Flo Fitzpatrick - Legacy of Silence

“Can I have a minute to breathe? I’m still nervous knowing this house was broken into.”

“Too fast! Plus, you seem to be mumbling,” Russ growled. “Hand gestures would be nice. Word has it you’re a good actress. You might consider facing me directly and doing a little pantomime.”

She straightened up. “Sorry.” She repeated her statement and pointed to the house miming someone smashing windows or jimmying the door, then put her hands to her face in an imitation of the child in the movie Home Alone. Finally she put both hands over her heart and began to pant.

She wasn’t sure how much Russ had understood since he stared at her without speaking for a good thirty seconds.

“I got about three words,” he said. “Basically you’re scared.”

She nodded. For a few moments there was silence. Finally Miranda gestured down at the medium-size yellow and tan canine, who appeared to be a mix of Labrador, shepherd and some sort of terrier.

“Name?”

A reluctant smile crossed Russ’s attractive features and Miranda’s heart began pounding harder than it had when she first realized someone had broken into Miss Virginia’s house. “You’ll appreciate this, I’m sure. Miranda, meet Prospero. Spero for short.”

“A lover of the Bard? Or just The Tempest?” She mimed the burst of a storm as best she could while slowly asking the question.

Russ obviously understood either the lip movement or her actions.

“Both. And Spero the dog truly is a magician in many respects.”

Miranda wanted to ask if Spero was a service dog but wasn’t sure if that would be offensive. As if Russ had read her mind he said, “Spero’s trained to help me manage my hearing loss.”

Russ reached down and patted the dog on his head. Spero’s tail thumped wildly in response. The dog began to excitedly nuzzle Miranda’s knee in an unabashed attempt to receive more affection. She gave it readily, squatting back down and hugging him. Just the act of feeling warm fur and inhaling the faint doggie odor made her feel safe and comfortable.

She looked up into Russ’s hazel eyes. “What kind is he?”

Russ’s small smile grew a bit broader. “No one knows. Including his vet.”

“Well, he’s a sweetie.”

“He is.”

They lapsed into an uncomfortable silence.

Miranda moved first by giving a thumbs-up and pointing to the house, which she hoped he’d figure out meant, Are you up for this? Inventory? Tonight?

“I’d give that a yes if you mean am I ready to work. We’re here. We might as well get started. The sooner we finish this, the better.”

He held the door open for her. Or, Miranda thought with amusement, for Spero, who trotted ahead of Miranda and made himself at home on the nearest chair.

Russ pulled a notebook out of his backpack, then grabbed the nearest box, opened it and began to write.

It was going to be a long night.

CHAPTER SIX

MIRANDA AND RUSS spent the next forty minutes opening boxes, taking quick peeks inside, then labeling the outsides with the stickies Miranda had brought. Russ jotted notes regarding larger items such as furniture and mirrors and oddities like the umbrella stand and the hat rack filled with Fedoras from the 1940s.

Then there was what Miranda considered the most incongruous item for a ninety-five-year-old former seamstress to own. Miranda started laughing when she uncovered a state-of-the-art laptop computer from under an antique quilt covered in cat hair. Russ was buried nearly waist deep into a box so she tapped him on the shoulder.

“What?” he growled.

“Look! I had no idea she was this high-tech.” She stopped. There was no way Russ was going to lip-read that last comment, so Miranda lifted the computer to where Russ could see it. “Cool, huh!”

The corners of Russ’s mouth turned up just long enough for Miranda to take advantage of the slight thaw in his icy attitude. He even responded. “Virginia was an avid online shopper. I believe she was on a first-name basis with customer service at the three largest booksellers.”

Miranda smiled. He might well shut her down in an instant but she had to try. “How did you meet Virginia?” she asked, attempting to find actions that would fit the question. She reached out to shake his hand as though greeting someone.

Russ grasped her hand in his and a shock zapped through her body. The kind of electric tingle one gets after scraping one’s feet on carpet. Except that they were both standing on hardwood. Russ immediately dropped her hand as though he’d felt it, too. His next words started tumbling out like random clothes from a dryer.

“I...she...we met...” He paused and took a deep breath. “I was giving an afternoon lecture at her synagogue. Five years ago. The topic was the nature of linguistics, which was my specialty when I taught at Samford. Ironic, considering my current circumstances.” He closed his eyes for a brief second then continued. “Anyway, Miss Virginia introduced herself at the reception afterward. We immediately hit it off. She asked very insightful and intriguing questions about the politics of language and culture. We spent a good hour talking until the rabbi was ready to close down. She asked if we could go somewhere for coffee or tea and continue the discussion.” He looked at Miranda. “She explained that she didn’t get out much. She wasn’t able to drive at night, cabs were expensive and she said she’d always been a ‘stay at home’ person.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” Miranda muttered. “Can we say one step from agoraphobia?”

“What?”

She waved her hand in the air and shook her head. “Nothing. Go on?”

“Our tea turned into dinner and that dinner turned into regular visits. I’d come over here sometimes after I’d taught my classes. Or if there was an event I thought I could encourage her to attend, like a concert or play or a showing at a gallery, I’d drive.” A broad smile suddenly brightened his face and Miranda’s pulse quickened. “I practically converted to the Jewish faith since I drove her to quite a few Friday-night services at the temple.”

Miranda grinned, remembering the day she’d met Cort and told him that Virginia had been able to charm the few people she allowed into her life into doing just about anything she wanted.

“We got to be friends,” Russ said. “Good friends.”

Miranda couldn’t stop herself. “But still—why you?”

“What?”

She pointed to him and then waved her hand around to indicate the whole house. “Why you?”

“Oh. You want to know why Virginia wrote the second will replacing you and making me her heir?”

Miranda grimaced but nodded. “Well, yeah.”

His eyes suddenly pierced hers. “Perhaps she felt the house should go to someone who was there for her instead of someone who couldn’t be bothered to visit for six years. Someone who didn’t even make it down for the funeral.”

Russ’s statement held no malice. Just cold facts that hit her the way a frozen drink causes a brain freeze. She swallowed. She started to protest that she hadn’t known about Virginia’s death until after the memorial service. But that excuse sounded feeble even to herself.

Miranda turned around and headed for Virginia’s kitchen. Russ didn’t follow. She attempted to remove cups and saucers from the cabinets in an effort to keep from crying, but her hands were shaking so badly she was afraid she’d drop the non-shatterproof antiques.

She stiffened. “Stop it, Miranda. You were working nonstop for six years. You sent letters. You called every chance you could. You were not an evil person.” She wasn’t going to let Russ get into her head, even if his statement had hurt her like a claw hammer ripping off a bandage. She took a few moments to do some deep breathing and then returned to the living room. Forcing a serenity she didn’t feel, she grabbed a box at random and sank to the floor. She almost put it back with the other boxes when she realized it was loaded with notebooks.