Sustained in Stone: The In Stone Trilogy, #3

By Rebecca A. Engel

Decades after Joyce Manning Stern had all the gargoyles removed from the estate she had inherited, she learns the truth: while the gargoyles had been removed from her home, a few remained in the caves on the property.

This was not good news. When she'd first arrived to take possession of the house, there had been people in the nearby town who had a cult-like devotion to the statuary, believing the gargoles were alive within their stone. And certain people were willing to go to any lengths to bring them back to life.

Joyce had felt safe knowing the gargoyles were gone, the entrance to the caves sealed, and the cult disbanded. Her home went from a nightmare to the pleasant country manor where she lived what she'd believed was a nearly perfect life with her doctor husband and twin son and daughter. Learning she had been lied to and that gargoyles remained in the caves led to unwanted memories of the seminal event she'd lived through in those caves. Further complicating matters was the evidence Joyce found that her husband had not been the ideal man she'd thought he was. The facade of her perfect life begins to crumble as Joyce realizes she had been sleepwalking through her days rather than living them since that event in the caves.

Determined to face the fears that haunt her and reclaim her life, Joyce discovers the cult was not as off base as she had believed. Instead of restoring her life and peace of mind, her actions could destroy not only her own life but the lives of everyone -- and everything around her.

Sustained in Stone is Book 3 in The In Stone Trilogy, and picks up the story twenty-plus years after Secrets in Stone ended. The complete trilogy consists of:

Secrets in Stone, Book 1

Sorrows in Stone (A Prequel to Secrets in Stone), Book 2

Sustained in Stone, Book 3

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rebecca A. Engel
• Release date: Oct 15, 2016
• ISBN: 9781533737298

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

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Joyce Manning Stern drove her car through the gate at ’Combs and far enough down the drive to enable her to see her home before she pulled over and stopped. She sat there, wondering if she’d made a mistake in the way she’d handled things today. It had seemed the right idea to have the after-the-funeral gathering in town rather than require everyone to drive to ’Combs, twenty miles outside Shelby, New York. She had told herself doing it that way would make it more convenient for everybody else. That was how they’d handled things when her grandmother, Eloise Manning, had passed away a dozen years earlier. She’d been nearly a hundred, and the friends she had left no longer drove. It would have been impossible for them to travel to ’Combs for a post-burial gathering.

Of course when Eloise died, Joyce had returned home with Lyle and the twins, who were almost teenagers then. Now Lyle was gone, and the twins had stayed on at the luncheon after Joyce had excused herself and headed home. She should have stayed until the twins were ready to head home themselves so she wouldn’t have to walk into an empty house.

What was she thinking? It wasn’t an empty house. How could she have completely forgotten that Mark Hudson was inside waiting for her? Knowing Mark, he would have the teakettle at the ready, and probably have baked something for her to snack on regardless of the fact she was returning from her husband’s funeral luncheon. Mark would know she wouldn’t have been able to eat anything there, and he would have made something to tempt her appetite.

She would have stayed longer at the luncheon if Mark had been there with her. But Mark had declined to attend both the funeral and the luncheon after he’d seen how people reacted to his presence at the wake. Joyce had been shocked to find that in this day and age, people were reacting in such a manner when they came face-to-face with someone they knew was HIV positive. It was archaic, as if they thought Mark was a leper from Biblical times. She was surprised that no one had suggested that he wear a bell to forewarn people of his presence to enable them to make an escape when he was in their vicinity.

And wasn’t it like Mark not to have told her the people in the area treated him that way? He’d lived at ’Combs for over two years already. Hadn’t anyone bothered to think about the fact that in those two years, no one had contracted the HIV virus from him, and that his mere presence was not a danger to anyone’s health? Their behavior was unconscionable.

Joyce was a little ashamed of herself for not realizing earlier what Mark’s life was like here. She had assumed he spent most of his time at ’Combs because he enjoyed being in the quiet of the country. It was a break for him from the fast-paced life he had lived in Paris for two and a half decades.

It was funny to think how young they had been when Mark’s employer had transferred him to Paris. He was supposed to be gone for two years, but life had a way of changing the most carefully made plans.

