Текст книги "There was an old woman"

Автор книги: Hallie Ephron

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

Chapter Fifty-one

“I had no idea that you liked Ivory,” Mina said to Brian after Evie left. “Evie said you came over in the middle of the night to look after her.”

“Is that what she told you?” Brian eyed her warily.

“And after you left, she found the whistle to my teakettle and those papers you brought over for me to sign. Know where they were? Under the couch where Ivory was hiding.”

He gave her a cool look. “You need to be more careful about where you put your things.”

“Me? Why would I put the whistle to the teakettle under the couch? And why would I stuff my eyeglasses into the base of a potted plant?”

Brian folded his arms across his chest. “I’m sure it made sense at the time.”

She wanted to strangle him.

He shook his head. “Aunt Mina, I didn’t take your teapot whistle, and I certainly didn’t hide your glasses. But I’m not sorry those things happened, especially if it helps convince you that it’s time to get some help.”

That took some of the wind out of Mina’s sails. She lowered her eyes and said, more into her lap than to Brian, “I don’t know why I need someone sleeping in the house with me.” The walker seemed like an unnecessary nuisance as well. She was sore, but not incapacitated.

“Let’s try it this way for a few nights,” Brian said, “and if you can get along without the help, we’ll let her go. In the meanwhile, try to relax and enjoy having someone wait on you.”

Mina was glad when he left a short time later, leaving her in the hands of the capable Dora. There was no point telling Brian that at her stage of life she got a lot more pleasure from taking care of herself. So she bit her tongue and let Dora take her blood pressure and listen to her heartbeat, turn down her covers, help her into her nightgown, and settle her into bed. By then, Mina’s hip was throbbing like a bad headache. She took another pain pill with the glass of warm milk Dora brought her.

Dora positioned the walker alongside the bed and set Mina’s bedroom slippers inside its perimeter. “If you have to get up in the middle of the night, it’ll be right here for you,” she said. “I know you’d rather take care of yourself, but if you need help, I’ll be right out in the living room, sleeping on the couch. I’m a light sleeper, so just call out. That’s what I’m here for.”

Dora wished her a good night and left the bedroom door ajar. Mina hadn’t even seen the day’s headlines, and she’d missed two days’ worth of obituaries. If she’d had her glasses, she’d have sat up in bed for a while, reading the paper. Instead, she lay there letting her mind wander.

What a relief it had been to talk about the day that the plane had crashed, practically right into her office widow. Evie had been a wonderful listener. She hadn’t treated Mina like a sideshow freak the way reporters had treated Betty, trailing around behind her in the months after she was pulled from the wreckage. Other than to thank her rescuers, Mina had refused to speak with the press. But now she didn’t want her story vanishing into obscurity along with the rest of her memories.

And what about the troubling news the girl had brought her? It never occurred to Mina that other homeowners were being offered the same deal with the devil that Brian had wanted her to sign, property in exchange for short-term ease. She wondered if Finn had figured out who was behind the demolition of Angela Quintanilla’s house. And what about the demolished house a few doors up from Angela’s? Were the same folks poised to bulldoze Sandra’s house?

Bulldozed houses. A battery-less fire alarm. A whistle-less teapot. A golf ball that came out of nowhere. The more Mina tried to make sense, the more the pieces slipped around. She needed to make a list. But she couldn’t rouse herself to get out of bed, never mind call Dora to get her paper and pencil. Finally she gave up and let her thoughts swirl as she stared up at the ceiling, whose cracks she knew like the back of her hand but could not see.

She could hear Dora padding around in the kitchen. An occasional thump from overhead. Could the men still be working up there? From outside came the sounds of the night. The high whistle of what might have been a nighthawk. The burr-up of a bullfrog. She’d seen one, so camouflaged he was nearly invisible, in her garden just the other day, and she’d been careful not to disturb him. Nighthawks ate what frogs ate. Insects. She was happy to share her marsh with all three.

