The Mill River Recluse Read online

  “No matter,” Sara said. “It was headed for the sales rack—styles change so quickly these days. Besides, that shade of blue looked absolutely ghastly with our complexion. But it looks very nice on you.” Both sisters smiled sweetly and walked away arm-in-arm.

  Mary was mortified. She gasped, unable to speak.

  “I’m sorry about them,” Patrick said. “You’re so beautiful, and they’re just jealous of you. Let’s go get some fresh air.”

  Again they tried to escape, but an elegant blonde woman appeared in the doorway of the great room and announced that dinner was ready. She saw Patrick and Mary coming toward her and intercepted them.

  “Patrick, darling, there you are!” The older woman clasped her hands together. “And you must be Mary! Patrick has told us so much about you. I’m Elise McAllister, Patrick’s mother.”

  Mary had rehearsed a hundred times what she would say to Mrs. McAllister upon meeting her. Still, speaking to her reflection in her bedroom mirror paled in comparison to addressing the genuine article. Mary’s tongue was a thick ball of wax in her mouth. She hoped the effort she exerted to speak didn’t contort her face.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. McAllister,” Mary said carefully.

  Patrick’s mother smiled, unaware of Mary’s concentrated effort. “The pleasure is mine, Mary. You must come by and have tea with me one of these afternoons.” She looked at Patrick. “Why don’t you two take your seats with the others? I’ve got to make sure there are enough places set, so if you’ll excuse me….”

  “Of course, Mother,” Patrick said as she hurried away. “She’s a real perfectionist,” he whispered to Mary.

  All the guests filed into the dining room. An enormous table, set for dinner and illuminated by a sparkling chandelier, stretched the length of the room. Patrick selected two seats near one end of the table and pulled Mary’s chair out for her. She sank into it.

  The dinner passed in a haze. Uniformed house staff continually refilled glasses and cleared away dishes. Mary tried to eat, but her stomach was increasingly unsettled. She pushed her food around on her plate, hoping to make it look as if she had eaten something. She politely nodded and smiled throughout the meal but spoke very little. The words and laughter from the others seated at the table swirled incomprehensibly in her anxious mind.

  “Is anyone ready for dessert?” Patrick’s mother finally shouted. In the midst of the family’s enthusiastic response, Mary asked Patrick where the washroom was and excused herself from the table.

  Mary walked to the bathroom as quickly as her wobbly legs would carry her. Once inside, she locked the door and slid to the floor with her back against it. She couldn’t take much more.

  She stayed several long minutes inside the temporary sanctuary, listening to the muffled conversation coming from the dining room. She couldn’t go back there, at least not yet. Mary opened the washroom door and slipped out into the hallway. She walked away from the dining room, looking into open rooms as she passed them. Library, parlor, guest bedroom. A door at the end of the hallway was closed but not latched. She listened for a moment, and, hearing no one inside, slowly pushed the door open.

  It was an office. An executive desk covered in books and papers faced the doorway. Bookshelves surrounded the desk. Framed photographs sat on top of the bookshelves and filled almost every inch of open wall space. Mary recognized the people in many of the pictures as Patrick and his parents and siblings. There were several shots of McAllister Marbleworks. One of those pictures in particular caught Mary’s attention. The photo hung behind the desk apart from the others, and was smaller and more yellowed than those nearest it.

  Mary recognized neither of the two smiling men in the picture, although they looked enough alike to be father and son. She leaned closer to the picture. The older man had his arm around the shoulders of the younger, and a bronze engraved plate attached to the bottom of the picture’s frame read, “McAllister Marbleworks, 1894.”

  “Ah, to be nineteen again,” a voice said behind her. Mary whirled around. A tall, white-haired bear of a man stood in the doorway of the office. He watched her with curious green eyes of the same shade as Patrick’s. Mary froze where she stood.

  “I didn’t mean to startle you, my dear,” the man said gently. “I’m Conor McAllister, Patrick’s grandfather. You must be Mary Hayes.”

  “Y-yes.”

