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She was the lady Tina saw, the lady in the painting.
She made coffee, drank it scalding hot. She had not eaten since yesterday morning. She toasted an English muffin, forced herself to nibble on it.
Clyde would tell the doctors that he’d seen the woman he thought was Caroline. He’d say that he followed her to the house and I admitted I waved to him.
Erich would come back and take care of her. She’d sign that statement and Erich would take care of her. For hours she sat at the kitchen table, then went to the desk and got the box of writing paper. Carefully she wrote, trying to remember Erich’s exact words. She’d tell about last night too. She wrote:
And last night I must have been sleepwalking again. Clyde saw me. I walked in from the cemetery. I guess I went to the baby’s grave. I woke up in the bedroom and saw Clyde from the window. I waved to him.
Clyde had been standing out there, standing in the ice-crusted snow.
The snow.
She’d been in her stocking feet. If she’d been outside her feet would have been wet. The boots she’d been pla
She might have imagined the draft of cold air, imagined the footsteps, forgotten about sleepwalking. But if she’d been out by the cemetery, her feet would have gotten wet, her stockings would have been stained.
Slowly she tore up the letter, tore it till it scattered in tiny pieces. Dispassionately she watched the pieces scatter around the kitchen. For the first time since Erich had gone, the sense of hopelessness began to lift.
She hadn’t been outside. But Rooney had seen Caroline. Tina had seen her. Clyde had seen her. She, Je
Je
The attic. Perhaps she was in the attic. That’s where she might have gone last night. “Caroline,” Je
The attic was nearly dark. She walked up and down it. Caroline’s vanity case with her ticket and appointment book. Where was the rest of her luggage? Why did Caroline keep coming back to this house? She had been so anxious to get away.
“Caroline,” Je
The bassinette was in the corner, covered now with a sheet. Je
Something was sliding across the sheet, something slipping toward her hand. A delicate gold chain, a heart-shaped pendant, the filigree workmanship like spun-gold thread, the center diamond that flashed in the dusk.
Je
“Nana.” Saying the name aloud was like a drenching of cold water. What would Nana think of her, standing here, trying to talk to a dead woman?
The attic seemed intolerably confining. Clasping her hand over the locket she ran downstairs to the second floor, down to the main floor, into the kitchen. I am going mad, she thought. Aghast, she remembered calling Caroline’s name.
Think about what Nana would tell her to do.
Everything looks better over a cup of tea, Je
What did you eat today, Jen? It’s not good thisbusiness of skipping meals.
She went to the refrigerator, pulled out sandwich makings. A BLT down, she thought, and managed a smile.
As she ate, she tried to picture telling Nana about last night. “Clyde said he saw me but my feet weren’t wet. Could it have been Caroline?”
She could just hear Nana’s reaction. There are no such things as ghosts, Jen. When you’re dead, you’re dead.
Then how did the locket get upstairs?
Find out.
The telephone book was in the drawer under the wall phone. Holding the sandwich, Je
She dialed the number, asked to speak to the manager. Quickly she explained: “I’m Mrs. Krueger. I sold a locket to you last week. I think I’d like to buy it back.”
“Mrs. Krueger, I wish you’d stop wasting my time. Your husband came in and told me you had no right to sell a family piece. I let him buy it for just what I paid you.”
“My husband!”
“Yes, he came not twenty minutes after you sold it to me.” The line went dead.
Je
She went to the desk, got out a pad of lined paper. One hour ago she’d pla
She settled at the kitchen table. On the first line she wrote, There are no ghosts. On the second: I could not have been outside last night. One more, she thought. The next line she printed in caps: I AM NOT A VIOLENT PERSON.
Begin at the begi
Clyde did not come near the house. The third day she went into the office. It was the tenth of February. Clyde was on the phone talking to a dealer. She sat watching him. When Erich was around, Clyde tended to fade into the background. With Erich gone, his voice took on a new note of authority. She listened as he arranged the sale of a two-year-old bull for over one hundred thousand dollars.
When he hung up, he looked at her warily. Obviously he was remembering their last conversation.
“Clyde, don’t you have to consult with Erich when you sell a bull for that kind of money?”
“Miz Krueger, when Erich is here, he gets into the business as much as he wants. But the fact is he’s never been much interested in ru
“I see. Clyde, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. Tell me. Where was Rooney Wednesday night when you thought you saw Caroline?”
“What do you mean, where was Rooney?”
“Just that. I called the hospital and spoke to Dr. Philstrom. He’s the psychiatrist who came in to see me.”
“I know who he is. He’s Rooney’s doctor.”
“That’s right. You didn’t tell me Rooney had an overnight pass on Wednesday night.”
“Wednesday night Rooney was in the hospital.”
“No, she wasn’t. She was staying with Maude Ekers. It was Maude’s birthday. You were supposed to go to a cattle auction and you’d given permission for Maude to pick up Rooney. Rooney thought you were in St. Cloud.”
“I was. I got back home round midnight. I’d forgotten Rooney was going to Maude’s.”
“Clyde, isn’t it possible Rooney slipped out of Maude’s house and was walking around on the farm?”
“No, it ain’t.”
“Clyde, she often walks around at night. You know that. Isn’t it possible you saw her with a blanket wrapped around her, a blanket that might seem like a cape from a distance? Think of Rooney with her hair down.”
“Rooney ain’t worn her hair out of a bun for twenty years, ’cept of course…” He hesitated.