Ivory settled and resettled beside Mina’s pillow, resting her paw possessively on Mina’s cheek. The cat had been doing that ever since she was a kitten, and it never failed to make Mina smile. She rubbed Ivory on the forehead, then turned over onto her good side. Soon she’d drifted off, only dimly aware some time later of quiet footsteps. Dora was in her bedroom. Closing the windows. Drawing the shades.

Mina tried to rouse herself, to tell Dora to stop. She liked to sleep with the window open and the shades drawn halfway. That way, when she woke up she could tell if it was morning without having to put her glasses on to check the clock.

But Mina could barely open her eyes, never mind say anything. Sleep was overtaking her like a thick fog. Was she dreaming, or could she hear a man and woman laughing together? Was that the smell of cigarette smoke? Maybe Sandra Ferrante was back. She often sat outside late at night, smoking on her back porch, laughing with a gentleman caller, the smoke drifting in through Mina’s window.

Later—how much later Mina had no idea—she came awake to the sounds of a door shutting, thumps and scrapes like furniture being moved around. She strained to listen but heard nothing but silence until sleep pulled her back into unconsciousness.

A jiggle on the mattress awakened her again. A shift of weight. Had Ivory gotten up? Then a low grrrowwRRRR and a bounce, as if the cat had jumped down off the bed. The growl turned to a prolonged hiss and whine. Wrowww.

Mina knew the stance that went with that sound—back humped, head down, tail bushed out like a squirrel’s, mouth open and teeth bared. Was she imagining shapes on the floor? Ivory and her doppelgänger facing off? Or were there three of them—like the Sorcerer’s Apprentice, one splitting into two, two into four. As Mina drifted off to sleep yet again, she felt a breeze from an open window and warm bodies settling in around her.

Chapter Fifty-two

Evie left for work the next day at dawn, energized and determined to put in as many hours as she could before she had to travel to the Bronx to spell Ginger at the hospital. She was halfway to Sparkles when she realized that everyone had their garbage at the curb, waiting for pickup. She’d have to remember to ask Finn what the schedule was.

Except for a security guard at reception, the Historical Society offices were dark and empty when she arrived at seven A.M. She waved her arms to coax the automatic lighting into flickering on as she walked from the elevator to her office.

First, she set about trying to confirm Mrs. Yetner’s amazing survival story. Newspapers from the time were full of her friend Betty. Betty Lou Oliver, a twenty-year-old elevator operator, became New York’s sweetheart in the wake of her miraculous survival. Her husband was a navy torpedo man, and he had been on his way home after a year and a half in the Pacific.

Evie found a Daily News photograph of Betty Lou, a slender woman with auburn curls, walking with crutches at Bellevue Hospital, months after the crash. According to the caption, the nurses had nicknamed her “Miss Sunshine.” Evie smiled. She could not imagine Mrs. Yetner ever having been anyone’s Miss Sunshine.

There was nothing in any of the news articles about a second survivor. But Evie did find traces of Mrs. Yetner in the records. A day after the crash, the New York Herald-Tribune listed “Wilhelmina Higgs” among seventeen dead or missing. In later accounts, the official death toll was fourteen and her name was no longer among them.

Still, Evie wondered how on earth anyone could have survived what must have been at least an eight-hundred-foot fall. She found article after article in which “experts” tried to explain what everyone agreed was a miracle.

The most convincing explanation came from a spokesman for Otis Elevator, interviewed soon after the accident. He started by saying that an elevator “free fall” was as unlikely to happen “as finding life on other planets.” In fact, the elevator in the Empire State Building was the one and only instance he’d ever encountered. There were too many fail-safes, ancillary cables whose sole purpose was simply to prevent a disaster if the main cables broke.

The Otis Elevator inspectors found that in this case, however, all the elevator’s cables did fail—including the automatic braking cable. They’d been damaged when the jet engine and burning fuel fell down the adjacent shaft, and so they’d all snapped while the elevator was being lowered. Ironically, it had been those severed cables that probably saved Mrs. Yetner and her friend Betty. The cables had piled up in a tangled coil in the subbasement under the falling elevator. That, combined with compressed air trapped in the shaft by the rapid descent, cushioned the final impact. Betty Lou and Mrs. Yetner had been pulled to safety moments before flames engulfed the elevator pit.

