by Toombs, Jane
“Where are you going?” Henry asked.
Martha hesitated. “Out by Butchart Gardens,” she said at last. “Maybe you can tell me how to get on West SaanichRoad.”
“That's 17-A,” he said. “There's a map in the car.” He paused, then added, “You're sure you know what you're doing, miss?”
“I'll bring Sarah back with me,” she promised.
“Let me drive you, miss. It would be easier. Driving one-handed like you'll have to do, and shifting and all,” Henry said, shaking his head. “You'd better let me drive you, miss.”
“No, Henry,” Martha told him. “I have to go alone.”
At last Henry nodded, then led her past Cathleen's red car and a tarp-backed Land Rover—Mr. Drew's, Henry said—and Martha got into the sea-green Austin.
“Green's an unlucky color.” What a time for Josephine's words to echo in her ears?
Driving along the narrow private road toward the highway, Martha had little trouble shifting, despite her useless left arm, and she gained confidence as she drove. She followed the highway signs to 17-A, and once she was on West Saanich Road, she tried to find a landmark she recognized. But Jules had driven Sarah and her to Butchart Gardens in daylight, and the darkness made a difference.
Where was the scarlet bed of salvia? Had she passed it? There was no way to tell. Despite her concentration, she almost missed the Tod Inlet turnoff. Once she had made the turn, she drove as slowly as possible, afraid she wouldn't be able to see the mailbox, much less the name.
Her eyes burned and her neck ached with effort by the time she finally spotted the fluorescent letters, J.E. SMITHSON. Martha swung the car into the drive.
Her headlights illuminated a small gray-shingled house set among evergreens. As Martha shut off the engine, the door to the house opened and a figure came down the steps.
Martha rolled down her window. “Mrs. Smithson?” she called. “I'm Martha Jamison.”
The woman ran toward the car, around in front of the headlights, and Martha had a fragmentary impression of dark hair and eyes. She reached the driver's side and clung to the door.
“I'm May Smithson,” she said. “Thank God you came. Sarah and Jimmy aren't back. I'm so frightened.”
“Where were they going?” Martha asked.
“To find a kitten Sarah said she'd seen. I thought she meant out in the field behind the house, but I called and they haven't come.”
Martha looked into the black eyes so near hers and felt at a loss. “Is Sarah all right?” she asked.
“Yes, she's fine. Something had frightened her at home, someone with a crazy name, it started with Al—I don't remember the rest. ”
“Ahlmakoh?” Martha asked.
“That's it. But where are they, where's my Jimmy?”
Something flickered in Martha's mind. Kitten. A kitten.
“How near are we to Butchart Gardens?” she asked.
“Less than a mile. But you don't think...?”
“When we visited the gardens the other day there was a kitten in the arbor by the refreshment stand. Sarah was quite taken with it.”
“But that's a long way. And it's dark. Jimmy knows better—”
“Why don't you get in the car, May, and we'll drive over.”
“Oh, no, I don't think I'd better. What if they come back and no one's here? Besides—the gardens? They wouldn't be there—it costs money. I don't see how you can be right.”
“I'll go over, anyway, and look.”
“Oh, I wish Jim wasn't out on the boats,” May said. “I'm scared.”
May's fright spread over Martha like a fog. She started the engine, a sense of urgency making her heart beat faster. What if the children weren't at the gardens? Where would she look next? Had someone taken both the children?
Ahlmakoh? What did Sarah mean? Just that she was afraid of the unknown? The rest of the myth crept into Martha's mind. Ahlmakoh, the woods demon who devoured lost children.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Several of the double-decker tour buses, along with a sprinkling of private cars were parked in the lot outside Butchart Gardens. Martha remembered Jules saying the tourist season ended soon, and certainly there was no crowd that night. She parked and hurried toward the entrance. The arbor and the refreshment stand weren't far from there, as she recalled.
A young man in uniform stood at the stand, leaning on the counter and laughing with the woman inside.
“Have you seen a little girl—and a boy?” Martha asked. “They're six and eight. The girl has dark hair with a white streak in it.”
