“Oooh,” Rhonda shrieked, and then gave another nervous staccato of laughter. “Oh, do I have to tell Perry? He’ll be so angry!”
“This isn’t about whether your husband will lose his temper, Ms. Shankman, it’s about your daughter’s safety. It’s possible that she caught a glimpse of the person who murdered Miles Wuchnik. If the killer knows that, he may try to silence Tyler—he took a good shot yesterday at Arielle Zitter, the girl who organized the escapade in the cemetery.”
We went round in circles for several frustrating minutes, during which I kept feeding quarters into the phone. Finally, in exchange for my promise not to say anything to Perry Shankman, Rhonda agreed to call the Texas camp and tell them to deny Tyler’s presence there if anyone called asking for her. “Lots of famous people send their kids there; it’s why Perry chose it, so they’re used to having kids be there under fake names and stuff.”
I had to be satisfied with that arrangement, although I wished I had the time and the resources to fly to Texas myself. Not just to reassure myself about Tyler’s well-being but also to try to get a description from her of the vampire she’d seen.
I’d been so troubled by my nightmares that I hadn’t been able to eat this morning. For someone whose family motto is “Never skip a meal,” this seemed like part of a disturbing trend, two mornings in a row without breakfast. When I reached the far northern suburbs, I found a kind of a diner, a clinically clean space painted in perky pinks and golds, where I ordered a BLT and a bitter espresso. At least, I ordered an espresso—it just turned out to be poorly made.
When I got to the Ashford mansion, the Lincoln Navigator wasn’t in the drive, but as I was wondering if I should wait or hurl myself against Leydon’s mother, Faith Ashford pulled up. A girl of fourteen or so flounced out of the passenger seat, ignoring Faith’s call for help with the groceries.
“Let me.” I stepped over to the back of the Navigator, where Faith was wrestling with four overflowing bags.
She gasped. She hadn’t noticed me until then, and she was so startled she almost dropped one of the bags. “Vic—sorry—have you been here long? This is Trina’s day for her flute lesson and she’s upset that I kept her waiting. I guess I spent too much time at the market.”
I didn’t say anything, just followed her into the house. Faith’s mother-in-law, trailed by the sullen Trina, came into the kitchen as Faith was unpacking the bags. The eldest Ashford woman criticized the strawberries—“You didn’t inspect the ones underneath again, did you?” and the salmon—“The tail piece, Faith? When Helen is our guest tonight?”
“Howdy, Ms. Ashford,” I said. “The tail is the leaner part of the fish, of course, and your health-conscious friends will be glad to see it on your table. Why don’t you finish critiquing the food while I take Faith outside for a private word.”
“If this has to do with Leydon, Sewall will make those decisions. And you need to mind your own business, not intrude into my family’s.”
“Ma’am, with respect, Faith holds Leydon’s durable power of attorney for medical decisions as well as legal ones, and if she lets Sewall make those decisions, she is liable for an action at law by the public guardian.”
I didn’t know that my statement had any effect on Leydon’s mother, but it made an impression on Trina. Her jaw dropped, and she started putting away groceries, as if I had threatened her personally with legal action.
Faith took me into a side room and shut the door. “Vic, please don’t get Mother Ashford upset, she just takes it out on me later.”
“Faith, everyone in this household takes out their frustrations on you, including your bratty daughter. You can choose to let that go on or choose to stop it—I don’t care which. But I do care about Leydon’s welfare. I know you do, too, or Leydon wouldn’t have given you her various powers of attorney, would she?”
“I suppose,” Faith muttered, wringing her hands in misery.
“The hospital told me this morning she has to move into a nursing home. You have the power to choose a good private home for her. The ICU staff told me Sewall is talking about a public-aid clinic, but that’s not his decision to make—”
“Father Ashford’s will left Sewall in charge of her money. It’s in a trust; she wasn’t reliable . . .” Her voice trailed away.