Over
a period of more than one-hundred-forty years, the Larkin family employed four
live-in chefs within the Collective Obsessions Saga. They all had specific character
oddities, but were unique in their own ways: two were beloved, one was barely
tolerated, and one met an insidious ending.
March 1936
Larkin City, Maine
CLAUDE MONDOUX HAD EXPERIENCED disturbing dreams of late. Winter was
drawing to a close, so the bracing air from the sea was beginning to mellow and
little buds of spring were blooming all over the estate. Yet Claude could not
shake his winter doldrums, and the nightmares that plagued him for months
continued unabated.
The dream was the same each time. Claude envisioned his old friend Colm
Sullivan burning and writhing in the fires of hell, with Molly Larkin standing
off just in the distance, untouched by the flames. She watched her former lover
suffer, without a shred of compassion or concern written on her face. The
injustice outraged Claude, and he tried to find his way to Colm through the
fire. "Mademoiselle Molly should be suffering, not my beloved Beauty
Man from Ireland," Claude thought angrily in each dream. But every
time Claude was in reach, Colm slipped away farther and deeper into the flames,
screaming in pain as the fire licked his flesh. Molly then laughed, head thrown
back, and Claude had the overwhelming desire to wring her neck with his bare
hands….His driving desire throughout the dream was to bring Colm to safety and
to allow Molly to burn alone in her rightful place in hell.
He always woke from his dreams in a cold sweat. He was never able to
finish the horrific episodes, and he never reached Colm to save him.
It was St. Patrick's Day 1936 when Claude awoke in his bed, clammy from
his ritual nightmare. He lay in bed for several minutes, trying to orientate
himself to the real world. It was early as long shadows still crossed the room,
but he could hear birds chirping outside his bedroom window.
He sat up and swung his long legs to the floor, grunting in pain. His
arthritis was particularly painful this morning, and he cursed his old age. He
turned ninety-one two months ago, and he was still shocked that he had come
this far. In his youth, he never imagined living so long but he was not ready
to give up yet.
Claude
was followed by the unfortunate Nicholas Bertrand, who found himself on the
receiving end of Patrick Larkin’s psychotic rage on Halloween night 1947. The
following excerpt is from chapter fourteen of Quixotic Crossings:
Halloween 1947
Larkin City, Maine
Gripping the knife in his hand, Patrick crossed the threshold quietly,
following the muted light to the bedroom. Despite the coolness in the air, he
could feel perspiration gathering in beads on his forehead. He hesitated for a
brief moment, wavering just before he reached the bedroom door.
"Do I really want to do this?" he asked himself.
"There will be no going back if I move forward. But how can I leave it
as it is? Nicholas Bertrand had no right to touch my wife. He had no right to
think of her as anything more than his employer…"
Imagining his wife in the arms of the family chef removed the waning
clarity from his mind. Nicholas had to die and Colleen had to suffer for it,
even if that meant Patrick giving up his own life to meet that end.
Nicholas and Colleen lay in each other's arms under the soft coverlet
of the bed. They were not asleep, but dozing in warm rapture after their love
play.
Patrick stared at Colleen's serene face, hoping to will her to open her
eyes and look at him. But her eyes were closed as she rested her cheek on her
lover's shoulder, her hand draped across his chest. Patrick resented the happy
glow on her face, the obvious contentment that bespoke not a care in the world.
She had never been that way with him - rather she had always seemed
apprehensive and then dutiful, in a hurry to leave his presence in their
long-forgotten marital bed.
Colleen was content. She was blissful in Nicholas' arms, where she
wished away the unpleasantness of her marriage and circumstance. She knew they
were taking a chance in being together because of Patrick's recent behavior,
but she and Nicholas ached to be alone. Surely this once before the divorce
wouldn't mar their future.
When Colleen opened her eyes she thought she was dreaming. Patrick
stood over the bed, his silhouette inky and his face almost obscured by the
shadows in the room. Nicholas was unaware of him, his face turned to her with
his eyes half-closed.
Before Colleen could open her mouth to speak and warn, Patrick plunged
a knife into Nicholas' neck. Colleen felt her lover's body tense. In slow
motion, she saw herself recoil and then try to scream as she met Nicholas'
bewildered eyes.
He stared at her in shock, in disbelief. She reached for him and felt
the wet stickiness of his blood.
Then Patrick plunged the knife again - and again. Back, head,
rollover, heart, lungs….
Colleen pulled away, screaming. She scrambled to the other side of the
bed. Her own body was covered in blood, her hair wet and stuck to her face, but
she was sure Patrick had not stabbed her. From across the expanse of the
bed, she looked at Nicholas and began screaming again.