“No, miss, I haven't,” the man said.
“Wait—I think I might know who you mean,” the woman said. She leaned across the counter. “I saw two kids playing with one of the stray kittens that hang around for handouts. Seems to me they went up toward the house. I thought it was odd they were alone.”
“Did the girl have dark hair with a white streak?” Martha asked.
The woman shrugged. “I didn't notice that close. If you take this path--” she pointed “—you'll come to the house.”
Martha thanked her and hurried along the footpath with boxwood hedges on one side and hanging baskets of geraniums on the other. “Sarah?” she called, once, twice. There was no answer and she met no one. She saw the thin outline of a cypress above the roof of the rambling house and remembered the tree was part of the Italian Garden. The Rose Garden would be to her left. Would Sarah have gone to either of those?
Martha shook her head. Impossible to tell where Sarah might be. Was she wasting her time here? Surely May Smithson had been telling the truth—or had she?
Suddenly uneasy, Martha glanced behind her along the walk. Still, she reassured herself, May hadn't mentioned Butchart Gardens at all—that had been her own idea.
Sarah had said something about a favorite place there— hadn't it been the Japanese Garden? Martha remembered the girl jumping from one stone to another across the creek. Where was the Japanese section? Past the Italian Garden somewhere.
As Martha started down a path that seemed to lead toward the cypress, lights glared in her eyes. She recalled Jules telling her that the lights were arranged for maximum effect if one went through the gardens following a designated path. She must be heading backward, against the lights.
“Sarah!” she called.
She skirted the lily pond, then hurried through the Italian Garden, past the Frog Fountain, and saw the Japanese Garden bridge from the top of a flight of steps.
Martha paused and looked down, shielding her eyes against the lights. Had she heard a child laugh?
“Sarah?”
Silence.
“Jimmy?”
“What?” The boy's voice came faintly.
Martha sucked in her breath and started down the stairs.
“It's Martha,” she shouted. “Don't be afraid, Sarah.”
When she reached the lacquered bridge, she turned her back to the lights and looked about her. After a moment, a small figure slipped from behind a clump of bamboo and approached.
“Martha?”
“Oh, Sarah, is it really you?”
The girl began to run, then flung herself at Martha, grasping her tightly. But then Sarah let go and raised her head as though listening. Quickly she glanced about her.
“Did he know you were coming?” Sarah asked.
“Who?” Martha asked, her heart sinking. Who else could Sarah mean except Jules?
Sarah didn't answer, continuing to look all around. “It's okay, Jimmy, you can come out,” she said at last.
Jimmy came from between rhododendron bushes; he was a dark-haired boy not much larger than Sarah. “I heard someone coming,” he said.
Sarah clutched at Martha's hand, tugging at her, urging her toward the clump of bamboo. “That's a good place to hide,” she said.
“But who are you afraid of?” Martha asked.
“Him,” Sarah said, her eyes on the stairs.
Martha followed her gaze and saw a figure outlin
ed against the lights at the top.
“He saw us,” Jimmy hissed. “We gotta run for it.”
Sarah dropped Martha's hand and darted away to follow Jimmy, who was already running. They headed deeper into the gardens, and as Martha hurried after them, she tried to recall where the path led. Through the Rose Garden? Then where?
She looked behind her and saw that the figure was halfway down the stairs. A man? Some of Sarah's urgency filled her, and she increased her pace, running, calling to the children to wait.
She passed hedges, flower beds, trees, all with the lights glaring at her, traveling backward along the night-tour route, heading—where?
A sign loomed to her right: THIS WAY TO THE SUNKEN GARDEN. And that was at the base of the old quarry. Somewhere soon she should come to Ross Fountain— “magnificent at night,” Jules had said. Was he behind her this very moment?
Martha caught up to Sarah and took her hand.
“What are you afraid of?” she asked, but the girl didn't answer, just hurried on. Jimmy ran ahead.
