Chapter Four
Rose stood at the living room window and watched Callie and Frank Hardy's car back out of the driveway. Only when the car was out of sight did Rose let her guard down. She slumped against the wall, drew in a long breath, and let it out slowly. It was starting again. After all this time, a reporter was back, asking questions, digging around for the truth.
Fifteen years. Why now?
Why couldn't people leave well enough alone?
Fifteen years ago everything had gone according to plan. The deed was done. Liz was gone, never to return. That was the plan and it had worked perfectly. No one had looked in the correct direction. No one had suspected …
Now? Now, Callie Hardy had appeared – out of the blue – on Rose's doorstep and had asked questions about that night. Questions that Rose could never answer. Would never answer. Never. Some secrets were best kept buried. Unearthing those secrets would bring nothing but pain.
"Mom?"
Rose jumped and gave a short scream. Then she saw her nine-year-old daughter standing in the living room with frightened eyes. Rose's scream had startled the child.
"You scared me, mom," the little girl whimpered, tears in her eyes.
Rose rushed to her daughter and hugged her. "Mommy's sorry, darling. I-I was thinking about something and didn't hear you come into the room."
Rose felt her daughter's tears on her shirt sleeve. "There now, baby. It's okay. How you feeling?" Rose brushed cinnamon colored hair off of the child's forehead and smiled at her.
"Okay." The girl wiped a tear off her rosy cheek. "I finished all my homework. Can I have a snack now?"
"Of course. C'mom, let's get some cookies. Mommy could use a snack, too." Rose glanced out the living room window before leading her daughter to the kitchen. Rose knew she had to be careful now. Callie and Frank Hardy did not seem like the kind of people who would let secrets stay buried.
# # # #
Frank drove himself and Callie to their next appointment – to Rose's mother's house – Blanche Lancaster.
"Dang it," Callie hissed. "I forgot to ask Rose about the ghost." Then Callie thought, what if Rose was the ghost? Callie shook her head, that didn't make sense. Or did it? Good grief, Callie was getting a bit befuddled.
"I think you got as much out of Rose as you were going to get." Frank sounded very rational.
Callie smiled at her husband. "You're probably right. I'm actually surprised she shared as much as she did given the, um, awkward start to the interview."
"I considered her a hostile witness," Frank joked and then sobered. "And I felt she was holding something back. I don't think she told you everything she knew."
"I got that impression, too," Callie said and sighed.
# # # #
Frank parked on the curb in front of an older Victorian home. It was in need of repairs and some serious yardwork. Huge maple trees separated the house from its neighbors. Overgrown grass (dying grass) and weeds filled the fenced front yard. However, the side of the house was different. There, towards the back of the house, was a flower garden surrounded by wire mesh. An older woman, in gardening hat and gloves, was inside the enclosure, hunched over, tending to the flowers. She immediately looked up when Callie and Frank opened their car doors.
Callie closed her door and called out, "Hello, I'm Callie Hardy. I'm looking for Blanche Lancaster."
The woman rose slowly and pulled off her gloves. "I'm Blanche."
Callie pushed open the gate on the low picket fence that surrounded the front yard. The gate creaked and scrapped along the stone path leading to the house. Yes, this home and yard were in dire need of care and attention. Frank followed Callie into the yard. He didn't bother closing the gate. He didn't want to hear the horrible scrapping noise again.
Callie approached Blanche with a hand extended. The women shook hands and Callie said, "Thank you so much for meeting me, Ms. Lancaster and I want you to know, upfront, that I'm here to write an article about your daughter Elizabeth and what happened to her. And, for the record, I am not here to sensationalize the tragedy that you have suffered." Callie felt it best to get this out in the open so Blanche knew exactly where Callie stood.
Callie saw Blanche direct her attention at Frank. "This is my husband Frank. He's .."
"I'm lending a hand," Frank quickly said and reached out a hand which Blanche rather hesitantly shook.
When shaking hands was completed, Blanche pulled her gaze away from Frank and back to Callie. "You made your desires known on the phone, Mrs. Hardy. I have no problem with people looking into my daughter's disappearance. I welcome it. It's been a long time since someone took an active interest in what happened to Liz."
Well, that was good to know Callie thought, truly surprised by Blanche's response. After meeting Rose, Callie had feared the mother would be even more difficult to interview. "Oh, well, that's wonderful," Callie said.
"Would you like some tea?" Blanche asked. "I could use a cup to warm myself up. It won't take but a minute to fix."
Callie smiled. "Yes, that sounds lovely. It is a bit chilly today, isn't it?"
"It is," Blanche agreed. "Come, let's go inside."
Callie and Frank soon found themselves in a tiny kitchen seated at a tiny round table. Frank looked too big for the room. His six-foot-one frame and broad shoulders seemed to take up more than his fair share of the space.