For Mark had fallen in love in Paris – something, according to songs, plays, and movies, that was surprisingly easy to do in the City of Light. Mark had met Jules shortly before his time in Paris was supposed to be up. Mark considered Jules the love of his life. Jules had reciprocated his feelings; they’d moved in together within weeks of meeting each other. The fact that Jules was older than Mark – Jules was cagey about letting his age be known so she wasn’t sure exactly how much older – was a boon to Joyce. It meant Mark could no longer get away with teasing Joyce over having a father figure for her husband.

Over the years, Mark and Joyce had maintained their relationship through letters, emails, and increasingly less-expensive overseas phone calls. Joyce, sometimes with Lyle, had visited Mark in Paris a number of times. She’d gone to his wedding in Paris, too, after same-sex marriages had been made legal in France.

Jules had been a businessman who owned and operated a small chain of exclusive hotels. His job required him to travel across the country and continent frequently. With Jules in his life, Mark left the big design firm that had originally transferred him to their Paris office, and instead opened an architectural firm of his own, a boutique operation that had been surprisingly successful. Mark might have made that change thinking self-employment would make it possible for him to travel with Jules on his business trips. Mark’s own success had curtailed that almost entirely. Mark and Jules had nonetheless seemed to have the perfect relationship. Or they did until three years ago when Jules had invited Mark into their study to have a brandy with him. Over that brandy he had broken the news that while he absolutely adored Mark, loved him as he’d loved no one else in his life, he had never been faithful to him despite their wedding vows. Jules had also failed to be careful, and his recent physical had shown he had AIDS. And that meant, because he and Mark had not used any kind of precautions after being tested when they’d first met, in all likelihood Mark could have AIDS or be HIV positive.

Mark was the latter, and thankfully it was not quite the death sentence it had been at one time. Joyce had urged him to return to the States and take up residence with her and Lyle at ’Combs. Mark had declined and stayed in Paris with Jules. Mark had cared for Jules through the illness that ravished his body in a matter of months. Mark had stayed on in Paris for a while after Jules’s death, but his love for the city had died with Jules. He accepted Joyce’s invitation to move in with her and her family.

Are you absolutely sure about this? Mark had asked upon his arrival. I can change this to a visit if anyone isn’t comfortable having me around.

We might live in the country – ‘in the middle of nowhere,’ Joyce quoted what had been Mark’s favorite phrase decades ago when she herself had first headed off to Shelby to take possession of what was supposed to be her inheritance, but I dare say you won’t find that we’re provincial.

Lyle was a doctor, after all; he knew better than most what Mark’s diagnosis meant. The children – hardly children by the time Mark joined their household – were completing their educations and were rarely around; their weekend visits were infrequent. If they’d been younger children, Lyle might have had a concern about their health, but Joyce doubted that. Lyle was an intelligent, educated man; he didn’t equate homosexuality with pedophilia.

Joyce realized she’d probably been sitting in her car staring blankly at ’Combs for far too long a time. If Mark were to look out and see her, he’d wonder what she was doing out here. She could always tell him, with a certain degree of honesty, that she’d been remembering what the house looked like the first time she’d seen it.

Sometimes it seemed like yesterday that Joyce had arrived on a bus in Shelby, New York. She was met by attorney Jonathan Fargate, the executor of the estate of a woman she had never met but believed at that time was a distant aunt, Eloise Manning. Joyce had inherited Eloise’s home and an income that was going to allow her to live a life of leisure. It had seemed like a dream come true until Jonathan took her to see the house. ’Combs had been a horror, something out of a nightmare. Every surface that wasn’t covered with gargoyles had stone vines and leaves covering it. But they weren’t normal vines and leaves. The vines had the scales of a snake, the leaves, seen up close, were actually little lizards. Crawling along the vines were horrifically terrifying stone insects.

Joyce wanted to run screaming from the place. But she had nowhere to go. Mark was about to leave for France, and she’d given up both her job and her apartment in Chicago. She’d stayed.

Of course, the house no longer looked like it had then. After the event in the caves, her friend Anna Harper had seen to the removal of the gargoyles and the vines, leaves, and bugs. The gargoyles on the house and those that were stored in the caves had been donated to museums around the country. Anna, an artist herself, had claimed the statuary was outstanding and ancient, and museums were where the pieces belonged.

