Traces (4 page)

“Actually, it should have gone to our parents,” Meredith said, wanting but refusing to shake off the hand searing her arm. “Then we wouldn’t have this to argue about as well as all the other crap we’ve argued about most of our lives.”

“We don’t argue. We discuss heatedly,” Paulette said with a wink. “I want to catch up with my little sister. Is there anything wrong with that?”

“Yes. And no, you’re not staying with me,” Meredith said quickly. A bitter lump formed in her throat, and she forced it back down. Paulette had once been her closest friend, until she’d started shooting down all of Meredith’s actions with stinging remarks that reverberated in her head for years afterward. Cutting, hateful comments. Meredith didn’t understand what had changed between them, but something had. It was like a secret she wasn’t in on. “No way.”

Paulette’s blonde curls bobbed, denying Meredith’s words. “Yes, I am. You owe me.”

“I owe you nothing.” Meredith drew in a long breath, striving for balance and failing. She couldn’t be in the same room with Paulette without wanting to throttle her. Or at least, Meredith found herself defensive in her presence. Wary and watchful and tense. Paulette deserved only one thing from her. “Nothing.”

“Whether you like it or not, Meredith, I’m still your older sister.”

“So you keep saying. What of it?” Where was she going with this? What did she want from her now? The last time they’d seen each other was before she hooked up with Johnny What’s-his-name. Paulette had struggled to land freelance jobs as an interior decorator, which turned out to amount to merely slapping paint on walls and choosing fabric for ugly stuffed chairs. As a result, Meredith bailed her out of her rent more than once. Even gave her cash for groceries and utilities. Without a word of thanks.

The smile melted from Paulette’s lips. Her expression hardened but hinted at desperation. “I want what’s rightfully mine. Half of Grandma’s fortune.”

“What makes you think there’s a fortune to be had?” Meredith played for time, trying to find a way out of this hellish conversation.

Paulette could not be trusted to do right by anyone other than herself. Meredith had been burned by her opinions and tirades too many times to tally since they’d turned into teenagers. Now Meredith refused to leave an opening for Paulette to target her verbal darts or missiles. No chinks existed in her emotional armor because Meredith refused to give Paulette any additional ammunition to use against her in these spats and catfights.

“If nothing else, that house is big enough for us to share.” Paulette’s pink lips twisted into something reminiscent of a pout. “If you don’t want to sell it?”

“Ah, so that’s it.” Meredith pushed the buggy closer to the waiting clerk, trying to shorten the length of time she stayed trapped by her sister. Finally the pieces of the puzzle snapped together. “You need the cash or a place to stay? Or both? Did Johnny leave you?”

Paulette wrapped her fingers around the wire buggy and stopped Meredith’s progress. Her pout flattened into a frown. “The bastard. He doesn’t know when he’s got it good.”

“You still can’t stay with me.” Nothing would be worse than having Paulette in the same house for an indeterminate period of time. She pushed the buggy up to the counter and efficiently unloaded her items onto the conveyor belt. Paulette’s hand remained on the buggy as though afraid Meredith would go running out the door. The beep of the scanner punctuated their conversation. “But there’s a B&B up the street from here. Stay there.”

Paulette stared at Meredith for the span of three heartbeats before shrugging, a smile sliding onto her mouth. “You’re probably right. We’d hurt each other in the same house. I’ll have them send you the bill.”

Relief twined with anger flushed through Meredith. At least she’d dodged having her in the house, but she still had to pay the price. Literally. “Right.” She lifted the twin grocery sacks hanging off her hands, the weight quickly making her arms shake. “I’ve got to go. My cat’s in the car, and the longer I talk with you, the hotter it’s becoming out there.”

“Hang on.” Paulette caught one of Meredith’s arms, snaring her with an intense regard. “Meet me for dinner. I—I need to talk to you. How about the Hideaway for old times’ sake?”

Meredith stared at her. The hint of dark circles under her eyes suggested that Paulette’s life had some difficulties. Again. Meredith forced tight shoulders down and rolled her neck to release the tension building there. Shaking her head, a tiny movement, admitted defeat to herself if not Paulette. She couldn’t dodge the woman forever. At some point, they had to put their hostility behind them. But was now the right time or the worst time to try? Reluctantly, Meredith nodded. “As long as we don’t sit in the cell.”

