The Tooth of Time by Sue Henry

Author:Sue Henry
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2010-02-28T16:00:00+00:00

SIXTEEN

I TOOK STRETCH ALONG BUT, REMEMBERING THE landlady’s reaction to him on our last visit, left him in the car when I reached the duplex Shirley shared with Ann Barnes. As I parked in front I could see that the drapes were closed, as was the garage door, so I couldn’t tell if Shirley was there, but knocking on the front door brought no response.

I knew the other half was occupied, however, for I saw a curtain twitch as Ann peered out to see who was stopping by. She was, as I expected, the sort to keep careful track of all her neighbor’s comings and goings, and of Shirley’s visitors as well. No wonder she had been the one to hear a car running in a closed garage on the other end of the building in the middle of the night. She was also the only person I knew who had actually met Anthony Cole and might be able to tell me something about him.

She kept me waiting on the front step—not showing up to open the door until I had knocked twice, and then trying to look surprised to see me.

“Oh,” she said. “Mrs. McNabb, isn’t it?”

I think I mentioned she was big on oh.

“Yes. I’d like to have a word with you, Mrs. Barnes.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” She took a step back and narrowed the opening of the door with one hand as if she were about to close it. “I’m really very busy at the moment.”

“It won’t take more than a couple of minutes,” I promised, stepping forward onto the doorsill.

As I invaded her comfort zone she backed away, as I’d expected she would. Most people, Americans at least, have an instinctive reluctance to being crowded that can be useful at times.

“Well—all right, but only for a minute or two. I really must ...”

She allowed the sentence to trail off as she turned and led me into a living room that was an exact reverse copy of Shirley’s, but shape was as far as the similarity went.

Almost every surface I could see held something.

The walls were filled with the embroidered mottoes Shirley had mentioned—large and small, framed and on pillows. LIVE EVERY DAY AS IF IT WERE YOUR LAST—TO THINE OWN SELF BE TRUE—BEAUTY IS ONLY SKIN-DEEP—HASTE MAKES WASTE—those were only a few, but I quit reading at that point, wondering if Ann had picked them for what they said or was just compelled to do needlework.

The furniture was covered—tables, chairs, the sofa, even the shelves of a bookcase—with antimacassars and bits of bric-a-brac—bone china cups and saucers on shelves, porcelain figurines—the floors, carpeted or not, with throw rugs. Even her grandfather clock had a dust ruffle.

It was a truly amazing sight, almost awe-inspiring—and very sad. The woman must have had years of time by herself, with little else to do. I began to understand how having a tenant next door whose life she could vicariously share had become her obsessive focus.

“Oh,” I said.

“You like the mottoes?” she asked, with a smile.

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