Kitabı oku: «A Storm Front Novel», sayfa 4

Four

Mike felt a huge sense of loss as he drove away from Susan’s house, knowing it might be the last time he would ever have a reason to be there. Her death closed a door on a big part of his life. He didn’t want to think about telling everyone down at the office what had happened, or how awkward it was going to be to have to try to replace her. How did one replace a best friend and the best damn employee he’d ever had?

He glanced at Cari as he braked for a red light, then quickly looked away. He had to admit, his first impression of her had certainly done a one-eighty. Waiting for her to wake up in the hospital, he’d been certain she was some con artist who’d stolen Susan’s identity. Part of the reason he hadn’t immediately seen the resemblance to Susan was that he wasn’t expecting it, but there was also the fact that whatever hadn’t been bruised on her face and neck had been bandaged. Never in a million years would he have guessed the staggering truth, or that he would find himself so enmeshed in her deception.

Cari had no idea what was going through Mike’s head, and if she had, she wouldn’t have cared. Dealing with her own misery was overwhelming everything else. Her head was pounding so hard she felt numb, and while the bandages had been removed from her hands before she left the hospital, they were still stinging. It felt as if every bone in her body ached. Added to that, talking to the parish police and passing herself off as Susan, then doing it again with Sarah Beth Spellman, had been draining. That reminded her of the phone call she’d been unable to finish. The least she could do was let Mike know she appreciated his backup.

“Mike…?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you for helping me with the call to the funeral home. I thought I could pull it off. Obviously I was wrong.”

“No problem,” he said softly. “It was the least I could do, and I should tell you that the lady said for you not to worry, that she’d treat them as if they were her own family. She knows their clothing was destroyed in the storm, so she’s going to shop for them on her own. We set a time for the services, too. And there was one more thing.”

“What?”

“They won’t be opening Susan’s casket. I assume it’s because of her…of the injuries.”

Cari nodded, as she remembered once again how Susan had looked, and how limp and heavy her body had been as she’d struggled to put on the coat. Then her thoughts went straight to the burial. Another step in the finality of loss. Oh my God. Her parents interred in the family mausoleum. Susan so horribly disfigured that she wasn’t even presentable. This couldn’t be real.

She turned away to stare out the window, unable to talk anymore.

Mike could see the information was hurting her, but the details had to be said.

“They’ll hold services on Thursday at 11:00 a.m. Today is Tuesday. The lady said there’s so much cleanup still going on that waiting an extra day would be better…that everyone knew and loved you and your family, and would want to attend.”

Cari leaned back and closed her eyes, unable to think about it anymore.

Instinctively Mike reached for her hand, then stopped. He had to keep reminding himself that she wasn’t Susan. Unfortunately this was his housekeeper’s afternoon off. There wasn’t going to be anyone to temper the tension between them. Still, he’d offered his help in Susan’s honor, and he wasn’t going to go back on his word.

“Hang in there,” Mike said. “We’re almost home.”

The sun was setting as Lance pulled up to his house and parked. He was exhausted, both mentally and physically, but after witnessing all the devastation, never more grateful to be alive. It did not occur to him to feel guilty that he’d taken someone else’s life or had been willing to end three others to keep the secret. He’d been indulged all his life, and still expected the world to revolve around him and his needs.

His gaze swept the storm-tossed area as he walked toward the veranda. There were things here to be cleaned up as well, but most of it involved downed tree limbs, some missing shingles and a corner off the barn roof.

The only thing that had been pressing was the broken windowpanes inside Morgan’s Reach, and those had been dealt with while he’d been in Bordelaise. Jim Bob Greeley had come out and replaced the glass while Lance had been in town. The rest of the repairs could be dealt with as time permitted.

He bent down and lifted the doormat, retrieving the key he’d given Jim Bob to use, grunting slightly as he straightened up to unlock the door. Remembering that there were four prisoners from the jail who were still missing, he turned around and locked the door behind him as he went inside. It did not occur to him that he was no better than they were—maybe worse. The men who’d been jailed had been arrested for drug trafficking. Lance had committed murder. Yet he’d already justified his act as necessary and moved on, just as he hoped those prisoners had done.