* * * *

The kitchen door squealed as Meredith pushed it open, grocery sacks and the yowling cat carrier bumping against her legs. Her purse slipped off her shoulder, yanking so hard she almost dropped the poor cat. She eased both to the floor before slinging the grocery sacks onto the counter. A puff of dust whispered into the air, making her cough.

Her grandmother had loved to cook, and thus the kitchen was the one room in the house allowed to vary in content and design from an antebellum-era kitchen. In fact, to reduce the likelihood of fire, kitchens once stood apart from the main house. The renovated room served as an altar to culinary delights. Paneled doors hid the appliances, blending them into the surrounding walls, so finding the dishwasher and refrigerator became a game of hide-and-seek. Ceramic tiles graced the floor, complementing the tiled table set in front of the rear window.

She opened the fridge and sniffed the cold air inside. Passable, but she’d need to ask Meg to clean it soon. She placed her quart of milk, half-dozen eggs, and containers of yogurt inside in front of several bottles of wine shoved to the back.

“
Meooww
.” The carrier wobbled on the tiled floor as the yowl echoed in the room.

“Okay, okay. Hold on.” No dangers lurked in the corners and shadows as far as she could tell, so she’d let her feline loose. “Just don’t go getting lost, deal?”

“
Meooww
…”

Laughing at her vocal companion, Meredith slid the latches open and lifted the carrier’s lid. Grizabella’s white, black, and orange head popped up and swiveled like a periscope surveying the unfamiliar horizon. She leaped out of the confines of the plastic box in one fluid arc. Griz picked her way across the floor, lifting and placing each paw, nose and tail both twitching at the apparent onslaught of new scents and sights.

“Behave yourself.” Chuckling, Meredith located a place to hold her remaining groceries. She reached for the handle on the pantry door, only to have the tarnished brass and glass knob come off in her hand. Sighing, she pulled her Swiss army knife from her pocket and flipped up the appropriate tool to turn the inner mechanism. Finally popping open the pantry door, she flinched at the odor accompanying the spiderwebs stretched across the interior. This place needed more than a bit of work.

Wonder if Grandma kept things in the same places all this time? She hurried to the back staircase, the one once used by the servants of the house and connected the kitchen to the bedrooms above. Similar to the front stairs, a small door led to a closet made from the space underneath the risers. Unlike the front hall closet, this one’s door sat firmly shut. Meredith gingerly tested the doorknob before giving it a firm twist to pull it open. A small cloud of dust swirled around her feet, lightly coating her shoes. She’d have to clean the cleaning supplies next.

Taking a deep breath, she ventured inside. The old straw broom Grandma had always preferred over the “newfangled” ones with plastic bristles rested against the back wall. A dust mop, rag mop, bucket, and round-headed wall brush Meg needed to use on the cobwebs everywhere flanked the yellow-bristled tool. Grabbing the broom handle, Meredith strode back to the pantry and swiped the webs from the shelves. Satisfied, she replaced the broom in its home. A roll of paper towels sat on a faux marble spindle on the kitchen counter. She wet one to wipe down the shelves. Before long, her groceries sat neatly situated in the pantry.

She glanced at her watch. Putting away her groceries only took an hour. If every task took that long, she’d be here until Independence Day, or worse, Christmas. Time for some preliminary assessments, make a few lists, and perhaps a call or two to start the wheels of fate in motion before she dragged herself off to meet Paulette.

The light thump of cat paws sounded in the back hallway. Meredith kept one ear tuned to track where Griz explored, just in case she needed to rescue the cat from her own curiosity. Which had happened when they first moved into their little apartment in Baltimore, overlooking the Inner Harbor. Griz had sniffed out a hole in the wall between the kitchen and the living room. Meredith hadn’t known anything was amiss until the cat’s plaintive cries came from within the wall. Ultimately, repairing the wall was easier than trying to lure her back to the small opening. Of course, if she were to repeat that performance at Twin Oaks, there’d be no need for repairs.

Grandma probably hadn’t anticipated that Meredith would choose to seek solace through tearing apart her family home. Grandma didn’t know what Meredith had endured over the past five years, either. What would she have said if she were here? How would she have handled the loss of two dear loved ones in such a tragic way? The horror followed by anger and grief Meredith had endured was beyond her ability to describe to people who had not experienced it, and even more difficult for them to grasp.