  “I saw you arrive with Patrick and intended to come over and introduce myself, but I couldn’t quite get through the crowd before dinner. I don’t move as quickly these days as I used to.”

  Mary said nothing. She shrank backward as he approached, but he stopped after only a few steps and squinted at the picture.

  “That picture was taken a very long time ago, on the first day our Marbleworks opened for business. The older man in the picture is my father, Kieran. I was nineteen at the time.”

  “Oh.”

  “That picture is one of the few that I have of my father when he was younger. He was the most honest, hardworking man there ever was. Came all the way from Ireland with barely two cents to rub together and still managed to do well for himself.” Conor watched the quivering girl in front of him. He had been observing the poor shy creature all evening, clinging to Patrick’s arm, trying valiantly to maintain some semblance of poise over dinner. He tried to think of something he could say that would put her more at ease.

  “I came in here to get away from all the commotion. Families as large as mine can get pretty rowdy sometimes. Oh, don’t get me wrong. I love all of them out there, but sometimes I just have to take a time out in a quiet place to have a few minutes to myself. I imagine tonight would be pretty overwhelming for someone who’s not used to a crowd.”

  Mary swallowed hard and looked up at Conor. “Yes, actually. I didn’t mean to intrude into your office. I was—I guess I was only looking for a quiet place, like you.”

  “That’s quite all right, my dear. If I hadn’t found you here, I might never have escaped my jumble of a family to make your acquaintance.” Conor smiled down at her. When Mary saw the crinkles around his kind green eyes and felt the gentleness that he exuded, her anxiety drained away.

  “Mary, there you are! I’ve been looking all over for you. Oh, hello, Grandpop. I didn’t know you were in here.”

  Conor and Mary turned to see Patrick standing in the doorway of the office.

  “I was just showing your lovely friend some of my pictures,” Conor said. He winked at her.

  Patrick looked curiously at Mary. He had expected to find her hiding in a closet somewhere, but here she was, relaxed and smiling. “The pie’s almost gone, and Mother’s been wondering where you went,” Patrick said to his grandfather.

  “Yes, well, tell her I’ll be along in a few minutes. And Mary, I hope you’ll come visit us often.” The crinkles made another appearance.

  “I will,” Mary said as Patrick led her away by the hand.

  “We’ve got to say goodnight to Mother and Pop, and then I’ll take you home if you’re ready,” Patrick said when they were halfway back to the dining room. “So what do you think of Grandpop?”

  “I wish I had a grandfather like him.”

  Chapter 7

  The medical examiner’s van was already parked outside the McAllister house when Fitz and Kyle arrived. Father O’Brien met them at the door. His eyes were puffy and bloodshot.

  “Good morning, Father,” Fitz said. “Or maybe not so good,” he added grimly.

  “Yes, well, she’s upstairs,” Father O’Brien said, as he led them through the house toward the staircase. “The people from the medical examiner’s office are here already--Peterson and Gray I think their names are--but I asked them not to touch anything until you got here and looked around.”

  Kyle remembered what Leroy had said about the old woman who lived, isolated, in the marble mansion overlooking the town. He was inclined to dismiss Leroy’s comments about her as he would any other of his nasty remarks. She was certainly no wi
tch, Kyle thought as he took in the grandeur of the marble home.

  The stale air in the house smelled of musty fabric and furniture polish. Although long, heavy drapes artificially darkened the rooms through which they passed, a few cracks of sunlight allowed Kyle to see that the furnishings of the house were mainly antiques. The floors were covered with ornate Persian rugs. Everything appeared to be spotless and unused.

  Fitz, too, looked at everything as they passed. “My Ruthie’s done shopping for Mrs. McAllister for years,” the police chief whispered to him, “but neither of us has ever been in here. It’s always been that way--Ruthie just sets the groceries on the back stoop, rings the doorbell, and leaves. Mrs. McAllister never took visitors, see. It upset her too much. So Ruthie’s seen her only once, but she didn’t get to meet her, even though she would’ve liked to.”

