wrong with—”
“I didn’t do anything wrong!” Harmony wailed before I could answer Lori. It was just as well. I didn’t have any answers.
“Of course you didn’t do anything wrong,” Clara told Harmony.
“Clara…” I began. I was going to ask her if she could handle Harmony. Then I remembered that handling psychiatric patients was what Clara did for a living.
Clara nodded briskly in answer to my implied question, then put her arm around Harmony’s waist. “You’ve had a hard time, haven’t you, you poor little thing,” she murmured. And suddenly Harmony, probably a full foot taller than Clara, did seem like a little thing as she slumped over the smaller woman’s shoulder and began to cry.
“What in the world is going on here?” came a high-pitched voice from my right. I turned the other way and saw Dru. She tilted her head, her bright blue eyes looking more curious than concerned. This was probably more a function of her habitual smile than a real lack of concern, I told myself. “Has Vesta really passed away?” she prodded.
“Well, I—”
“An ambulance is coming,” Trent cut in, back from the kitchen.
I swung my head around in his direction, only then remembering that I’d never relayed Clara’s message not to send an ambulance.
“Oh, damn. I’m sorry,” I mumbled inadequately and then remembered the second part of Clara’s message. “Are the police coming too?” I whispered.
“I explained the situation quite carefully,” he assured me in a calm and steady voice. His wife, Ingrid, walked up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder. He flinched and jerked his head around, then took a breath and turned slowly back to me.
“I’m certain they’ll send whoever and whatever they think necessary,” he finished quietly.
“Uh, thank you,” I muttered, reserving comment on the unnecessary ambulance. Hopefully, necessary police would follow the unnecessary ambulance. Or were the police necessary? Had it been the tea—?
“Is there anything we can do for poor Vesta?” asked Ingrid in her sonorous whisper. Her eyes were red and blurred with tears, and her skin was blotchy.
I shook my head slowly, not having any other answer to offer.
“Oh dear,” she moaned and pulled out a cotton handkerchief. “I’m so terribly, terribly sorry,” she gurgled through it.
Trent sighed and closed his eyes for a moment, then put his arm around Ingrid as the sound of her weeping grew.
“Are you okay, Grandma?” asked Mandy, the drawl gone from her voice. She sounded like a twelve-year-old now, a frightened twelve-year-old.
Ingrid drew in a sodden breath and reached out to her grandchild.
I turned away and looked for Wayne. He was alone now on the black leather couch, still staring blankly ahead. I trotted over and plopped down next to him before anyone else could ask me any more questions. I had done my duty. The authorities had been informed. The rest of the Skeritts were on their own as far as I was concerned. Except for Wayne.
I watched his profile as I took his limp hand in mine and squeezed. He didn’t even blink. My chest tightened all over again. Was he in a temporary state of shock? Or was his mind gone for good? Not for good, I told myself emphatically. That was just silly. I knew Wayne. He was rock-solid, sanity itself. Except, a shrill voice in my subconscious informed me, when it came to his mother.
“Wayne!” I whispered sharply.
He turned his head slowly in my direction, but his eyes looked through me. I felt a chill creep over me, tightening the skin on my arms and legs first, then prickling my back and scalp. The kind of chill that a nightmare brings when the dreamer suddenly sees demons blossom where a familiar form has been before. I wanted to scream myself awake.
“Please, sweetie,” I whispered instead, squeezing his hand harder. If my own hands hadn’t been so slippery with sweat, I might have crushed the bones of his fingers. At that point, I would have
“I didn’t do anything wrong!” Harmony wailed before I could answer Lori. It was just as well. I didn’t have any answers.
“Of course you didn’t do anything wrong,” Clara told Harmony.
“Clara…” I began. I was going to ask her if she could handle Harmony. Then I remembered that handling psychiatric patients was what Clara did for a living.
Clara nodded briskly in answer to my implied question, then put her arm around Harmony’s waist. “You’ve had a hard time, haven’t you, you poor little thing,” she murmured. And suddenly Harmony, probably a full foot taller than Clara, did seem like a little thing as she slumped over the smaller woman’s shoulder and began to cry.
“What in the world is going on here?” came a high-pitched voice from my right. I turned the other way and saw Dru. She tilted her head, her bright blue eyes looking more curious than concerned. This was probably more a function of her habitual smile than a real lack of concern, I told myself. “Has Vesta really passed away?” she prodded.
“Well, I—”
“An ambulance is coming,” Trent cut in, back from the kitchen.
I swung my head around in his direction, only then remembering that I’d never relayed Clara’s message not to send an ambulance.
“Oh, damn. I’m sorry,” I mumbled inadequately and then remembered the second part of Clara’s message. “Are the police coming too?” I whispered.
“I explained the situation quite carefully,” he assured me in a calm and steady voice. His wife, Ingrid, walked up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder. He flinched and jerked his head around, then took a breath and turned slowly back to me.
“I’m certain they’ll send whoever and whatever they think necessary,” he finished quietly.
“Uh, thank you,” I muttered, reserving comment on the unnecessary ambulance. Hopefully, necessary police would follow the unnecessary ambulance. Or were the police necessary? Had it been the tea—?
“Is there anything we can do for poor Vesta?” asked Ingrid in her sonorous whisper. Her eyes were red and blurred with tears, and her skin was blotchy.
I shook my head slowly, not having any other answer to offer.
“Oh dear,” she moaned and pulled out a cotton handkerchief. “I’m so terribly, terribly sorry,” she gurgled through it.
Trent sighed and closed his eyes for a moment, then put his arm around Ingrid as the sound of her weeping grew.
“Are you okay, Grandma?” asked Mandy, the drawl gone from her voice. She sounded like a twelve-year-old now, a frightened twelve-year-old.
Ingrid drew in a sodden breath and reached out to her grandchild.
I turned away and looked for Wayne. He was alone now on the black leather couch, still staring blankly ahead. I trotted over and plopped down next to him before anyone else could ask me any more questions. I had done my duty. The authorities had been informed. The rest of the Skeritts were on their own as far as I was concerned. Except for Wayne.
I watched his profile as I took his limp hand in mine and squeezed. He didn’t even blink. My chest tightened all over again. Was he in a temporary state of shock? Or was his mind gone for good? Not for good, I told myself emphatically. That was just silly. I knew Wayne. He was rock-solid, sanity itself. Except, a shrill voice in my subconscious informed me, when it came to his mother.
“Wayne!” I whispered sharply.
He turned his head slowly in my direction, but his eyes looked through me. I felt a chill creep over me, tightening the skin on my arms and legs first, then prickling my back and scalp. The kind of chill that a nightmare brings when the dreamer suddenly sees demons blossom where a familiar form has been before. I wanted to scream myself awake.
“Please, sweetie,” I whispered instead, squeezing his hand harder. If my own hands hadn’t been so slippery with sweat, I might have crushed the bones of his fingers. At that point, I would have
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