Joyce didn’t care where they were as long as they weren’t adorning her home. She had never once missed them. If they had remained on the house, Joyce wasn’t sure she would have stayed in Shelby after the cave incident. Then again, she didn’t have a choice. There was no inheritance because Eloise Manning had not actually died. She was also not a distant aunt but Joyce’s grandmother. Joyce’s father had been the product of Eloise’s relationship with her stepbrother, Tommy. Born at a time when having an illegitimate child was a source of deep shame, Eloise had given her son John to trusted servants to raise, servants who were relocated elsewhere after they had promised to change their surname to Manning in order that Eloise’s son would bear the family name.

Eloise Manning had seemed frail and old when Joyce had found her living in the caves, but the woman had been stronger than she appeared. She had saved Joyce from Carl Edwards’ attack, and strong or not, Joyce couldn’t desert the old woman. It wasn’t simply a matter of her age; they had no other relative but each other. Besides, she’d already been falling in love with Lyle, and they became engaged shortly thereafter. Joyce had lived with her grandmother at the newly denuded ’Combs for the year of their engagement. After marrying Lyle, they’d lived at his cottage on the grounds of Honeyhill, Lyle’s psychiatric in-patient clinic, but moved into ’Combs shortly before the twins were born to have more room and so that Eloise, seeming frailer than ever, wouldn’t have to be alone.

Eloise had continued to prove she was stronger than she looked. She lived long enough to see her twin great-grandchildren enter junior high.

Joyce had never thought her own husband would only survive another dozen years after her grandmother’s death.

Mark was waiting, Joyce reminded herself, putting the car in gear and moving forward down the driveway. She found herself hoping Mark would have the pot of tea and baked goods she’d envisioned waiting for her.

Mark embraced her as she stepped inside the door. I shouldn’t have been such a coward, he said, holding her tighter. I should have been right there with you, the way you were there for me.

It’s all right, Joyce murmured. The twins were with me. But for the first time she wondered if the real reason Mark hadn’t come to the funeral wasn’t because of his fear of being treated like a pariah. Lyle’s service would remind him of his own loss. Despite Jules’s behavior, which had shocked and devastated Mark, he had continued to love that man.

Are the twins behind you? Mark asked, already leading the way to the kitchen. I’ve got tea waiting, and I made some muffins.

The kids stayed in town, Joyce told him.

Mark raised a brow. I’m sure they’d love hearing you refer to them as ‘kids,’ he quipped. At their age, they’re hardly kids. You were already a married woman, and weren’t you pregnant when you were about Jenna’s age? I’m afraid I don’t know a comparison like that for Lyle and Jordan. Unless Lyle was in medical school at that age?

I think he was. Joyce headed to the cupboard to get cups for their tea. She wasn’t sure how she felt about Mark mentioning Lyle’s name off-handedly, but it was to be expected. Mark still talked about Jules as if he were in another room, not gone forever. That could be how he looked at it, not seeing death as a permanent separation. To Joyce, simply hearing her husband’s name was a painful reminder that he was gone.

Joyce and Mark were sitting at the kitchen table, empty teacups and plates bearing crumbs from the muffins they’d devoured in front of them, when Jordan Manning entered the house, the slam of the front door announcing his presence.

Mom! he shouted. You here?

Such good manners, Mark murmured. Such decorum.

Joyce shushed him. We’re in the kitchen, she called.

Hey, Uncle Mark, Jordan Manning said warmly with a nod of greeting as he entered the kitchen. It seemed like a casual but polite greeting from a young man to his mother’s long-time friend; Jordan, however, knew the honorific annoyed the man who had implored that he be called Mark and nothing else for years. Joyce might have chastised her son except she knew he wasn’t doing it to annoy Mark. Growing up, Jordan had always wanted an extended family; he was determined to have one even if he had to force it on his mother’s friend.

Where’s your sister?

She went over to Leslie’s house, Jordan said off-handedly. Les will give her a ride back when they’re through catching up.

What’s that? Joyce asked, noticing the large manila envelope Jordan held in his hands.

This, Jordan stomped more than walked to where Joyce was sitting and slapped the envelope down on the table, is what I want to talk to you about. I can’t believe I never knew about this until now!

