Ida was standing on the porch, her nephew in tow, a worried look on her face. Oliver was a surprisingly short man and didn't look at all like I'd expected him to. He stood only an inch or so taller than his aunt, and his skin had an unhealthy pallor, like clotted cream. His closely cropped hair was beginning to recede, and he looked like he'd been locked away for a few years. His eyes were a preternatural gray, darting around as Ida introduced us, as if he were constantly thinking. In a threadbare pair of corduroy trousers and beige shirt at least one size too big for him, Oliver Hoffman looked older than the twenty-six he was supposed to be.
I took Ida's arm and walked her into the kitchen, while Oliver wandered over to the etagere. "Oliver seems a little... spooked?" I offered, not saying what I really wanted to say which was that Oliver had immediately struck me as being a little squirrelly.
"Yes, I noticed that, too." Ida peeked into the living room to make sure we couldn't be heard. "He seems a lot more depressed than he did last week when we talked on the phone. And he didn't quite grow into the man I thought he would; his father was a tall, hefty man. Caroline was short, but stout. Oliver seems awfully thin, but then again, he always was a scrawny lad when he was young. It's more his attitude that worries me, though. A month ago, he couldn't wait to get out of prison. Now... I'm not so sure."
"Do you think he needs counseling to help him cope with the change?" I asked, not knowing what else to say.
She shook her head. "I don't know. Its nothing I can even put my finger on. The boy just seems strained. Maybe the stress of getting out has affected him more than he wants to admit. He says he's fine, and I suppose he knows best. But, Emerald, I've got another problem I need your help with."
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"My friend Desdemona, the one who lives in Sand-point, Idaho, was in a serious accident. She was driving back from Coeur d'Alene when a logging truck came barreling around the curve in the road and veered into her lane. She swerved to miss it and hit a tree. She survived, but she's going home from the hospital tomorrow, and she'll be bedridden for a while and needs help. Since she doesn't have any children or the money for home health care, I've decided to drive over to help out for a few days until her niece can fly up from Florida. I'm just a little worried about leaving Oliver alone."
I glanced back into the living room at him; he was staring at my collection of crystal and figurines. "I'm sure things will be okay. Would you like me to keep an eye on him for you?"
A look of relief swept across her face. "I'd be so grateful. It's not that I don't trust him or that I want to check up on him ... I'm just..."
"You're just worried," I finished for her, resting my hand on her shoulder. "You go help Desdemona, and I'll keep watch after Oliver and try to make him feel welcome." Reassured, she let out a sigh of relief, and we returned to the living room.
Oliver jerked his head up and gave me a polite smile. "You have some lovely pieces," he said. "I take it you love art?"
"Crystal and china, actually. They're two of my greatest passions." I gave him a radiant smile, hoping to cajole him out of his reticence. 'Tea would be a third."
"You're lucky to have turned your passion into your work," he said and flashed me a grin with just enough warmth behind it to make me think that maybe it was just the stress of having to face readjusting to the outside world that made him seem so strange. Maybe prison hadn't killed his spirit after all.
While I served tea and cookies, Ida pored over the dragon. I filled Oliver in on what had happened with Daniel so he wouldn't feel left out of the conversation. "It was quite the shock; one I'd rather not go through again. I think it's going to take a while for me to cope with his death."
"And they still have no idea who killed him?" Ida asked.
"Apparently not. It was a hit-and-run, no doubt about that, but I don't think anybody there could see the driver, and nobody managed to get the license plate. It happened so fast."
She sighed. "People are so careless, they drive like they own the road. Look at poor Desdemona. So, what are you going to do with the dragon?" Ida turned it over in her palm. "This doesn't look like any ordinary mass-market sculpture."
Oliver peered over her shoulder. "Aunt Ida's right. I think it might be valuable."
What was I going to do with it? I could keep it locked up here with the rest of my collection, but it was so beautiful that I wanted others to have the chance to see it, too. "I think I'll take it to the shop with me. I can display it in the Not-For-Sale cabinet. When I find Daniel's next of kin, I'll return it to them. I wouldn't feel right about keeping it."
"Good girl. You keep that cabinet locked, don't you?"
I nodded. I had to. There were items in the NFS cabinet that I'd be devastated to lose, and yet I enjoyed giving others the chance to see them.
"Well, I'm glad about that," Ida said. "I still think you should really get a security system. You're far too trusting." She sounded just like the schoolteacher she'd once been, prim and stern, no-nonsense.
I flashed her a sheepish grin. "Yes, Mrs. Trask," I said, mimicking the hundreds of children that had passed through her classrooms and day care. Truth was, though, I didn't think of myself as trusting. I had a good solid dead bolt on the shop door and sturdy locks on all of the cabinets that held the most expensive pieces. "We live in Chiqetaw, Ida. People here are honest."
"Don't kid yourself. The world intrudes everywhere. You of all people should know that we have our share of nuts and psychos."
I didn't want to think about psychos. I'd had my fill of them near Christmas when I'd almost been killed by one. I tucked the dragon back in the cabinet and offered them more cookies. The conversation turned toward school and art history and whether or not Oliver would find it difficult to get full credit for all the work he did before he was arrested. After about an hour, they stood up to leave. "Ida, be careful on your trip. Send my best wishes to your friend, and call me when you get the chance." I gave the older woman a hug, holding her tight as if I could protect her with my embrace.
She kissed me on the cheek. "My dear, I promise to be careful. Look after my nephew for me, would you?" I promised, offering Oliver my hand. He accepted with a genteel nod that didn't fit his grungy attire, and they took off for home. I watched them walk past the lot of blackberries that bordered the side of my own house. With Ida Trask up the street to my left and Horvald Ledbetter directly across from me, I had lucked out in neighbors, that was for sure. Horvald might be an odd duck, but he always had a smile and wave for us.
I shook my head as I looked at the berry vines creeping over my fence. I should really hound the city to do something about them. The brambles had engulfed whatever might be hiding on the lot next door. They were so thick that they could hide a house under that pile of vines and thorns and nobody would ever know. I'd taken to hiring a man to prune them back twice a year, halting their attempt to breach my fence.
As I watched Ida's retreating back, I found myself restless, unsettled. Maybe I should do a reading, make sure she'd be okay, considering what had happened today. I went so far as to pull out the deck from my rolltop desk, then replaced the cards in their well-worn spot. There was nothing I could say that would make her stay home and, if danger was in the offing, I couldn't do anything to prevent it. And frankly, I didn't have the heart to peek.
I WAS JUST about to peel the loincloth off the gorgeous Polynesian man when a shriek cut through my dream and rudely dragged me away from the tropical island getaway my subconscious had so graciously created for me. Miranda! I tumbled out of bed and pounded down the hallway. Her door was open, the light was on, and my daughter was cursing a blue streak as she slipped out the window onto the roof.
"What's going on in here? Are you okay? Where did you learn that kind of language?" When I saw that she wasn't hurt, irritation took over. I glanced at her clock. Two a.m.? I never allowed her to stay up that late unless there was supposed to be some incredible astronomical display. I followed her out onto the roof. A lovely flat area right outside her window made the perfect viewing perch for her to watch the stars, and I'd paid a carpenter to come in mid-March and reinforce the guardrail that protected her from falling over the edge. "What's wrong?"