Dean's mind was still turning. He wasn't quite ready for sleep so he wandered back to the parlor, sat in the back corner and picked up a biking magazine. In spite of good intentions, he must have dozed as he woke to the sound of someone on the stairs. Effie Quincy stepped into the room, startled when she saw Dean, sitting there in his bathrobe. She wore silk pajamas and a woolen sweater.
"I didn't mean to startle you," he said.
She joined him, sitting on the sofa and pulling one of Cynthia's quilts across her lap. "I can't sleep either."
"Insomnia or excitement at learning all about your great-aunt?" he asked.
Effie paused, tugging her quilt higher. "Neither. I'm worried about Claire. I think that awful man Mr. Shipton told her the truth about Annie."
"How would he know?"
"Little Donnie has been helping your wife transcribe the notebook so his stepfather may have seen some pages. And I've confided to poor Edith a little about Annie. She seems so taken with her, dressing like her and coloring her hair and all."
"Why would Jerome tell your sister? He's never even spoken to Claire that I know of."
"Just spiteful, I guess. The five of us sat together at the restaurant this evening and after Edith and I went to the ladies room, we came back to find Claire livid and Mr. Shipton laughing. Poor Donnie looked very uncomfortable. I think the boy is frightened of the man."
"Did you ask your sister what happened?"
"Oh, yes. I tried to. But she wouldn't even talk to me. She just muttered. She'd like to kill the...she used a term very uncommon to her usual vocabulary." Effie snuggled deeper into the cushions. Join the line, Dean thought. Good old Jerome has a knack for making enemies.
Neither said a word as the hall clock began striking midnight. As it tolled its final gong, Edith Shipton appeared, in her late night attire- the Annie Quincy white dress-her hair loosened about her shoulders. She didn't seem surprised to find others in the living room and took a seat next to Effie, looking less a nighttime specter than an exhausted victim. Dean noticed a darkening bruise on her left cheek.
"Jerome likes me to wear this," she said by way of apology, spreading her hands to feel the fabric of the old dress.
"You're hurt," Dean said.
She touched her cheek. "Yes. It's quite tender. Do you think it will leave a mark?"
Dean ignored her question as Effie moved to look closer at the injury. "Did he do that to you?" Dean asked, a no-nonsense tone to his voice.