A Summer with the Dead Page 4

  Elly opened a cupboard door in the sideboard and pulled out an ivory lace tablecloth and napkins. “These’ll need to be laundered,” she said. “They haven’t been out of that drawer in decades. And I’ll need to polish the silver too. It’s awfully tarnished.”

  “I’ll handle the tablecloth and napkins,” Maya said. “I enjoy laundry anyway.”

  “I’m glad to hear that, because I’ve never been crazy about it, especially ironing. The washer and dryer are at the bottom of the basement stairs, honey. Soap’s on the counter.”

  Maya smiled as she washed breakfast dishes. She noticed that Elly never wore things that needed ironing. Sweaters, sweatshirts, flannel shirts, jeans or polyester slacks—that’s what Elly wore.

  Maya gathered up the tablecloth and napkins and carried them into the basement. She stuffed them into the old pink Maytag and as the machine filled she studied the dark surroundings beneath the northern half the house. The basement had a dirt floor and was empty except for the washer, the dryer, the furnace, and nine support beams. The back wall had a door with a square window that stared outward at the lower fields like an etched, gray eye.

  Maya stood on the bottom step beneath one dangling overhead bulb. The bulb hung straight down over the washer and dryer area and except for that, the etched window at the far end provided the only light. The distant corners refused to reveal themselves. They cloaked themselves in deep shadow.

  A clothesline hung between two support timbers and a blue towel draped across the line. The towel was crooked, stiff, and dusty, as if it had been there for a very long time. Maya fought the impulse to throw it into the washing machine with the tablecloth and napkins. She struggled against the urge to at least straighten that towel. She counted to twenty and then repeated, It’s just an old towel, just an old towel, just an old towel. The urge passed.

  A smooth cement walkway cut across the dirt floor from the bottom of the steps to the faraway door. A square of newer concrete bore the weight of the furnace near the west wall, but what Maya noticed foremost was the smell. There was a familiar smell, like old basements often had—cool, dry. Like a mausoleum.

  The Maytag finished filling and started chugging and sloshing. Every few seconds it made a sound like a man groaning in his sleep, either from pain or fear.

  Maya’s eyes returned to the farthest corner where no light penetrated. She squinted, peering into the shadows, shivering, not from cold but from the chilling suspicion that something peered back. She checked the temperature and water level in the Maytag before hurrying back upstairs and closing and locking the door behind her.

  “Here’s my old ceramic pie dish,” Elly said. She stood at the entrance to the pantry with a bright blue baking dish in her hands. “It’s one of the first things I bought after we moved here. It bakes a great crust.”

  “It’s a pretty dish, too,” Maya said. “Such a cheerful color.”

  “The reason I bought it was because of something Harlan said. He complained he was hungry for apple pie, so I said I’d make one. Later, he said it was the smell of that apple pie baking that called him inside. He opened the oven door and said, “Where’s the pie?” I told him I didn’t have a true pie plate, so I made flat apple pie. He looked at me with a confused expression and asked, “Where’d you get flat apples?” I almost died laughing, but Harlan took offense at that. I told him there were no flat apples, just a flat pie, baked in a jellyroll pan. “But, where’d you get flat apples?” he asked again, and I said again, it’s just a flat pie, not flat apples, but he seemed to get even more confused, so I told him I’d get a real pie dish the next time we were in town. And this is it.”

  Maya grinned. Later, as she finished ironing the tablecloth in front of the dining room window, she spotted Coty climbing the hill from the lower fields. His black, knee-high boots were splattered with mud. His breath puffed into the cool air. As he approached the fence he slapped one gloved hand on the post and leaped over the gate, like a young man, like someone who pushed himself to stay fit. Maya doubted she could sail over a fence the way he just had.

  You wouldn’t like Coty, would you, Benson? You would consider leaping over fences, showing off. But Coty doesn’t know I’m watching. So he isn’t showing off for anybody.

  Back in Tacoma, at the condo, Maya had worn makeup every day, in case Benson brought a client home for dinner, unannounced. “No ponytails,” Benson insisted. “None of the upper management wives wear ponytails.”