She could no longer see his face. His dark hair was matted, obscuring
view of his features. His bloodied limbs were lifeless, like oars adrift in a
pond. She thought she could hear him moaning, but there was no movement of
breathing, no signs of life.
"Why isn't he fighting back?" Colleen thought dazedly.
"Why isn't Nicholas thrashing about, or yelling at the top of
his lungs?"
"Because he's dead," another voice whispered in her
ear.
Patrick stepped away from the bed. He, too, was covered in blood. He
still held the knife in his hand, staring down in wonder at Nicholas Bertrand.
He heard Colleen's sobs in the back of his mind, but her anguish had no affect
on him. He dropped the knife on the floor, and then turned to walk away.
Colleen watched her husband, incredulous that he was leaving her there,
acting as if he had just taken a walk on the beach.
"Patrick!" she screamed from her place on the bed.
He stopped but did not turn around.
"Why?" she wept hysterically. "Why did you do
this?"
There was silence, a long pause. Colleen could hear the wind and rain
against the glass window pane next to the bed as she waited for an answer.
The finally he spoke: "You're an adulteress," he said tonelessly.
"The rest of your life will be spent in misery, remembering your lover,
and what your treacherous actions cost you."
Colleen was speechless. Suddenly it did not matter what Patrick said,
or why he killed her beloved. Her reality was the bloody form of Nicholas, who
such a short time ago was warm and loving in her embrace. Now he was gone from
her forever. In the blinking of an eye, her only chance of true happiness was
destroyed by the nemesis known as her husband, the once-reputable man who made
her life miserable for daring to seek happiness away from him.
Patrick heard his wife's sobs as he left the chef's suite of rooms. The
further he walked away, the more muffled the sounds became. He smiled slightly
as he reached the foyer. Colleen's misery was now complete.
It
wasn’t until 1951 that Nicholas was replaced by Larkin City widow Mae Jensen. She
was kind-hearted and generous, very much part of the Larkin family until her natural
death in 1989. The following excerpt is from chapter six of Enthrallment:
August 1989
Larkin City, Maine
LESS THAN THREE MONTHS after the death of Phoebe McGarren, Mae Jensen
died in her sleep. The Larkin family cook had shown no signs of illness, but
rather passed away suddenly in her rooms at the mansion.
The hot summer was winding down at the end of August, just after the
Larkin Fair Days, when Kevin discovered Mae dead in her rooms. He arrived home
one Saturday morning after spending the night with a female friend in Larkin
City to find the kitchen deserted. Mae was typically an early riser, who had
the coffee brewing long before the rising sun.
The hallway to the cook’s rooms was dark and quiet. Kevin made no
pretence at being stealthy but rather ambled his bulky frame along at a steady
pace. When he came to the closed doorway of Mae’s suite, he paused, listening
for signs of activity. Nothing. He knocked loudly, several raps in quick
succession. When he received no answer, he put his face closer to the door
frame and bellowed:
“Mae, for God’s sake, I’m dying out here. Are you sleeping the day away
or can we possibly get some coffee brewing in the kitchen?”
Silence greeted him. Muttering under his breath, Kevin opened the door
slowly, almost fearful of finding Mae in the altogether and shrieking in panic
when she spied him. Neither scenario unfolded, but he was puzzled by the dark
stillness of her rooms. He passed through the sitting area and stood in the
doorway of the bedroom.
He saw Mae’s form in the bed, her head facing the wall away from his
view. He stared at her for a moment, looking for signs that she was breathing.
He wasn’t sure what prompted him to think she might not be breathing, but the
eerie quiet in the room made him uneasy.
He stepped toward the bed, reaching out gingerly to shake her shoulder.
She moved with the motion but did not waken. Kevin walked around to the other
side of the bed to look at her face, gasping as she came into full view.
Mae was the color of ash, her eyes open and staring, her mouth slightly
twisted into a grimace. He knew she was dead before he touched her again, and
the knowledge filled him with dread. He placed his fingers to the pulse point
in her throat, unsurprised to find no rhythm to indicate her heart was beating.
She was gone. Considering the color and coldness of her skin, she had
been dead for several hours.
“Damnit,” he swore, hanging his head. Mae had been such a permanent
part of the family for almost forty years. It was unimaginable that in one
short night she was gone from them.
“What is it about this damned house?” Kevin wondered aloud. “It’s as if
death and dying likes to roost here, waiting and watching for its next victim.”
He knew it was the hang of last night’s alcohol speaking for him, so he stopped
talking and stepped away from the bed.
After a moment, Kevin left the room.
