Indian Pipes by Cynthia Riggs

were seated in the cookroom, Victoria said, “Your uncle’s death must be a shock to you. His only relatives,as I recall, are your mother and you two girls.” She poured tea and passed a cup and saucer to Linda.
    “I wasn’t really close to him.”
    “Sugar?”
    “No thanks, no sugar.”
    “Your mother was younger than your uncle, wasn’t she?”
    “More than ten years,” said Linda. “Uncle Jube was in his late fifties. My mother was only forty-five when she died two years ago.”
    Victoria waited for the girl to continue.
    Linda cleared her throat and looked down into her cup. “You must wonder what I’m doing here, Mrs. Trumbull.”
    “I assume it has to do with your uncle.”
    Linda nodded. “My sister and I have to settle Uncle Jube’s affairs. She’s on-Island for the motorcycle rally, but I don’t know where to reach her.”
    “Oh?” Victoria was noncommittal.
    “I thought of staying at Uncle Jube’s house.”
    Victoria said “Oh” again.
    “I guess you’ve seen it?”
    Victoria nodded.
    “I don’t understand how he could have lived that way.”
    “It was his own mess. That makes a difference. Where do you plan to stay?”
    “The police sergeant, Junior Norton?”
    “Yes?” said Victoria.
    “He said you sometimes rent rooms?”
    “Occasionally.”
    “Would you consider renting one to me for a week or two? I can pay. I simply can’t stay in my uncle’s house.”
    Victoria shifted in her chair and thought of patchouli permeating the pillows in her spare room. Then she thought of Jube Burkhardt’s house and smiled at the girl. “I’d be glad to rent you a room for as long as you need it.”
    “Thank you so much.” Linda looked up and smiled. “I won’t wear perfume, Mrs. Trumbull, honest. Okay if I bring my things in?”
    “As long as you’re not like your uncle,” Victoria said, and thenfelt bad about her small unfunny joke. But the girl laughed before she became serious again.
    “I guess someone has to clean up that place. That means me, unless we can find Harley?”
    “You can pay a cleaning company to take care of it, I’m sure. They know what to keep and what to throw out. If it were me, I’d be tempted to read everything, all those magazines and newspapers.”
    “I’m not sure it’s worth cleaning up. The house smells awful and it’s in terrible condition.” The girl got up from the table and carried the cups and saucers to the sink.
    “It’s a lovely old house,” said Victoria, defending it. “Once it’s cleaned up and painted you’ll be pleasantly surprised. You can rent it during the summer to pay for repairs and taxes.”
    Linda shrugged and went out to her car, a blue Ford. When she returned, Victoria showed her into the downstairs bedroom, the room Victoria herself preferred in winter, when the west wind made her unheated upstairs bedroom too chilly.
    “This is neat,” Linda said. “I’ve never seen so many doors in a house. Where does this go?”
    “Into the library,” said Victoria. “Your uncle’s house is like mine. Each room has at least two doors. For ventilation and in case of fire.”
    Linda hung up her garment bag in the small closet next to the fireplace and set her suitcase on the floor.
    “I’ll get towels,” Victoria said. “The bathroom is off the cookroom, the door on the left.”
    Linda followed Victoria to the kitchen door. “I suppose the police will locate my sister?”
    “I believe they’ve already contacted the man who organized the rally.”
    “Harley’s going to love that. She and the police don’t get along real well.”
    “I hear she didn’t get along with your uncle, either.”
    “Nobody got along with my uncle.”
    “He apparently thought highly of you.” Victoria didn’t want to pry, but she was curious to know what was going to happen to Jube Burkhardt’s eighteen-million-dollar property.
    “Harley was his pet until she got into motorcycles, you know? He hated them. I think she did it just to