CHAPTER TWO

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Joyce did not reach for the envelope. Instead she repeated, What is that?

Oh, like you don’t know, Mom! Jordan said angrily.

I don’t know, Jordan. Why don’t you tell me?

Anna told me, Mom. Anna told me everything.

Joyce could feel the color draining from her face. Everything? she echoed faintly. Surely that could not be so. Anna Harper had been her friend almost since she moved here. What would possess her to tell Joyce’s own son—

She told me all about how the house used to look. She gave me pictures! What were you thinking, Mom?

Joyce could finally breathe again. That was all that Anna had told Jordan, not the story of what had happened that day, not the craziness certain people in town had bought into.

We had to live in this boring, plain house in the middle of nowhere, that was one thing on which Mark and Jordan agreed, when we could have been living in a house that was unique—

To say the least, Joyce inserted dryly.

It had all those cool statues, and you gave them all away! Mom, what were you and Dad thinking?!

Dad had nothing to do with it. It happened before we were married. It was my decision, mine and Grandma Eloise’s.

You never once hinted that there were caves here, and you could reach them from our basement. Mom, do you know how great it would have been to know about that when I was a kid? I would have been the most popular boy in my class if I’d been able to have kids over to explore my very own caves. Mom, was this some kind of plan on your part to make sure I had a miserable childhood?

You did not have a miserable childhood, Jordan, Joyce said calmly.

I could have had a better one, a much better one, Jordan said insistently. I’m going to do something about it right now. He stomped from the room.

Do you see that kind of drama from him often? Mark asked.

He’s upset, Joyce said. He just lost his father. This isn’t about the caves or the gargoyles. He’s angry at me because I didn’t—

There was nothing you could have done. Mark’s voice was quiet but firm.

I could have gone with him. I did that sometimes, you know that. If I had...

The man was the picture of health.

I know.

Even if you’d been there, you couldn’t have done anything to save him.

I know that’s what the doctor said—

Then start believing it.

If I’d been there, at least he wouldn’t have been alone.

He probably didn’t know what happened.

Lyle had gone for his run, which he had done almost every morning of all their years together. He’d been late getting back, which wasn’t like him as he precisely timed his runs. It kept getting later and later with no sign of him. Joyce had tried his cell, which rang and went to voice mail. She’d checked the tracking app on her own phone and saw he wasn’t all that far from home, but he wasn’t moving. She thought at first he had twisted his ankle or sprained it, which had happened once before, but why hadn’t he called to ask for a ride home? Too proud? Too embarrassed at injuring himself?

Joyce decided to drive out to get him. He had to be hurt, or he would have made it back to ’Combs on his own already. She approached the area where her app told her he should be, but didn’t see him.

Then she did, face down on the side of the road.

She called the paramedics who made it out there in what had to be record time, but it was too late. Given the direction in which Lyle had fallen, the assumption was the heart attack struck him at the start of his run. He had been lying there dead for over an hour, and Joyce hadn’t had a clue that the man she loved, the man she’d shared her life with, was gone. Wasn’t there something wrong about that? Shouldn’t she have sensed it somehow?

Mark cleared his throat. While I pick up here, why don’t you run upstairs and change your clothes? Then we can go for a walk. Some fresh air and sunshine will do you good.

Mark rose and picked up their cups, treating his suggestion as an accepted itinerary. Joyce remained seated for another minute or two, then stood and headed for the stairs. With an inward sigh, she realized she had nothing better to do.

Unfortunately, she meant for the rest of her life.

~ ~ ~

Let’s take the path, Mark said when they stepped outside the house.