Evie pulled the metal miniature of the Empire State Building from her purse. It was made of pot metal and there was no question that it had gotten so hot that it had begun to melt—another piece of evidence supporting Mrs. Yetner’s story.

She slipped Mrs. Yetner’s bequest, donating her story and the miniature, into a Mylar sleeve. Then she photographed the figure and logged it into the archives along with the audiotape and photographs of Mrs. Yetner. She added a lengthy research note summarizing Mrs. Yetner’s story. Under Provenance, she put: “Gift of Wilhelmina Higgs Yetner.”

As she typed into the system, the name Higgs lit up. That meant another Higgs had made a donation to the Historical Society. Intrigued, Evie scanned through the system. A collection of ceramic pottery shards, attributed to the Siwanoy Indians, had been donated in 1940 by a Mr. Thomas Higgs. That had to be Mrs. Yetner’s father. A research note said they’d been excavated in 1923. That must have been during the development of Snakapins Point.

“I didn’t expect you to be here.” Evie looked up, startled by the voice. Connor was hovering in her office doorway. “How’s your mother doing?”

“Still the same. Thanks for asking. I’ll go back to the hospital this afternoon. Ginger and I are taking turns, though I don’t think my mother realizes we’re even there.”

“It’s important to be there anyway. If not for her, for you. I told you, take the time you need.”

Evie felt a rush of gratitude. “I will. I am.”

“So what are you working on now that can’t wait?”

“You’re not going to believe what I’ve got.” She handed him the miniature of the Empire State Building. He turned it over, looking puzzled. “I found a second person who was in that elevator that fell eighty floors after the plane crash.”

“But that’s . . .” His mouth dropped open as he stared down at the little statue, then up at Evie. “She can’t still be alive?”

“She most certainly can. And is. Over ninety and completely coherent. I’ve got her on tape, talking publicly for the first time about what happened. And she’s donating that miniature. She had it with her when she fell.”

“Wow,” Connor said. “I mean, well, wow! This is fantastic. It’s got to be part of the exhibit and—” He stopped. “You know, it seems pretty fantastic that no one knew there was a second survivor and all of a sudden she pops up out of nowhere.”

“I know. I’ve been researching some of the details, but as far as I can tell, it all checks out.”

“Are you going to have Nick integrate her story with the audio we have?”

“Nick?” Evie knew exactly how she wanted Mrs. Yetner’s story merged with what they already had. She practically had it written in her head. “I’m here. I have time to do it myself.”

“It’s your call.” He gave her a long, hard look. “But here’s some advice from a friend. You need to learn to let go. Not just because of your mother. Because it’s part of being in charge. You don’t get to do everything yourself. You have an excellent staff. You should be thinking strategically, not tactically. Giving them opportunities to be creative and giving them credit for it. And meanwhile, coming up with the next great exhibit we’re going to mount and figuring out how to find donors to pay for it.”

In other words, not logging acquisitions and editing copy. Evie knew he was right. There was no reason for her to do what her staff could do. Still, she felt a pang of regret later after she handed the tape over to Maia to digitize and transcribe.

Suddenly, Evie had time on her hands. She paid a brief visit to the Great Hall. Seared in Memory was nearly complete. Some of the pictures she’d taken in the bowels of the Empire State Building had been blown up and mounted. She used her shirtsleeve to wipe a smudge off the Plexiglas over one of them. Then she returned to her office. She checked through her e-mail. Proofread their latest press release, even though it didn’t need proofing. Sent an e-mail asking Maia to add Mrs. Yetner to the list of people invited to the opening and to make sure a VIP ribbon got affixed to her name tag. Then she tucked one of the engraved invitations into her bag. Even if Mrs. Yetner turned out to be too weak to attend, she’d have it as a keepsake.

