The Mulberry Tree Read online

  The walls of the half of the room at the head of the stairs had been plastered and painted white, but the other half was paneled in the same dark brown used downstairs.

  “Yet another bedroom?” she said aloud, looking at the big, empty room. She started to step through the opening in the railing, but drew back and looked down at the floor. For some reason, she didn’t trust that floor. The half behind her had wide, thick-looking planks for flooring, but on the other side sheets of plywood were nailed down. It looked safe, but something made her not want to walk on it.

  Bailey didn’t have a chance to figure out if the floor was safe or not; suddenly, someone blew a truck horn in three short blasts, and she knew she was being summoned. “Six weeks ago it was, ‘May I get you anything, Mrs. Manville,’ and now it’s a truck horn,” she muttered as she grabbed the recipe box off the floor and ran down the stairs. “I should be glad it’s not, ‘Sooey, sooey,’ ” she said out loud as she leaped over three heavy-duty electrical cords, an electrician’s toolbox, and a telephone man, who was on his stomach, looking into an outlet. As she ran out the front door, she told the man from Viking Cleaners not to let anyone go into the attic, as she thought it was dangerous.

  Two women were standing in front of one of the trucks. They were both about five foot three, both in their early thirties, both pretty but not overly so. Physically, they were so much alike that she was sure they were sisters, but they were dressed very differently. One woman had dark hair and wore a cotton shirt, jeans, and sneakers. The other was blonde—artificially so—and wore a knit suit, hose, pumps with heels, and enough gold bracelets that Bailey wondered how she could lift her arms.

  “Hello,” Bailey said, walking toward them and extending her hand in welcome. “I’m Bailey James.” She was pleased with herself for saying the name without faltering.

  “I’m Janice Nesbitt,” said the woman in the suit as she shook Bailey’s hand.

  “Ah, yes, from the Chamber of Commerce,” Bailey said as she turned to the other woman.

  “Yes,” Janice said, obviously pleased that Bailey had seen and remembered her brochure. “It’s a shame that no one else has come in person to welcome you,” she said loudly.

  “Just the two of you.” Bailey smiled at the second woman.

  “I’m Patsy Longacre,” the second woman said, shaking Bailey’s hand. “I would have thought that at least one person from this town would have shown up, maybe even someone from the Chamber of Commerce.”

  Bailey looked at Janice. “I thought you were from the Chamber of Commerce,” she said, puzzled.

  “I am. I’m the president of it,” Janice said brightly, then looked at the house. “I see you’re having it cleaned. I didn’t know that anyone had bought it. When did you?”

  “I—” Bailey began, trying to think up a quick lie. She certainly couldn’t tell the truth.

  “When did you come to see the house to buy it?” Patsy asked.

  At a loss to make up a lie quickly, Bailey looked from one woman to the other. For all that they were standing quite close together, they were looking in opposite directions.

  “The house was given to me,” Bailey said slowly. “An inheritance. Do you know who owned it?”

  “Don’t you?” Janice asked, looking at Bailey with narrowed eyes.

  “Who’d you inherit it from?” Patsy asked.

  Bailey took a deep breath. She should have thought of this beforehand and planned a lie. “My husband. I’m a widow. I didn’t even know he owned the place until the will was read.” There, that was true.

  “My goodness,” Janice said. “Imagine not knowing all there is to know about your husband’s finances.”

  Instinctively, Bailey opened her mouth to defend herself, but closed it. Jimmie kept three large law firms busy overseeing his “finances.” Instead, she smiled. “I’d offer you something to drink, but—” She waved her hand toward the house helplessly. “As you can see, it’s pretty busy here today. Right now, all my furniture is stored in the barn.”

  “That’ll be just fine,” Janice said, then walked briskly past Bailey and headed toward the barn. Obviously, she knew where it was located. That she had on a suit and hose, and that the weeds hadn’t yet been cut, didn’t seem to bother her.

  “I, uh—” Bailey began, then walked after her. But she halted and looked back because the other woman, Patsy, was still standing in front of the truck. “Please come with us,” Bailey said. “We’re going to the barn, I guess. Not that I have so much as seating there, but—”

  “Us?” Patsy asked. “I thought you said you were a widow. Who else lives with you? Children?”

  Bailey looked at the woman in consternation. Was her hearing off? “No,” she said. “By ‘we,’ I meant Janice. I do have the name right, don’t I? Janice Nesbitt.”

  “Don’t know her,” Patsy said as she walked past Bailey toward the path to the barn, then she turned back. “Aren’t you coming?”

  “Sure,” Bailey said, feeling as though she’d come in on the third act of a play. What was going on with these two women?

  When Bailey got to the barn, both women were already there, and Janice had opened a box marked “Kitchen.”

  “Excuse me,” Bailey said firmly as she closed the box lid practically on Janice’s nose. “As you can see, I’m not moved in yet. Perhaps it would be better if the two of you—”

  “No one’s lived here since 1968,” Patsy said loudly, not allowing Bailey to finish her sentence.

  Jimmie would have been nine then, Bailey thought, and nine was a long way from sixteen, when his biographers had first been able to track him. “Who lived here?”

  Both women turned to stare at her, their silent question being, Don’t you know?

  This isn’t going to be easy, Bailey thought. “My husband was . . . was a good deal older than I was, and he liked to keep his past private. I really know very little about his childhood. I’d like to know what either of you can tell me about this place.”

  “Either of who of us?” Patsy asked. “You’re confusing me.” She narrowed her eyes at Bailey. “If you’re going to live in Calburn, then you must understand that no one else is in this room except you and me.”

  Bailey blinked. “I see.” She turned to Janice. “And are you and I alone?”

  “Oh, yes,” Janice said. “Except for the mice and whatever else lives in a barn. I can assure you that I wouldn’t know. I am as far from being a farmer as anyone on this planet is.”

  At that Patsy snorted in derision, and Bailey saw the red of rage spread on Janice’s neck and upward, as her hands beneath all the bracelets clenched into fists. It seemed that whether or not Janice knew anything about farming was a touchy subject.

  “I don’t know anything about farming either,” Bailey said softly.

  “Then why would you move to Calburn?” Patsy asked.

  The way Patsy had hurt Janice’s feelings didn’t sit well with Bailey. “You mean, as opposed to selling this place for millions and moving to the south of France?”

  It was Janice’s turn to laugh.

  Patsy looked at Bailey in speculation. “You have a tongue on you, don’t you?”

  “You’re not bad yourself,” she said. “But I can warn you that I don’t like petty snipping.”

  “Got ya,” Patsy said, then smiled at Bailey.

  “So what do you plan to do with your life, if I might ask?” Janice asked politely. “Or did your husband leave you well off?”

  Bailey was thinking that she couldn’t believe she’d just met these two women. Did all of Virginia ask personal questions ten minutes after meeting someone? “To tell the truth, I don’t know what I’m going to do. My husband left me this farm and a bit of money, but not enough to live on for the rest of my life. I guess I’ll have to get a job. Do you know of any openings?”

  Janice looked Bailey up and down. “You don’t look like the Wal-Mart type. What were you before you married?”

  “A teenager,”