Little Girls(8)

“I wouldn’t have assumed you were responsible for any of it.” Laurie coughed into one fist, somewhat embarrassed, though she couldn’t quite pinpoint why. For some reason, Dora Lorton made her nervous. “How did you know we were going to sell the place?”

“You’re uncomfortable just spending the night here, why would I think you’d move in for good?” Dora said, moving past Laurie and out of the laundry room.

Lastly, they went back into the foyer where Dora retrieved a lightweight coat and a handbag from the hall closet. The coat was tan canvas with large brown plastic buttons and a fabric belt, like the kind of coat Peter Sellers wore in all the Pink Panther movies. “Did Felix tell you about the rug?”

“What rug?”

“An old Persian rug that had been upstairs in that odd little room. On the night of Mr. Brashear’s death, the rug had been . . . damaged . . . I suppose you could say,” Dora said, tugging on her detective coat. Behind her, out one of the arched windows, Laurie could see Felix Lorton standing by the dusty Cadillac having a cigarette.

“Damaged how?”

“Stained by fluid.”

“Blood?”

Dora’s mouth went tight. “Not just blood.”

“Oh,” Laurie said after she realized what the woman meant. “Was that something that happened often?”

“No. Just that once.”

“I’m so embarrassed.”

“I cleaned it as best I could and then I had Felix roll it up and tuck it away in a corner downstairs. I considered getting rid of it—it’s unsalvageable, to speak openly, Mrs. Genarro—but it is also your property now and I didn’t want to take liberties throwing things away. It looked like it might have been a fairly expensive rug.”

“I understand. Thank you for thinking of it. And again, I’m so sorry you had to deal with it. I’m sorry you got wrapped up in the middle of it all.”

“It’s my job,” she repeated. The woman shouldered the strap of her handbag. “Or so it once was, anyway.”

Laurie walked her to the front door, their footfalls echoing in the empty circular foyer. “Oh!” Laurie said quickly. “There was one more thing.”

“Yes?”

“Was there a reason the locks had been changed recently?”

“Reason?” Dora pulled her flimsy coat more tightly about herself. “How often did you say you spoke with your father by telephone, Mrs. Genarro?”

“Not very often, I’m afraid. Six months ago would have been the last time.”

“He grew quite paranoid in the final weeks of his life.”

“I didn’t know.”

“He was a frightened man. It seemed his thoughts turned on him, as evidenced by his suicide. He would walk around the house as if he were a young boy lost in the woods.”

“So the locks were changed to prevent him from getting out?”

“No, Mrs. Genarro. The locks were changed at your father’s insistence to prevent people from getting in.”

Laurie tasted acid at the back of her throat. Slowly, she shook her head. “I don’t understand. What people? Who was trying to get in?”

Dora’s lips thinned. “Have you spent any time around people with dementia, Mrs. Genarro?”

“No, I’m afraid I haven’t.” She was becoming annoyed at the woman’s tone.

“Quite often they become paranoid. Their fears are irrational and based outside of reality. I once took care of an elderly woman who was terrified of kitchen utensils—knives, forks, spoons. Pure silliness to you and me, but abject horror to her. You’ve seen the empty picture frame on the wall?”

Laurie recalled the empty frame on the wall in the parlor, the one Ted had remarked upon. She said, “Yes, I did. I was wondering what that was about. Did he remove the picture from the frame?”

“He broke the glass and tore it right out. I took the frame down afterward, but in his dementia, the poor man insisted I hang it back up with no picture in it.”

“Why would he do such a thing?”

“Far be it from me to comprehend the things that went through your father’s head, Mrs. Genarro. His dementia had gotten the best of him by that point, I’m sorry to say.” The older woman glanced quickly down the hall and then back at Laurie. “I had considered taking the frame down before you got here—it is certainly a disturbing sight—but Mr. Claiborne, he insisted I leave things as they had been prior to your father’s death. He claimed it would be disrespectful to start moving items around, but I think it was because he feared a lawsuit and wanted you to see just what it had been like taking care of your father.”

“I understand.”

“I hope that doesn’t sound harsh.”

“No, not at all.”

“Will there be one? A lawsuit, I mean.”

“No,” said Laurie. “No one’s getting sued.” On top of everything else, she couldn’t think about filing a lawsuit, too . . . even though Ted had brought it up on more than one occasion since they had received Claiborne’s telephone call. They should have been watching him, Ted had insisted, and it wasn’t as if Laurie necessarily disagreed with him. That’s what twenty-four-hour care is for! That’s the goddamn definition! Someone should have been keeping an eye on him twenty-four hours a goddamn day, Laurie!