“Can we go?” Charlie begged.
“No,” said his mother. “You can stay home and do your homework, which you were supposed to finish Friday night and never touched.”
“I was showing respect for Aunt Jen and Uncle Madoc.”
“They weren’t here then,” Ed reminded him.
“You think you know everything, don’t you?”
“Well, I know something,” Bert thundered. “There’s to be no fighting at this table. Either you two straighten up and fly right or take your suppers out to the pigsty and eat with the rest of the hogs. Hand your aunt the biscuits and try to act halfway civilized for a change.”
“Yes, Dad,” said Charlie with temporary meekness. “You want a biscuit, Aunt Jen?”
“Thank you.” Janet didn’t, particularly, but she knew better than to interfere with Bert’s efforts to civilize the fruit of his loins. “Where’s Marion Emery these days? I haven’t seen her all weekend. Don’t tell me she’s started living off her own cooking?”
“No, she still freeloads when she’s around,” Annabelle replied, “but she’s got a new wrinkle. She’s bought herself an old flivver and gone into the antique business, peddling odds and ends out of the Mansion at the weekend flea markets. She’s not doing too badly at it, either. Marion’s shrewd, you know. Besides, it gives her an excuse to get away from Pitcherville. She’s finding it a lot duller being Lady of the Manor than she thought she would.”
“It’ll be even duller with Jase Bain in the cooler, I expect,” Janet observed. “Weren’t they a red-hot twosome there for a while?”
“Oh, that blew over once Jase found out Marion’s almost as crafty as he is. He was all set to marry her, or claimed he was, till he found out she had no intention of giving him a clear title to the house no matter what. Marion had just been stringing him along, of course, till something better showed up. She’s got this antique dealer on the string now, though frankly I think it’s that horsehair parlor set of Mrs. Treadway’s he’s really in love with.”
“Good luck to the pair of ’em,” Bert grunted. “Pass the butter, Ed.”
“You didn’t say the magic word, Pop.”
“Oh cripes. Please. How do you like that, my own kids teaching me manners.”
“That’s what comes of overcivilizing them,” said Janet. “What’s new at school, fellows?”
The conversation flowed agreeably and more or less peaceably while Madoc, who’d always tended to get out-shouted at family gatherings anyway, sat and pondered over his soup. Janet looked to be in excellent fettle. Rest and her family were doing her good; he’d been right to bring her here. He hoped he wasn’t about to give her a setback by taking her to view Buddy McLumber’s corpse. The coffin would assuredly be open; Pitchervilleites would tolerate none of this newfangled nonsense about not getting to see how natural he looked.
He’d just have to stick to her like paper to a wall. That shouldn’t be too hard. Madoc finished his biscuit and allowed his sister-in-law to serve him a sliver of mince pie. It was venison mincemeat, the venison supplied by Sam Neddick. Where, when, and how Sam had bagged the deer was a question that never got asked. Madoc finished his sliver—all forty-five degrees of it—and drank his tea. He and Bert got the kitchen put to rights and the boys settled around the table with their schoolbooks while the women rested. By then it was getting on for seven o’clock and time to leave for the funeral parlor.
It did cross Madoc’s mind that because of the unexpected development at Bain’s, the meeting in the woods, and the frailty of human flesh, he’d never got back to Bull Moose Portage as he’d planned. There’d be no point in going tonight. Armand Bergeron would surely be involving himself with Buddy McLumber’s funeral, for the credit of his reputation as well as his family connection with the McLumbers through his wife. Perhaps they’d have a chance to talk down at Pott’s, or at least make an appointment for tomorrow.
As they were getting their coats on, he murmured to his wife, “Jenny, this may be rough on you. I don’t know what could happen down there.”
“Don’t worry, Madoc. I’ll be all right as long as you’re with me.”
There was only one answer to that. Madoc was making it until Bert yelled, “For Christ’s sake save a little of that for later. Let’s get this show on the road.”
The Wadman farm was just two miles out from the village, on a considerable rise. “Remember how Daddy used to tell us how he tobogganed the whole length of the road when he was a boy?” Janet remarked as they were going down the hill.
