A shiver went down my spine. I had let evil into our house. Yet instead of feeling depressed and upset, I was suddenly angry. "We have to find out who did this, Edgar. I think we'll have our murderer as well. A strong suspect is Nat's own father, I'm afraid to say. His mother's in a wheelchair, so that counts her out. However, Mr. Ryeburn—not only is he a strange, menacing man, he spent a long time abusing Nathaniel. And from what I remember in Nat's writings, it indicated pretty strongly that he could be this mysterious partner."
"He did bring us Angel, though. Why would he come to our house with a dog? Wouldn't that start us thinking?" I was glad to hear Langford's voice. He must be thawing, I hoped.
"I suppose so. But maybe it was one way of watching me. Or maybe his wife truly did insist. Maybe SHE was trying to send us a message."
Edgar tapped the table again, nervously, fidgeting, unable to decide what to do. "OK, listen. Don't do anything stupid. Sit tight. I appreciate your thinking about this, but Emily, do not get involved. I will have to consult with some of the Ottawa people tomorrow for sure. But I'll start with someone I know and trust, to see what they think I should do." He heaved a huge sigh and stood up. "Emily, I wish you'd done this differently, but I do understand. I know why Nat respected and admired you, and you wanted to protect his privacy. You couldn't have known what you'd find." He patted my hand, looking up at Langford, as if sensing that he was still angry. "However, once you did know, I wish you'd trusted me enough to tell me."
"It was nothing to do with trust or lack of, Ed," I protested, knowing Will was hearing me too. "I just couldn't believe what I was reading. I didn't honestly know if it really was Nat or just somebody else with a sick sense of humour. And until last night, I wasn't positive it could have anything to do with Nat's murder." I turned to face Will. "But you're right. I should have told you from the beginning what I found in the basement that day."
Edgar patted my hand again. "Let's get you safe for now. I'll help you board up the window, Langford."
Using leftover wood still stocked in our garage from our most recent renovations, Edgar and Langford nailed us in tightly and, I thought, even more safely than before. Their hammering seemed to ring out over the calm, dark lake, and I worried about everyone hearing and being more frightened than they probably were. But I couldn't move. I sat still and frozen at the table, my mind slow and empty.
Eventually Edgar came in to say good-bye. He'd be in touch tomorrow. I simply nodded without comment, too miserable to reply as he disappeared out the door.
"Emily..."
"I know, I know. Please, Will. Don't say anything right now. I know I was wrong. But I can't deal with that at this moment. Please just wait until I can talk about it. Please." I put my head on my arms, expecting Will to walk away at my angry outburst. He didn't, though. Instead he leaned over, his head next to mine, his long hands covering mine.
"It's okay," he whispered. "I was just scared and worried. We'll work this out together. Let's go to bed and hold each other, darling. We'll clean up tomorrow and arrange for a new window and all that when we can see the light of day." And so once again, I slept in Will's arms, gathering strength in his touch and support, until we woke to the early sunlight and Angel's wet kisses.
Chapter 16
There seemed to be an unspoken bond created during the night, which held us up that day. Arranging for the replacement of the window, cleaning up the debris from the vandalism, writing the newsletter for the school, all of it we accomplished together, standing close by one another, our bodies touching gently and often. Our little dog watched us carefully, as if afraid to leave us on our own. Strength began to pour back into my soul and mind.
Edgar rang the doorbell about 2:30, just as the window company had begun their task. The living room had been cleared of debris and vacuumed twice. All broken objects had been tossed away. No remembrance of the vandalism remained other than the two heads stuck in the hole, hammering away any vestiges of broken glass, measuring and muttering to each other. My schoolwork had been accomplished. I had emailed the newsletter to the Education Centre, as well as a message to the staff.
Ed sat with Will and me in the kitchen. All three of us had a cold beer, our nerves needing sustenance.
"Ottawa isn't going to be happy. My contact says we need to let them know right away. Delaying will just appear strange. I will call when I leave here. It may be a double standard, Em, but my friend thinks it will help enormously that you are the school principal. She doesn't think they'll seriously see you as some kind of suspect."
