I glanced down the driveway and saw that my grandfather had gotten out of the car and was standing outside the gate, peering in.
“Monty, you old goat!” Caroline called out. “Stop lurking! Come here and be polite for once in your life.”
I glanced over at Cordelia to see if the idea of coming face-to-face with Grandfather upset her. She didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she was clearly having a hard time not laughing at his sheepish expression.
“Not his fault, actually.” She was looking at Anne. Was the poor librarian shocked by the revelation? Disappointed to find that her idol had clay feet?
“We lost touch at just the wrong time,” Cordelia went on. “Blame the Ecuadorian postal service.”
Anne looked puzzled at that. I’d explain later about the Galapagos Island connection. For now, I realized that something was about to happen. Grandfather finally stopped peering in through the gate, straightened his shoulders, and began coming up the walk. I’d seen him face wounded wolves and angry mother bears with a more cheerful air. And yet I had to give him credit—he was marching steadfastly toward us, in spite of the calm, steady, and not entirely approving scrutiny from the five women gathered on the porch. Pretty formidable women—well, four of them were. I didn’t consider myself particularly formidable. Although with such good models, I had hopes of achieving it.
Grandfather stopped at the foot of the stairs, glanced quickly around at all of us, and finally spoke.
“Morning,” he said.
Everyone murmured “good morning” in reply and then they all waited to see what else he’d say.
“How lovely to see you again,” Cordelia was using her best Southern hostess voice. I could imagine our ancestors using much the same tone to a union officer who’d arrived intending to bivouac his troops on the front lawn.
“Er … likewise,” Grandfather muttered.
After an awkward pause, I took pity on him.
“Nice of you to drop by to see that Cordelia is okay,” I said. “I’m sure the two of you will have as much time as you want to catch up later. But shouldn’t you be heading off to your breakfast now?”
“Um, yes.” Grandfather looked pathetically grateful.
“Yes, of course,” Anne said. “Ms. Delia, I’ll drop by later, if that’s okay.”
She turned and hurried down the walk.
“Come on, you old reprobate,” Caroline said. She took Grandfather by the arm and led him back down the walk.
“That was very kind, Meg,” Mother said, as we watched the blue sedan leaving.
“I should probably let him know that I don’t really hold a grudge,” Cordelia said. “But not just yet.”
Just then the Twinmobile pulled up in front of the house. We watched as a door slid open and Dad stepped out. He was dressed in a white shirt, khaki slacks, and a blue sports jacket, and he was wearing the just-in-case tie that Michael always kept in the glove compartment of the Twinmobile in case he had to look presentable on short notice. Dad dithered for a few minutes outside the gate, then squared his shoulders and marched up the walk.
He reached the foot of the steps and stared up at us. I tried to recall the last time I’d seen Dad speechless and failed utterly. He and Cordelia stared at each other for several long moments.
“Why don’t you two go inside and get acquainted?” Mother said. She handed Cordelia a teacup and gave her a gentle shove toward the front door. Cordelia obediently went inside. Mother poured another cup and gestured to Dad, who stumbled up the stairs, took the cup, and followed his mother inside.
“I think they could use a little privacy,” Mother said as she pulled the door closed. Then she poured a third cup for herself. After glancing at the Adirondack chairs she sailed over to sit regally in one of the white wicker chairs.
“Michael’s waiting,” she said, gesturing in the direction of the Twinmobile. “Call us from the hospital. I’m sure you’ll be just fine, but you know your father will feel so much better once he knows that nice neurologist friend of his has poked and prodded you and given you a clean bill of health.”
“Will do,” I said.
As I walked toward the car, I realized my footsteps were dragging. I might know the answer to the question of who killed Annabel and Theo Weaver, but I hadn’t even begun to ask most of the million questions I had about Cordelia, and Dad’s birth, and the Lee branch of my family tree. And how would Grandfather deal with the arrival of Cordelia in our lives? And how would we explain her sudden arrival to Josh and Jamie? And—
Time enough for all that later. Life with my family, never dull, was about to get even more interesting.