“He sure as hell wouldn’t want to try it tonight,” Bert grunted. “I haven’t seen such a mob since the day we buried Doc Druffitt. Looks to me as if we’d be better off to park around by Fred Olson’s place and walk the rest of the way. Think you can make it, Jen, or shall I drop you and Belle off at Potts’s first?”
“If you don’t grab the space while you can, somebody else will beat you to it. I can manage all right, if you don’t expect me to walk too fast.”
“You couldn’t if you wanted to,” said Annabelle as they left the car and joined the throng. “Everybody and his grandfather’s out here tonight, from the look of it. I suppose there’s nothing worth watching on television. Well, maybe it will be some gratification to that poor boy’s mother that her son got such a big turnout. I suppose I ought to have taken her something this afternoon.”
“I don’t see why, Annabelle,” said Janet. “You don’t know her all that well, and I’m sure everybody in Bigears has been deluging her with cakes and pies. Why don’t you have her over to tea some day, with Cecile Bergeron and maybe a couple more? Not right away, but later on when she needs something to take her mind.”
“That’s a good idea. Of course Marion Emery will crash the party unless she’s off flea-marketing, but that’s no tragedy. Marion can be fairly good company now that she’s not whining around all the time. Some of the stories she tells about the people she meets are downright laughable, though I suppose I shouldn’t be thinking about laughing just now. Watch out here, Janet, it’s slippery.”
“I’ve got her,” said Madoc, as indeed he had.
He was wondering how they were ever going to make their way into the jammed funeral parlor and accomplish whatever purpose Sam had got them down for, but he might have known Sam would have the situation well in hand. Somehow or other, a path was opened and a chair found for Janet. Annabelle didn’t want one; she was over comforting the grieving mother and all the Grouses and McLumbers with whom she was in any degree acquainted. Bert, having paid his respects, got off into a corner with some of his lodge buddies. Madoc stayed with his wife, effacing himself as he well knew how and curious to see when it, whatever it might be, was going to happen.
Sam didn’t keep him waiting long. The odd-job man had collared three or four of the men Madoc recalled having seen through his peephole at the rear of the lean-to. He was edging them over toward Janet’s chair, maneuvering them around so Madoc could get a good look at their faces. Madoc, pretending to be absorbed in a chat Janet was having with one of her former schoolmates, reached down and took a firm grip on her hand.
The men were swapping hunting stories. One of them was in full cry, with Sam egging him on. “So then this city feller seen the bear. Before I could stop ‘im, he drew a bead on ’er an’ landed a shot in the shoulder. The bear dropped down behind some bushes an’ the damn crazy bugger run up to ’er without even makin’ sure she was dead.”
Janet’s hand bit frantically into Madoc’s. Her face went dead-white. He bent over her. “It’s all right, darling. Come on, we’ll get you out of here.”
She wet her lips. “Madoc, that’s—”
“Yes, I know. Sam will understand. Don’t you worry about a thing. Perhaps your friend would do us a great favor and round up Bert and Annabelle. Would you mind, Virginia? Tell them Janet’s not feeling well and we’ve had to leave. We’ll meet them back at the car. Nice to have met you.”
He knew better than to s
uggest having Janet wait till he brought the car around. What she needed was space between herself and the man whose voice she’d just recognized: the man who’d wanted to make sure she, like the bear, was dead.
Chapter 19
“IT WAS JUST THAT he used the same identical words as when he was talking about m-me.”
“I’m sorry, darling.” Madoc had both arms around her. Even with two thick coats between them, he could feel her shivering. “I couldn’t warn you in advance because it wouldn’t have been such a positive identification.”
“I understand, Madoc. I’ll be all right. But you are going to take him in?”
“Oh yes. He won’t get another chance at you, never fear. He hasn’t the faintest idea who you are, you know.”
“Yes, I realize that. How could he? He never laid eyes on me. He thought I’d been—”
“But you weren’t, because you’re a brave and clever little Jenny.”
“And you’ve got brave and clever Sam Neddick back there running the show for you.” Janet was getting herself back under control. “You primed him for that, didn’t you?”