They passed a group of people headed in the opposite direction. Martha could hear the muted roar of the fountain before they rounded the last turn and saw the colored lights. Another group led by a uniformed tour driver was just leaving the rail where they had gazed down at columns of water reaching seventy feet into the air, changing sequence as the multicolored lights played against the spray.
“Come on,” Sarah said. “We can't stop. He—”
“Well, you two, you've led me a merry chase!” Not Jules's voice.
Martha turned still holding on to Sarah, and saw Matthew Drew. Jimmy was nowhere in sight.
“I worried about your driving alone with that broken collarbone,” Matthew said as he came up to them. “Why didn't you ask me to help? And Sarah—scaring us all for no very good reason, I'll wager.”
Martha glanced at Sarah, who was staring at the ground. The girl didn't answer but slumped against Martha as if exhausted.
“I—didn't have time to ask for help,” Martha said, trying to see Matthew's expression clearly. “How did you know where I was?”
“Henry told me you'd taken the Austin to Butchart Gardens,” he said, “and I saw the car in the parking lot when I got here. Why on earth is Sarah here? How did you know...?”
“There was a phone call,” Martha said slowly. “Sarah was visiting Jimmy Smithson—you know, Bill Wong's grandson.”
Matthew squatted and tried to peer into Sarah's face, but she buried it against Martha's side. Martha felt the child tremble.
“You frightened us all,” Matthew said to Sarah. “Why did you run off?”
Sarah didn't answer.
“She's exhausted,” Martha said. “And no wonder, with all the--”
“I'll carry her,” Matthew said, and scooped Sarah up into his arms before Martha could agree or disagree.
She tried to see Sarah's reaction but could not. “ There’s someone else with us,” Martha said to Matthew.
“Who?” His voice was sharp.
“Jimmy Smithson. He was with Sarah.”
“Why don't you find him?” Matthew said. “I'll take this tired little girl back to Black Tor while you drop Jimmy off at his house.”
Sarah raised her head from Matthew's shoulder and Martha saw that the child's eyes were wide and staring, her face rigid with fear.
Of Matthew?
Martha hesitated, unsure. Why would Sarah fear Matthew, her Uncle Matthew who told her all the Indian legends about Ahlmakoh and Shishchuikul, the demons of the woods and mountains?
“I saw you,” Sarah said to Matthew, her voice high and thin. “You put that paper on the whale. And you looked up and saw me on the stairs and you said a bad word and you scared me like that time in the woods when Josephine fell off the cliff, and then you told me it was Ahlmakoh, only it wasn't—it was you—so I hid in the attic and I tore your card up because I didn't like you anymore.
After I came down I heard the noise and I saw Jo and Martha and the whale all broken, and you tried to catch me and so I ran away.”
“Let her go! Let her go!” Jimmy erupted from the darkness and flung himself against Matthew, kicking and hitting.
Instantly Sarah began to struggle in Matthew's grasp and squirmed free, only to fall sprawling on the cement. She cried out once, then lay still.
Crouched over Sarah, Martha stared up at Matthew. “Get some help!” she demanded.
“Not likely,” he said. He bent over and picked up Sarah's limp form.
Martha rose to her feet, stunned by what had happened, by the realization of what Sarah had seen him do.
Matthew was responsible for the whale falling on Josephine. And for the other “accidents”? Had he shot Bill Wong? Killed Simon?
“Let me have Sarah,” she said, her voice choked.
Matthew laughed.
Jimmy! she thought. Without turning her head, she shouted, “Run, Jimmy, run for help!” She took a step toward Matthew.
Matthew moved to the railing and leaned over, holding Sarah poised above the empty space. “Cooperate and I won't drop her,” he said. “And no use yelling for the boy—I fixed him.” He jerked his head to the left, and Martha saw Jimmy's body beside the path. Was he dead?
If only someone would come. But no one knew where they were.
“Don't—please don't!” Martha begged. “She's only a little girl.”
“Ah, but whose little girl?” Matthew asked. He shifted Sarah in his arms.
“Oh, no, please—I’ll do anything you say,” Martha begged.
He looked at her. “If you agree to come with me back to the car and not scream or do anything to attract attention, I’ll bring Sarah back with us.”