The path had not existed when Joyce first moved to ’Combs. Lyle had lived at Honeyhill, the estate next door to ’Combs, when they’d met. Being in the country, next door was not exactly that but encompassed more than a mile by road, not counting each estate’s long driveway which added to that distance. That hadn’t seemed nearly far enough apart when Joyce first took up residence and learned her nearest neighbor was, depending on to whom you spoke, a retreat, a spa, or a mental hospital. The latter was probably the most accurate description, although, being a private hospital, its patients were the wealthy, and, occasionally, celebrities who needed an escape from their everyday lives and a little mental fine-tuning. At least it wasn’t the snake pit filled with serial killers and the otherwise criminally insane Joyce had first feared it would be. In researching the area’s history over the years, Joyce had learned Honeyhill had once, in fact, been a mental institution of that sort. It had become a monastery eventually, and when that closed down, one of her Manning ancestors had purchased the property. It had been leased out a few times, first as a boarding school and then as a corporate retreat. Those ventures had been unsuccessful. Lyle had purchased the property for his private clinic a few years before Joyce moved to the area. No matter what it had been, no matter what the then-current occupant had called it, the property had always been referred to locally as Honeyhill, after the abundance of bees that at one time had colonized naturally on the softly rolling hills of its land.

The path hadn’t come about until after Joyce married Lyle and they moved into ’Combs with Eloise. By car the distance between ’Combs and Honeyhill was almost twice what it was as the crow flies. Lyle had been interested in both ecology and physical fitness, and thought forging a path between his home and workplace would nicely combine the two. At first the path had simply been foot-trampled ground. Over the years, Lyle had made improvements to it, spreading the area with smooth river rocks to define it and make it easier to traverse.

Joyce and Mark set off on the path in companionable silence. Or Joyce hoped that was what it was. She worried about Mark and his health, and was always afraid he was trying to put on a good front for her, exerting himself when he should be resting. Are you sure you want to do this? she asked. We could watch a movie if you prefer.

You don’t have to worry about me, Mother, Mark said, his sarcastic tone emerging with the final word. My antiretroviral therapy is working perfectly. I’m as healthy as anyone else, if not healthier. A little walk on a nice afternoon isn’t going to do me any harm. Besides, it’s a good idea to keep an eye on the place. You don’t want squatters to try to take it over.

This isn’t an urban area where any empty building is fair game for that kind of thing.

You have to admit, urban sprawl is starting around here.

Joyce didn’t want to admit it. Shelby had been a Norman Rockwellesque-type of village when she’d first moved here almost twenty-five years ago. It had elements of that today, but the area had changed. It was no longer Joe Taylor who ran the pharmacy and knew the names of everyone who walked into his store. His store had closed when he’d died; a chain drugstore had opened on the edge of town. There were also franchised fast-food establishments that had sprung up, and various big box stores. A grocery store from a national chain had opened up a couple years ago and had driven the family-owned store that had been in Shelby for decades out of business.

With all those changes, it was quite possible that squatters someday might be a problem at Honeyhill.

Joyce saw that Mark was casting what she assumed was a professional eye at the largest of the buildings. It’s like something out of a horror movie, she commented. Do you see any way of making it look like something that doesn’t induce nightmares?

Without employing a wrecking ball? Mark asked with a laugh.

It’s not just me? It is as bad as I’ve always thought? I never did understand why Lyle wanted to have his practice here.

Maybe the price was right. Mark gave a type of exaggerated shrug he had learned in France. What will you do with it now that it’s yours?

Mark had been her confidante since they’d met, but she’d never told him that Honeyhill had never been Lyle’s. She hadn’t known that herself until after her grandmother died. Mark was correct in saying that the price for Honeyhill had been right. The reason behind that was not careful negotiation on Lyle’s part; it was because Lyle had stopped making payments on the property, and the title to the property was never transferred into his name. She wasn’t sure Lyle had known she was aware of that since she hadn’t wanted to bring it up with him.

Today, the day of Lyle’s funeral, wasn’t going to be the day she’d get into that discussion with Mark.

Let’s head back.

The walk too much for you? Mark asked solicitously. Do you want to wait here? I’ll go back to get my car and pick you up.

I’m not tired, Joyce protested. I decided that I had better talk to Anna to find out whatever possessed her to tell Jordan about the caves and the gargoyles.

CHAPTER THREE

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Anna Harper’s current residence was another sign of the urban sprawl that was taking over the formerly picturesque town of Shelby. For years Anna had lived and worked in the same building on a side street of downtown Shelby. She’d run an art gallery-cum-art school which also functioned as her art studio, and had lived in the small apartment above it. Joyce had met her when she’d signed up for a drawing class Anna offered.

