Crossing The Lion Part 3

"Oh, good," Charlotte said. "Gwennie, would you take the dogs into the mudroom and give them their dinner?"

Can I go with them? I thought mournfully as I stood up, along with everyone else in the room.

Here I'd been on Solitude Island for less than an hour, yet I was already pining for the one thing I suspected I'd get very little of while I was here: solitude.

Chapter 3.

"We should look for someone to eat and drink with before looking for something to eat and drink, for dining alone is leading the life of a lion or wolf."

--Epicurus Like every room I'd seen so far in the Merrywood mansion, the large dining room was decorated in a grand manner--at least by nineteenth-century standards. The walls were covered in ornate dark-green wallpaper that appeared to be made of silk. The windows along one wall were framed by velvet drapes in the same somber hue. Hanging on the walls were more huge oil paintings of people who, from the expressions on their faces, looked as if whatever they'd last eaten hadn't agreed with them.

Also like the rest of the house, this room was shrouded in darkness. The rain beat mercilessly against the windows, the slightly alarming sound punctuated by the occasional clap of thunder. Aside from periodic flashes of lightning, what little light there was came from another chandelier. It was just as big, fancy, and useless as the one in the front hallway.

Placed at either end of the long, narrow table was an elaborate candelabra. The dozen or so candles stuck into them emitted a pale, flickering light that cast eerie shadows across the dark walls but other than that did little besides drip wax onto the white linen tablecloth. I found myself wishing I'd packed a decent flashlight along with my travel alarm clock and my moisturizer.

The table was set for eight, with glistening crystal, snow-white plates, and silverware so shiny that someone in this household obviously knew their way around a polishing cloth. At each place was a salad that looked appetizing enough, along with a dinner roll on a plate with its own pat of b.u.t.ter molded into the shape of a rose.

As hungry as I was, I hovered near the doorway, not sure what the lady of the house had in mind in terms of seating arrangements. Charlotte immediately headed for the chair at the end of the table, the seat closest to the swinging door I a.s.sumed opened onto the kitchen. Betty sat down on her left, while Winston chose the chair to her right.

Townie and Missy, meanwhile, pulled out the two chairs next to Winston, while Brock and Scarlett took the two on Betty's side of the table. That left me with no place to sit but the other end of the table, opposite Charlotte. I perched nervously on the edge of the high-backed wooden chair, hoping that being so visible wouldn't mean anyone would be looking to me for guidance in the area of table manners.

"Isn't this nice!" Missy gushed. "Doesn't the table look lovely, b.u.t.tercup? I see Gwennie even took out the best china and silverware."

"It was already out," Brock noted, sounding a tad irritated. "We used it for Dad's birthday dinner, remember?"

"Of course I remember!" Missy shot back. "I was just commenting on how pretty everything is, that's all."

"I'd say we could all use a gla.s.s of wine," Townie interrupted heartily. He grabbed one of the bottles that had been strategically placed around the table. I surmised that when it came to setting the table properly in this house, making wine accessible was a top priority.

"Now, who's interested?" he asked, holding it up.

"I am," Missy said eagerly, wasting no time in handing her winegla.s.s over to her husband.

"I'll have some, but just a small gla.s.s," Charlotte said. With an apologetic smile, she added, "The sherry has already gone to my head."

I had a feeling I'd be wise to have a little, as well. In fact, it seemed that everyone at the table agreed that a gla.s.s of wine was a good idea. That is, except for one lone voice.

"None for me," Brock announced loudly. "Our bodies have enough toxins to fight off without adding to their burden by inflicting alcohol on them."

I couldn't help noticing the disdainful look Missy and Townie exchanged. I was relieved that just as Missy opened her mouth to react to her younger brother's comment, the swinging door behind Charlotte burst open.

Standing in the doorway was a plump woman in her sixties bearing a large round tray. Encircling her ruddy face was a cloud of blond hair topped by a starched white cap. It matched the starched white ap.r.o.n she wore over a plain gray dress that could best be described as matronly. At the bottom of two barrel-shaped calves was a pair of scruffy black flats, stretched to the limit by what looked like unusually wide feet.

If this woman's name is Mrs. White, I thought with alarm, I'm taking the first ferry off this island.

"Good evening, Cook," Charlotte greeted her with a warm smile.

Aha, I thought, as the woman nodded a silent greeting. So she doesn't actually appear to have a real name.

"I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm absolutely starving," Scarlett commented, smoothing the linen napkin in her lap.

"Me, too," Missy gurgled. "What have you prepared for us tonight, Cook?"

By this point I was much more interested in the food than in the cast of characters inhabiting this place. The wonderful smells wafting out of the kitchen were having a dramatic effect on my stomach, which was empty except for the Brie I'd managed to stuff into it.

Still, given my surroundings, I half-expected an Indiana Jones-type meal, complete with monkey brains and eyeball soup. So I was greatly relieved when Cook placed the tray on the sideboard and pulled the silver cover off the largest serving platter. A flock of tiny birds was arranged in a circle on a large dish, all of them facing the center as if they were enjoying a game of duck, duck, goose. Only in this game, there were clearly no winners.