Meredith paced through the house until she stopped at the wide doorway to the sewing room. Max had told her Grandma died in her rocker in the sewing room, head back, eyes closed peacefully as though taking an afternoon snooze. Only she’d never awoken from that particular nap. Meredith paused, mentally inventorying the contents of the room. Sunshine filtered through the sheers covering the oversize double-hung windows. A cut-glass bowl of lavender-and-mint potpourri sat on an antique table, a spiderweb glistening between the bowl and the wood surface. Two floral-print gooseneck-handled rocking chairs faced the windows, lace doilies pinned to their headrests. Meredith envisioned her Grandma taking her final nap in the chair farthest from the door. The same chair the woman had occupied every Sunday afternoon of Meredith’s childhood to do her mending for the week, or to add stitches to one of hundreds of gifts in celebration of a new baby or birthday or other milestone event.

Meredith swallowed the emotion threatening to sprout tears. The past was dead, just like Willy. Just like her Grandma. She could not permit herself to relive it. She could only press on with her life as she knew in her heart that Willy would want her to do, and pray for the day she joined all those who’d gone before her forever.

A panicked hissing sounded from the foyer, startling Meredith into turning with a soft cry of surprise.

“Griz? What have you gotten into?” She hurried down the hall. Grizabella stared at the front double doors leading out onto the wide porch where Paulette and Meredith had often played between the columns. The cat’s back arched, and she growled between hisses. “It’s okay, Griz. It’s only a door.”

A low, menacing cat growl told her Grizabella did not agree. The hairs along the ridge of the cat’s back bristled. She inched closer to the door, hand reaching to open it. A cold draft floated across her skin, sending a chill through her. Griz growled a final time and then raced past her into the kitchen, claws scrabbling to find purchase on the old wood floors. She jumped out of the way of the terrified feline.

The aroma of honeysuckle wafted past Meredith before dissipating into silence. She inhaled, recognizing the summertime scent lingering in the air. She caught a flash of motion out of the corner of her eye and swiveled her head to the right, but nothing moved. Odd. She glanced the other way, searching for anything out of place. All remained quiet. Must be the house settling, its old foundation shifting.

Really? What kind of foundation would take so very long to settle? In fact, if she remembered correctly, this building sat on a stone foundation. Frowning as she contemplated the underlying structure of the building, she walked back to the kitchen doorway. Grizabella sat in the safe haven of her open carrier, head poked up through the rectangular opening like a prairie dog popped out of its hole, eyes wide.

“Poor baby,” Meredith crooned. She walked into the airy, sunlit space, a cool breeze caressing her cheeks. She scooped up the cat and hugged her close, stroking her to calm her trembling. “What scared you, kitten?”

The calico replied with a low purring rumble. Grizabella nudged her hand with a warm nose and then butted her head into Meredith’s palm. She scratched the cat in her favorite places behind her right ear and under her chin. Slowly the tense cat relaxed enough that she could put her back on the floor.

“Perhaps some dinner would help you settle better. You can’t be so scared of nothing around this old place, or neither one of us will get any rest.”

Grizabella wound about Meredith’s ankles until she reached down to scritch her again. When the cat sat down to lick one delicate paw, Meredith retrieved a can of cat food from the pantry. After locating a small saucer in the cupboard, she dumped the food on the plate and placed it on the floor by the carrier. Grizabella stared at it for a long moment prior to picking her way across the tiled floor to sniff disdainfully at the flat spherical lump.

“I know it’s not your usual, but it’s all they had.” Meredith turned away from her companion’s silent accusation to pull her metallic-cased notebook from her purse.

She slipped the pen from the two side loops that kept the case closed, opened to a blank page, and began jotting down a list of tasks. Having Meg and Sean help would facilitate many of the items. Not all, of course, but the majority. She’d have to contact the auction houses to arrange for appraisals, as well as the antique architecture firms to determine what they’d offer for the more unique decorative and structural appointments. The columns and the cornice pieces would be hot ticket items, certainly. Same for the hardwood floorboards and wallboards, at least those not faux painted to look like marble or a more expensive wood grain. And of course the old handmade bricks, made from the clay on site, may be worth the effort to clean and reuse, assuming they were still in good shape. Even the antique glass encased in the double-hung windows would be valuable.