The Spite House(19)
“Yeah, it is,” Dess said to her sister.
Eunice Houghton’s estate was almost overstuffed with natural niceties and man-made outdoor amenities. After turning onto a long cobblestone driveway that looked too nice to be driven on, Eric passed large trees that must have been hundreds of years old. There were multiple benches and picnic tables, isolated gardens, two small ponds (both of which featured a walkway leading to an island gazebo), an atrium, and an encompassing trail that looked to be made of the same synthetic material Dess would run on at her track meets.
The trail created an informal border that marked the end of the more “civilized” section of the Houghton Estate. Beyond it on three sides lay the wilds. Clustered trees, tall grasses, small hills, and the sounds of the animals and insects that occupied that land. Eric did not know where Miss Houghton’s property truly ended, but believed you could lose yourself for at least half a day finding your way out of the surrounding woods after walking in.
He tried to imagine owning even a tenth of this property. The privacy it could afford them. He imagined that people who lived in such places did so specifically to have some space, enjoy some seclusion.
A black-haired woman in a dress suit stood a few feet from the steps leading to the mansion’s front entrance. He parked the car several feet away from her, and by the time he and the girls walked close enough to be within comfortable speaking distance, the first woman was joined by a black woman dressed more like she was about to run a few errands. The first woman extended her hand and said, “Welcome, Mr. Ross. I’m Dana. We spoke yesterday. This is Lafonda, my colleague.”
Eric shook hands and introduced his daughters. “This is Odessa, and this is Stacy.”
Lafonda said, “Well, young ladies, it’s my pleasure to meet you. You’re going to hang out with me for a bit while your dad talks to my boss, if that’s cool.”
“Sounds good,” Dess said.
“Do you live here?” Stacy said.
“I do,” Lafonda said. “Come on. I’ll show you around some.”
Eric and his girls followed Dana and Lafonda into the house, first passing through a foyer that was larger than many of the motel rooms they’d stayed in, then parting ways at the crest in the marbled floor of the main hall. Lafonda said to Eric, “If you need me, have Miss Eunice page me,” then took the girls with her to the right, toward what appeared to be a huge sunroom.
Dana said, “This way, please, she’s waiting for you in her office,” then escorted him up the hall’s staircase, which reminded Eric of the stairs in the film Titanic. Midway up the stairs he started to feel dizzy. This place was too large to be thought of as anyone’s home. The house back in Maryland—which Tab had convinced him was the one, even though he’d been a little unsure due to its price tag—had been more than enough for his family. Four bedrooms, a decent little office, a dining room and breakfast nook, a den and living room. Very nice, and it could fit in Eunice Houghton’s home at least ten times over.
“You live here, too?” he said to Dana, staring up at the ceiling that seemed closer to the clouds than the dirt.
“No, my husband and I live closer to the town proper,” Dana said. “Puts me closer to the plant and campus for work. I go in just about every day so Eunice doesn’t have to. I’m presuming you’ve done some homework about her.”
“What makes you think that?” he said, still trying to take in the mansion’s sprawling three stories from a vantage point that barely let him process one.
“You sounded smart on the phone. Smart people do homework.”
He looked at her, tried to gauge whether this was a continuation of the prescreening. “I did a little.”
“Good.” At the top of the stairs they went down the left hallway, and to Eric the mansion increasingly became more of a museum. The halls were wide enough to bring a tour group through, eleven or twelve feet tall, he couldn’t quite tell, and lined with impressive art pieces. Paintings primarily, with a few engravings and large photographs—some portraits, some candids—spread throughout. One at the end of the hall captured a woman with a smile big enough for two. She looked to be about a second away from laughing, and Eric almost expected her to come alive within the frame and do just that.
“Right here,” Dana said, stopping in front of a closed door. “For whatever it’s worth, I’m pulling for you. The others that have come through, I haven’t been a fan. You? You’re not claiming to be some amateur expert in an unscientific field. At least, I don’t think so. You’ve got that going for you.”
“So don’t be an expert,” he said. “Got it.”
Dana’s smile changed, like she might be impressed but also a bit wary. “I’m not giving you pointers, just pointing something out. There’s a difference.”
“I agree.”
“Just be yourself.”
“I’ll do my best.”
The smile shifted again, in which direction he couldn’t tell. You’re getting cute, he thought. Don’t blow this before you even get to it, for God’s sake.
Dana opened the door, brought him in, introduced him to Eunice. The older woman got up from her desk, and the thing that struck Eric most about her was her posture. She was in no way bent or stooped, and didn’t appear to be trying hard—if at all—to stand so erect.