  They walked up the stairs to Mary’s bedroom. The curtains surrounding the bay windows in the room were wide open. One man stood at the window, looking out over the town below. A raised hospital bed faced him, and another man wearing latex gloves bent over it. They both turned toward the doorway as the priest entered the room.

  “Here we are,” Father O’Brien said. “Mr. Peterson, Mr. Gray, these are Officers Fitzgerald and Hansen. They just need to look around a little.”

  “Of course,” Peterson replied. He backed up and leaned against the bay window.

  “Everything is as we found it,” Gray said. “Go ahead and do what you need to do.”

  They came around to the front of the bed and looked at the body resting upon it. Kyle’s heart skipped a beat when he saw Mary. Images that he struggled to suppress flooded his mind. So pale and thin, like Allison was before she died, he thought. He turned to Father O’Brien.

  “Was it cancer?”

  “Yes.” The priest looked surprised at Kyle’s question. “Pancreatic. She was diagnosed a year ago. The doctors told her she had maybe six months at the time, and she made it twice that long.” Father O’Brien paused a moment. “How did you know?”

  “My wife died of ovarian cancer.”

  The priest nodded silently. He knew too well the appearance of cancer patients in their final days of suffering.

  “Say, either of you boys ever heard of MS Contin?” Fitz asked. He held up an empty prescription bottle from Mary’s bedside table.

  “I’m not certain,” Peterson said, “but I think it’s a synthetic form of morphine. A slow-release painkiller.”

  “Looks like you might be right about suicide, Father,” Fitz said, squinting at the fine print on the label. “This prescription was filled two days ago for a two-week supply. It’s empty now.”

  “Overdose,” Gray said quietly. “We see that type of suicide in terminal patients all the time. A blood test would confirm it.”

  Kyle said nothing. He was closely watching Father O’Brien. The priest’s face remained expressionless. Yet, every few minutes, he blinked several times and pursed the corners of his mouth. Rowen did the same thing when she tried to keep from crying.

  “Did you know she was going to do this, Father?” Kyle asked.

  Father O’Brien looked up at the three men facing him.

  “I wasn’t sure. I suspected she might, but I picked up that prescription for her, anyway. She was in so much pain,” he whispered. Another series of blinks, then awkward silence.

  “Well, she’s not hurting anymore,” Fitz said. “I’ve seen enough. Mr. Peterson, if your office will do the blood test you mentioned and send a copy of the results down to the station, we’ll include it in our report.”

  The men from the medical examiner’s office took this comment as a signal and readied a stretcher beside Mary’s bed.

  “I’ll be making arrangements for her,” Father O’Brien said as Peterson and Gray transferred Mary’s body to the stretcher. “Should I ask the funeral home to contact you directly?”

  “That’d be fine,” Peterson said, pulling a sheet up over Mary’s face.

  “I guess we’re done here, then. Father, you let me know if you need anything else,” Fitz said. He looked over at Kyle. “You ready?”

  “Sure.” Kyle looked at his watch; it wasn’t even nine-thirty. He turned to leave, eager to get back to Rowen. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of chocolate and cream dart through the open bedroom door and under Mary’s bed.

  “What was that?” Kyle asked.

  “What was what?” Fitz responded, looking around.

  “Something ran under the bed.”

  “I didn’t see anything.”

  “Oh,” Father O’Brien said. “I almost forgot. Sham.” He stooped down and looked beneath the metal bars and wheels supporting the hospital bed. The Siamese cat yowled as it stared back at him with crossed blue eyes. “Mary’s cat,” the priest said, straightening up. “I promised her I would make sure he found a good home. I would keep him myself, but I have allergies.”

  Kyle’s face brightened. “You know, I could take him. My daughter’s been asking for a pet. It’d be a great surprise for her.”

  “Well, I guess that’d be all right. He’s usually pretty friendly, but all the strange people here must be upsetting him. Just like Mary,” Father O’Brien mused under his breath.

  “Then I’ll take the cat with me?” Kyle asked.

  “Sure. Just make sure you give him lots of attention. He may take a little while to adjust to new surroundings. I don’t think he’s been out of this house in years. There’s cat food in the kitchen pantry downstairs--you can take it with you,” the priest said.

