Chapter 13: Mrs. Collingsworth

When Cynthia didn't come downstairs for breakfast, I ate quickly and went to check on her. She was coming out of the bathroom, wearing a silk robe that extended halfway down her thighs.

"How are you feeling this morning?"

She looked my way, probably stunned that I wasn't angry at being told to sleep in the next room the night before. I was angry, but I was doing my best to hide my feelings, knowing that she wasn't being herself.

"I'm not hungry," she said, as if that answered my question.

"Do you feel like going over Julius' investment recommendations?"

"I'm not interested," she said, failing to say when she would be interested.

"He traveled a long way, and worked most of the day developing a strategy for you. I told him to expect a check next week."

Her cold eyes telegraphed her answer even before she spoke. "It was your idea to have him come. You pay him," she said

I didn't argue with her. She was right. It had been my idea to contact my friend, Doctor Mercer, who introduced me to Julius. Should I try once more to change her disposition? "Cynthia, we have company coming later. Are you going to feel like hearing what I have to say about the Baltimore building?"

"I've heard all I need to know about the Baltimore building. You entertain your guests."

"What about dinner? Are you going to feel like joining us?"

"I won't know until later. I'll let you know then."

I was inclined to leave the room and find something else to do, but there was one more question that needed to be answered. "Cynthia, we have the Reapers coming on Saturday night. Are you going to feel like hosting the party, or should I get in touch with Marsha Cody so she'll have time to arrange for another venue?"

Cynthia moved her jaw from side to side, like she was searching for a comfortable position, and drew the tie of her robe tight around her waist. "I don't know how I'll be feeling on Saturday. It was your idea to invite them. You host the party."

I distinctly remembered that it had been her who had volunteered to host the April meeting, but since she'd not said to cancel, I didn't correct her. I don't know why I revisited to the subject of her seeing a doctor. It was just something that needed to be said.

"You need to see a doctor. There must be tests that will..."

Her rage interrupted me. What I gleaned from her garbled diatribe was that she knew a lot more obscenities than I'd given her credit for. It occurred to me that if you don't know what a person is saying, their criticism is ineffective. She was angry about something though. Concerned that she might burst a blood vessel, I held my hand up and backed out of the room. My meek behavior was clearly unexpected, and it infuriated her even more. She followed me into the hallway, screaming incoherently.

"Go back in your room and brood, feel sorry for yourself or whatever you do, but stop giving me your brand of crap because I don't need it." I said, and watched her retreat. I half expected her to say, "Yes, Sammy," like she'd done in the past, but she slammed the door in defiance. If she took what I said as a threat that I would leave, she didn't try to talk me out of it. Why I didn't walk out right then, I'll never know. Perhaps it was because I was expecting guests for dinner, or just maybe I thought there was a chance that I could convince her to see a doctor. There was also the Saturday night party. I'd put a lot of effort into getting the house ready, planning the menu, and felt that I needed to be there to see that everything went smoothly.

I telephoned Mr. Chase, the gatekeeper, and described the car John and Suzanne would be driving and what time I expected them to arrive. "They are my parents," I said, just to make sure he waved them through without his customary inquisition as to their identity, who they were visiting, and how long they planed to stay. I also reminded him about the party we were hosting on the upcoming Saturday night.

Three o'clock, the time I'd designated for our guests to arrive, couldn't come soon enough for me. I roamed the house, checked the large room where the Saturday night party was to be held, spent an hour in the pool, and rearranged the furniture in the study where our meeting was to take place.

When Margaret called me to lunch, I checked with Cynthia to see if she was hungry. She wasn't. After eating sparingly, I found a new book, Stephen King's Insomnia, and read about half of it before getting ready to greet our guests. The door to Cynthia's room was locked. I tried the room that I'd occupied the night before, and discovered that some of my clothes had been moved into the closet. Missing were the suits and shoes Cynthia had given me. That was fine with me. I liked the stuff I'd brought from home better anyway.

Tom and Edith were the first to arrive. He inquired about Cynthia, and when I told him she was not going to be able to join us, he shook his head without commenting. John and Suzanne seemed amused at the respect they'd received from the gatekeeper.

"Did you know he's from England?" Suzanne asked.