His steps were dragging as he walked through the house, taking off his clothing as he went. By the time he got to his bathroom, he was nude. The power was back on, which was good. He couldn’t wait to get into a hot shower and then some clean clothes. He turned on the water, waiting until it ran warm as he grabbed a bottle of shampoo. Just as he was about to get into the shower, his phone began to ring. He started to ignore it, then remembered Joe was on his way here, and stepped back into the bedroom and checked caller ID.

When he saw the name Dominic Martinelli, his heart dropped. The Chicago loan shark. The nightmare of losing the family home was once again looming on the horizon. In typical Lance fashion, whatever he couldn’t handle, he ignored. He let the answering machine pick up and strode back into the bathroom.

But the seed of worry had been replanted.

Lance showered, then dressed in sweats and a T-shirt and made his way into the kitchen. As he entered the room, he remembered the broken windows and gave the repair job a closer look. Jim Bob had done well. He saw a broom and a mop in the corner of the kitchen, and realized the repairman had not only swept up the glass, but mopped, as well. It was satisfying to know he had such thoughtful friends.

The light was blinking on the answering machine. When he checked and saw the only call was from Martinelli, he deleted it without listening. Indignation grew as he checked for leftovers. Surely the chinchy bastard knew they’d suffered a terrible storm here in Bordelaise. Martinelli should have had the decency to wait a few days before dunning him for money.

Lance wouldn’t let himself think of what kind of repercussions Austin Ball’s absence would have back in Chicago, but he knew what he was going to avow. He planned to say he’d never seen the man, so if Ball had planned to visit Bordelaise on Sunday, then it had been a poor decision, because he must have perished in the tornado. The rental car truly had been blown away. If it was found, he would have to explain his fingerprints, but other than a phone call Ball had made from Chicago, there was no firm way of tying Lance to the guy, much less to his absence.

The longer he thought about it, the better it sounded. This tornado was still working for him all the way. Not only had it removed the only witness to his crime, but it had also given him support for the claim he intended to make—that he’d never seen Austin Ball.

Just as he was about to sit down to some reheated jambalaya, he heard the front door open. His heart leaped. The only other person who had a key to the house was Joe. He turned off the heat under the pan and hurried into the living room.

Joe Morgan was still in shock from the news Lance had given him. He couldn’t believe his oldest and dearest friends were all dead—and so horribly. He had been anxious on the short flight from Savannah to Baton Rouge—eager to get home just to see for himself that Lance and Morgan’s Reach were okay. He’d rented a car at the airport in Baton Rouge and started driving toward Bordelaise, needing to see the devastation for himself.

Driving through Bordelaise and seeing his old hometown in such turmoil had been worse than he’d imagined. He’d stopped at Sumner’s Funeral Home, thinking he might be able to see the North family, only to learn they weren’t ready for viewing.

Sarah Beth Spellman hadn’t wasted any time passing on the newest gossip regarding the family, either. According to Sarah Beth, Cari’s cousin, Susan, had been in some kind of accident and just been released from the hospital. There was a question as to whether she would even be well enough to travel to the funeral, which would be held this Thursday.

She’d also passed on the news about four prisoners who’d been in the jail and were still missing, as well as the ongoing search for Katie Earle’s seven-year-old son, Bobby. She warned him to tell Lance to be sure and keep their doors locked, just in case the prisoners were still alive and on the run. Joe could only imagine Katie Earle’s horror, not knowing if her child had been killed in the storm or, as the authorities suspected, kidnapped by her ex. Then Sarah Beth had added the news that old man Warren, who’d been in the nursing home for years, had died during the evacuation after the storm, making that four people they had to bury this week.

By the time Joe left Bordelaise, he was sick to his stomach. It didn’t get any better when he drove past the North property on his way home. The grand old house that had been there for over a hundred and seventy-five years was gone, as were all the outbuildings. He thought of Lance finding the bodies and wondered how he was holding up.

There had been a time when they’d all believed Cari North would be a part of their family and Joe had been almost as upset with Lance for cheating on her as Cari had been. But blood had turned out to be thicker than water—and infidelity. Ultimately he and Lance had to stick together, no matter what.

When he finally turned down the long driveway toward their house, he felt an overwhelming sense of relief. Even though the arched trees lining the driveway were missing some of their limbs and leaves, Morgan’s Reach was still there—in all her aging glory.

“Thank you, God,” Joe said softly, and parked next to his brother’s car.