“ What will you do then?”
His smile was more a grimace. “You’ll have to take your chances, won’t you?” As he spoke, he moved back from the rail and she saw him slip something into his pocket, a gun? Bill Wong had been shot…
“I’ll come quietly if you don’t hurt Sarah.” She said.
The journey was a nightmare through the beauties of the Sunken Garden, the trees and plants like growths from another planet. Since they were still going the wrong way, the lights were blinding. Numb with fright, she struggled to think clearly. They passed nobody and she realized it must be getting too late to start another tour.
Martha glanced at Matthew from time to time. Had that been a gun he’d put in his pocket?
“You’re wondering about me,” he said as they passed beds of blue ageratum and blazing salvia. “You’re asking why?” He laughed. “Why do you think?”
Martha swallowed, pushing a word past the dryness in her throat. “Money.”
“Of course.”
“But—Simon?” she asked.
“I paid Simon to report to me. Then he found out about Sarah. An accident. The old man didn’t mean to let Simon know. After that I couldn’t afford to have Simon around. He might tell someone else who Sarah was. So I poisoned him. Quite easily. He popped pills, as the saying goes. Capsules, actually. So I emptied his capsules and refilled them.”
Matthew’s pace began to slow, s he noted a hedge along the left side and tried to recall if that meant they were nearing the parking lot . He kept her ahead of him, so she had no chance to try for his gun, if that’s what was in his pocket.
“You don’t ask what I learned about Sarah,” Matthew said. “I shall tell you just the same. She’s Josephine’s illegitimate daughter.”
“Josephine? But—”
“Of course Josephine doesn’t realize this. She has no memory of that time in her life ” , Matthew went on . “When I discovered this, I knew Sarah must be gotten rid of, as well as her mother. Too bad—I like children.”
Martha shuddered. Jimmy’s crumpled body back by the fountain and Sarah so nearly over the edge there. How could Matthew say he liked children?
Matthew’s step slowed still more and Martha knew he was tiring. Sarah’s unconscious body had to be heav
y. She edged slightly closer to him. “Í thought Jules got all the money if anything happened to Josephine.”
“No.” Matthew spoke with some effort. “Natalie. Money reverts to Natalie. Norman’s idea of playing fair. And poor Natalie is not well.”
A shiver traveled down Martha’s spine. “Did you shoot Bill Wong?”
“The bastard tried to blackmail me. Saw me on the cliff with you. Remember Josephine almost going over. Saw me then like Sarah did. Asked for money the other day.” Matthew stopped walking.
Should she run? If he did have a gun, would he shoot? But he still had Sarah…
“Time for you to carry Sarah.” As he spoke to thrust the girl at her and she sagged under the girl’s dead weight. “We’re almost to the car.” He pulled a gun from his pocket.
“We’ll use the Land Rover.” He said. “You need to remember that if you yell for help I’ll see the two of you dead before they get me.” He stepped behind Martha again. As they came around the final curve in the path, a woman came toward them.
“Remember,” Matthew said softly.
“I see you found the little girl,” the woman said, and Martha recognized her as the one from the refreshment stand.
“Yes,” she said.
“How about the boy?” the woman persisted.
“Oh, he—he's gone,” Martha said.
Then they were in the lot. The tour buses had left, and the Austin and Land Rover sat side by side. Matthew led her toward his vehicle.
Someone opened the door of the Austin as they approached. Matthew froze.
“I've been waiting for you,” May Smithson said to Martha. “I just couldn't stay—”
Martha wrenched herself away from Matthew and agonizing pain tore into her shoulder as she thrust Sarah at May.
“Run!” Martha screamed. “He's trying to kill her. Run!” Then she turned and threw her whole weight against Matthew.
He struggled with her, trying to push her aside, but Martha clung to him as long as she could, until at last he flung her against the side of the Land Rover. She couldn't catch herself and fell heavily to the asphalt. Shouting and screaming filled her head as the blackness closed in. Her last thought was the fear that May hadn't managed to get Sarah away.
