“I love how you did the zucchini,” I said, smiling, hoping I didn’t seem too not-me.
“Wath a time Itha wouldn’t eat anything until I pureed it,” Connie remarked as she ladled me a second helping. “Thpoiled children can be a challenge and a trial. I grew up on the island. We all hated thummertime, when the fanthy folk came in. I’m thtill thuthpithuth.” This last word would have set Mags off; alone, I nodded seriously.
“But aren’t the McRae people fancy folk?”
“I work for Thkylark,” Connie clarified. “And my mother before me, and her mother before her. And her mother lived here. Thkylark wath built by my great-grandfather.”
“Winslow Hastings Horne?”
Connie looked pleased. “Why, how do you know ’bout him?”
Here was my opportunity. A pleased Connie was not in her signature mood. “My parents are architecture buffs,” I lied. “I read about Horne in one of their books. He’s kind of a big deal. In my house, anyway.”
Pleasure opened Connie’s face. “He’th internationally recognithed. Fact ith, I own Horne’s only thilhouette.” She leaned forward. “Never published.”
“Horne’s silhouette? Cool. I can’t wait to tell my parents.” I gave it my all. “So you’re from an original family of Bly.”
Connie seemed thrilled that I’d reached this conclusion on my own. “That’th true.”
“And the Quints have lived here forever, too, right?”
Another nod. “Augie Quint doeth home thecurity. He can lock and unlock the entire island with the touch of a button.”
“Was Peter planning to go into the family business?”
Connie’s lips pursed at the name. “Peter? No … too much of a hothead.”
“But he sounds like he was fun to be around.”
A tic in her face suggested doubt. “He’d come over full of mithchief. Throw Itha in the air, tell joketh, play all hith awful muthic real loud. But he brought in the dark, too.”
“What do you mean?”
She hesitated. “Moody, wath all I meant.”
“And Jessie? What was she like?”
“A thummer Bly girl. Only thing different being how thee picked Peter over her people—and her family weren’t none too happy about that.” Connie pulled out her hankie and blew.
“But it must have been hard on Peter.”
“How tho?”
“Just, I mean, with Jessie and Isa and all these other Bly kids having so much.” It was now or never. “I’ve been here over a week. And I’ve discovered some things. The strange things he did.”
“Who?”
“Peter. I’ve noticed how he took some of his, you know, his darkness out on Skylark.”
“What are you thaying?” If Connie’d had quills, they’d all have been sticking out in defense.
“Almost like little tantrums or grudges.” I shrugged. “Even Isa knew about it. It’s like there are all these scars all over the house.”
Connie fell quiet.
“Like the cigarette burns.” Now I’d really launched myself. “And the missing tiles in Isa’s fireplace. I know you saw the J that he knifed into the wood of that lounge chair upstairs. At first I’d thought it was Jessie, but that’s not her style at all. She was outgoing, a free spirit. He was different, more withdrawn, but he was angry, too—and he’s done a lot of damage around here. That’s why you never go up to the third floor, right? Because you take good care of this house, Connie. You see everything. Except for some reason you’ve decided not to see the pinholes in that portrait of the three kids. And you’ve ignored the ashes in the fireplace, and the dead squirrel and the—”
“No, no, thith ith all too thilly.” With a snap of her head, Connie seemed to break herself from her trance of listening. “I don’t have the leatht idea what you mean,” she declared.
“You do so,” I pressed. “You let Peter hang out here all last summer. Because he was a local, and the locals always watch each other’s backs. But you didn’t know the damage he was doing, or you’d never have let him. You’re probably still kind of upset about it, since it all happened on your watch, am I right?”
Hot spots had appeared in her cheeks. The flat of her hand rolled her napkin back and forth, back and forth. It made me nervous to see her so vulnerable. I’d expected something else: a guilty admission, and an alliance, maybe. “Go tell the Mithter, then,” she said stiffly. “If it’th trouble you’ve wanted all along.”
“But I don’t want anything.” I shook my head, my voice suddenly thinning on me as I entreated her. “I’m trying to understand what’s going on in this house, too, that’s all. I’m … I’m on your side.” Was that true? It seemed true.
Connie’s hands were vein-corded and liver-spotted; they made me feel sorry for her in a way that the rest of her didn’t. And I could see that my last words had hit their mark. She paused. Then seemed to decide something as she stopped playing with her napkin and brought her hands under her chin, her eyes unfocused. “I go over it in my head, over and over, but I jutht don’t know why he did it. Like the way thome people pull a dog’th tail or pinch a baby. Peter liked to pick at Thkylark. I didn’t thee the half of it until he wath gone. Even now. Theemth like I’m alwayth dithcovering thomething new.”
“Connie”—I spoke carefully—“that’s because he’s still doing it.”
Abruptly, she shoved up from the table. “Now you’re talking blathphemy.” She angled a finger at me, all trace of her earlier good humor collapsed. “I don’t need any more from you, Jamie. With my own eyeth, I thaw that boy’th cathket laid in at Thaint Bartholomew latht Augutht, not five mileth up the road. With my own eyeth!” She bugged them out, turning herself grotesque, and then snatched up my unfinished dish and whisked past me to the kitchen sink.
“There’s a presence here,” I insisted. “His, mostly. If she’s here, it’s only through what she meant to him. But he’s angry and I can feel him. From the very first night, I could.”
Connie was jerking her head like a bee was circling it. “Enough, enough. I’m a woman of faith. I don’t believe in anybody come up from the earth to haunt it. You’re talking pure nonthenth.” Then she yanked on her rubber gloves with all the grandeur of heading to the opera, and made an equal production of turning on the faucet taps.