He got out with a sense of urgency, anxious to see Lance’s face and make sure for himself that his younger brother was truly in one piece. He grabbed his suitcase and headed up the steps to the front door.

Lance met him in the foyer just as he walked inside. Joe dropped the suitcase and opened his arms. Lance walked into them with a smile as they hugged.

“Thank the Lord that you and the place were spared,” Joe said, as he clapped Lance on the back. “I can’t believe what a mess Bordelaise is.”

“I know,” Lance said. “I was there almost all day helping with cleanup and rescue.”

Joe grabbed Lance by the shoulders and looked him square in the face.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Lance said.

“I can’t imagine how awful it was for you, finding the Norths.”

Lance looked away, afraid the relief he was feeling would be evident. Luckily Joe mistook his behavior for sorrow.

“I’m heartsick about the whole thing,” Joe muttered. “God. Poor Frank and Maggie. And Cari…so damn young.” He shook his head. “What a horrible way to die.”

Lance nodded, then sighed and quickly changed the subject, aware Joe would think he didn’t want to talk about it due to grief.

“Your room is waiting for you. Wash up, and then come on into the kitchen. I reheated some jambalaya,” Lance said.

“You cooked?” Joe asked.

Lance smiled wryly. “Takeout from in town.”

“Hope it’s some of Mama Lou’s from the Crab Shack.”

“It is,” Lance said.

“Give me five,” Joe said, grabbed his suitcase and headed for his old room.

A few minutes later, they were both at the kitchen table and, like old times, sharing food and memories, as people so often do when there’s a death in the family.

“How long can you stay?” Lance asked, as he spooned some rice into his bowl.

“At least until after the funeral, which is this Thursday, by the way. I thought I’d help you start cleaning up around here, too.”

“That would be great. Jim Bob Greeley was out today and repaired the broken panes in the kitchen windows. I think there are a few missing shingles on the roof and a corner of the barn roof rolled back, but that’s just a matter of nailing the sheet iron back down.”

“I’ll do the shingles and nail down the sheet iron,” Joe offered. “I know you don’t like heights.”

“You’ve got that right,” Lance said, and took a big bite of his food. It didn’t seem strange to him that he was sharing a cozy meal with his brother as if nothing untoward had happened. In his mind, all he’d done was what he’d had to do to save the family home.

Right in the middle of the meal, the phone began to ring. Without thinking, he got up and answered it.

“Hello?”

“So…Mr. Morgan, you’re finally home.”

The moment Lance heard Martinelli’s voice, he knew he’d made a mistake. How was he going to talk to the man without letting Joe know what he’d gotten them into? All he could do was play it by ear.

“Yes. Just,” Lance said. “I’ve been in town all day, helping with search and rescue.”

“Oh? Has someone gone missing?” Martinelli asked.

Lance frowned. “Don’t you watch the news? Hell yes, someone went missing, and some are dead, too. We were hit straight-on by a tornado day before yesterday. Four people are dead…one of them a woman I used to be engaged to…as well as her parents. We also have a little boy we can’t find, along with four prisoners from the jailhouse.”

There was a moment of silence, then he actually heard a hint of sympathy in Martinelli’s voice. It was what he’d hoped for.

“Sorry to hear it,” Martinelli said. “I didn’t know.”

“Yes, well…you can understand how upset we all are. I’m sorry if I sounded a little short, but it’s been hell.”

“Yeah…sure…say, why don’t I give you a call in a day or two?”

“Fine,” Lance said. “That would be most considerate of you.”

“No problem,” Martinelli said. “Oh…say… have you talked to Austin Ball, yet?”

Lance’s heart skipped a beat. “Who?”

“Austin Ball…he’s one of my lawyers.”

“No, I haven’t heard from him. When was he going to call?”

“He flew out to see you on Sunday.”

“He came out here? Really? Well, that was the day the tornado hit, and it was pretty crazy around here. Maybe he changed his mind.”

“Okay. He’ll probably call in soon. Sorry for your loss. We’ll talk later.”

“Yeah, later,” Lance said, and hung up.

Reprieve.

He turned to Joe, who was frowning.

“Who was that?” Joe asked.

“Oh…just a business call. No big deal.”