Anna had seemed old when they met, but Joyce realized that at that time, Anna had been about the same age Joyce was now, which didn’t seem that old at all anymore. Joyce was pushing fifty, which meant Anna had pushed past seventy. Anna had decided a few years ago that the stairs to her apartment were too much for her to handle. That was also true of running the art gallery and giving art lessons to increasingly disinterested kids who didn’t want to do anything that couldn’t be done on their phones or tablets. Anna retired and moved into one of the apartments in a newly built complex intended for senior citizens.

The strangest part, to Joyce at least, was that Anna was living with her ex-husband.

In all the years Joyce had known Anna, she’d never had a good word to say about the man. They’d been divorced far longer than they’d been married. Their co-habitation had nothing to do with a reconciliation.

We were nothing more than roommates for the last years of our marriage, and that’s all we’re going to be now, Anna had told her. It’s economics, pure and simple. Paying half the rent is better than paying all of it any day.

As Joyce approached the entrance to Anna’s building, she hoped Anna’s ex wouldn’t be there. Anna had justifiable reasons not to have a good word to say about the man; he was a self-centered, egotistical idiot who always thought he was the smartest person in any room. He wasn’t the smartest person if he was alone in the room; an inanimate piece of furniture had more intellect than he did. Joyce couldn’t understand how Anna got involved with someone like him in the first place.

It’s Joyce, Anna, she said into the intercom when Anna asked who was there.

I thought I’d hear from you, but I expected a call, not a visit.

Is it okay that I’m here?

Anna’s response was to sound the buzzer that would let Joyce into the building.

I’m kind of surprised you came over. Anna held open her apartment door so Joyce could enter. You looked pretty awful at the funeral and luncheon. I didn’t think you’d be up to going out.

I had to know something. Joyce crossed the room and headed for the couch. What in the world possessed you to tell Jordan about the gargoyles at ’Combs, and about the caves?

It’s not my fault, it’s yours, Anna said. You had to go and raise a curious kid.

As she asked, What do you mean? Joyce was thinking how Jordan might occasionally tolerate his mother calling him a kid, but he wouldn’t be happy to know Anna used that term for him too. He was twenty-two, a college graduate, and had been accepted into graduate school; he considered himself a full-fledged adult.

He saw those, Anna said with a nod toward a bookcase in the corner, and asked me what they were. Photo albums seem to be a thing of the past. Apparently there are no actual photographs anymore. His generation has images on their cell phones instead of actual pictures. Anyway, he pulled one out to take a look at it. It happened to be the one with the photos I took of ’Combs back in the day.

Why didn’t you tell him you faked those pictures? He’s used to seeing doctored photos online. He would have believed you.

Sure, Anna said skeptically. He’s known me all his life. He knows I’m not into that kind of thing. And what’s the harm of him knowing? I didn’t tell him anything about what happened down in the caves, only about what had been down there.

Anna’s face suddenly had a strange expression.

Are you okay? Joyce asked anxiously. What if Anna was having a heart attack the way Lyle did?

I spoke too soon.

What?

When I asked what was the harm of Jordan knowing. I’ll tell you what it was. Rod was here when Jordan found out. I’m guessing you don’t know that Jordan came back here, and he and Rod took off together.

Where’d they go?

They didn’t tell me. I had the feeling they didn’t want to talk in front of me.

The diner was still in business; they might have gone there. Or they could have gone to that chain coffee house out on the highway, or one of the fast food places, or who knows where. It would make no sense for Joyce to start driving around to find them.

I’m sorry, Anna said. With Rod involved, there’s no telling what kind of a scheme he’ll cook up. Damn it! Why didn’t I get my teaching credentials? I could have taught art at the high school instead of at my store and had a pension when I retired instead of needing a roommate to get by.

When Anna had said it was better to pay half the rent, Joyce had thought she was trying to be economical. But her statement now made it sound like a necessity rather than a choice. Maybe she should consider having Anna—

A sound at the door distracted her. Rod walked in, with Jordan behind him.

The lovely Mrs. Dr. Stern, Rod said with what he thought was charm. Allow me to express my condolences on your loss.

Mom, what are you doing here?

I can ask the same of you, Jordan.

I wanted to talk to a lawyer. I couldn’t talk to Mr. Fargate.