Callie and Frank removed their jackets – something they had not done at Rose's house – and draped them over the back of their chairs.
Blanche hung her tattered gardening coat and hat on a hook by the back door and then went to the stove where she removed a tea kettle and filled it with water at the sink.
"Can I help?" Callie asked anxious to be of service.
"Teacups and saucers are in that cupboard." Blanche nodded at a cupboard. "Teabags are in the canister marked 'tea,' there on the counter." Blanche looked at Frank. "Let's move this table out a bit, young man. You look absolutely scrunched."
Frank – with minimal help from Blanche – moved the table away from the wall and instantly felt better, like he could breathe. Callie placed teacups and saucers on the table and smiled at her husband. It was nice of him to come along on this adventure – inconveniences and all.
"Excuse me a minute," Blanche said, "I'm going to the powder room to wash my face and hands. If the kettle whistles .."
"I'll get it," Callie promised. "Please, don't fret on our accounts. Take your time."
"Very well then." Blanche appeared relieved. "I won't be long."
Once Blanche was out of the room, Frank pulled Callie close and whispered, "Did you notice the flowers in the flower garden?"
Callie stared wide eyed at her husband. "What? No, I was so intent on introducing myself to Blanche that I didn't even look at the garden. Why? What did I miss?"
"Bundles of flowers bound together. They looked exactly like the flowers we found at the white cross this morning."
Callie's hand went to her gaping mouth. "How did I miss that?"
"You were distracted," Frank whispered. "I think you should ask Blanche some questions about her garden."
Callie nodded. "Good idea. I will."
Callie went to the tea canister on the counter and removed the lid. The tea was all the same flavor and brand. Callie withdrew three bags, brought them to the table, and placed one in each teacup.
The kettle whistled and Frank, needing movement, said, "I'll get it."
When Blanche returned to the kitchen, Frank was pouring hot water into the teacups.
"I hope you don't mind," Callie said, thinking maybe she and Frank had overstepped their bounds in readying the tea.
"No, not at all," Blanche said pleasantly and smoothed down her wrinkled shirt. "It's nice to have guests who do not expect to be waited on. I do enough of that – waiting on people – at my job at the café."
Blanche retrieved cream from the fridge and honey from a cupboard, carried them to the table, and sat. Only now did Callie get a good look at the woman. Blanche was fifty-two and judging by the deep lines on her face, life had not been easy for her. Pain and grief had taken their toll. Blanche was thin and her steel gray hair was pulled into a tight bun at the nape of her neck. Her appearance spoke of neglect as if she did not indulge in much self care. Her hands were rough, calloused, and the nails chipped.
Her garden, Callie thought, the woman must spend a lot of time gardening. With that thought in mind, Callie said, "Ms. Lancaster, I was admiring your flower garden. You have quite the green thumb to be able to grow flowers in the fall."
Blanche stirred honey into her tea and sighed. "Ah, my garden." Blanche laid her spoon on her saucer and a small smile cracked the corners of her dry lips. "It sustains me. Gives me life. Gives me a reason … Well, it makes me happy."
And there hasn't been much happiness in your life, has there? Callie thought.
Frank cleared his throat. "Ahem, I noticed you have flowers bundled. Do you sell them?" Frank looked at Callie and wagged an eyebrow. He was getting a jumpstart on the questioning.
Callie sipped her tea and waited for Blanche to answer.
Blanche lifted her teacup. "It's something of a side business. I take flowers to the café where I work. The manager likes to use them as centerpieces on the tables. She pays me for the flowers, not much, but every penny helps. Sometimes a coworker asks for flowers for a special occasion like a birthday or anniversary. I do special flower arrangements for people. I've done a few weddings for local brides. You might say, I've gotten good at making bouquets. Valentine's Day keeps me busy." Blanche smiled, sipped her tea, and said, "All the busboys at the café want flowers for their girls on Valentine's Day. Some even buy flowers for their mothers. I always find that endearing."
Callie saw a light come into Blanche's eyes as she spoke. It was obvious the woman enjoyed providing flowers for her coworkers and making people happy. It was hard to imagine this woman fighting with her teenage daughter years ago. The Blanche that sat before Callie today was subdued, quiet, and meek. She seemed resigned to life, to just going through the motions and grabbing happiness wherever she could find it.
Callie drank more of her tea and wondered how best to transition to the hard questions she had come here to ask. She looked around at the room – at the small, cluttered kitchen. This was the same house Elizabeth and Rose had lived in. Fifteen years ago Blanche and her daughters must have sat at this table sharing meals. Callie found it interesting that Blanche had not moved after Liz went missing.
"I was wondering," Callie said to Blanche, "how long have you lived in this house?"
