“It’s very striking.” The best Bailey could do.
“I know, right? According to Tony, Oriental is coming back with a vengeance. I thought we could tear out the wall between the library and the parlor and put something like this there.”
“But the fireplace is in the middle of it.”
“Well, we’ll do it on either side.”
“Let’s take a look.” Bailey stood up and held her breath the entire way, hoping her instincts were correct.
They were.
“Shoot. Check this out.” She knocked on the walls to either side of the fireplace. “You see how the wall sticks out about three feet on either side?”
“Yeah.” Melinda drew out the syllable, her eyes wary.
“Well, that’s all the flues from the other fireplaces. You can’t break through there. Which means you’ll only get a foot or so of bamboo at the very far right-hand corner, and another foot next to the wall to the living room.”
“What if we got rid of the door and put all bamboo between the flue and the left-hand wall? That’s like five feet of bamboo.”
“Do you think that would look right, on only one side? The symmetry might be off.”
Melinda wasn’t so easily dissuaded. “Well, check with Steve. See how much it will be and we’ll go from there.”
“Of course. I’ll let you know what I hear back tomorrow.”
They wandered back into the kitchen. “You were pretty messed up on Friday night. You doing okay?”
Bailey went to the stove and stirred the chili before turning off the heat. Her face probably burned the same color as the flame. “I’m fine. Need to stop that from happening again.”
“I guess I shouldn’t have invited you out.”
“No, it’s not your fault. I need to get tougher with myself.” She turned back. “Did I make another huge scene?”
Melinda shook her head of blond curls. “Not at all. We hung out down in that room the whole time; you were perfectly well behaved. If rather fucked up. I tried to tell you to stop.”
Had she, really? Bailey couldn’t remember that. Melinda was the type of person who drew power from others’ frailty, and Bailey was vulnerable. Had been for a couple of years now.
But thoughts like that were ungenerous and unkind. Look how much Melinda had done for her just this past week.
Time for a change of topic. “Hey, what do you know about how your great-grandfather died?”
“Not much. Just what you know. He was stabbed in the library with a knife. Like a game of Clue is how it always sounded to me. Don’t you think?”
“It does. But what about my grandfather? Did your mother say anything about who he was or how he ended up a ward of the family?”
“Not that I remember. They did that all the time back then. You had orphans and they got raised by someone else. It was the right thing to do. Otherwise, he’d have been dumped in some orphanage and then where would you be?”
If her grandfather had been raised in an orphanage, there was a good chance she’d be right where she was anyway: broke, an addict, a loser.
“What do you know about the woman who killed him?”
“You’re quite the history buff. Where’s all this coming from?”
Bailey explained her expedition to the basement and the discovery of the trunks. She didn’t mention Renzo’s part in her investigation, since that would probably make Melinda shut right down. She also didn’t bring up the sketch. Not yet. It had been passed down on Bailey’s side of the family, and for now, she wanted to keep it to herself.
“I found an article about the killing as well, from the 1880s. It said that the woman who did it had worked at the Dakota. That she was insane or something. Also, there’s this photo. Hold on a sec.”
She plucked it off the windowsill in her room, where she’d perched it next to the bottle of Dr. Walker’s Vinegar Bitters, and handed it over to Melinda.
“Who are these people?”
“If you turn it over, it says that the woman is Sara Smythe, the lady who killed Theodore Camden, standing with Theodore’s son and two daughters. The boy is your grandfather, Luther. I’m pretty sure this is the ward, my grandfather, in the woman’s arms.”
“Huh. This was in the trunk?” Melinda looked up at her. And it wasn’t her normal “I’m so pretty and want to make sure you’re looking at me” glance. She was studying Sara’s face, her eyes flicking from feature to feature. She’d noticed the resemblance, just as Renzo had.
Bailey pointed to the photo. “This seems crazy, but don’t you think I look like her?”
Melinda placed the photo on the table. “Not really. She’s harsh-looking, and you’re such a sweetie.”
“Black-and-white photography, along with corsets, will do that to a girl.” Bailey took a deep breath. “This may be a long shot, but what if Sara Smythe was Christopher’s mother? I’d love to find out why Theodore Camden and his family took in the kid of someone who then killed him.”
“Who knows.” Melinda chewed on the inside of her mouth. “Sounds like a bunch of looney-toons.”
“Maybe Theodore Camden was the father of the kid.” There. She’d said it. “That it was a crime of passion, not madness.”
Melinda shook her head. “Ugh. Now I’m just confused.”
Her resistance only increased Bailey’s fervor. “Sara Smythe looks like me. A lot. I know you see it, too. That’s not all. See the outfit the baby is wearing? It was in Sara’s trunk. Not Theodore or his wife’s. Sara’s.”
“So they raised this woman’s child because she wasn’t married. Seems really generous of them. But it doesn’t mean Theodore Camden was the father.” Melinda put her hand over Bailey’s. “Does this make you miss your mother?”
The non sequitur threw Bailey for a moment. But then it clicked. If Bailey was the great-grandchild of Theodore Camden, then she was also a threat. By sharing the family legacy, she might also deserve a share in the family trust.
She refused to be deterred. “I do miss her. But seriously, what if Christopher was the love child of Sara Smythe and Theodore Camden?”
Melinda yawned, obviously bored with the subject. “It’s not General Hospital. The lady was a freak, a sociopath. No way do you want that hanging over your head.”
“Like I’m not enough of a nut already?”
“You’ve had a tough time, but I think right now it’s important for you to move forward, not back. All that happened a long time ago. Let it lie. My mom and dad were horribly embarrassed about the notoriety of the murder. No one wants to talk about that.”
No one but Bailey. If only she had the courage to show Melinda the drawing.
No, not yet. The evidence was still flimsy at best.
Melinda snapped her fingers. “In any event, I totally forgot something really important I wanted to tell you.”
“Yes?”
“Koi pond.”
Bailey offered a polite smile, hoping Melinda would eventually speak in a whole sentence. “What about it?”
She clapped her hands together like a little child. “We’re going to put one in the living room! How cool will that be?”
“So cool.” Bailey sighed.
There would be no more talk of Sara Smythe.
Sunday evenings were usually quiet in New York, as families retrenched for the coming week, and the streets were fairly empty, except for a group of guys slouching outside the bodega on Seventy-First Street. Even though Bailey knew it was smarter to cross the street than get too close, tonight she couldn’t be bothered, and she took their nasty words in stride, staring straight ahead, shoulders hunched. Like she deserved it.