It’s bigger than I thought it would be.”
“I like it. It is rather large, I must admit, but I think we’ll be happy there.” She took out her nightgown and draped it across the coverlet. “I thought the place had a nice personality, didn’t you?”
“How can a house have a personality?”
“Places and things have moods and feelings; haven’t you ever felt that?”
“Can’t say that I have,” Rebecca answered, sounding totally disinterested in the conversation.
“You will never really appreciate all there is to life, I’m afraid. You’re interested only in the superficial, the surface aspects of people and things. You don’t take time to look beneath the veneer where the real beauty lies.”
“David mentioned taking us to dinner tonight,” Rebecca said, purposely changing the subject. “Did he say seven or seven-thirty?”
“Seven. We have time for a nap if you like.”
“I think it’s going to be hard enough falling asleep in this white snowdrift at night; I don’t think I’d be able to close my eyes in the daylight.” She went toward the door on the opposite wall. “Good Lord,” she gasped as she saw the all-white bathroom. “It looks as though somebody dipped this place into a bottle of Clorox. You can hardly tell where the sink and tub are against all this white tile. It’s so bright it’s giving me a headache.”
Maggie walked over and stood beside her. “I see what you mean,” she said as she stared at the blinding white bathroom.
“What would possibly induce somebody to go to such extremes over the color white?” Rebecca asked. “That old gal must be a little loose upstairs.”
Maggie grinned. “Maybe she has a virgin complex.”
“From the looks of Mrs. Johnston, I doubt if she’s aware that women are different from men.” Rebecca crinkled her nose. “Let’s get out of here and take a walk or something. This room is starting to get to me.”
Maggie picked up her purse and followed Rebecca out of the room. In the hall, Rebecca glanced around. “One thing about this place does please me, though,” Rebecca said. “I wonder which are David McCloud’s rooms.” She grinned. “A man like that brightens up even the drabbest places.”
“I marvel at your capacity to get interested in a man as quickly as you do. You know nothing about David McCloud.”
“What’s there to know? He wears pants, he has a nice body and a good-looking face.” She chuckled softly. “You know me, Maggie. I’m a pushover for a handsome man.”
Maggie said nothing. She remembered that night a long, long time ago when she came home unexpectedly and found her husband and Rebecca locked in an embrace. No man was sacred insofar as Rebecca was concerned.
As they opened the front door they bumped into David McCloud. “Well, where are you two off to?” he asked.
“We’re going to see the sights in your town,” Rebecca said.
“Don’t get lost. Remember, I’m calling for you at seven.” He gave a little salute and went past them and up the stairs.
Mrs. Johnston was sweeping the front steps when they came out onto the porch. In her white dress and apron, standing against the white of the building, she was almost invisible. There was a man dozing in a wheelchair at the far end of the porch.
“I trust the room is satisfactory?” Mrs. Johnston asked.
“Fine, fine,” Maggie answered. “We were just going for a stroll before dinner.”
Mrs. Johnston leaned slightly forward toward Maggie, as though intending to impart a secret. “You did say you were only staying for tonight, is that correct?”
“Yes,” Maggie answered.
“You’ll be moving into Heather House tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“I know it isn’t any of my business, Mrs. Garrison, but I believe you are making a mistake by leasing that property.”
“Why do you say that?” Maggie asked, a little taken aback.
“The house is evil,” the woman said. Her eyes went a little wild and she pulled her mouth down at the corners. “It’s a bad place. Go back where you came from.”
Maggie frowned. “I’m afraid that isn’t possible.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you. I wouldn’t be found dead in that old place.”
Maggie stiffened. She resented the woman’s familiarity. “I don’t think you need worry about being found dead there, Mrs. Johnston,” Maggie said icily. She took a dislike to the woman. “At least not while my sister and I are living there.” She let the implication rest where it lay.
Mrs. Johnston gave her an ugly little smile. “You’ll be sorry, Mrs. Garrison. You’ll live to regret your decision.”
Rebecca, feeling uncomfortable, tugged at Maggie’s sleeve. “Shall we go, Maggie?”
Maggie felt like giving the woman a piece of her mind but she let Rebecca pull her away.
“What in the world was that all about?” Rebecca asked when they were out of earshot.
“Crazy old thing,” Maggie said. Yet as much as she tried to pass off Mrs. Johnston’s remarks, they gnawed away at her.
She didn’t know why, but she suddenly felt afraid.
* * * *
The restaurant David chose was a nice little place with red plaid wallpaper, beamed ceilings and a blazing fireplace. It was a charming room with lots of cozy atmosphere. The food was surprisingly good, the service excellent. The dinner conversation, it seemed, was devoted almost exclusively to Mrs. Johnston.
“Is she balmy or what?” Maggie wanted to know.
David chuckled. “Yes, she’s a bit odd, I must admit, but quite harmless.”
“What’s this thing she has about painting everything white?” Rebecca asked.
“The house was once a nursing home. Mrs. Johnston and her husband ran it.”
“That old prune is married?” Rebecca asked, quite surprised.
“Her husband’s paralyzed.”
“He must have been the man snoozing in the wheelchair. Remember, Maggie?”
“Yes,” David said, “that’s Mr. Johnston. He’s a great old guy. Unfortunately Mrs. Johnston doesn’t treat him too kindly. Nobody can figure out why she ever married him, disliking him as she obviously does.” David sighed. “Love sometimes doesn’t last long, unfortunately, which is too bad.”
“Are your rooms white also?” Rebecca asked.