Joe wasn’t satisfied. Lance had a habit of getting himself into trouble—trouble that Joe usually had to rectify.

“Are you sure?” Joe asked.

“Absolutely,” Lance said. “Do you want dessert? I think there’s some coconut cake.”

Joe shrugged off the worry. “Yeah, sure. Sounds good.”

The moment passed.

Night fell.

Lance Morgan slept like a baby, secure in the knowledge that his big brother was asleep in the room across the hall, and that, once again, he’d dodged a bullet. Somehow, someway, he would use the sympathy he’d heard in Martinelli’s voice and convince the man to give him more time.

Cari had been given what amounted to a suite on the second floor of the Boudreaux mansion, but she wasn’t in the frame of mind to appreciate the beauty of her accommodations. The sitting room was bright and airy, with a massive white mantel over a fireplace centered in the middle of one wall. The furniture was upholstered in off-whites and creamy yellows, while accessories and knickknacks in varying shades of blue gave the room a personal feel.

The bedroom just off the sitting area was a reverse of the first. Pale blue sheers at the windows, a royal blue spread on the bed, with bits of yellow and white interspersed on shelves and tabletops.

The adjoining bathroom was stark by contrast—white walls, floor tiles, fixtures and curtains. The single bit of color was a whimsy of art. A tiny school of clown fish made of hand-blown glass had been mounted on the wall in perfect formation, as if they were swimming in a snowy sea.

She’d turned down Mike’s offer of food so that she could rest. All she really knew and cared about was that the bed she’d crawled into was cool and the sheets were soft. She also knew there were many doors and walls—and a man named Mike Boudreaux—standing between her and the danger of being discovered. For now, it was enough.

Downstairs, Mike went about the business of his life, explaining to those at the office that Susan was out of town. It wasn’t exactly a lie. She was in Bordelaise. He just hadn’t mentioned she was dead and wasn’t coming back. Like Cari, a part of him clung to the misapprehension that if it wasn’t said aloud, then it might not be the truth.

The responsibility he felt for Carolina North was wrapped up in his friendship with Susan and the knowledge that the woman was in serious trouble. He wasn’t sure how she was going to go about alerting the authorities to the man she claimed was a murderer, but all that could wait. Right now, she needed to hide and heal. Providing her with those small comforts was the least he could do. That, and find out all he could about a man named Lance Morgan. He’d already availed himself of the services of his security chief, Aaron Lake, and now Aaron was on the job, checking into Lance Morgan’s background.

Cari woke herself up screaming in the night.

Mike was in her room even before she could sit up and turn on the lights.

“Hey, hey,” Mike said, as he slid onto the side of her bed and clasped one of her hands. “You’re okay, cher. You’re okay.” Then he leaned over and switched on the lamp beside her bed.

“Oh my God,” Cari muttered, as she struggled to a sitting position. “The storm… I was…”

She shuddered, then shoved the hair away from her face. “I was dreaming.”

“I know,” Mike said. “Hang on. I’ll get you some water.”

Cari swung her legs off the side of the bed, disoriented. “Do you know where my pain pills are?”

“On the table beside the lamp,” he called out.

Cari looked, found them behind the clock and shook out two pills, then downed them with the water Mike handed her.

“Thanks,” she said, as she set the glass aside. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

Mike wanted to touch her, to hold and assure her she wasn’t alone. But it wasn’t the truth. Just because she was under his roof, that didn’t mean anything. She was alone, in every way that counted. Still, she looked so beaten and so lost, and his frustration came out in his voice, making it seem too abrupt.

“You don’t need to apologize for something that’s not your fault.”

Cari blinked. She didn’t understand the anger in his voice, but at three in the morning, according to the clock, she wasn’t in the mood to investigate.

“Then thank you for the water and the concern,” she said shortly and got up from the bed, stumbled, then stiffly moved past him on her way to the bathroom.

The firm click of the door and the chill tone in her voice shamed Mike. It wasn’t her fault he hadn’t been able to sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he kept remembering the countless times he’d taken Susan for granted. He might be mad at himself, but that didn’t give him the right to take it out on Carolina.

She came out a couple of minutes later and appeared surprised he was still there.

“I don’t need to be tucked back in.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I was curt with you, and you didn’t deserve it. Truth is, I’m mad at myself.”

Cari frowned as she settled down on the side of the bed. “Why?”