Jonathan Fargate had been Joyce’s grandmother’s attorney, and had handled her alleged estate when Eloise had faked her death to get Joyce to move to Shelby. Despite his wife seeming to be involved in the town’s secret cult centered around the gargoyles, Joyce had continued to use him as her attorney. A few years ago, he began to show signs of incipient Alzheimer’s disease and stopped practicing law. Joyce sometimes wondered how much longer his wife Lois could be his caretaker and what she would do if he had to go into a care facility. Joyce pushed those thoughts aside and turned her attention to her son. Rod Harper was a tax attorney, Joyce said. Do you have some tax problems of which I’m unaware?

Now, Joyce, Rod said, his tone smarmy. I might have specialized in tax law, but that doesn’t mean I’m not familiar with other types of law.

Right, Mom. He says that there may be a way for us to get the gargoyles back from the museums you donated them to.

I don’t know where they went, Joyce said. It might sound like a lie, but was the truth. Anna handled all that for your great-grandmother and me.

That’s the beauty of it, Jordan said excitedly. Because Anna did it, not you or Great-Grandma, that could be the key to getting the statues back.

You see, Joyce, Rod’s smarmy tone was clearly in evidence again, all we need to do is confirm that Anna was the one who signed the deeds to the museums, and the statues are as good as yours again. Anna didn’t own those statues. They weren’t hers to deed to anyone.

Anna was acting at my grandmother’s direction.

Doesn’t matter. You can’t deed away what isn’t yours in the first place.

It’s all moot, isn’t it? Joyce asked, hoping that was the proper legal term for this situation. We don’t know where the statues ended up.

Oh, but we do. Rod rubbed his hands together gleefully. I know my Anna. She was always a meticulous record keeper. I found her file. I know where each and every one of those statues is right now. All I need is a word, and I’ll start contacting those museums about their wrongful acquisitions.

You have my folder? Anna always had a low voice from years of smoking. Now it sounded more like a growl. You went into my personal papers and took something of mine without my permission?

I knew you wouldn’t mind, honey, Rod said jovially, in direct contrast to the demeanor Anna was showing. What do you say, Joyce? Shall I get started?

Wait a second, Anna said. You invaded my personal space? We specifically agreed nothing like that was going to happen if we took this apartment together.

It was for a good cause, baby. This boy wants to get back things that belong to his family. He’s entitled to get them back because you messed up and didn’t do it right. You should have asked me about it at the time. All you needed was for Joyce or her grandma to give you a power of attorney, and things would be all hunky-dory for the museums right now. Instead, it’s bye-bye donations for them.

Not so fast, Mr. Harper, Joyce said coldly. I have no intention of asking for those statues back.

But your son—

Does not own them. They will stay where they are. I’ll contact the museums to ensure that their ownership is valid, and if it’s not, I’ll make whatever corrections they need.

Mom! Jordan wailed.

I suggest you go home now, Jordan.

And I suggest, Anna cut in, that you give me my file, Rod, and then start packing your things. Our arrangement here is finished.

You can’t do that! Rod protested.

Your name’s not on the lease. Your credit was bad, so it’s in my name only. That makes this my apartment, and I want you out. Immediately!

He muttered several phrases, none of them complimentary toward Anna.

I’ll be glad to throw your stuff out the window for you, Anna said.

Sorry, kid, Rod said to Jordan. Looks like we’re not going to have a case after all. My consultation fee is—

Joyce cut him off. Jordan, did you pay for his coffee when you went out? She knew Rod was cheap enough to make a kid pay for him, and wasn’t surprised when her son affirmed that with a nod. Then that’s your fee, paid in full, Joyce told Anna’s ex.

No wonder you and Anna are friends, Rod grumbled. You’re both stone cold—

That’s my mother you’re talking about. I’d stop right there if I were you. Jordan rose to his full height of six two, towering over the older man who took his advice to heart. The look Jordan cast at his mother showed that despite his defense of her, he was none too fond of her at the moment; he turned and walked out of the apartment without another word.

I’m going to go pack, Rod muttered.

My file? Anna said, dogging his steps into his room.

She returned with a file in her hands.

I think I better head home, Joyce said.

Sorry I got your kid mad at you, Anna said.

