“You can fit more in a semi,” Tiny said.
Kelp said, “We pretend we’re a movie company, shooting on location. Use one of the big trucks they use. Borrow Little Feather’s motor home to be the star’s dressing room, steal a camera and some lights somewhere.”
Dortmunder said, “And do what?”
“I dunno,” Kelp said. “You’re the planner. I’m just giving you the big picture.”
“Thank you,” Dortmunder said.
“You girls are yawning,” Vickie said. In fact, so was Hughie, but Viveca didn’t think it would be right to mention that.
“Oh, Mom, please.”
“Well, now, young ladies,” Margaret Crabtree said, “you look to me as though you could sleep. It’s quarter to one, isn’t it?”
“It is,” Hughie said, and hugely yawned.
“There you go,” Margaret said, “I bet you’ll all be asleep the minute your head hits the pillow.”
“I won’t take that bet,” Hughie said. “Miz Crabtree, Miz Quinlan, I think I gotta say good night.”
“Don’t let me keep you all up,” Margaret said. “I’ll wait here for that nice young man to come back, and I’ll turn that lantern off when I go.”
Viveca, who didn’t feel at all like sleeping, said, “Oh, no, I’ll stay up with you. We can chat. Hughie, you know where the guest room is.”
“Rrrr,” Hughie said, which would have been yes if he hadn’t been yawning.
The girls, too, were actually very sleepy, and did only a little more pro forma pleading before finally marching off, Hughie among them, to bed. Viveca left the Coleman lamp hanging where it was, but she and Margaret went over to sit in comfortable chairs where they could see the snowplow when it came back up the mountain.
“Quite an adventure for you,” Viveca said once they were settled.
“More than I had in mind,” Margaret said. “I hope your husband isn’t stuck out someplace in all this.”
To her astonishment and embarrassment, Viveca abruptly began to cry. “He isn’t here,” she said, and turned her face away, wishing she had a tissue, hoping Margaret wouldn’t notice these tears in the dim light.
But she did. Sounding very concerned, she said, “Viveca? What is it? He isn’t hurt or anything, is he? In the hospital?”
“We’re . . .” Viveca swallowed, wiped her eyes with her fingers, and said, “We’re separated.”
“He left you?”
“It’s a separation,” Viveca said.
“Then he separated,” Margaret insisted. “How come he left you?”
“Well, the truth is,” Viveca said, “Frank left this house more than he left me.”
“I don’t get it,” Margaret admitted.
Viveca had kept all this bottled up for so long, it was a relief to suddenly be able to unburden herself, to a stranger, someone she didn’t really know and would never see again, who would be leaving here forever any minute in a snowplow. “My great-grandfather built this house,” she explained. “He was a famous painter, and the house is a national monument, open to the public from April to November, just the downstairs, and the family lives here and takes care of everything.”
“Why you?” Margaret asked. “Why not somebody else in the family?”
“I’m an only child.”
Margaret nodded. “And your husband decided he doesn’t like the house.”
“He grew to hate it,” Viveca said. “It was boring and confining and he felt he was wasting his life here, and I had to agree with him.”
“So he waltzes off and leaves you and the kids. That’s nice.”
“Oh, no, it’s not like that,” Viveca said. “He sees the children all the time, they spend weekends at his apartment in the city.”
“New York City?”
“Yes.”
“He’s got a big place there, big enough for the kids?”
“Yes.”
Margaret shook her head. “So whadaya doing here?”
“Well,” Viveca said, “the family’s always lived here, ever since my great-grandfather built the place.”
“Yeah? What happens if you leave?”
“Leave? Oh, I couldn’t possibly leave.”
Margaret nodded. “Why not?” she said.
“Well . . . I was brought up to live here.”
“So, if you leave, does the house fall down?”
“No, there’s a nonprofit corporation that takes care of everything.”
Margaret said, “So you’re just like, here’s the famous painter’s family on display. Do you have to wear like Colonial costumes?”
“He wasn’t from that long ago,” Viveca said.
“Okay, flapper skirts,” Margaret suggested. “Is that what you wear?”
“No, we don’t wear costumes or do things like that. We don’t even see the visitors, they’re just downstairs and we’re up—Oh, did you hear that?”
Margaret looked very open-eyed and blank. “Hear? Hear what?”
“There was a rustling sound downstairs,” Viveca said.
“Didn’t hear it,” Margaret said.
Viveca leaned close and dropped her voice. “It’s mice,” she confided.
Margaret looked interested. “Oh yeah?”
“In the winter,” Viveca said, “there’s just no way to keep them out, since there’s nobody ever down there.”
“Huh,” Margaret said. “Tell me about this husband of yours.”
“Frank.”
“Be as frank as you want,” Margaret said, but then she shook her head and patted the air and said, “No, just a joke, I get it, the name is Frank. And Frank said he was leaving the house, not you.”
“Yes. And I know it’s true.”
“You want him back, you feel like shit, you—whoops, sorry, you feel really terrible all the time, and you can’t control your daughters because you don’t feel good enough about yourself, and you don’t know what’s gonna happen next. Have I got the story here?”
“Yes,” Viveca said. She felt humble in the presence of this wise older woman.
“Okay,” the wise older woman said, “I tell you what you do. Tomorrow, when you get your phone back, you call this Frank. You tell him, ‘Honey, rent a truck and come get us, all of us, we’re blowin this mausoleum.’”
“Oh dear,” Viveca said. “I don’t know, Margaret.”
“What you tell him is,” Margaret insisted, “this separation is over. Come on, Frank, rent a truck or hire a lawyer, because we’re either gettin together or we’re gettin a divorce. And if it’s a divorce—”
“Neither of us wants a divorce,” Viveca said. “I’m sure of that.”
“Great,” Margaret said. “But if he wants one anyway—He isn’t alone there in that apartment in New York, is he?”
“No,” Viveca whispered.
“Men,” Margaret concluded. “So if it is a divorce—This guy’s pretty well-off, am I right?”
“Yes,” Viveca whispered. “He’s an executive with a chemical company.”
“So if it is divorce,” Margaret told her, “you rent the truck yourself and move the hell outta here. Take the girls and go where you want and meet a guy and never even tell him about this place.”
Viveca laughed, surprising herself as thoroughly as when she’d cried before. “I shouldn’t have told Frank about it, that’s for sure,” she said.
Looking out the window, Margaret said, “Here comes my ride.”
Yes, here came all those lights, back up the mountain. Both women rose, and Viveca said, “Thank you, Margaret.”
“Anytime,” Margaret said. “Remember, soon as you get your phone back, call Frank.”
“I will.” Viveca smiled. “And I’ll tell him I was a fool to let a house get between us.”
“Well, don’t give him all the marbles,” Margaret said. “Negotiate a little. Come on, I gotta go.”
Viveca carried the Coleman lamp, and they made their way through the house to the kitchen. “I can find my way down the stairs,” Margaret said.