“Avril adored roses. She wanted them in vases, in her hair, in bouquets brought by her boyfriends, and she always got what she wanted. Poor Helen grew terribly jealous and angry. I didn’t blame her, not after Avril stole Thomas.”
“But my grandfather was Thomas,” I said, puzzled.
Mrs. Riley nodded, her eyes long, dark slits, as if focusing on a distant memory. “He was Helen’s beau first-at least publicly. There were other girls, many others. Money is what made up Thomas’s mind.”
It wasn’t a flattering picture of my mother’s father, but I had come for the truth.
“He was a young cabinetmaker from Philadelphia, an apprentice hired to do repair work at Scarborough House,” Mrs. Riley continued. “Thomas was talented but had no money. He switched his affections from Helen to Avril, who, as the oldest, was supposed to inherit Scarborough House.
When Avril died, everything became Helen’s. Everything including Thomas.”
I sat back in my chair thinking about how Grandmother must have felt, dumped, then picked up again, second choice. Still, it happened so long ago. “I don’t understand why any of this would matter to her now, but something has set her off, and it seems connected to Avril.”
“Some wounds heal, others fester,” Mrs. Riley replied.
“Have you seen the ghost at Scarborough House?” I asked.
“No. Not long after Avril died, I married and left the house.
I have never been invited back.”
“Is it possible that my grandmother thinks she is being haunted by the ghost of her dead sister?”
Mrs. Riley ran her gnarled hands over the table, touching it with just the tips of her fingers, as if she were using a Ouija board.
“Why do you say thinks?” she asked. “Because you don’t believe it’s possible?”
“I don’t know. I really don’t. Can a ghost move things?”
“Yes,” she replied.
“Can a ghost”-l hesitated-“lead a person somewhere, guide a person to a room or place?”
“Certainly you have heard accounts of ghosts revealing where they’ve hidden valuables,” she said.
“How did Avril die?”
Mrs. Riley studied me long and hard. “Do you want the real story, or the one the family told?”
“Both.”
“According to the family doctor, according to what Mr. and Mrs. Scarborough wanted him to say, it was an allergic reaction.”
“To what?”
“Redcreep. It grows here on the Shore. Since colonial times, girls and women have used mixtures of it as a beauty potion. It dilates the eyes, brings color into the cheeks. They found a bottle on Avril’s bureau.”
“And the real story?” I asked.
“It was an overdose. Avril, like a lot of girls back then, had taken redcreep before. She wasn’t allergic to it. She was sneaking out to see Thomas that night-Helen and I both knew it-and wanted to look pretty. She became ill at the mill, which was their secret meeting place. Thomas rushed her to the doctor, but she died on the way. An overdose of redcreep. Even good things can harm you if too much is taken at one time. So typical of Avril,” she added, “always wanting to do more, try more, have more, always flaunting limits.
“The family did not want a cause like ’overdose’ to be listed in the paper. That would make Avril responsible, and she never got blamed for anything. Of course, the Scarboroughs had their way, as money always does.”
Mrs. Riley rested her chin on her hands. Her voice sounded tired, as if the bitter edge I’d heard earlier had turned, and all she could feel now was the flat of the knife.
“I guess that’s most of my questions,” I said. “How much should I pay you?”
“There is no charge for today,” she replied, rising with me.
“Really, I planned to,” I told her, but she refused the money and led the way to the door.
“I would send your grandmother my regards,” she said, opening the door to downstairs, “but I doubt that would please her. It would be best not to mention that you saw me today.”
“Why?”
“It’s free advice, girl,” she replied. “Take it or leave it.”
“Thanks,” I said, and took a step down, which was a good thing since she closed the door on my heel.
I grabbed breakfast downstairs at the café then headed for work at Yesterdaze. Ginny was incredibly patient with me that day. I had to count a pack of singles four times before I got it right and gave her nickels when she asked for dimes.
At 3:10 I apologized for my mistakes.
She smiled. “Don’t worry about it. Are we still on for Wednesday, Thursday, and Saturday?”
“Yup.”
Ginny was giving me Friday off to rest up for “the weekend invasion.”
Instead of going home after work, I wandered up and down High Street and the streets around it, thinking about the things I’d learned from Mrs. Riley. I didn’t see the jeep pass by, not until Alex hung out the back, waving and calling my name. It stopped a half block ahead of me and two girls got out, Kristy and one of her echoes. They looked in my direction, then quickly turned away and said something to the guys.
As soon as they started up the walk, Alex called out, “Hey, Megan, where you going?”
“Nowhere special,” I answered as I got closer. “Just walking.”
“Want a ride?” he asked.
I glanced at Matt, hoping for an invitation from him. He said nothing.
“Climb in,” Alex encouraged me. “You can ride up front.”
“I don’t know if I want a ride that bad,” I told him. “I saw how Matt drove the first day I was in town.”
“How did I drive?” Matt asked.
“You nearly took Ginny’s fender with you.”