“Since when did Sam need any priming? I told him the story, yes, and that was all it took. Sam’s as good as a commando unit without even trying. Ah, here come Bert and Annabelle.”
“Do they know?”
“Bert does. Annabelle hasn’t a clue, I hope.”
Janet had just time to say, “I’ll watch my step,” when they were up to her, full of anxious questions.
“It’s just that I got this awful cramp in my thigh from sitting on that darned tin chair of Ben’s,” she lied gallantly. “I knew if I didn’t get out of there fast, you’d have to carry me feet first.”
“You want to stay here and I’ll bring the car around?” her brother was asking.
“No, it feels better when I keep moving. I expect it was partly the heat and the crowd in there. Remember, Annabelle, the time you took the kink in your leg at the church concert while you were expecting Charlie?”
Annabelle remembered, and that took care of any further conversation until they got back to the car. Once they got her stretched out on the back seat with a lap robe over her legs and the rest of her propped up against Madoc, Janet was comfortable enough. As soon as they got her home, Annabelle insisted on helping Janet upstairs and putting her to soak in a hot tub with Epsom salts. Madoc didn’t try to interfere. Fussing and coddling were just what Janet needed at this point, and maybe Annabelle needed the doing of it. He’d known there was a close tie between his wife and her only brother; he hadn’t realized until now that Bert’s wife loved Janet, too.
The three boys were still at it around the kitchen table. Young Bert was explaining something to Ed out of a math book. Charlie was writing a paper, his tongue stuck out to assist the labor. Bert asked Madoc if he’d like to go along to check the cows.
Madoc didn’t mind. He found it pleasant out there among the friendly smells of cows and hay, with Julius the cat rubbing around under his feet, hoping he’d squeeze a handy teat and send a stream of fresh milk straight into a wide-open pink mouth. Madoc picked up the cat and tickled his jowls.
“Sorry, Julius, the milk train doesn’t run on Sundays. Bert, I suppose you’re curious to know what happened back there?”
“Well, I do know Jen’s not one to make a fuss. What got into her all of a sudden?”
Madoc told him.
“Big fellow in the red-and-black shirt, eh? That’d be Jelly Grouse. Short for Jellicoe. Can’t say I’m too surprised. He always was kind of a bad apple. Got kicked out of school for swiping the principal’s car and wrapping it around a tree, blind drunk on bootleg whiskey.”
“Has he ever done time?”
“I shouldn’t be surprised. He disappeared for a few years. Don’t think anybody missed him much, not even his mother.”
“How long has he been back?”
“Cripes, I couldn’t tell you that. Sam could, no doubt. He set Jelly up for you tonight, eh? I wondered why you were so all-fired anxious to go mourning for a kid you’d never laid eyes on till last night.”
“It did occur to me that Pierre Dubois’s little troop of happy warriors might furnish a convenient cover for somebody actually bent on more serious business. It also occurred to me that only somebody pretty well acquainted with the Bergerons would think to steal the old bull box. And it further crossed my mind that the reason Eyeball Grouse was so damned obfuscating during our interview might have been that he was afraid some of his own tribe were involved in that hijacking. Now it looks as if he had good reason to worry. What relation is he to Jelly, do you know?”
“Hell no. The way that bunch interbreed out there, they could be each other’s grandfathers. Whatever he is, I can see where Jelly might put Eyeball in a ticklish position. What are you planning to do about it, Madoc?”
“Sam hasn’t told me yet. Can you tell me, with all respect to yourself, why a man of Sam’s capacities ever wound up as somebody else’s hired hand?”
Bert shrugged. “Easy enough, I guess. You ever read that poem of Robert W. Service’s, ‘The Men That Don’t Fit In’? That’s Sam. He can’t stand being tied down too tight, and he’d rather tend to anybody else’s business than his own. I tell him he ought to write his life’s history, but he says what’s the use? Nobody would believe it.”
“Probably not,” said Madoc, “and possibly with good reason. Furthermore, I doubt whether he can write. In any event, he’s doing valuable work for me right now. Have you any suggestions on how I might repay him?”
