House of Strangers. Carolyn McSparren
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How could such a man have deserted and then killed a wife who loved him?
Paul stared down at the grainy black-and-white newspaper photograph that someone had dredged up from the files. In what could only be a pink hunting coat, his father stood with his gloved hand on the reins of a big bay horse. A woman sat on the horse and smiled down. Too old to be this Karen Bingham, his wife. Paul’s grandmother Maribelle?
He looked closer. Neither he nor Trey had inherited that aquiline nose, but Paul could certainly see where Trey got his arrogance. This was no knitting, sit-by-the-fire granny. From the casual ease with which she sat on her horse, she was used to command.
“Sorry, sir, we’re closing the library,” the librarian whispered.
“Oh, sure.” He smiled up at her and received a timid smile in return. “I’d like to come back and look some more.”
“Certainly. We open at ten o’clock every morning and close at five.”
He started to rewind the microfiche.
“I’ll be happy to do that, sir.”
Paul nodded and walked out, vowing to return as soon as possible to look up obituaries on everyone he could think of in the direct line of Delaneys.
And then there were social events. Didn’t hunts have balls and things? Sure the county weeklies would report on them. And graduations. Weddings. There would be names of others who had known his father. He had to discover as much as he could.
He climbed into his car and turned on the air conditioner. It might be March with chilly nights, but the afternoon sun had heated the car beyond his comfort zone. He pulled out and started the drive back to Rossiter.
Weddings. Birth announcements. When had his father married Karen Bingham? Or rather, when had his father committed bigamy with Karen Bingham? He had been, whether he acknowledged it or not, legally married to Paul’s mother, Michelle, until she died.
Even longer. He had been legally married to Michelle until seven years after her disappearance when Uncle Charlie had finally convinced Aunt Giselle to declare her sister dead.
He wondered where the Delaneys were buried. Would he feel anything if he stood over his father’s grave? Could he curse him then as he had cursed him many times before?
Maybe there was a historical society that kept personal correspondence and histories that were of no interest to anyone except scholars.
Ann’s mother would probably be younger than his father would have been, but she must have known him. He needed some excuse to see her again.
And what about Karen Bingham, his father’s so-called widow? Was she still alive? How could he wangle an invitation to see her?
By the time he pulled his car into a parking space in the road in front of his house, the workmen had apparently left for the day. There were several lights on both upstairs and down, but no trucks parked on his lawn.
He carried the package containing his air mattress and pump to the front door, then set them down so that he could unlock and open it.
As he stepped in, he called, “Hello! Anybody here?”
He heard the click of Dante’s toenails on the wooden floor before the dog skidded around the doorway to the butler’s pantry, slid to a stop in front of him and sank onto his haunches, waiting to be petted.
“Good boy. This time you didn’t knock me down.” He rubbed the dog’s wide forehead. “Where’s your mistress?”
“In here,” came a muffled female voice. He followed Dante through the butler’s pantry and into the kitchen. For a moment he didn’t see her, then he spotted a pair of jean-clad ankles sticking out of the dumbwaiter. A moment later Ann emerged. Her face was dust-smeared and so was her shirt. She carried a large hand lantern.
“Hi,” she said, and wiped her free hand down the front of her jeans. “I figured if we could get this thing to work I could use it to carry supplies to the bedrooms so that I can strip the fireplaces.”
“You checked it out by climbing into it?”
“It was a tight fit, but there’s plenty of room for paint and stripper and stuff. It’s actually in good working order.”
“Ever hear of rust? What if those cables had broken? You could be in the basement with a broken back and no one to hear you yell for help.”
“I was careful. Besides, for its time, this is a top-of-the-line dumbwaiter. It’s got automatic brakes. If the cable breaks, these little feet keep it from going more than one floor down. I don’t normally do truly stupid things. I do not like risk. I’ve had more than my share for one lifetime.”
“I doubt if we could replace you easily.”
“There are plenty of other people who do what I do. I worked for a really high-class restoration firm in Washington before I came home. I still freelance for them when Buddy doesn’t have any work for me. They’d send someone—for a bunch more money than you’re paying me.”
“I don’t know what I’m paying you, but I’ll bet it’s not chicken feed.”
“I’m worth it. Now, I’ve got to start working that stripper off before it dries too much. Then Dante and I will get out from under your feet until morning.”
He followed her to the front hall and started up the staircase. Halfway up he leaned over the banister. “Have you eaten yet?”
“No.”
“Then join me for dinner.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I’m alone. If you’re alone, why not be alone together?”
She laughed. “The café?”
“I was thinking about maybe driving into town. Don’t you have good barbecue in this area?”
“Oh, for sure. If we do that, I’ll have to stop by my place to shower and change. I’m filthy.”
“Fine. I prefer to eat late, anyway.”
“It’ll be midnight if I don’t get started.”
Upstairs he unloaded his mattress. It took barely ten minutes to turn the lump of plastic into what looked like a comfortable double bed. He’d already hung the few clothes he’d brought with him in the small closet, but he would have to start looking for suitable furniture for this room soon. He had a few decent pieces of furniture from his old apartment, but they were sleek and modern, nothing that would be suitable for this house.
Maybe he could enlist Ann’s help. He planned to sell the place furnished. He didn’t want any souvenirs of this little venture.
Or did he? He wandered out onto the sleeping porch that ran across the back of the second floor. With nightfall the air had grown chilly again after the afternoon warmth, but there was no breeze. He felt as though he were in a tree house. Except for the glow from the parking lot next door, he might as well have been in the wilderness.
Someone had left an old folding chair leaning against the wall. He opened it, turned it to face the backyard, sat down and propped his feet on the railing in front of him.
He let the darkness envelop him. Somewhere close by a bird called, and frogs were already making noises. His father should have loved growing up in this house. Why had he run away to Paris?
CHAPTER FIVE
“SORRY. I DIDN’T MEAN to wake you.” Ann stood in the doorway to the little porch.
Paul sat up quickly. “I wasn’t asleep.” He stretched and smiled at Ann. He felt more relaxed than he had in days.
“Sure you weren’t. If you’d rather skip that dinner, I’ve got plenty of stuff at my place. I could at least come up with a decent omelet.”
“I