Mike shrugged, then sat down beside her. “Mostly for taking Susan for granted.”

Cari’s shoulders slumped. “I know what you mean. The other morning I went out for a walk. Weather permitting, I’ve done the same thing every day for as long as I can remember. Only on Sunday, everything was off. Like I’d stumbled into another dimension or something. I walk up on a man I’ve known all my life, and he’s burying a body. I get back to the farm to tell my parents just as a tornado wipes them and everything we own from the face of the earth. I took my world and the safety of familiarity for granted.”

Mike slid his hand over hers and turned it palm up, looking down at the cuts and bruises, then up at her face. The scratches there were shallow. The nurses had removed most of her facial bandages before he’d checked her out, but the bruises were blatant, and the staples in her head an ugly reminder of how close she’d come to dying.

“My mother used to say there was a reason for everything, but that we weren’t always meant to understand it. I guess this would be one of those times,” he said.

Cari’s voice shook. “I guess.”

The sound hurt his heart, but he knew sympathy was the last thing she needed.

“Think you can get back to sleep?”

“Maybe.”

Mike stood up, then pulled back the covers. “Crawl in.”

The offer was unexpected and oddly touching. “I can do it,” she said.

“I know,” he said, waiting as she gingerly scooted back beneath the covers. As soon as she’d settled, he straightened the spread, then leaned down to turn off the lamp.

Cari grabbed his arm. “Leave it on. Please?”

Mike frowned. The fear of a nightmare rerun was there on her face. The thought crossed his mind to lie down beside her—just as a friendly gesture to remind her she wasn’t alone. But then instinct told him to get out. He had a feeling that it would be far too easy to cross a line with this woman, and this was neither the time nor place.

“I’m just across the hall,” he said. “Call out if you need me.”

Cari nodded, then turned her back on him and rolled up in a ball.

He sighed. Nothing like a little body language to let you know what was really going on. She’d just made herself as small a target as possible. He just wasn’t sure how effective it was going to be against bad dreams, but it was enough to change his mind. Instead of leaving, he quietly moved to a white over-stuffed chair nearby, eased himself down into the cushions and crossed his legs.

Cari shifted slightly beneath the covers, unaware of the man who sat sentry at the foot of her bed.

When her body finally went limp and the covers ceased moving, Mike knew she’d fallen back to sleep. He could have left then—should have left then. The pain pills would likely carry her through until morning. But there was something so vulnerable about the slight bump she made beneath the covers that he couldn’t bring himself to abandon her.

So he sat.

An hour had passed, when she suddenly turned from one side to the other with a muffled moan, then threw off her covers. Immediately he was on his feet. He pulled the sheet and blanket back up over her shoulders, then paused, studying her face, feature by feature, and her wounds, bruise by bruise.

Now that he knew who she was, he was surprised that he hadn’t immediately seen the resemblance to Susan, because it was truly amazing. Even through the bruises, he could see that the shapes of their faces and mouths were identical. Susan’s eyes hadn’t been quite as round, but everything else was so alike that he knew when she was healed, he would have been hard-pressed to tell them apart.

Suddenly Cari sighed and then spoke, but the words were so soft, he didn’t understand what she’d said.

The last thing he wanted was for her to wake up and find him standing over her like some crazy stalker. He started to back away when a tear slid out from under her lashes, puddled in the hollow under her eye for just a moment, then slipped down her cheek.

“Daddy…Daddy,” she said softly, and then sobbed.

“Ah, God,” Mike whispered. “Poor baby.”

Suddenly she gasped, and Mike knew she must be reliving the entire horror of the storm. Without thinking, he slid onto the mattress and took her hand.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay, cher, it’s okay.”

She shuddered, but the pain pills had taken her far enough down that she didn’t wake up. It was the death grip she had on Mike’s hand that told him how frightening her dream must have been. She was holding on to his fingers so tight that her knuckles had gone white.

At that point, Mike forgot decorum. Without letting go, he carefully moved over her, then behind her. With the covers as a barrier, he spooned his body up against hers and pulled her close.

Within seconds, all the tension in her body seemed to dissipate. Unfortunately he was now within inches of her head wound. He could have counted the staples, but he couldn’t bear to look. Instead he closed his eyes and concentrated on the slow, steady rhythm of her heartbeat.