I laughed. "That's what he tells people when he's trying to impress them, but I'm not so sure. He may have visited England, but I believe he was born here."

I didn't check to see if Cynthia wanted to join us, nor did I explain her absence. Edith apologized for making me repeat what I had to tell them about the Baltimore building. Tom reminded her that John and Suzanne hadn't been here the previous time. I began by saying that there was not much to tell. "We know very little about the building. Most of what I have to say is based on Wanda's research and Jerry Bastian's knowledge of the locality. What I want from you is the authority to investigate and see what I uncover. If everything..."

I stopped speaking when I noticed Cynthia standing by the door. She was wearing the same short robe I'd seen before, only now she had added the padded bra. Her hair was brushed, but her face was gaunt, devoid of makeup. "What he wants to uncover is one of the owners. He crowed about the way he fleeced her in Denver, and now he wants to do it again in Baltimore."

"What are you saying, Cynthia?" Tom Collingsworth asked his daughter-in-law. "Are you accusing Sammy of acting inappropriately?"

All of us were watching Cynthia. She seemed incredibly sure of herself, not nervous at all. "Sammy's actions are never inappropriate."

Our guests smiled at each other, looking relieved at hearing Cynthia speak positively about me. She was about to leave the room when she added, "I'm convinced that he truly believes that."

"Please continue, Sammy," Tom said, like he was pretending that nothing out of the ordinary had taken place. John and Suzanne asked pointed questions, like they wanted to help me disregard Cynthia's accusations about me wanting to uncover Sandra Lynch, one of the building owners.

I didn't have any difficulty talking about the building. Wanda had done a good job of compiling the figures. I kept warning my audience that much of what I was saying was speculative. "It will take a trip to uncover the facts," I said, chuckling to myself.

Edith Rowell, who may have been remembering the time I saw her naked, laughed openly, and was quick to say that she approved of my making the trip. "To uncover the facts," she said, winking at me.

Tom and John agreed with Edith, but Suzanne held back. "Shouldn't we find out if Cynthia is in favor of you proceeding?"

Edith spoke up. "I say we authorize Sammy to make the trip. If necessary, I can convince the other partners to agree to this small expenditure. Besides, I'm curious and I'd be willing to bet that everyone else is curious, too. Let's do it."

Suzanne was first to raise her hand, confirming that she was also curious.

Daisy came in to say that dinner was being served. I told her to show our guests to the dining room while I ran upstairs to see if Cynthia wanted to join us. Her answer was to tell me to get lost; at least that's what it sounded like through the door. Wanting to make sure I'd heard her correctly, I opened the door and saw that she was absolutely naked, except for a pair of high heels that I'd never seen before. They were not the ones she'd selected to go with her new dress. They were the same color, black, but higher.

If she was embarrassed by my opening the door and seeing her flat chest, dark bush, and exposed pussy, she didn't show it. She stood, statue like, watching me with a blank stare in her eyes. I had my answer; she wasn't interested in joining us for dinner, but I paused.

"There's one thing I'd like to know. The other night you said you were going to teach me about sex. What was that about?"

She placed her hands on her tiny breasts, not to conceal them from me, but to massage them. She pursed her lips and shook her head, as if to scold me for acting juvenile. "You can be so gullible. Did you really think I would waste my time trying to train you?"

Knowing that I was about to snap, I closed the door and went downstairs. For her to even hint that she was more sexually advanced than me was ludicrous. Was she insane? Was she daring me to prove that she was wrong?

The table had been set for six, but there were only five salads, indicating that Margaret knew Cynthia wouldn't be down for dinner. Robert was pouring wine. I was glad to see that the others hadn't waited for me to begin, and grateful that no one inquired about Cynthia.

Suzanne became exclaimed when she saw the variety of dishes being placed on the table. Robert carved generous slabs of roast beef and Daisy offered servings of tuna. There was no more talk about the Baltimore building. The discussion was typical dinner talk, how the spring weather was making the grass grow, what everyone was reading, and how we were looking forward to the summer months.

John divulged that he and Suzanne were planning one more trip to Florida to get in some golf. This was news to me, but I didn't comment. They'd built the house there, and I was glad to hear that they were putting it to good use.