Finally she sat down to work on a half-finished strategic plan. But her attention kept wandering. Higgs Point. Known to the Siwanoy as Snakapins, land between two waters. It had passed from Finn’s great-grandfather to Mrs. Yetner’s father, who’d chopped it into narrow lots where he’d built modest houses and sold them off. Now, one by one, houses were being leveled.

Evie logged on to the website that gave the Historical Society direct access to the city’s property rolls. She typed in her mother’s address first. A little hourglass blinked a few times, then was replaced by a three-digit BBL number—borough, block, and lot. She entered that number in the Search Deeds box and waited while the system worked.

A list of deeds for the lot came up, the oldest one dated 1925. Evie held her breath as she scrolled through the list. The house had changed hands nine times since then but—Evie exhaled with relief—her mother, at least according to the City of New York, still owned it. The current deed was dated 1980. It had last been updated in 2002, the year her father died.

But what about Soundview Management? Had they succeeded in taking over other properties? Evie changed the search criteria and typed in “Soundview” as well as her mother’s zip code. Up came a list of about a dozen properties. She selected them all and clicked Map.

A map of Higgs Point flashed up on her screen with a dozen virtual pushpins highlighting those addresses. As she sent a copy to the printer, she realized how late it was. She was due at the hospital soon. She grabbed the printout and took a quick glance as she rode down in the elevator. As she’d suspected, Soundview Management owned both properties where houses had been demolished up the street from her mother’s. They owned more lots along Neck Road as well, most of them on the water. Evie stuffed the printout into her bag to examine more closely later.

Chapter Fifty-three

Evie spent the afternoon at the hospital, sitting at her mother’s bedside and quietly free-associating. Talking. Singing. Though she had no idea whether her mother registered a single sound she was making, she rattled on about the new exhibit, about Mrs. Yetner’s incredible story of survival. For some reason that made her think of Disney World. The Haunted Mansion. From there, to the hotel they’d stayed in on a family trip. The only family trip they’d ever taken, though Evie didn’t say that.

“Remember the slide at the pool?” Evie gently pressed the back of her mother’s hand. The skin was mottled, covered with angry purple blotches and as cool as bedsheets. “You slid down on a dare, and when you hit the water, you nearly lost your bathing suit top. And remember how Ginger freaked out when Chip and Dale tried to sit down with us at breakfast in the restaurant? And you’d paid extra for that?” In a squeaky voice, she sang softly, “I’m Chip, I’m Dale. We’re just a couple of cwazy wascals.”

Minutes ticked by as Evie shared more random memories. She sang the lullabies and nursery rhymes she’d learned from her mother before everything at home went sour and boozy. She laughed. She cried. She surprised herself with how many good memories there still were to savor. It was time—past time, really—for her to let go of her anger and give herself permission to be her mother’s daughter without being afraid that she was going to turn into her.

“I love you, Ma,” she said.

But her mother just lay there, mouth open, each breath rattling in her throat. The numbers monitoring her vital signs didn’t go up and they didn’t go down. They just stayed stuck in place, and Evie felt the same way.

She was thoroughly drained by the time she caught the bus to Higgs Point. It was nearly dark, and Evie leaned her head against the bus window, feeling caught in a kind of limbo as familiar landmarks floated past. How many more times would she have to make this trip past that street corner, sit at this red light? When her mother died and the estate was settled, there’d be no reason to return.

As she walked from the bus stop, she realized she’d actually miss the neighborhood. Not so much sleeping on a mattress in the middle of her mother’s still rank-smelling living room, but there was something special about Higgs Point. Where else in New York City was there both a saltwater marsh and a view of the Empire State Building?

Sparkles already had its outside lights on when Evie got there. She paused at the window to catch a glimpse of Finn, standing at the register and talking on the phone. She didn’t go in. She wanted to get to Mrs. Yetner’s before dark and tell her how excited everyone was about making her story part of the exhibit. Plus Finn had promised her dinner—she didn’t want to keep showing up and make him think she was overeager.

