The Final Victim(82)

Gilbert never knew about the journals-or about the gun.

How proud Eleanore was to have service for sixteen.

She even threw a couple of dinner parties back when she and Gilbert were first married.

In fact, that's how Eleanore met Jonathan Barrow in the first place, beginning the downward spiral that eventually ended in her death.

But, of course, nobody knows about that. Nobody alive today, other than Jeanne, can truly appreciate the peculiar manner in which history tends to repeat itself, generation after generation, at Oakgate.

Jeanne doesn't believe in coincidences, however. There are reasons for what happened to Eleanore, just as there were reasons for what happened to her own mother…

And what is soon to befall yet another Remington woman who lives under the old plantation's dormered roof.

'Jeanne?" Melanie asks, hovering at her elbow. "Aren't you hungry?"

She is. She's famished. She picks up her fork and knife, relishing their pleasant weight in her grasp. She notices that Melanie has also provided her with a cloth napkin this evening, and a pair of salt-and-pepper shakers she remembers her mother using years ago.

After taking a predictably disappointing bite of the turkey, Jeanne moves the plate around, checking beneath the rim.

"What's the matter, Jeanne?" the nurse asks, hovering at her elbow. "What are you looking for?"

"A spoon… I need it for mashed potatoes, and the gravy…" She doesn't want to waste a drop-especially since there's barely enough to cover the rubbery turkey in the first place.

"Oh, no problem. I'll go back down and get one for you. Is there anything else you need?"

Yes, Jeanne thinks glumly, staring at the dismal meal, but not yet. Not tonight.

Soon, though, very soon.

Charlotte slips out from beneath Royce's arm and crosses the parlor to the mantel, where Grandaddy's radio has sat mute for weeks now.

It'll be good to have music in this house again, Charlotte thinks as she reaches for the dial. Maybe I'll even leave it tuned to the Oldies station.

She turns the knob with a click, but nothing happens. Not even a burst of static.

Oh-the volume must have been turned all the way down. She twists the dial all the way around clockwise, but the radio remains silent.

Ah, Nydia must have accidentally unplugged it while she was winding the clock.

Charlotte follows the dangling cord, but finds that it's still plugged into the outlet on the wall beside the mantel.

'That's odd," she says softly.

"Hmmm?" Royce asks, stirring on the couch behind her.

"Nothing, it's just… Grandaddy's radio doesn't work anymore for some reason."

"It's old," he murmurs. "Must be broken."

"First the elevator, and now this. After all these years. I'm going to have it fixed." 'The elevator?"

The radio," she decides aloud. "Aimee already called the elevator guy. He's coming next week. I'll take the radio to Mr. Goldberg."

"Who's he? The radio guy?" Royce looks amused.

"Pretty much. He has the little repair shop down by the canal-he tinkered with Grandaddy's television last winter and got it running again. I have to go down to the South Shore tomorrow or Sunday, anyway, to pick up some things at the supermarket."

"Why do you have to go running all the way down there? Let Nydia do the shopping."

Normally she does, but she wants to pick up the ingredients for the complicated French seafood dish she cooked for Royce back when they were first married and she had vowed to become more domestic.

He loved it, and she'd promised him she'd make it every week.

Has she bothered with it since?

Urn, no you haven't. So much for Super Wife.

Royce never really seems to mind that she rarely cooks, but it will be nice to surprise him with dinner tomorrow night.

And she'll get a chance to get the radio fixed.

Hearing a footfall beyond the parlor door, she looks up expectantly, expecting Aimee to return, or maybe even Lianna, who has yet to come down and greet her stepfather. Charlotte realizes she must be upstairs getting ready for her dinner out with Vince, but it would be nice if she spared a few minutes to see Royce before she leaves.

But nobody emerges from the next room.

Frowning, Charlotte calls, "Lianna? Is that you?"

The only reply is a creaking floorboard.

Irritated, Charlotte crosses to the French doors, which Aimee left ajar, and peeks into the larger parlor.

It's deserted, but she glimpses a shadow disappearing around the corner into the hall beyond.

"Lianna!" she calls.

No reply.

"Lianna?"

She hurries to the door, and finds the hall deserted as well.

A moment later, Nydia appears in the doorway leading toward the back of the house. "Is something wrong, Mrs. Maitland?'

Frowning, Charlotte asks, "Have you seen Lianna in the last few seconds? Or anyone?"

"I haven't seen her, but I did knock on her door and tell her that her father is here waiting for her. I sent him into the parlor to wait."

"Well, he isn't there."

"Maybe they left."

"She better not have left without letting me know," Charlotte says, and strides quickly to the window to see whether Vince's car is still here.