  Maya stroked her clean face with her fingertips. She had not worn makeup since Benson’s car accident two weeks ago, and there were four new, ponytail elastic bands in her cosmetic case.

  Maya spread the tablecloth across the dining room table and smoothed it straight. As she placed the folded napkins at one end and centered the candlesticks, she spotted Elly on the lower landing, one hand on the newel post, eyes aimed toward the second floor as if mesmerized by something only she could see.

  “Aunt Elly? Everything okay?”

  Elly dragged her gaze away and stared at Maya for a full three seconds, as if she didn’t recognize her. Finally she said, “Yes, baby girl. Everything is fine.”

  “If you don’t need me for anything else today, I thought maybe I’d get some fresh air and stretch my legs. Exercise helps me sleep.”

  “Oh that’s fine, honey. You go right ahead. I’m going to read my new retirement magazine. Judith sends them to me every month. She’s such a dear.”

  “I won’t be gone more than an hour.” In the kitchen Maya slipped on her blue, hooded jacket, boots and gloves. She reached for the back door but spotted Coty through the window. His arms were loaded with firewood and he booted open his bunkhouse door, stepped inside and kicked it shut again.

  Maya opened the yellow door and descended into the basement. She hurried along the cement walkway, her eyes avoiding the darkest corner. There is nothing there. How could there be? She reached the outside door, yanked it open and stepped through.

  A gust of wind rattled dead leaves trapped in the corner of the foundation, spinning them around and around. Maya pulled her hood over her ears and trudged downhill, away from the house. She glanced back every other minute, determined to keep Elly’s big farmhouse between her and the bunkhouse windows.

  She couldn’t figure out why Coty made her feel so edgy. Maybe it was his penetrating eyes, as if he could read her thoughts. He wasn’t tall but he moved like a powerful man. He smelled of raw cedar, apples, and fresh air. Maya shook images of Coty from her mind and continued downhill. This was her first adventure at Aunt Elly’s farm and she was determined to enjoy it.

  The afternoon sun hovered near the tops of the trees and the temperature was already dropping. Maya cinched the hood tighter around her neck and ears. She entered a stand of alder trees and followed a narrow deer trail through mounds of naked blackberry vines. On the other side of the alders waited huckleberry bushes and ferns. Out of sight of the house now, she followed the deer trail as it angled left, toward a stand of Douglas fir, their massive trunks buried in Boston fern, salal, and Oregon grape. The wind was muffled by the giant trees. It was calm on this side of the hill.

  Wild grass and dandelions in the adjacent field yielded to granite and paper-thin lichen that crunched underfoot. Five feet ahead, the granite dropped straight down into a round, black lake. Maya inched closer, pushing her hood back. She leaned forward and peered at the water at least a hundred feet below. Its smooth, dark surface reflected the pale clouds gliding by overhead. She shuddered, imagining how it would feel to fall into that black water from such a height, the terror for those few seconds of falling. A cold, damp wind whistled up over the edge of the cliff and into her face.

  “Looks deep, doesn’t it?”

  Strong hands grabbed her shoulders from behind, trapping her at the cliff’s edge. Maya felt paralyzed, unable to draw a breath. She recognized the sleeves of the black and red buffalo checked jacket.

  “Coty?”

  “It’s an old gran
ite quarry,” he said. “Didn’t Elly warn you that a fisherman drowned here two months ago? The sheriff said his men dragged the lake but didn’t find anything except for his waders and one glove. Two weeks later they found his body downstream—washed down through the gorge and over the falls. The sheriff said they weren’t sure, at first, if the remains were even human.”

  “Let me go.” Maya struggled but Coty held her tight.

  He said, “The poor old guy might have been standing right where you’re standing. Maybe he climbed up here for the view, or to eat his lunch. We’ll never know. Sheriff said he might have fallen, or maybe he just slipped on the rocks down there while fishing, and his waders filled up and pulled him under.”

  “Stop it!” Maya twisted, terrified of the cliff, terrified of Coty. “Let me go!”

  “Maybe that old fisherman was snooping around. Maybe someone was afraid he saw something they didn’t want him to see.”