Brian’s Mercedes was parked on the street in front of Mrs. Yetner’s house. The pile of lumber in the driveway had grown. Evie rang the bell. Almost immediately Brian opened the door. Before Evie could say anything, he said, “She’s not feeling up to visitors.”

“Is she all right? Can I do anything?”

“Let her rest. I’m afraid she’s weaker than we expected her to be.”

Evie heard a cat meowing. “I brought her an invitation to a gala where she’d be the featured guest. I could just pop in and deliver—”

“I can take that for her.”

Brian reached for the card, but Evie held it back. “Thanks. I’d like to deliver it personally. It might even cheer her up.”

“Well, now is not a good time. I said she’s resting.”

“I’ll come back.”

“You do that.” Brian was closing the door when Ivory squirmed out through the opening and streaked across the lawn and around to the back of the house. Without thinking, Evie dropped her bag and took off after her, arriving just in time to see the cat slip under her mother’s back porch.

Evie turned around, expecting to see Brian chasing the cat, too. But it seemed Evie was on her own with this particular rescue mission. She crouched and peered under the porch. It was so dark she couldn’t see anything.

“Here, kitty,” she said. She made some kissing sounds. “Come out now.” Kiss kiss kiss.

After a few minutes of that, it was clear that Ivory was determined to stay hidden. So much for Mrs. Yetner’s claim that Ivory wouldn’t know what to do with herself outside. What Evie needed was something nice and smelly to lure her—like one of those empty cans of cat food she’d collected from her mother’s kitchen. Plenty of them had what a cat might consider tasty bits still stuck to them. She’d thrown those cans into one of the already full garbage bags, so she could probably retrieve a few without too much digging around.

But which one were they in? she wondered as she stood contemplating the five bags of garbage she’d forgotten to put out at the curb for garbage pickup. Even closed they exuded a nasty smell.

Eenie, meenie, miney . . . She took a breath, held it, and opened Mo. It was a lucky guess. There, on top, were some of those cans. Most of them were surprisingly clean, and she had to pick through to find one with a few crusty clumps stuck to the bottom. She carried it over to the edge of the porch and set it on the ground. As she stood waiting for Ivory to come investigate, the last glow of amber and pink sunset disappeared from the sky. It really was beautiful out here. Why had Evie never appreciated it when she was growing up?

At last the cat poked her nose out from under the porch and slunk forward. Evie crouched. Nudged the can a little closer to the cat. Waited until the cat had sniffed, sniffed again, and finally settled, licking at the inside of the can before Evie grabbed her.

Ivory squirmed and tried to wriggle free as Evie carried her around to the front of Mrs. Yetner’s house. At Evie’s knock, Brian opened the door again. He took the cat from her arms with a grudging thank-you and closed the door.

Evie went to throw away the can and close up the garbage bag. This time, she’d drag all five of them to the curb. But as she was tossing the can into the open bag, she noticed a familiar-looking jar with a green-and-white label right on top. She lifted it out. NaturaPharm. Vitamin C. She shook the container. Pills rattled inside.

Trying not to inhale, Evie dug around until she found a second NaturaPharm container. Vitamin B₁. The rest of her mother’s cache of vitamin pills that had disappeared from her medicine cabinet after the break-in were probably in the bag, too, but Evie wasn’t about to scrounge around for them. But what were they doing in there? Who had taken them from the medicine cabinet, and why take them and then throw them away?

Evie took the two containers inside and set them on the kitchen counter. She opened the vitamin C. Shook out a large white oval tablet into the palm of her hand. One side was scored for easy breaking. Imprinted on the other side was the code L484.

She opened the container of B₁ vitamins. The pills inside were the same size. Same shape. Same L484.

It took Evie just a moment to Google the number on her phone. L484 was the pharmaceutical industry’s code for acetaminophen.

Moments later, Evie had dug from her purse the card from the police officer investigating the earlier break-in. Sergeant Bruce Corday. He’d said to call if she discovered anything else, and now she most definitely had.

When he called her back an hour later, he listened. Said he’d come to the house first thing in the morning, and that he’d be bringing a detective with him.