  The grandfather clock downstairs chimed to mark the half-hour. Father O’Brien watched as Peterson and Gray transferred Mary’s body to the stretcher and covered it with a white sheet. Then he squatted down beside the bed and hauled the Siamese out from under it. The cat protested loudly, but, once hoisted off the ground, sat quietly in the priest’s arms.

  “I’ll carry him for you,” he said. Fitz and Kyle followed him out of the bedroom, back into the darkness downstairs.

  ~~~

  Kyle stood fumbling with the keys at the door of his apartment. At his feet were two large bags filled with cat food and supplies he had collected from Mary’s house. Holding Sham the Siamese with one arm, he had just managed to isolate the correct key on his ring when Rowen opened the door. She took one look at the cat and squealed in delight. Although Sham had offered little resistance to being removed from the marble home and driven to Kyle’s apartment, Rowen’s shriek prompted the cat to claw at Kyle and frantically launch itself from his grip. Once freed, Sham dashed through the open door of the apartment and took refuge behind the sofa.

  “O-h-h, a kitty! Is he mine? Can we keep him?” Rowen rushed over to the sofa and began calling to the cat. Kyle picked up the bags and set them inside.

  “Yep, he’s yours, kiddo. He’s gonna be pretty shy at first, though. He doesn’t know us. We’re strangers to him, and he’s scared.” Kyle shut the front door and went to sit on the floor next to his daughter.

  “Where did you get him?” Rowen asked, still looking behind the couch.

  “You remember I said I had to go check on a sick lady?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, the sick lady didn’t get better, and she died. Her name was Mary. Do you know that big white house on the hill? The one that looks out over the town?” Rowen nodded. “That’s where she lived. This was her cat. Since he didn’t have anyone to take care of him anymore, I thought we could give him a new home. His name’s Sham.”

  “He must be sad about his owner,” Rowen said. As if on cue, a mournful meow came from the thin space between the back of the couch and the wall. Rowen stretched her arm into it, but the cat retreated until he was out of reach.

  Kyle crawled over to one of the bags and removed a small pouch of tuna-flavored kitty treats.

  “Here, try to lure him out with these,” he said, handing them to Rowen. Kyle backed away to watch, not wanting to spook the cat if he decided to come out.


  “Tuna flavor,” Rowen read from the front of the pouch. She opened the bag and grimaced. “These smell really bad.”

  Rowen placed a line of treats on the floor, beginning as far behind the couch as she could reach. Then she sat back on her knees, her legs folded beneath her, and waited. After a few minutes, a dark brown nose poked out around the edge of the sofa. A single treat was left on the floor in front of Rowen.

  The cat slowly crept forward, watching her all the while. When he came close enough, Rowen gently reached to touch him. Sham backed up slightly as her fingers grazed his head, but instead of hiding again the cat tentatively sniffed at her hand. Apparently reassured, the cat shoved his forehead against Rowen’s hand and began to purr.

  “Look, Dad!” Rowen said in an excited whisper. Sham sat in front of her as she scratched behind his delicate brown ears. She grinned at Kyle and began talking to the cat in her most soothing counselor’s voice.

  “You poor kitty. Are you worried about being in a strange place without your mama? You probably miss her a lot. Don’t worry, Sham, I’ll take care of you. I know just how you feel.”

  ~~~

  Father O’Brien had watched the medical examiner’s van disappear down the driveway of the marble house before he climbed into his own truck. There were so many arrangements to finalize. He would have to call the funeral home and the visiting nurse’s service.

  Somehow, he would have to tell Daisy.

  But first, he would have to put all of that and the whole miserable morning out of his mind for a few hours. There were only thirty minutes until Mass, just enough time to drive back to the church and collect himself.

  When he reached the parish house, he quickly washed his face and changed into vestments for the service. He fumbled through the items on his desk, looking for the notes he had scrawled the previous evening. As he crumpled papers and shoved aside books, he realized that he was angry.