Chapter 5 – Abby's Day
"Abigail," Ducky greeted Abby, as she arrived at the front door the next day. The Goth forensics expert stood in front of the open door, dressed in her usual Sunday best – black, dress, gloves, and parasol – with her hair done up in two little knots, on either side of her head.
"Mother is resting in her chair right now. There is leftover pizza in the refrigerator. Anthony ordered it last night. It gave Mother indigestion but she did enjoy it nonetheless. Nothing a little Maalox doesn't cure."
"I'm sure we'll get along just fine, Duckman," Abby said, smiling sweetly.
"Oh, Abigail, I should warn you… Mother can be a little bit… difficult at times." Ducky sounded regretful. "Apparently, she's already accused Timothy of being a raging alcoholic, and Anthony of being a shameless gigolo. Please be understanding of her, and please don't take offence if she says something outrageous to you."
Abby smiled warmly, and reached out to rest a hand on Ducky's shoulder. "Don't worry, Ducky. I'm sure we'll be fine. Tim taught me how to make this fabulous crockpot dish. I'll get it going, and Mrs. Mallard and I can spend the afternoon girl-talking."
"Yes, well," Ducky said with a small shrug. "Whatever your plans are for the day, I do wish you luck." He turned to leave, then stopped, turning around. "Oh, yes. I knew I was forgetting something… Jimmy told me that if you have any problems, he'll be home today, so you can just call him. But I'm sure the situation will be well in hand."
……………………………………………………………………………
Abby was frantically punching numbers on her cell phone, desperately trying to remember Jimmy's private cell number.
Mrs. Mallard had taken one look at her, and begun screaming bloody murder.
"A vampire! A vampire! You will suck my blood dry! Get away from me… I have garlic!"
Abby had no idea how to react to this, and for as brave and unshakable as she usually was, even she felt a chill of fear when the elderly woman informed her that she had a wooden dagger hidden in her garter.
The old woman had hidden herself behind the big chair that she usually occupied, and cowered behind it, clutching the back of it and peering over the back at Abby with terrified eyes and a locked and loaded blood curdling scream, ready to let fly at the least little provocation.
Abby's fear from this adverse reaction to her presence wasn't so much that Mrs. Mallard could do her actual harm – but that she'd work herself into such a dither that she'd become gravely ill. Ducky would kill her if she did that, and Abby knew she'd never be able to forgive herself if anything happened to his mother.
"Mrs. Mallard, I'm not a vampire, I swear it! See?" Abby rushed over to the window, throwing open the draperies to let the sunshine flood into the room. "See, Mrs. Mallard? If I were a vampire I'd be dead now. And I love garlic! Really!"
But the old woman refused to budge.
Finally, Jimmy picked up, and Abby nearly wept with relief. She tossed her phone over on the chair, and watched desperately as the terrified old woman reached warily over, never taking her eyes off of Abby, and picked it up, bringing it to her ear.
"Grandmother, that's just Abby Sciuto. She works with me at NCIS. She's not a vampire, I swear it," he'd tried to soothe. "She's there to look after you today, and keep you company. I promise she isn't there to drain your blood."
"How do you know that, Jimmy?" the old woman pleaded, still clearly terrified.
"Well… look at her neck, Grandmother. She came from church, so she's probably wearing a crucifix, right?" Jimmy didn't know that for sure, but prayed for everyone's sake, that Abby was wearing one. He waited a few tense moments, and then Abby came back on the line.
"She's calmed down now, Jimmy. Thank you so much," Abby said, the relief in her husky voice clearly evident. "I don't know what you said to her, but she came right up to me and looked down the front of my dress. My crucifix had fallen between my hooters, so I guess she was looking for that."
"Good," Jimmy sighed, smiling to himself, and quite involuntarily thinking, "Lucky crucifix."
"Well, good luck with the rest of the day. Just call if you have any more problems, okay?" Abby giggled nervously. "Sure thing, Jims. Thanks again."
When Abby had disconnected the call, she went into the kitchen to pour Mrs. Mallard a stiff drink of whatever was strongest in the liquor cabinet. While she was at it, she pulled the coffee maker out from the back of the counter, rummaged around until she found the filters and the coffee, and made herself a pot so strong that it would have dissolved the silverware.
When she re-entered the living room, Mrs. Mallard sat quietly, clutching at her blanket. "Here you go, Mrs. Mallard," Abby said carefully. The old woman eyed her suspiciously as she put the glass down on the stand next to her chair. Deciding to take a chance, Abby reached out and laid a hand gently on her arm, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "See, I don't bite after all."
"Abigail, you really must learn to dress more appropriately," Mrs. Mallard scolded. "You nearly scared the life out of me, Girl."
Abby smiled.
So, this was the abrasive old woman that everyone had come to fear, in their own way. It would seem she was back to her usual self, so no harm, no foul. She took a big breath of relief, and let it out, smiling warmly at the older woman. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Mallard. I didn't know you'd react like that. I'll try to dress better from now on, okay?"
Mrs. Mallard nodded, now fully calmed down, although whether it was by her "grandson's" reassurances, or the stiff dose of bourbon in her glass, Abby wasn't really sure. Actually, Abby didn't really care. All that mattered was, the situation was once again in hand.
But it sure was going to be a long, drawn out day.