"Rock Cornish hen," Cook announced. "Although I've always suspected they're no more Cornish than I am."

At last, I thought. A servant whose accent is more Queens than Queen Elizabeth.

"Oh, my," Brock said with dismay as he surveyed the plate being pa.s.sed around the table. "I hope you also made plenty of veggies, Cook."

"Don't tell me you're still a vegetarian," Missy said, not even trying to hide her exasperation.

"Vegan, actually."

Missy rolled her eyes. "It's always something with you, Brock, isn't it?"

Glowering back at his sister, he replied, "I don't know that I'd cla.s.sify a healthy and socially responsible way of eating as 'something.'"

"Personally, I couldn't live without meat," Townie interjected. As if to make his point, he plucked the largest Cornish hen off the platter.

"Personally, I couldn't live without planet earth," Brock countered. "And if everyone who lives on it doesn't start behaving more responsibly--and that includes eating more responsibly--there's not going to be much of a planet left. Then, of course, there are the obvious health benefits of giving up destructive practices like smoking and eating dead animals and torturing one's liver with alcohol--"

"Brock, Missy, I think we've had enough," Charlotte interrupted in a low, controlled voice. "I would appreciate it if you would all put your personal agendas aside at this extremely difficult time."

A heavy silence fell over the table, one that was interrupted only by the pinging of silverware as the serving platters continued to be pa.s.sed around. I was relieved that one of them turned out to be piled high with carrots, broccoli, and several other vegetables that presumably qualified for Brock's A-list. Or V-list, in this instance.

"So what do you do, Jessie?" Townie finally asked in a congenial voice. He paused as he stuck a fork into the ill-fated bird on his plate. "Career-wise, I mean."

"I'm a veterinarian," I said.

"A vet!" Brock exclaimed. "Wow, that must be great. I considered going to vet school myself at one point."

Barely removing her lips from the edge of her winegla.s.s, Missy muttered, "And architecture school and computer-graphics school and chiropractic school ..."

"I've heard it's even harder to get into vet school than medical school," Townie remarked, clearly impressed by my resume. "Where did you attend?"

"Cornell."

"Ah. A fine school," Townie said with an approving nod. "Of course, I'm a Harvard man myself. At least, undergraduate. Got my MBA at Wharton." Reaching for the platter of veggies, he added, "Where's your office?"

"I don't have an office," I replied. "At least, not the usual kind. I actually work out of a--"

I was interrupted by a loud thumping that sounded as if it was coming from above. Automatically I looked up, afraid that something large and dangerous was about to fall on my head. But I saw nothing but a ceiling.

Confused, I glanced around the table. Yet with the exception of Betty and Winston, who both looked surprised, no one seemed to react.

Probably ancient plumbing, I decided. After all, that was something I had experience with myself, thanks to the more-than-a-century-old cottage that had formerly been my home.

Not wanting to be rude, I decided to forge ahead.

"Anyway, I work out of a van," I went on. "A clinic-on-wheels. I have everything I need right inside it, and I travel all over Long Island, making house calls--"

This time, it wasn't just the thumping that stopped me. It was the distinct sound of wailing.

It almost sounded like an animal. But I knew animals well enough to recognize that this was a human voice.

"What is that?" I demanded. "Is someone hurt?"

"It's nothing," Brock said, without bothering to look up from the potatoes he was shoveling into his mouth. "Ignore it."

It certainly didn't sound like nothing to me. Once again I looked over at Betty, who appeared to be as puzzled as I was. But I decided not to pursue it, since none of the Merrywoods seemed the least bit concerned.

"So tell me, Jessie," Townie said, once again focusing on me. "How well did you know the old man?"

He spoke in his usual tone, which I'd started to characterize as forced joviality with a side order of lockjaw. But I was pretty sure I detected an edge lurking underneath. I chalked it up to compet.i.tiveness over our respective educational pedigrees.

"Actually, I didn't know Linus at all," I replied. "But he was a good friend of Winston's, and he and Betty asked me to join them on this visit." I glanced at them both to make sure my answer met with their approval.

"That's right," Betty agreed. "Jessica is like a daughter to Winston and me, so we brought her along for moral support."

Just then, a particularly loud roll of thunder set the entire house to trembling. In fact, it sounded as if a bowling alley had moved in next door. Through the window, flashes of lightning continued to illuminate the sky.

Betty glanced around warily, then in a barely audible voice muttered, "And I think we're going to need all the support we can get."

"Each and every one of us needs whatever support we can get," Missy chimed in, clearly having heard what she hadn't been meant to hear. "Especially from one another. Dad's pa.s.sing is such a terrible thing. And so unexpected! It's not as if any of us had any warning. The man had never been sick a day in his life--"

She was interrupted by more flashing lights and, a few seconds later, another round of booming thunder.