  “Stop! I want to go back to the house,” Maya said. “It’s getting cold.”

  “It is cold, isn’t it? We’re at eleven hundred feet elevation here.” Coty pulled her against him and held her tight against his chest. His breath was warm against her cheek, his stubble rough against her ear. “Especially after the sun goes down.” His arms trapped her against him. He rested his chin on the top of her head. His breath smelled like winter apples and his jacket like autumn hay. “Warmer now?”

  “Let me go!” Maya kicked backward, but her boots were heavy and awkward. She missed his shins.

  “Don’t go wandering around this place by yourself,” Coty said. “There’s rusty barbed wire, rotten old barns and abandoned wells. Or you might stumble and they’ll find your body downstream, battered beyond recognition. Better hurry back to the house where it’s warm and dry.”

  Coty swung Maya away from the cliff’s edge and back toward the stand of trees. She stumbled, caught her balance and then she ran without looking back. She sprinted, racing uphill without pausing once to catch her breath. She reached the basement door with its gray, etched eye.

  The leaves rattled and spun in the foundation corner as Maya shoved herself inside and slammed the door. She inched forward, hands out, blind in the darkness. To her left she heard something rattle. To her right, something growled. She saw a wide, glowing mouth and jagged teeth.

  “Ohh …” Maya’s legs buckled. She dropped to her knees, shaking. Her pulse pounded as she knelt there, eyes wide, dizzy with fear until she recognized the glowing flames in the mouth of the furnace. Not teeth. Her fingertips felt the concrete, new and rough to the touch. She pushed herself up and brushed the knees of her jeans. She glanced left but saw nothing in the deep shadows. The rattle she heard there must have been the echo of the furnace turning on. She followed the cement walkway and climbed the stairs on weak legs. Perspiration rolled down from under her bangs and stung her eyes.

  The kitchen stove’s little window glowed with a golden light. Maya locked the basement door behind her, turned, and leaned against it.

  Elly needs to know Coty just scared the hell out of me. A moment later Maya shook her head. He didn’t hurt me … and he could have if he wanted to. All he did was tell me about the dangers of exploring the farm on my own. Damn.

  She and Coty were both there to help Aunt Elly, weren’t they? They had that in common, didn’t they? Maya didn’t want to frighten Elly if there was no reason for it. Maybe she shouldn’t say anything.

  “How was your walk, honey?” Elly stood in the middle of the pantry hall between the kitchen and the skylight room with a steaming cup in her hands. Maya smelled tea.

  “I walked clear to the granite cliff above the old quarry.”

  “You sound breathless, Maya.”

  “I ran all the way back. I wanted to get inside before dark.”

  “That’s probably wise, since you’re new to the farm and the trails around here. It’s quite a view from the cliff, isn’t it? I’ve always been scared of heights, though, so I don’t go there.”

  Maya lifted the kettle with trembling fingers. “The water’s hot. I’m going to have a cup of hot instant cocoa. It was cold outside.”

  It rained that night, tapping on Maya’s bedroom window with sodden fingertips, sounding like pebbles rattling down the shake roof. She built a small fire and set the screen on the hearth. She crawled across the bed and parted the curtains, admiring the glistening roof outside. At the corner of the house a drainpipe funneled rainwater toward the ground. The sound reminded her of children, giggling. A gash in the clouds revealed the face of the moon and Maya spotted the bridge at the bottom of the hill and the dark stream gliding beneath it. It’s peaceful here. Except for Coty. I don’t know what to think about him.

  It was a calm night with no wind moaning through the trees. After a while the rain let up. It grew silent as the fire died to coals.

  “Don’t leave me here.” The whisper came from somewhere above or behind her. It was impossible to tell.

  Maya sat up. “Hello?” she whispered. “Where are you?”

  She listened for a full minute but heard nothing else.

  Maya closed the curtains, laid back down and pulled the covers up to her chin. She felt childish, shivering in her bed like a schoolgirl. I’m hearing voices again. First time since Benson’s accident.

  “It’s just your imagination,” Dr. Conover would say.

