Free Regarding Anna by Florence Osmund Page A

all my things within a week. Met all but Mr. Smith that same week. Didn’t meet him until a month later when the rent was due. Before that, I had knocked on his door to introduce myself a few times, and even though I knew he was in there, he didn’t answer. Then, late one evening, I couldn’t sleep and went to the kitchen to warm up a glass of milk. As I was drinking it, I saw a dark figure pass by the window. Well, I grabbed a baseball bat I keep for just such occasions and stood by the back door ready to clobber the person in case they tried to break in.”
    “You must have been scared to death.”
    “Nothing much scares me, sweetie, but I suppose my heart was pounding a little fast. Anyway, he didn’t try to break in. Instead he slipped an envelope under the door. I opened it, and inside was seven dollars and fifty cents and a note that read ‘July rent from Mark Smith.’ So I dashed outside—I’m in my nightgown, mind you—and I reach the bottom of the outside staircase just as he reaches the top, and I yell up at him, ‘Hey you. I’m Minnie Lawless. Nice to meet you.’
    “He looks at me—I can barely see his face. He gives me a little wave, and disappears inside. And that’s pretty much how it was until he died.”
    “How did he die?”
    “As far as I know, he had a heart attack. At least that’s what the paper said. All I know is one morning I went to the A&P to buy groceries, and when I got home, there was an ambulance out front. The police came, and I asked them what I was supposed to do with the little stuff he had. And after they looked around, they said throw it out unless I wanted anything. There wasn’t anything to speak of—worn-out clothes, some books, an old Philco radio, and a pile of newspapers.”
    “How old was he?”
    “He was an older man, maybe in his seventies. Then there was Henry Sikes. Pale-faced little busybody. Mousy-looking, that’s what he was, afraid of his own shadow, but into everybody’s business. And he wasn’t even a decent busybody…you know, one who shares what he knows. No, he stuck his nose in where it didn’t belong and then kept it all to himself. Except about Anna, but I’ll get to that.
    “The last character was... Give me a minute to think of his name. And I use the term ‘his’ loosely. Ah, yes, Dorian Ross. I know he was a man—no woman I know has an Adam’s apple—but he dressed like a woman. The whole nine yards. Full makeup, blond wig, dresses, and high heels. Hell, he had prettier clothes than I did. Can you imagine that? A real weirdo.”
    “Any idea where he is now?”
    “No, and I don’t want to know.”
    “You said before there were four rooms upstairs.”
    “Two large ones—I charged seven-fifty for those. And two smaller ones for five bucks. One bathroom. Would you like to see them?”
    “Yes, of course.”
    “C’mon. I’ll take you up the inside staircase, and you’ll see how the rumor story fits in.”
    We walked through the foyer and down a hallway to the back of the house.
    “This is my bedroom,” she said as we entered a good-sized room. It was sparsely decorated with a double bed and matching dresser; two nightstands; a well-worn overstuffed armchair; the winterberry bush I had given her, now planted in a large terra-cotta pot; and a rocking chair.
    I couldn’t take my eyes off the rocking chair.
    “What’s the matter, Gracie?”
    “That’s the chair!”
    “What chair, dear?”
    “The same rocking chair Anna was sitting in as she held me. It’s in the photo!”
    “It can’t be. I...” Her voice trailed off.
    “You what? Where did you get it?”
    “I don’t remember. This is a very common chair. You could buy one like it anywhere back then.” She paused a moment. “Come to think of it, it was left here. I found it in the basement and thought it was a shame to leave it down there. It was in such good shape and all. So I brought it up here.”
    Minnie led me to the far corner of the room toward a