He didn’t know when he fell asleep, but he woke up just as dawn was breaking. Sometime during the night, Cari had turned to face him. Now he could feel the occasional exhalation of her breath against his chest—warm and soft.

Her eyelids fluttered. She was near to waking, and the last thing she needed was to find him in her bed. Slowly he eased his arm out from under the pillow above her head, then scooted off the bed. He paused for a moment, reluctant to leave her, but unwilling to think about why.

Somewhere downstairs, a phone began to ring. It had to be the dedicated line to the phone in his office, because none of the home phones were ringing.

He gave her a last thoughtful look, then made a quick exit.

The next time Cari woke up, sunlight was coming through the sheer fabric of the bedroom curtains. It took her a couple of moments to re-orient herself as to where she was and why, and once she did, the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach returned.

Oh God. My family is dead, my world is destroyed, and the man I once thought I would marry is a murderer.

She started to kick off the covers, then winced. Motion resurrected all the dormant aches and pains.

“Have mercy,” Cari muttered, as she eased herself out of bed and headed for the bathroom.

Within minutes, she was in the shower, using the warm jets of water to ease her knotted muscles. As she was drying off, she stopped in front of the full-length mirror on the back of the door to study her reflection. She had dozens of bruises in varying sizes all over her body. Besides the scrapes and cuts, there was the bald patch where her hair had been shaved so her head could be stapled.

“Basically, Carolina, you’re such a wreck not even Mom and Dad would know you,” she muttered, and turned away.

But within seconds, what she’d said triggered a notion that turned into an idea, then grew into a full-blown plan. She turned back around to look at herself in the mirror again, then pulled her long hair away from her face and squinted her eyes, turning first one way, then another.

The longer she stood there, the more certain she became that she’d just figured out a way to get herself to Bordelaise for the funerals. She tossed her towel aside and hurried into the bedroom.

A few minutes later she was in the hall and heading for the stairs, following the smell of bacon and freshly brewed coffee.

Songee entered the breakfast room carrying the plate of fried eggs she’d made for Mike’s breakfast and slid it in front of him.

“Um, I’m glad you’re back, because as always, you outdid yourself,” Mike said, as he laid his newspaper aside and reached for the biscuits and bacon.

Songee Wister was barely five feet tall, but at fifty-one, easily a force of nature. The crisp pink dress and equally crisp white apron she was wearing were great foils for her café-au-lait skin. Her hair, once dark and curly, now a salt-and-pepper shade, was worn in dozens of tight little braids, then pulled back at her nape. She’d worked for Mike for more than fifteen years and considered the old mansion hers to run.

“Mr. Mike, will your lady also want some eggs to go with my biscuits and bacon?”

Mike slid a trio of bacon slices onto his plate, then reached for a biscuit and began to slather it with butter.

“I don’t know, Songee. We’ll ask her when she comes down.”

“Ask me what?” Cari asked, as she entered the breakfast room.

Songee turned around, then gasped. “Saints alive! She looks like—”

“Easy, Songee. I already told you, she’s Susan’s cousin, remember?

“Carolina, this is Songee. She runs this house and keeps me in line.”

Cari swallowed past the knot in her throat, wondering how long the pain of loss would last. Everyone always said she and Susan looked like sisters, if not twins. But that wouldn’t be happening anymore.

“I’m pleased to meet you, Songee,” Cari said.

Songee nodded. “I’m sorry, miss. You just took me by surprise. I have many cousins, but don’t any of them look like my twin.”

“No need to apologize,” Cari said. “Our mothers were twins. We were born within a month of each other, and we grew up together, which accounts for some of the same mannerisms, as well.”

Then she glanced at Mike, who pointed to the chair to his right. “Sit,” he said. “Songee will make you some eggs to go with these fine biscuits and bacon. Just tell her how you want them cooked and how many.”

Cari felt as if she would choke if she ate anything, but she also knew she needed her strength for what lay ahead.

“Maybe I’ll have one fried egg, well done, please.”

Songee smiled. “Yes, miss,” she said, and got the coffeepot from the sideboard and poured some coffee in Cari’s cup. “Sugar and cream are on the table. I’ll be right back with your egg,” she said, and left the room.

Cari sat down, then put her hands in her lap.