Blanche eyed Callie for a second then turned her head and stared out a window as if counting the years. Or perhaps, she was envisioning the house – her home and life – years ago.
At last, Blanche said, "A long time. I moved in here when my girls were babies. Well, I called them babies. They were five and three and adorable. Cute as could be, both of them. It was just the three of us. Three peas in a pod I used to say." Her eyes clouded over and she turned somber. "We never had a lot of money. I never was able to take my babies on vacations or buy them new things. I always bought used stuff and secondhand clothes. But I tried to make up for that with love. Lots of love."
Lots of love. Callie wondered if daughter Rose would agree. Callie had sensed in Rose that some of that love was missing.
"You and your daughters were happy here," Callie said.
Blanche nodded. "Yes, for the most part. We had our ups and downs like any family."
Callie hesitated. Was this an admission that there had been fights between mother and daughter? Should Callie ask directly about those fights or was that a bridge too far? Callie also wanted to ask about the night Liz disappeared. However, she feared this would cause Blanche additional pain. Callie felt trapped with nowhere to turn, all of her questions would cause pain.
Finally, Callie decided she had to probe. It was why she was here. If she didn't ask the hard questions she would never find the truth.
"Please forgive me," Callie began, "I know this may be difficult for you, but I would like to hear from you what happened the night Liz disappeared."
Blanche's eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly. "You must know by now what happened. It was in all the papers. I'm sure, being a journalist, you've read them."
"Yes, of course I have, but I'd like to hear your account of that night in your own words. Please." Callie traded glances with Frank. He gave the smallest of shrugs.
Blanche bowed her head and stared at her tea as if reading tea leaves at the bottom. Was she looking for answers? Long lost answers? Finally, she lifted her chin and said, "You spoke to my daughter Rose today." Blanche's tone was neutral, not accusatory.
"I did." Callie held her breath. Was speaking to Rose good, bad, or neither?
"I'm sure she told you what happened." There was a sudden hardness in Blanche's voice.
"She did." Callie sensed a slight change in Blanche's demeanor. "Rose said she last saw Liz at school with Rudy Glynn."
"Rudy." Blanche fixed Callie with a steely glare. "I tried to warn Liz about him." Blanche turned on Frank. "Do you have a job, young man?"
Frank remained calm as was his nature. "Yes, I'm a police officer."
"Good, that's very good." Blanche spun back to Callie. "That's what every mother wants for her daughter, a decent husband, a man with a future. Someone they can depend on to take care of their daughter." Blanche shook her head in a firm and decisive way. "Rudy Glynn was none of those things. None of them. Liz was throwing her life away by hitching her wagon to him and I let her know it." Blanche fixed Callie with that steely glare again. "Rudy left town not long after Liz went missing and he's never been heard from since."
"Yes, I know," Callie said softly. "I wonder what became of him?"
Blanche made a disparaging sound under her breath and sipped her tea. Callie drank her tea, too thinking, so Rose had been truthful about the fights between Liz and Blanche.
Blanche set her empty teacup down, ran a finger over the handle, and said, "Rose took her sister's disappearance hard. She was never quite the same afterwards. Sometimes, I'd catch her staring out the window like she was searching for something, like she was expecting to see Liz come walking down the street." There was a quiver in Blanche's voice.
Suddenly, Blanche pushed back her chair and stood. "Well, that's all I have to say. I-I'm sorry, I need to get back to my garden before the sun goes down."
Callie was startled by this abrupt announcement and saw that Frank was, too.
"Oh," Callie said letting the surprise show in her face and tone. "I-I guess we should be going."
She and Frank stood and started to pick up their tea things to carry them to the sink.
"Leave them," Blanche ordered. "I'll do them later."
Stunned, Callie grabbed her jacket off the back of her chair. She wondered why Blanche suddenly seemed to be in a hurry to get rid of them.
Frank grabbed his jacket and said, "Ms. Lancaster, if you don't mind, I'd like to look at your garden. I'd like to buy a bouquet of flowers for my lovely wife. That is, if any are for sell." Frank grinned and winked at Callie.
Callie had an idea of what Frank was up to and, cheeks blushing, demurely grinned back.
The possibility of a sell and making money transformed Blanche back into the woman who had offered Frank and Callie a warm cup of tea. A gracious smile came to her dry lips. "Yes, they're for sell. I'll get my coat and meet you both outside by the garden."
"Thank you," Frank said quickly before Blanche had a change of heart.
He and Callie tugged on their jackets and hurried outside.
"Let's look at those bouquets before Blanche gets out here," Frank said as he and Callie walked briskly to the garden.
A five-foot high wire-mesh fence enclosed the garden. By Frank's estimation the garden area was approximately 30 feet by 40 feet and contained flowers for every season – well, maybe not winter. Along one side of the mesh-fencing was a long wooden table. Atop the table lay a watering can, gardening tools, and a row of prepared bouquets. They were in pans of water to keep them fresh.
