlier from a blissful sleep and stumbled blinking into the kitchen in search of food, only to find that Elizabeth was gone and Gloria was in the living room—with a pile of luggage waiting by the door.

“I decided that I can’t sleep in that room another night.” Her tone of voice said that this was not a matter for discussion. “Knowing that creature was there—well, I’m sure
you
understand, Phil.
Any
hoo, I called the Mountain Magnolia again and fortunately they had a room free tonight. If Lizzy hadn’t slammed out of here in such a hurry to go to the grocery, she could have run me over but—”

Still stupid from the unaccustomed daytime nap, he had rubbed his eyes and offered to take her and her suitcases down to her car.

“Oh, no—I need a
ride
to Hot Springs, Phil. Couldn’t you do that for me? I thought it would be best not to take the Mini because the Eyebrow is on the lookout for it. And if he comes back and sees it, he’ll think I’m still here.”

Really, it had been worth the aggravation, Phillip thought as he followed the innkeeper and Gloria up the stairs of the big Victorian house. Get Gloria away from
the farm for a while and maybe Lizabeth would stop acting so strange. A little normal, quiet time together would do it. There would be a Gloria-free week ahead in which they could restore the harmony they had enjoyed till so recently. He would happily have toted twice as many suitcases up twice as many stairs if he could have the old sweet-tempered, easygoing Elizabeth back.

“And this is the Rose Room,” the innkeeper announced, swinging wide the door to a luxurious-looking room, “and there’s your private balcony and in
here
,” she gestured with a bit of a flourish toward the bathroom, “is your two-person Jacuzzi. It’s very popular, especially with our honeymoon couples,” she added, looking at them with obvious meaning.

“We’re not—” he began, only to be cut off by Gloria.

“Thank you so much, I’m sure we’d enjoy it. But poor Phil won’t be staying with me. Too sad, but the old sweetie pie can’t get free till later in the month. Of course, my sister will be joining me next weekend for the psychic workshop—I reserved a room for her when I called earlier.”

Phillip stared at Gloria and shook his head as if clearing his ears.
What
had she just said?

The young woman nodded eagerly. “Oh yes, we have her down for the Sycamore, beginning Thursday the twenty-fourth and running through Sunday.”

“That’s fine then. Now, if you’d be a dear and bring up that champagne I ordered earlier …”

“Certainly! It’s on ice right now. Back in a jiff, Mrs. Hawkins!”

Mrs. Hawkins?
Phillip sat down abruptly in the less delicate-looking of the two armchairs by the fireplace. As the innkeeper bustled off, Gloria closed the door and turned toward him.

Unable to find the words right away, he raised both hands before him as if to fend her off. “I don’t know
what you have in mind here, Gloria, but it’s not … well anyway … And another thing—you want to tell me why that girl called you Mrs. Hawkins?”

She regarded him with a look that managed to be both amused and skeptical—a look that brought to life a hitherto unnoticed resemblance between her and Elizabeth—strange to see that expression of suspended judgment on this perfectly made-up face.

“Well, think about it, Phil. Obviously I didn’t want to give my real name when I made the reservations, and I went with the first thing that popped into my head. And then, since you were here with me, I thought it wouldn’t hurt for people to believe that I had a husband around. You aren’t upset about that, are you?”

He considered, wondering where this was leading. But Gloria, standing there, hands on hips, was waiting for an answer.

“Okay, I guess that makes some kind of sense.” He was still uncertain, though, as to what exactly was going on … the whole thing with the champagne felt like a real
Are you trying to seduce me, Mrs. Robinson?
moment.

All at once he realized that he had shrunk back in his chair with his arms folded protectively across his chest,
seriously wimpy body language there
. So he sat forward with his hands on the arms of the chair and, clearing his throat, leaned forward to take charge of a situation that seemed to be eluding him.

“Just tell me what the hell you want, Gloria.” His voice was harsher than he’d meant it to be but she only laughed … and again he was reminded of Elizabeth.

“What I
want
, Phil, is a relaxing glass of champagne to help me settle in. You can join me if you like.”

Sinking gracefully into the other chair, she explained. “You see, my late husband Harold and I traveled a lot and Harold always insisted on ordering champagne
whenever we checked into a hotel. He said that was one sure way of getting good service during a stay: Start by ordering champagne
—good
champagne—and tip well. And it really is a lovely way to slow down a bit and unwind—that’s all. Good heavens, what did you think I had in mind?”

There was a tap at the door and Gloria sprang up to open it.

“Oh, lovely!” she cooed at the innkeeper and the silver tray with a pair of crystal flutes beside a dewy silver wine cooler. A gold-foil-covered cork peeked from the snowy napkin that swathed the bottle’s neck and a bowl of smoked almonds completed the presentation.

“Just set it there,” Gloria directed, pointing at the table between their chairs, “Phil will deal with opening it.”

Her hand went to her pocket, there was the flash of a folded bill, and the young woman, now Gloria’s willing slave, turned to go.

Though the cork put up a fight, Phillip was relieved that he managed to open the bottle with no more than a discreet
pop
—no showy foaming, thank god.
Real French champagne too
, he noticed;
how much do you reckon they’ll charge for that? Ah, well, like they say—if you have to ask, you can’t afford it
. Again, he found himself wondering just how rich Gloria really was.

“I know you’re in a hurry to get back, Phil, but at least you can have one glass before you go.”