That strange expression from earlier washed over Anna’s face again. Joyce wasn’t sure how to interpret it. It could have to do with Jordan, but more likely Anna was concerned that she’d put herself in a precarious financial situation by kicking out her ex. Earlier Joyce had briefly thought of all the space she had at ’Combs and whether she should ask Anna to move in with her. It was Joyce’s home but Mark lived with her too. She should solicit his opinion about it. And while Jordan and Jenna were unlikely to be full-time residents at ’Combs again, it was probably good politics to poll them on the idea.

Whatever it had been that caused the odd look on Anna’s face, she didn’t bring up anything. If it was important, Joyce was sure Anna would raise it at some future time.

CHAPTER FOUR

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We had visitors in your absence, Mark informed Joyce when she found him sitting at the kitchen table, a mug of tea in front of him.

Any more of that around? Joyce asked, nodding at his drink.

The pot’s on the counter. It should still be pretty hot.

Joyce went to the cupboard for a mug and poured tea for herself. Who came by? she asked, taking the seat across from Mark.

Three tuna casseroles, one pie, one cake – Bundt, and a bouquet of flowers for you instead of the grave. Oops, was that gauche to put it that way?

No, I’m glad you did. Otherwise, I might feel obligated to drive the flowers to the cemetery. But how am I supposed to acknowledge receipt of those things? I can hardly write a thank you note to Ms. Tuna Casserole or Mr. Pie.

My brain is not affected by my physical condition, at least not yet. I happened to have a notebook handy and had everyone ‘sign in, please,’ like on that old TV game show.

Couldn’t you have remembered their names yourself and written them down later?

Didn’t you read Arthur Conan Doyle when you were young? Sherlock Holmes always said not to waste your memory on inconsequential things. I’ve always subscribed to that philosophy. Besides, no one seemed to mind – probably because they were too busy planning their escape when they discovered no one else was here.

Jenna’s not home? Joyce asked rather than comment about how the people in the town persisted in treating Mark as a pariah.

She came back long enough to change her clothes, then took off again.

Did she say where she was going?

Mark shot her a look that said without words, ‘Are you serious?’

Is Jordan back?

Oh, yes, Mark said around a sigh. He got back a little while ago. He slammed the door when he came in, sounded like a dinosaur when he headed up the stairs, and slammed the door of his room hard enough to make every window in the house shake. To give him credit, I’m not sure he knew I was here. His behavior might have reflected how he felt and wasn’t done for show.

He’s mad at me about the gargoyles. Anna’s ex-husband had filled his head with some technicality that could force the museums to give them back to me, but I put the nix on it.

What would Jordan have done with them if he got them back?

Gone back in time somehow to become the most popular boy in grade school because he lived in the weird gargoyle house.

I thought once they got past the terrible twos, raising children was supposed to be easy.

What fairy tales have you been reading? Joyce considered bringing up the subject of Anna moving in with them and decided it could wait. You said there was Bundt cake?

In the pantry.

Will you have some too?

If you insist on twisting my arm.

Joyce cut and plated three slices and put those plates on the table. Then she went to the foyer and shouted up the stairs, Jordan! Cake! and returned to the kitchen.

Bribing your kid, huh? Mark asked, a cake-filled fork poised near his mouth.

That’s the start of it, Joyce said. Mark’s eyebrows shot up.

Were you trying to get me out of my room, or do you actually have cake? Jordan asked suspiciously as he entered the kitchen.

There’s cake, and it’s good, Mark confirmed.

When Jordan plunked himself down at the table, Joyce got a glass of milk for him. She knew she’d probably be refilling the glass before his cake was gone. Her kids had drunk so much milk while growing up, it seemed she had to go into town at least three times a week to get a new supply. That had led her to ask Lyle regularly, sometimes half-seriously, if they could get a cow of their own. He’d always answered, seriously, that milking the cow and learning how to pasteurize milk herself would take far more time than the extra trips into town.

With that memory, Joyce’s desire for cake disappeared. She pushed her plate toward Jordan, knowing the slice she’d cut for herself wouldn’t go to waste with him around.

Mark surprised her by asking for a second piece of cake himself. When they were done, Joyce cleared the table, then sat back down and