“Hell, don’t fret yourself over it. If I know Sam, he’s having the time of his life. Give him a slap on the back, eh, and buy him a fancy plaid shirt to go girlin’ in. Sam’s hell on wheels with the women, you know, or thinks he is. I noticed him eyeing Bud McLumber’s mother Nella down at Ben’s. Shouldn’t be surprised if he winds up comforting the afflicted, once the shouting’s over. He’s got a weakness for pudgy blondes.”
“As I recall, he had one for rangy brunettes a while back.”
“I expect these days he takes what he can get. You in for the night, then?”
“No, I wish I were. Sam has a theory Badger will come home to roost tonight and we thought we might drop over and pay him a visit. Which reminds me, I asked Fredericton to run a check on him, and they haven’t called back. Are you still on a party line?”
“No, they changed us over just last week. I’m surprised Belle didn’t mention that. It’s meant a few busted hearts around town, I can tell you. Maw Fewter has to get her kicks out of the soap operas now, and she says they’re damn dull by comparison. Go ahead and make your call.”
“I’ll reverse the charges,” Madoc promised.
They went back to the house, Julius tagging sulkily at their Heels. “All right, Gander-Gut.” Bert went to the refrigerator and took out a piece of leftover chicken. “Couldn’t one of you kids have fed this critter?”
“I did,” said Charlie.
“Me, too,” said Ed.
“So did Mum,” said Young Bert. “You ought to know what a con artist he is, Dad.”
“Let’s get Uncle Madoc to run him in,” Charlie suggested. Julius merely gave him a look, finished off the chicken, and set about grooming his handsome whiskers:
Julius, it appeared, was not the only con artist Madoc might have occasion to confront tonight. The man who called himself Badger—and Beaver—and Bearhound— and occasionally Bandicoot—had a record longer than a pickpocket’s fingers. Both civilian and military police in an impressive number of places all over the North American continent were eager to extend him the hospitality of their maximum security facilities. There were even several rewards out for his apprehension.
Madoc could hardly claim any of these, but he saw no reason why Sam Neddick and Fred Olson couldn’t. When last seen, Fred had been down by Ben Potts’s, trying to unscramble the mess of traffic. One might question how helpful Fred would be when it came to arresting anybody as vicious and r
esourceful as Badger had shown himself to be under a staggering variety of circumstances. It could, however, be argued that Fred had already served the cause by keeping Badger’s car in good repair and thus lulling him into a state of relaxed vigilance.
So Madoc went upstairs to kiss his wife good night, kissed Annabelle, too, for good measure although in a respectful, brother-in-lawish manner, and went downstairs to wait for Sam Neddick. By now it was getting on for nine o’clock and he didn’t have long to linger before Sam manifested himself in the doorway like the Ghost of Nixon Hollow, beckoning him out to the woodshed.
“You ready, Inspector?”
“Whenever you are, but don’t you want some supper first?”
“Nope. Miz Potts fed an’ drunk me, such as ’twas. Badger’s come back.”
“How do you know? Don’t tell me he dropped by Potts’s to pay his respects?”
“Close enough as made no nevermind. Fred seen ’im down on Queen Street. Said he come back ’cause he got to worryin’ about the house.” Psychic, beyond a doubt. “He stopped to ask what the crowd was doin’ there, an’ sent his sympathy to the mother. You find out anything?”
“Quite a lot. I ought to warn you, Sam, the man’s a killer.”
“Don’t s’prise me none. How’s Janet feelin’?”
“Better. She got a rather bad shock back there. You were right about Jellicoe Grouse.”
“Ayup. He won’t be goin’ nowheres till after the funeral. You can pick ’im up tomorrow easy enough. We might as well git movin’. Badger didn’t mention how long he was plannin’ to worry. You want to take Fred along?”
“If you think we can keep him from getting shot. I’d rather, actually. Since he’s acquainted with Badger, he’d probably have better luck getting him to open the door.” And thus assure his fair share of the reward money. Fred still had two in college. “Do you think we can pry him away from downtown?”
“Sure. Most of the mourners have gone home by now. Hockey game’s on at nine.”
A Dismal Thing To Do Page 16