The
chef post remained vacant until 2002, when Cora Ann Hogan was hired to take
over culinary duties. Coarse and uneducated – with a penchant for heavy
drinking – Cora actually took the job in order to spy on the Larkin family. The
following excerpt is from chapter eight of The Twilight (due for release this
summer):
November 2003
Larkin City, Maine
CORA ANN HOGAN SPENT a pleasant afternoon at the mansion. Family
members were supposed to be in Larkin City all day, attending the opening trial
date of Andrea's lawsuit. Cora never had the house to herself - there always
seemed to be someone about - so she enjoyed the time knowing it would never
last.
After the noon hour, Cora went into the drawing room and poured herself
a brandy from the sideboard. She never dared do that before - she was usually
in the drawing room to serve the family rather than to help herself. She sat on
the divan, in the same place Shannon often held court, and sipped the
fine-quality liquor.
Cora imagined being the mistress of such a fine house, to have others
wait hand and foot on her. In her mind Cora saw the elegant and elaborate
bedroom suites upstairs, lying on her own silky bed amongst the fine
furnishings and lazing away the day. "Those that have it don't know how
to use it," she thought. "Look at the Larkin's - they're
swimming in greenbacks but they're up early and out working. Why bother when
the money comes from a black hole?"
Coming out of her fanciful reverie, Cora drained her brandy and
returned to the kitchen, washing the snifter. Wouldn't Miss Hoity-Toity Shannon
be furious to see her sitting like an equal in the drawing room, drinking fine
liquor? Cora chuckled at the thought.
Today would be a tough one for the Larkin family, Cora realized with glee
as she rummaged through the refrigerator for something to eat. Andrea would
surely win her case and receive a portion of Scott's estate, and then Cora's
life would finally change. She could leave the toil in the mansion and live a
life of ease. Not for the first time, Cora wondered how the court proceedings
were going.
She fixed herself a sandwich and gobbled it down, contemplating what to
fix the Larkin's for dinner. Since none of them were courteous enough to call
her and let her know when to expect them, she had no clue when they would
arrive at the mansion.
She opened the freezer door and pulled out a large package of pork
chops. What if Andrea won her case today? "Then I won't have to cook these
people another damned morsel. They're an ungrateful lot, anyway." Deciding
to play it safe, Cora seasoned and floured the pork chops and cooked them in a
large skillet on the stove. She threw together a mixed green salad and a
casserole dish full of potatoes au gratin. "Just in case," she said
aloud.
As the food finished cooking, Cora noticed it was nearing six o'clock.
She placed the dishes in the oven to keep warm and then brewed a pot of coffee.
Just as she was setting the coffee tray with mugs and saucers, she heard the
back door open and the tramping of many feet.
Cora turned from the counter and faced the Larkin clan. They stood in
the kitchen, still wearing their coats, regarding her in return. Cora failed to
notice their gazes were anything but friendly.
"Dinner is ready if you're all hungry," Cora managed to say,
somewhat intimidated by the group of them. "Or if you'd rather, there's
fresh coffee."
Shannon stepped forward, removing her coat and draping it over the back
of a kitchen table chair. "Miss Hogan, you no longer work here," she
said coldly. "Pack your belongings and get out."
Cora felt the blood drain from her face. "Excuse me?" she
stammered.
"You heard me loud and clear," Shannon continued evenly.
"Your employment here is at an end. Because of the filthy state of the
quarters we so kindly let you use, severance pay is out of the question. Your
final wages will be used fumigate and re-paint the cook's suite of rooms."
"I don't understand," Cora insisted plaintively. "What
have I done wrong?"
"Deception and lies," Shannon spat. "Miss Hogan, we've
been aware of your relationship to Andrea St. John since Thanksgiving. The fact
that she's your daughter came out in court today, as did Andrea's plan to snare
my husband and her ploy in getting you to work here."
Cora stood open-mouthed, unable to speak.
"That being the case, your daughter did not receive one red
cent," Shannon said with finality. "Your granddaughter, on the other
hand, will receive a trust fund that cannot be accessed by you or
Andrea. So you see, all of your plans were for naught." She turned to
Brose. "Will you escort Miss Hogan to the cook's quarters so she can pack
her things? And please make sure she doesn't try to steal anything."
Cora followed the giant Brose Larkin to her rooms, still not
comprehending what had just happened to her.
Back in the kitchen, the family was relaxing and taking off their
coats, congratulating Shannon on her performance.
"I've wanted to fire Cora since the get-go," Shannon
declared. "Today was doubly sweet because we are rid of her mendacious
daughter as well."
"Let's all sit down for dinner now," Dana suggested.
"I'm starving."
Shannon shook her head. "Not on your life. I refuse to eat another
meal cooked by that woman. We can throw her food away - I won't even force it
on the dogs." She winked at Dana. "What do you say we whip up some
pasta and break out a dozen bottles of good Chianti wine?"
More to come this summer, so stay tuned!