He accepted, partly out of a curiosity as to what “real” champagne was like and partly with an ulterior motive—there were things he wanted to find out.

On the drive over Gloria had resisted all his attempts to get her to talk about who, other than her current husband, might wish her harm. Her only response had been to say that she was sure there wasn’t anyone like that. And she had clammed up when he’d asked about earlier
romantic entanglements. So, he told himself, leaning back and savoring the crisp dry wine, let her get a few glasses of this down the hatch. Maybe that will relax her enough to answer a few questions.

It worked almost too well, he decided, glancing at his watch a half hour later. Gloria had slugged down three glasses while he had sipped at his first, cautious as a maiden aunt. And now it had come, a flood of words that had him wishing he could reach for a notepad.

He was shaking his head in disbelief as almost an hour later he climbed into his car for the trip back to Full Circle Farm. For a moment he just sat, replaying the scene just ended. Then he reached for his cellphone and rang the house. There was no answer, only Elizabeth’s cautious message on the voice mail repeating the phone number and inviting the caller to leave a message after the beep.

He left a message after the beep.

“I’m on my way, sweetheart. Your sister insisted on being taken to Hot Springs and she’s safe and happy there. In the Rose Room, for cripes’ sake. I’ll explain when I get there. Love you.”

Flipping the little phone shut, he started the car. As he was pulling out of the parking area, he saw Gloria come down the front steps of the inn, deep in conversation with a white-haired woman at her side. She pointed toward his car and waved briefly, then the two women continued their stroll out to the lawn.

Phillip breathed a sigh of relief and continued on down the drive. After a quick stop at the Hot Springs police department and a few words with the officer on duty, he drove through the tiny town, noticing the summer profusion of lean hikers and chubby day-trippers wandering in and out of the little shops and eating establishments. On, across the railroad tracks and past the
entrance to the spa, modest successor to a once magnificent hotel, and back to the highway.

Gloria—what a piece of work! To look at her, you’d think she really was the dumbest of dumb blondes but he had to give her credit, she’d weathered some rough times.

Again there was the resemblance to Elizabeth … the independence … the reluctance to share private problems … and yes, the strength too. It seemed that beneath the fancy clothes and brittle façade, there was a woman far more like his Elizabeth than not.

Driving more or less on autopilot, his mind busy rehashing some of the things Gloria had told him, he was surprised to find himself already crossing the bridge at Gudger’s Stand. He slowed to see if the great blue heron was visible—he had caught the habit from Lizabeth, who was oddly superstitious about that bird—and scanned the lower reaches of the river. No luck.

But just as he was almost to the other side, he was startled by a harsh creaking cry to his right and the sudden appearance of the heron rising on huge wings from the riverbank below the bridge. Phillip slammed on the brakes and sat watching reverently—another thing he’d caught from Lizabeth—as the great bird, long legs trailing, went flapping his stately way right over the car to continue upriver.

As he turned onto Ridley Branch, Phillip found himself humming. Things were going to work out; he was sure of it. A quiet dinner for two—that would be nice. He had some time coming after last night—he could tell Mac that he needed tomorrow morning off …

He was still humming as he got out of his car and headed for the house. Lizabeth’s Jeep was there with the hatch door open to show several canvas bags of groceries sagging against one another. Evidently, she had just gotten back from the store. Grabbing the rest of the
bags, he took the porch steps two at a time, happy to be back home.

Through the window on the porch he could see Elizabeth moving about the kitchen and he called out, “Hey, sweetheart!” He didn’t hear an answer but he wrestled his load of bags through the mudroom and into the kitchen where he plonked them down on the bench where the other bags sprawled.

“Hi, honey, I’m home!” He grinned at her expectantly but she didn’t look up from what she was doing—which was taking what looked like freshly cleaned trout from a cooler and putting them into individual freezer bags.

Trout? Where’d that come from
, he wondered but before he could ask, he caught sight of her face.

Unless he was badly mistaken, Elizabeth was angry. Very, very angry. Tight-lipped and quivering like a plucked string in a way he’d never seen.

“Sweetheart,” he ventured, “what’s wrong? Didn’t you get my message?”

At last her eyes met his. Their icy blue sent a chill through his body.

“Oh, yes,” she replied, just a little too evenly, “I got your message. And so I thought I’d give Glory a call to see how she liked it over there. But when I reached the Mountain Magnolia Inn and asked to speak to Mrs. Lombardo, there was a little problem.”

His heart sinking, Phillip tried to say something but she continued, ignoring his attempt to break in.

“No Lombardo here, they said. Oh, I thought, she’s probably using her maiden name or maybe she’s gone back to Holst. So I told them that the guest in question was my sister and she had just checked into the Rose Room.”

Another silvery fish slid into another plastic bag and Elizabeth ran her fingers along the seal. Her face was stony and he dreaded to hear the rest of her story. But he
was like a man under a spell, unable to do anything but listen.

“Imagine my surprise,” she continued, busy with the fish and not looking at him, “when the person on the other end giggled and said oh, of course, that nice Mrs. Hawkins. She—the person on the phone—had just delivered some
champagne
to that nice Mrs. Hawkins and her husband but she could find out if Mrs. Hawkins was available …

“I told the person on the phone not to disturb the Hawkinses and I hung up.” She turned toward him, the last shiny fish drooping in her hand. “Maybe
you
can explain what’s going on,
Mr
. Hawkins.”