Will's hand tightened in mine. Suspect. I had never thought we'd hear these words again. I began to wish fervently that I had never told them about the diary. No one would have had a clue what was missing. Except whoever took it, I reminded myself. For once I decided to keep my mouth shut. I had learned the hard way how to harden my tell tale face—how to prevent every single emotion and thought from beaming right out of my eyes—but sometimes my mouth still got the better of me.
The beer tasted wonderful, so cold and bubbly and relaxing, that it called for another. Edgar didn't seem in any hurry to leave, nor did he appear to be worried about drinking on the job, so I threw a plate of crackers and cheese together and we went outside. The sky was once again perfect, the air fresh and warm without a trace of humidity. We sat on the large chairs at the edge of the lake, I dipping my feet in the water, and talked of Nathaniel, the school, about Burchill and what would happen now that our peace had been disturbed.
Edgar had some wonderful stories of past indiscretions by the ancestors of the town. He swore the tales were true, passed down orally by the villagers and their relatives. Not once did Edgar's phone ring to disturb our afternoon. Not once did he demonstrate the disappointment he must still feel toward me. We were interrupted only once when the workers came to tell us they'd finished the window and Will went to pay them.
Our little bay was a tiny cove cut into Ogeechee Lake almost as though it were an afterthought. The narrow section between the shores was not friendly to boats. On an afternoon like this one, you would think it was our own private beach. Rarely did people intrude on the peace, other than some of our neighbours who might walk this way for an occasional swim. You had to be Burchill-born to even want to swim here, though. Besides crossing through the mucky sand to the deeper areas, you had to wade through a web of weeds that brushed your arms and legs and grabbed at your toes. If you were courageous enough to get through this part though, you were rewarded with golden water that left your skin silky and your body replenished.
In the sunshine on this day, I was content to lie back in my chair, sipping on beer, joining in pleasant conversation, and watch the wind tease the water into little pools or the sunlight dancing on the brown curves of the lake. Once in a while a little fish would jump or a water spider would sprint over the surface. I could almost forget Nathaniel Ryeburn had lived and died in violence.
Complete forgetting was not to be, however. As Edgar parted company to walk through the village to his office, he put his hand on my shoulder. "Emily, I'll call to let you know what Ottawa wants me to do. You two aren't planning to go anywhere tonight, are you?"
I shivered, wrapping my arms around myself. Edgar had no idea how devastating his innocent words were to my bruised heart and ragged memory. "Nope, definitely not. We're spending a quiet evening at home. If they want to see me tomorrow, that's not a problem either. I've got some schoolwork to do and some parents to call. Other than that, well, I'm kind of on an early vacation, as you know."
He nodded briefly and went on his way. I watched his tall, lumbering figure cover the ground in quick, smooth strides until he disappeared behind the house. Will came over and put his arms around me.
I buried my head in his shirt, smelling his aftershave and the salt of his perspiration. "I'm so sorry, my darling."
"It's all right, Em. When I think about it, I can understand what you did completely. After all, you had no idea what you would find in
that diary. You couldn't have ever guessed what lay inside Nathaniel Ryeburn." His voice was soft in my ear, as comforting as the lap of the water on the shore. "Let's go upstairs and forget about all of this for a while."
We walked hand in hand upstairs, Angel trailing at our feet only until the first step, whereupon she turned toward the kitchen, undoubtedly to scout out the food in her dish. We took off our clothes without ceremony and climbed into comfortable silky sheets, the duvet thrown over the foot of the bed.
I felt sorry for those who, like Nathaniel Ryeburn, never feel the touch of real love. On that afternoon, Will's fingers traced every line of my body, a map he was familiar with yet managed to infuse with the enthusiasm of a new explorer. His lips were soft and gentle, nudging me to the oblivion of excitement, tingling everywhere with pleasure, unable to think any dark thoughts. In fact, I had no thoughts at all. I became physical only. Every part of me invested in response to his movements, his touches, his kisses.