Frank pointed at the bouquets. "There."
He and Callie moved to the table for a better view. Husband and wife stood side by side and studied the flowers through the wire mesh.
"They're identical to the bouquet left at the white cross," Callie whispered.
"I agree." Frank glanced over his shoulder and saw Blanche exiting her house. "She's coming."
Blanche had donned her hat, coat, and gloves. As she neared the couple, she called out, "I'm afraid I don't have much for you to choose from. All I have at the moment are my autumn bouquets."
"These," Callie said pointing to the flowers in pans. "They're beautiful."
Blanche smiled as she drew closer to Callie. "Autumn flowers are my favorites. Let's go inside."
Blanche opened a rickety gate on the enclosure and stepped inside. Callie and Frank followed her in and to the wooden table.
"They're all fresh," Blanche said, indicating the flowers with a wave of her hand. "I picked them yesterday morning and bound them with plant fibers. I try to use organic materials whenever possible."
Callie stood at the table admiring the flowers. "You're very talented," Callie said and meant it. The flower arrangements were very artistic. Color and types of flower were combined skillfully with an eye for a pleasing aesthetic. "I also like that you use sustainable materials."
Frank counted eight bouquets. He turned to Blanche and asked, "Do you sell your flowers somewhere in town?"
"I do," Blanche said. "I set up at the Farmers' Market on Saturday mornings."
"Today's Saturday so you were there this morning?" Frank said.
"Yes, from eight till noon," Blanche confirmed.
Callie picked up a bouquet. "I'll take this one."
"How much do I owe you?" Frank asked Blanche.
"Nothing. Please, take them and enjoy them." Blanche appeared reluctant to accept any money. Or was she just anxious to be rid of her guests?
Frank pulled out his wallet. "That's very nice of you, but I insist on paying. You worked hard on the flowers and you've made my wife very happy."
Callie beamed to show this was true.
Blanche hesitated a second before saying, "Three dollars. That's what I sell them for in town."
Frank pulled out a five dollar bill and handed it to Blanche. "Keep the change and thank you for meeting with us."
"And for the tea," Callie added.
"Here, let me wrap the flowers so they don't drip on you." Blanche took the bouquet from Callie, pulled a sheet of brown paper from a carton on the table top, wrapped the bouquet in it, and handed it back to Callie. "Enjoy them, dear."
"I will," Callie assured her.
# # # #
Callie and Frank headed back to the Bed and Breakfast. Callie sat in the passenger's seat, the bouquet on her lap, the floral scent filling the car. She looked over at her husband. "Thank you for the flowers, Frank. They're beautiful."
Frank smiled at his wife. "You're beautiful to me." His attention went back to the road and said, "I'll admit I had an ulterior motive for buying them. I think we should take them to the white cross and compare them to the flowers left there."
Callie was happy to hear this. "I was thinking the same thing and I have no doubt they'll match. Whoever left those flowers at the cross must have gotten them from Blanche."
"Blanche could have left the flowers there," Frank said as he watched the road.
Callie considered this possibility. "Hmm, I hadn't thought of that. That does beg the question of, when exactly were the flowers placed in front of the white cross?"
Frank pulled into the parking lot of the Bed and Breakfast and wheeled into a slot. He killed the engine and turned to Callie. "Blanche could have brought a bouquet to the cross late yesterday afternoon after she finished making them."
"True." A frown descended upon Callie's forehead as she stared out the windshield.
"You don't look happy. What's the matter?" Frank asked.
Callie shook her head and gave a little shrug. "I..I've had two interviews today and I feel as if I've botched both of them." She looked into Frank's warm brown eyes. "I never knew interviewing people could be so trying. The emotions of the interviewees has to be considered and, well, I've found the whole process to be tiring."
"It is." Frank grinned. "Hey, don't be too hard on yourself. You're new to this and, in my humble opinion, you're doing just fine. Interviewing people who have lost a family member is never easy, even for experienced interrogators."
Frank leaned over and kissed Callie on the cheek. As she turned her lips to his, he put his left hand on her right shoulder and drew her toward him.
"You're doing a wonderful job, Mrs. Hardy. Don't ever doubt yourself." And then his lips were on hers.
Callie melted into the kiss and felt the tension of the day release. All was right with the world. When the kiss ended, Callie's skin tingled and a pleasant warmth radiated throughout her body.
Frank leaned back in the driver's seat looking quite satisfied. He nodded at Callie. "Shall we head to the white cross?"
Callie drew in a much needed breath and said, "Yes." She peered out the windshield, at the dark sky. "We'd better hurry. The sun will be setting soon."