It was still early when the two couples left. Suzanne reminded me that I was expected to have dinner at their house on Tuesday night. Did she fail to mention Cynthia's name on purpose, or did she suspect that I would come alone?

Tom and Edith made no attempt to hide the fact that they'd come in the same car. I wondered if John and Suzanne were thinking the same thing as me. Two major stockholders in the companies would require more scrutiny than before. Edith had demanded special attention since her husband's death, and now she was offering to influence the other stockholders. It was obvious that she had Tom wrapped around her finger. Was that the reason Suzanne had reminded me to come to dinner on Tuesday night? Would we huddle in an effort to strategize how we would coddle Edith?

The Stephen King book took my mind off of Edith, Cynthia, and the week ahead. I was reading the last chapter when I heard a car's engine, and went to the front door to see Daisy coming home from a date. She seemed startled to see me.

"Sammy, I ... I hope you don't mind," she said, holding up one of the openers we used to open the front gate.

"I don't mind," I said, without asking about which car it had been taken from.

"I was going to call the man to open the gate for my boyfriend, but since you're up, would you mind? He may be asleep and he'll yell at me."

"I'll take care of it," I said, and watched her smile to express her appreciation.

Mr. Chase had indeed been asleep, although he said he'd been awakened by a noisy car. I made my request brief, and he agreed to open the exit gate for the young man.

As I was having breakfast I knew I didn't want to hang around the house. Since I'd been away the week before, I decided to go to the office and catch up on what I'd missed. Naturally, what had come over Cynthia was on my mind, but I managed to formulate plans for the following week. I would go to Baltimore, meet with Sandra Lynch, and determine if the building was a viable option.

To my surprise, Cynthia joined me for breakfast. Her haggard look made me wonder if she'd gotten any sleep the night before. It also made me question her age. Was she really only thirty-something? She didn't stay long, only long enough to take three bites of oatmeal and to tell me she was going to stay home.

Wanda was subdued and didn't elaborate about her weekend until mid-morning, when she came into my office, wanting to talk.

"What was I thinking?" she asked, like I knew what she was talking about. Strangely, I knew exactly what she was thinking.

"Why do we do it, Wanda?"

"What are you asking?"

"You and I are a lot alike. We become involved with others before we know why we're doing it. Ending it is always difficult, even if it isn't your idea."

I had more to say, but seeing her look at me, like she was processing my statement, I just watched and waited until she suddenly got up. "Thank you, Sammy."

She was at the door when I stopped her. "Mail this check to Julius with a thank you note. Get me an early flight to Baltimore for Wednesday morning, and make hotel reservations for two nights, but don't tell me which hotel I'll be staying in."

Wanda took the check without looking at it. "Why don't you want to know where you'll be staying?"

"I don't want to lie to Sandra Lynch about it," I said, already dialing the Baltimore sales office. Naturally, Jerry Bastian asked if he could pick me up at the airport, and I told him Wanda would let him know my flight number.

Sandra Lynch strung me along for most of the day. When she called back in the late afternoon, she first implied that she had another company interested in the building, and then she said she didn't know if she could meet me on Wednesday. "It may have to be one of my brothers," she said.

"That's too bad. I was looking forward to meeting with you, but I'll be happy to meet with either one of your brothers."

She only hesitated for a second or two. "I'll be there. Do you know where you'll be staying?"

"I don't know yet. Can we make a tentative appointment to meet at the building at ten AM?"

"I'll ... yes, I look forward to seeing you too, Sammy."

Tom Collingsworth called and asked me to stop by his office before I went home. "Cynthia wants you to pick up some tools and material for her to work on," he said.

This was perfect. I hadn't gotten the chance to talk to him about his daughter-in-law the day before. I wanted to find out if he knew why she had turned on me. He took me into his office and pointed to a satchel. "Everything she asked for is in there, but if I know her, she'll say I forgot something."

His rather blunt statement about Cynthia was the opening I was looking for. "She's sick, but she refuses to see a doctor. Do you know anything about the medicine she's waiting on?"

Tom Collingsworth was about the same age as John Oldham, very early sixties, and like John, he was looking forward to retirement. "She ran out, didn't she? I could tell by the way she was acting yesterday. I knew she'd run out or gotten a bad batch. It happened a couple of times when she was living in my home. That's the reason..."