In turn, I hand painted his body with the tips of my fingers, going over the golden and silver hairs that covered his chest and arms and legs. We gave each other the gift of this touching for a long time before we were unable to hold back the rush of desire, crushing together as if we could melt into one being. When we were completely connected, Will used his hips and his hands to bring me to an explosion so profound that I cried out. Wave after wave consumed me as I felt him pour into me, shuddering together. Our bodies were sheathed in sweat but still we clung to one another, not wanting to separate.
The late afternoon sun kept us warm and comforted as we pulled apart, hands still linked, each now in our different worlds with our own thoughts. I was to be forever grateful for this lovemaking. I believed it kept me sane throughout the next few days of fear and horror. The telephone's strident ring was what began everything all over again.
Chapter 17
Constables Petapiece and Ducek sat in Edgar's office at the back of the OPP station. Once again, the traditional male/female roles had been assumed. Petapiece sat with a notebook as if she were a secretary, while Ducek sat behind the desk, his large white hands spread over the dark wood as if attempting to display the age-old colors of good and bad. They had lost their sympathy for the poor woman who'd found a dead body in her sacred space. They were now wondering if they had a clever liar in front of them.
Their stance annoyed me. I could feel my heart beginning to pound until I realized that this was likely their intention. I took several shallow but thorough breaths, straightened my skirt, and sat down. Edgar sat several feet away in his own chair. Not too close, I noticed, but enough for support to be implied. Will had insisted on being present. As a result of all the people in the room, Edgar's small office was cramped and hot. I could feel the sweat begin to crawl down my back.
"We have a few further questions, Mrs. Taylor, as you can probably imagine."
I simply nodded, remembering not to reply when unnecessary. I had learned my lessons well. "Please tell us about this diary." He said the word as though it were something filthy. Little knowing, I presumed, just how right he was.
As precisely as I could, I explained about finding the diary and Nathaniel's papers. I told them he'd made me promise to keep the stash secret. Until I read the diary, I'd had no idea of the horrors they contained. With as much detail as I could, I told them what secrets the diary had revealed. I told them about the brutality toward animals, the mysterious partner and the shadowy but unnamed 'business' in which Nat had been reluctantly involved. Throughout the story, Ducek's eyes never left mine, other than when I shifted to Will's. Whenever it seemed that somehow my husband was being drawn into the discussion, I deliberately avoided looking in his direction at all.
There was a deep silence in the room when I'd finished. Only the sound of Petapiece's scribbling to catch up with the narration interrupted the silence. I could hear the distant voices of the villagers, the occasional passing of a car, some laughter thrown in our direction by the breeze. Life carried on as usual outside these doors. I felt my body shiver in anticipation of life never being normal again in our side of Burchill.
"You can see how this looks to outsiders, Emily," Constable Ducek said softly. I wondered if he were including himself and his partner as outsiders or not. "You have admitted to stealing some papers from the scene of the crime."
"It's my school." I couldn't help the interruption. My words sounded haughty and defensive even to my ears.
"It's also currently the scene of a crime," he retorted, appropriately haughty and defensive in return. "Now someone has broken into your house and removed the evidence that might have assisted us in solving this crime. Again, to an outsider, it might look as though you are only telling us about the diary because it's now in someone else's hands. Maybe you were, and still are, trying to obstruct justice because you are the one who is responsible for Mr. Ryeburn's death." He held up his hand to withstand both my and Will's sputtering. "I know, that doesn't seem to make sense to any of us here, but if you were guilty of murder, you might be doing illogical things to cover up. Not that any one of us HERE thinks you are capable of such an act."
I wrapped my arms around myself, deliberately not looking at or touching my husband. It seemed as though history were about to repeat itself. Only this time, I was sitting in the chair of the accused. Though Ducek's last words were, I assumed, meant to be reassuring, I couldn't help but hear a touch of sarcasm, whether or not it was real.
Now Petapiece spoke, in soft tones that must've meant she was the good cop. "Mrs. Taylor, was there anything in the diary which might lead you to suggest someone who should be questioned again?"
