trim just one shade darker, allowing the house to disappear into the trees and plantings around it. Don’t notice me, the house murmured. Drive on by, leave me alone.
A maid in a gray uniform answered the door, a tiny Mexican-American woman brandishing a broom. She looked at Tess as if she were a piece of dirt she wanted to sweep away as quickly as possible.
“You want to see Mrs. Conyers? What for? Who are you? She know you? I didn’t think so. What do you want?”
Although the maid barely came up to her collarbone, Tess found herself taking a step back, out of arm’s length, if not broom’s length. “It’s about what happened up at her country place,” she said when the maid finally ran out of breath. She assumed Sheriff Kolarik had been in touch by now, that she need not go into too much gory detail.
“They’ve been here. She knows. It’s got nothing to do with her. Goodbye. We don’t want any.” The maid started to close the door on her, as Tess braced it with her foot. She didn’t want to come on too strong, but she wasn’t leaving without making her best effort.
“There are still things that have to be…discussed.” Tess was trying to imply an official role without claiming one. “I was the one who found the body, you know.”
“Really?” The maid was intrigued, but only for a moment. “So what?”
A voice called out from somewhere within the house. “Oh, let her in, Dolores. I guess I can stand two callers in one day.”
Reluctantly the maid opened the door so Tess could pass, watching her to make sure she wiped her feet. Tess had thought she looked neat and professional, in her narrow, ankle-length skirt of blue plaid and a simple white T-shirt. She had even borrowed an iron from Mrs. Nguyen and gone to the trouble of putting her hair up. Dolores’s sour gaze made her feel grubby and mussed.
Although the pale peach walls of the foyer were unadorned, the small study to which Tess was escorted looked as if a particularly ghoulish souvenir shop had exploded among the plain furnishings. Tess couldn’t understand why anyone as wealthy as Marianna Barrett Conyers appeared to be would fill her home with such tacky, morbid things. One item might have suggested a certain camp sensibility, but this was true overkill, a virtual gallery devoted to death and rot.
A life-sized skeleton in 1890s garb walked a skeleton dog, grinning mouth clamped on a cigar, a corseted lady friend at his side. Other skeletons gazed from old woodcuts, while the built-in bookshelves held even more of their bony kin. There was a skeleton Mexican mariachi band, a skeleton bride and groom, a skeleton typing maniacally at a desk, her fluff of cotton ball hair standing on end, her head bouncing on a coiled spring of a neck.
Yet the skeletons proved to be the least ominous offerings here. A bright sun leered from the wall, a gaudy ceramic cathedral rose in the corner. But the most hideous piece by far was a flat-chested mermaid, wings sprouting from her bony shoulder blades, face frozen in a Munch-like scream. Just having this thing was in her house would give her nightmares, Tess thought.
“Do you like her, my little la sirena?” asked the woman sitting in a wing chair near the window.
Tess’s high school Spanish was no help, but the context was obvious. La sirena, the siren. “Well, she’s literally neither fish nor fowl, isn’t she?” Tess took a seat on carved pine chair. The furniture, at least, was normal. “Interesting. All your things are…so interesting.”
“Yes, I’ve been collecting for years.” It was hard to see the woman’s face, for the trees around the house kept the room dark. She had a glass of ice water at her side and a book in her lap, but Tess didn’t see how she could read a single word in such deep shadows.
“I’m Marianna Barrett Conyers,” the woman added, as if Tess might not know whose doorbell she had rung.
“I’m Tess Monaghan. I found the body, up at your country place
A maid in a gray uniform answered the door, a tiny Mexican-American woman brandishing a broom. She looked at Tess as if she were a piece of dirt she wanted to sweep away as quickly as possible.
“You want to see Mrs. Conyers? What for? Who are you? She know you? I didn’t think so. What do you want?”
Although the maid barely came up to her collarbone, Tess found herself taking a step back, out of arm’s length, if not broom’s length. “It’s about what happened up at her country place,” she said when the maid finally ran out of breath. She assumed Sheriff Kolarik had been in touch by now, that she need not go into too much gory detail.
“They’ve been here. She knows. It’s got nothing to do with her. Goodbye. We don’t want any.” The maid started to close the door on her, as Tess braced it with her foot. She didn’t want to come on too strong, but she wasn’t leaving without making her best effort.
“There are still things that have to be…discussed.” Tess was trying to imply an official role without claiming one. “I was the one who found the body, you know.”
“Really?” The maid was intrigued, but only for a moment. “So what?”
A voice called out from somewhere within the house. “Oh, let her in, Dolores. I guess I can stand two callers in one day.”
Reluctantly the maid opened the door so Tess could pass, watching her to make sure she wiped her feet. Tess had thought she looked neat and professional, in her narrow, ankle-length skirt of blue plaid and a simple white T-shirt. She had even borrowed an iron from Mrs. Nguyen and gone to the trouble of putting her hair up. Dolores’s sour gaze made her feel grubby and mussed.
Although the pale peach walls of the foyer were unadorned, the small study to which Tess was escorted looked as if a particularly ghoulish souvenir shop had exploded among the plain furnishings. Tess couldn’t understand why anyone as wealthy as Marianna Barrett Conyers appeared to be would fill her home with such tacky, morbid things. One item might have suggested a certain camp sensibility, but this was true overkill, a virtual gallery devoted to death and rot.
A life-sized skeleton in 1890s garb walked a skeleton dog, grinning mouth clamped on a cigar, a corseted lady friend at his side. Other skeletons gazed from old woodcuts, while the built-in bookshelves held even more of their bony kin. There was a skeleton Mexican mariachi band, a skeleton bride and groom, a skeleton typing maniacally at a desk, her fluff of cotton ball hair standing on end, her head bouncing on a coiled spring of a neck.
Yet the skeletons proved to be the least ominous offerings here. A bright sun leered from the wall, a gaudy ceramic cathedral rose in the corner. But the most hideous piece by far was a flat-chested mermaid, wings sprouting from her bony shoulder blades, face frozen in a Munch-like scream. Just having this thing was in her house would give her nightmares, Tess thought.
“Do you like her, my little la sirena?” asked the woman sitting in a wing chair near the window.
Tess’s high school Spanish was no help, but the context was obvious. La sirena, the siren. “Well, she’s literally neither fish nor fowl, isn’t she?” Tess took a seat on carved pine chair. The furniture, at least, was normal. “Interesting. All your things are…so interesting.”
“Yes, I’ve been collecting for years.” It was hard to see the woman’s face, for the trees around the house kept the room dark. She had a glass of ice water at her side and a book in her lap, but Tess didn’t see how she could read a single word in such deep shadows.
“I’m Marianna Barrett Conyers,” the woman added, as if Tess might not know whose doorbell she had rung.
“I’m Tess Monaghan. I found the body, up at your country place
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