And then everything went dark. Or at least darker.

I glanced upward and saw that the tiny bulbs in the chandelier had gone out, leaving only the flickering candles to keep us from sitting in total blackness.

"Oh, no!" Charlotte cried. "Just as I feared. We've lost the electricity--again."

"Oooh!" Missy squealed. "This is kind of spooky!"

My thoughts exactly. Even though I don't think of myself as someone who scares easily, being stranded on Solitude Island in the dark with the Addams Family was enough to give anyone the heebie-jeebies.

"Darn!" Scarlett cried. "And my cellphone is about to die. I was planning to leave it on the charger overnight. Now I won't be able to get any calls!"

Or make any, I thought uneasily. Including those all-important 911 calls.

"Cell-phone service is bad enough on this island that it's not going to make much of a difference, anyway," Townie grumbled. "There's no Internet service, either. Coming to this island is like going back in time a hundred years."

"It's just as well," Brock interjected. "Cell phones and computers and BlackBerries are destroying civilization as we know it. People don't talk to the people they're with anymore. I can't tell you how many times I've seen two people sitting in a restaurant together, each of them talking to somebody else on a cell phone."

"I didn't know you went to restaurants," Missy shot back. "Aren't they simply tools of the proletariat?"

Brock pushed away his plate. "Now I've had enough." Glowering at his sister, he muttered, "And I'm not just talking about the food."

He stood up and started toward the door when Charlotte called after him, "What about dessert?"

"He said he was full, Mother," Missy said, her bottom lip protruding sullenly. "Let him go."

"Actually," Winston said, clearing his throat loudly, "if you don't mind, I think I'd like to go to my room, as well. It's been a long, stressful day, and I suspect that tomorrow will be just as demanding."

"Of course," Charlotte said. "Jessica, I've put you in a quiet room at the end of the north wing. You'll have that part of the house to yourself until Harry Foss arrives. His favorite room is just a few doors down from yours."

Turning to Betty and Winston, she added, "I've chosen a lovely room for you two. It's in the south wing and has a wonderful view of the bay, as well as its own bathroom. Scarlett is right across the hall if you need anything. As for the children, they're all staying in their old rooms. They're right near mine, in the east section of the house. I tried to spread everyone out so you can enjoy some privacy. I'll have Jives and Gwennie escort all of you to your rooms."

"I'm sure we can find them on our own," I a.s.sured her. I didn't see any reason to inconvenience either Jives or Gwennie, especially since I was pretty sure I could find my way around. "Just point us in the right direction."

Frankly, I was more than ready for a little downtime. And it wasn't just the complicated interactions that apparently went on in this household day and night making me feel that way.

I suddenly missed Nick and my animals terribly. I could picture Max trotting around Betty and Winston's house with his favorite rubber pink poodle in his mouth, looking for his favorite playmate, and Lou lying by the front door, making little whimpering noises that said he missed me as much as I missed him. I imagined Cat waiting for me on the softest cushion Betty owned, which she'd put in the corner near the fireplace, and Tinkerbell meowing unhappily.... I wondered why I hadn't just thrown caution to the wind and tucked them all into my suitcase.

With the lack of electricity and spotty cell service, I wasn't even going to be able to call home and wish them all good night. At the moment, my regular life, not to mention the rest of the world, seemed far, far away.

Betty, Winston, and I tromped up a tremendous staircase that was covered in red carpeting and edged with an ornate wood-carved banister. It reminded me of the one in the mansion Scarlett O'Hara and Rhett Butler moved into after they married. But then, according to the directions we'd received, it was time for us to part ways, with Betty and Winston heading off to the right and me going to the left.

"Good night," I said, holding the candelabra I'd brought along higher so they could see my face. "See you tomorrow."

"Actually, I'm heading back over to Long Island early in the morning," Winston said. "As we were getting up from the table just now, Charlotte told me her lawyer, Oliver Withers, set up a meeting with someone from the medical examiner's office in Riverton first thing. She asked me to go with him."

"It's kind of you to be so helpful," Betty commented, squeezing his arm.

"I'm just glad there's something I can do," he replied. "There aren't many people I've been friends with for thirty years."

"And I was just getting to know him," Betty added. "Good night, Jessica."

As we headed off in opposite directions, I found myself alone, shuffling through a long, shadowy hallway, guided only by the dim candlelight. I realized that I was walking around with a potential weapon.

Dr. Popper did it in the hallway ... with the candlestick, I thought with amus.e.m.e.nt. Or maybe that should be Dr. Purple.

When I heard the floor creak, I a.s.sumed it was simply because of the wind whipping around the house--It whooped and hollered so loudly that I decided it was what was responsible for the strange noises I'd heard during dinner.

This big old house really does feel haunted, I thought. It's a good thing I don't believe in-- "A-a-gh!" I yelled as something large jumped in front of me. I jerked backward, the sudden motion causing hot wax to drip onto my hand. That caused me to let out an even louder yelp.