  Yes, I dozed off and the voice was the start of a dream. I think.

  “I’m alone.” There was no voice, no one there to whisper to her. No one else there at all. “It’s just my imagination. What else could it be?”

  CHAPTER

  SIX

  MAYA DROVE INTO TOWN with Elly and they bought groceries at the Red Apple. Maya filled her tank at the Graceville Gas-Up and they headed back toward the farm.

  “Do you think Bentley will follow you here?” Aunt Elly asked. “I’ve been wondering about that.”

  “You mean Benson. I’ve wondered that myself. I suppose he could track me down if he’s determined. There is a credit card trail. My Visa is under my name and he’s not responsible for the debt, but since the divorce won’t be final until he signs the papers, I suppose he has a legal right to trace my whereabouts.”

  “Is he dangerous, Maya?”

  Maya frowned. “He’s got a bad temper and he lashes out. He takes offense at the slightest thing. He picks fights with guys bigger than himself, but he usually wins those fights, oddly enough.”

  “Sort of like a banty rooster?”

  “A what?”

  “Banty roosters are small and they don’t seem to realize they’re no match for a bigger rooster,” Elly said. “And sometimes they manage to bluff the big guys with their cockiness.”

  “Yeah, that sounds like Benson,” Maya said.

  “I’ll tell Coty to keep an eye out for Benson.”

  “That might be a good idea. Coty looks like he can take care of himself.”

  They arrived home and carried the groceries inside.

  “I’ll put everything away,” Elly said. “I know where things go and you cleaned house all morning. Why not take a break? Go lie down. Put your feet up. Do whatever you want.”

  “I’ll take another walk, but before I do let me ask you something. Is there anything you haven’t told me about the farm? Anything I need to be aware of? Any dangers? Like old wells or sink holes?”

  “Well, I hadn’t thought about that. Guess I should have. Harlan bought out some neighboring farms forty years ago and he bulldozed over their wells. We have a map here someplace that shows the old property lines and the location of those wells. I’ll look around for it. The only thing that ever really scared me though was that old quarry. Someone drowned there not long ago. A fisherman I heard.”

  Maya said, “I’m heading uphill this time. I want to climb to the top of the ridge.”

  “I haven’t been up there in thirty years. Harlan and I considered building a house on the ridge, but winters come early at higher elevations.
Some years, it starts snowing as early as October up there.”

  After pulling on her hooded jacket and gloves Maya paused at the kitchen sink to check Coty’s bunkhouse. Smoke coiled from his chimney and she remembered smelling something cooking when she and Elly returned from grocery shopping. She wanted to slip away from the farm without him noticing this time. He did seem to have a keen eye. What was it Elly said about Coty? He don’t miss a thing.

  Stepping on clumps of grass and moss to muffle the sound of her boots, Maya hurried across the driveway and into the trees. From there, Coty’s back window was dark, the curtain drawn across the glass. She turned and strode up the trail.

  Twenty minutes later Maya reached a field of wild grass. The remains of an ancient log cabin squatted in the center of the meadow, its roof blanketed by thick moss.

  She paused to catch her breath and to check the wooded trail behind her. It was noon and the sparse clouds allowed sunlight down into the undergrowth. The spring leaves on the vine maples and dogwoods glowed like holiday lights and the tree’s branches were so slender the leaf lights appeared to float in midair. Seeing no one on the trail behind her, Maya crossed the meadow and climbed the steep trail on the other side.

  Soon, the forest floor leveled out again. She clambered up the side of a boulder beneath the branches of a cedar tree and sat down to admire the scene. A few moments later she heard the snap of a twig. A doe and her spotted fawn appeared, as silent as dappled sunlight. The doe raised her regal head and stared in Maya’s direction. Maya held as motionless as she could. The fawn approached, reaching the base of the boulder. The doe must have spotted Maya because she flashed her white tail and stomped her feet. The fawn ran back to the doe and together they loped down the trail and into deep brush.

  Something moved beside the trunk of a large Douglas fir. A minute later Coty stepped into sunlight and strode up the trail. He passed by the boulder where she sat and continued up the trail.