I thought about that for a few moments, hesitating to put someone else in the spotlight. "I told you about how he mentioned that he was forced to join into some kind of partnership because there were some pictures that this person had. Nat feared the man would tell his mother everything. I thought at the time that maybe he was referring to his own father. Maybe he said his partner was one of the elite in Burchill because of his father's station as the bridgeman. But then I couldn't imagine Walter Ryeburn doing something like that to his own child."
Yet I remembered the scene with his wife, his cheerful and purposeful shaming of her in front of us. I thought of the murderous look he had given me when he brought Angel into our lives. I wondered, but didn't say any of this aloud.
Constable Ducek tapped his fingers on the desk, lost in thought. Will reached out and deliberately hung onto my hand. I am connected to you. Don't shut me out, he was saying. I squeezed back.
"Was there any hint about where this business is located?"
I shook my head. "Nothing clear, at least to the point I'd reached when the diary disappeared. He just said it was land outside of Burchill." Why didn't I tell them about the meagre details, the map? To this day, I don't really know. I only know that I was frightened and upset, that my mind was muddled, that I felt like a suspect.
The Constables gave each other a look, which appeared to speak volumes to one another.
"Okay, Emily, I guess that's it for now," Constable Ducek said. "As they say in the movies, just don't leave town, huh? We may have to pick at your memory of the diary in case we want to follow up. In the meantime, we'll question Mr. Ryeburn." He stood up and reached for my hand to shake it. "I do appreciate the fact that you finally told us about the diary and that you've shared its contents readily. I understand that you may have had no idea what you were taking when you removed the diary. But you must also understand that, should this investigation lead in any direction toward you," he shifted his gaze to Will, "or to Mr. Taylor, the fact that you removed it may be seen as a criminal act. That is, if it looks like obstruction of justice, or a cover-up for someone else, or any number of scenarios. I'm sure you appreciate the gravity of what I am telling you."
Constable Petapiece added, "As well, please ensure that everything you've told us here is kept strictly confidential."
I shook their hands and s
tood as well, nodding my head, not trusting myself to speak. Will shook hands too, saying good-bye warmly to Edgar, and we left. Out on the sidewalk, I let the trembling loose. Will wrapped his arms around me and hurried me to the car. We had no desire to walk around Burchill. The sunshine and clear air of a beautiful late spring afternoon had no effect on our dark mood. We both felt as if we had been plunged back into a hell that we had assumed was gone forever.
Chapter 18
When we arrived back home, we found another surprise waiting for us. Bill and Marjory Percival sat on the swing on the front porch, bundles of white foam packages resting on their knees. Bill stood up and smiled as we approached.
"Emily, Langford, hello! We thought you might need some sustenance. And don't worry, if you don't want company, Marj and I can disappear immediately."
I looked up at Will and we both seemed to have the same thought. Distraction and good food might prove an excellent antidote. I took some of the packages and put my arm around Marjory's waist. "This is wonderful, you guys. How did you know what we needed?"
"What about the Inn?"
"You are a thoughtful bunny, Langford. Don't worry, we've got good employees," Marj said, turning to smile up at my husband. "And we are close by!"
The evening was wonderful, especially after the angst of that afternoon's events. Marj and Bill had cooked up fabulous angel hair pasta, with a rose sauce, and thrown in all kinds of grilled vegetables and shrimp. Their famous house salad tasted as good as in the restaurant, accompanied by as many buns and butter as they had been able to carry.
We served bottles of our favourite wine until everything was funny and the laughter was loud and long. Bill told marvellous stories about bumbling reporters who had gone on wild goose chases all over the county. Television news personalities sat in the restaurant expecting everyone to recognize them and no one did. He regaled us with colourful tales about the villagers' hilarious responses to the intruders to Burchill. Although the topic was Nathaniel, it really wasn't. Bill and Marjory asked no questions, did not refer to the murder of the pony, and shared only the funny side effects of the invasion of our little town.
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