The Things We Said Today

by Lise McClendon

  * * *

  The arrival in late afternoon of the enormous truck carrying the portable bridge created a spectacle no one wanted to miss. Guests and staff stood in the yard, anxious with anticipation. Except the missing and the deceased, Merle noted. Where the hell was Bruno? And the old man had apparently vanished as well. The population on this side of the river was dwindling.

  The burly driver and his helper were accompanied by two black police vehicles. Three policemen conferred with the driver, pointing to the river, examining various spots for the crossing. The river wasn’t very wide to begin with and the narrowest spot was still where the old bridge had stood. At least that was Merle’s opinion. She’d never seen an eighteen-wheeler with a folded bridge on the back.

  When the truck had backed into position it began unfolding the bridge until it stood straight up twenty feet in the air, then one half unfolded, doubling the height. With some precise maneuvering they lowered the entire thing across the stream bed. It only took an hour and they were freed from isolation at last.

  Merle took Pascal’s hand and squeezed it. The news she’d gotten from Stasia about their father seemed bad but she couldn’t quite focus on it. A pacemaker? That was routine, wasn’t it? Francie stood fresh from her shower with wet hair in the afternoon sunshine, cradling a glass of wine. Elise and Annie made quick appearances then wandered off, not as fascinated by heavy machinery as the middle sister. Gunni stood by the barn for a while then went back to his sheep. Only Jinty and Mrs. MacKeegan stood nearby watching, mouths agape.

  The three policemen were first over the bridge. One was dressed in a black suit, the other two in uniform. The plain-clothes cop was older, a round, cheerful-looking type with thinning reddish hair. Pascal stepped up to introduce himself. He waved the caretaker over then and told the policeman her name.

  “DI Grassie, miss,” the inspector said, shaking Jinty’s hand. “We haven’t met, eh?”

  Jinty frowned. “No sir.” She turned to introduce the cook at her side.

  Grassie spoke first. “Hullo then, auntie.” He looked at the others. “Mrs. MacKeegan is my mother’s sister, isn’t that right.”

  The cook flushed. “Hullo, Duff.” She sucked a lip. “I mean, Mr. Grassie.”

  He smiled. “So this weather. Quite a kerfuffle all over. And what’s this I hear about an accident?”

  The two women looked paralyzed. The inspector looked at Pascal.

  “The housekeeper, Miss Vanora Petrie,” the Frenchman said as if reading a police report. “We found her in that small lake early this morning. She is deceased.” They all looked at the back-door puddle, much smaller than in the early morning. “It was wider and about a half-meter deep. We tried to save her but could not.”

  One of the uniformed cops, a dark-haired man with a thin, serious face, began to squirm. DI Grassie caught a glimpse of his reaction.

  “You are acquainted with Miss Petrie?”

  “She lived next door when I was a wee lad.”

  “Everyone knows— knew her, sir,” the shorter uniform said. He was boyish and red haired. “She worked at Carnagan’s off and on.”

  “I’m sorry,” Merle said. “We’re all very sorry about Miss Petrie. We tried so hard to revive her. I hope you know that.”

  Pascal led the policemen into the house and down to the wine cellar. The staff stayed in the kitchen but Merle tagged behind the men. Her sisters had laid the body on the floor between racks of bottles. Pascal quickly untied the blanket at her head, revealing her face. The policemen bent to take a quick look.

  “Is it her?” Grassie asked them. The officers nodded.

  “So drowning then? In a puddle?” he asked Pascal. His skepticism mirrored their own.

  Pascal grimaced. “All I can say is she was floating facedown in the water.”

  “Seems unlikely, eh,” Grassie said. “When did you last see her?”

  Pascal told the story of Gunni coming into the house about ten o’clock, begging for help with the sheep. Of Vanora staying behind at the gate.

  “We were worried about her later,” Merle said. “The caretaker, Miss Arbuckle, was. She came back from her room to ask if we’d seen Miss Petrie. We looked in the kitchen for the plate she was to take up to Mr. Craigg and didn’t find it. So we assumed she’d taken it to the cottage and was still there.”

  “Miss Arbuckle was the one who found her early this morning,” Pascal said.

  “So this Mister Craigg is the last to see her?”

  Pascal gave a Gallic shrug.

  DI Grassie stooped to cover Vanora’s face again then led them back upstairs. One of the uniformed cops took off for the cottage while the other went up the stairs to Gunni’s rooms. The inspector called his department.

  Pascal and Merle stood in the front hallway, listening to the policemen call in to the coroner and his superior in Aberdeen. He obviously felt foul play was involved. Merle felt her heart sink. Had someone actually done harm to Vanora, killed her? And why?

  She squeezed Pascal’s arm, hoping for reassurance that it was all a big mistake. That Vanora was just clumsy. That Annie’s wedding would be go off without a hitch, that their father would get his pacemaker and return in time. Pascal looked down at her, his face solemn, eyes resigned.

  When the inspector finally hung up the phone Merle said, “Excuse me, sir. We’re all here for a wedding. My sister is getting married tomorrow to Callum Logan who owns this house.”

  “I spoke to Mr. Logan,” the inspector said. “He should be here shortly.”

  “But what about the wedding? I mean, is this going to —”

  “There will be no wedding tomorrow.”

  The voice came from the landing of the stairs. They all turned their heads to look up the staircase. Annie stood with one hand on the ornate railing, looking fierce.

  “No wedding, period.”

  20

  Elise found the note on the dresser when she returned to her room after watching the truck with the big-ass folding bridge for much too long. The racket made her ears hurt and she retreated upstairs. She didn’t want to talk to the cops anyway. She had nothing to offer about the muddy demise of Vanora Petrie. It was sad, especially giving her mouth-to-mouth for a half-hour. The woman was cold even then. At least Elise had done her part to try to save the woman. They all had done their best. Elise even felt a little blip of pride that she could actually perform CPR. She felt like one of those hot firefighters on television.

  The square of lined white paper — torn from a school notebook? — looked innocent enough, her initial ‘E’ scribbled in a large hand, blue ink. Her heart jumped a little. It had to be from Bruno.

  Holding it to her breast she nestled herself on the bed. She took a deep breath and opened it.

  Ma Chère Elise,

  Do not think I have abandoned you, my sweet. It was necessary to extract myself from your delightful family gathering. I cannot remember why I agreed to this endless week. It has not turned out well, n’est-ce pas?

  I will explain everything. Meet me tonight— at the river at midnight. Do not tell anyone about our meeting or that you have heard from me. Darling, it is better this way. You must trust me.

  I can’t wait to hold you in my arms again.

  Your Bruno.

  Elise read it again, savoring the words. How romantic. Meeting at midnight! Would the moon be full, shining on them? Would they run away to somewhere it didn’t rain all the time? The south of France maybe?

  But wait. She frowned, staring out the window at the green hillside. Annie’s wedding was tomorrow. She couldn’t just run out on her whole family. When had he left this note? She had searched his room and hers for clues this morning, right after the Vanora incident. There had been no note then. Was Francie right — he hadn’t left?

  Was he still in the house? Was he hiding in the barn or one of the ramshackle sheds on the property? Elise was sure he’d found a way out, had climbed the hills and gotten away. They all were dying to escape. S
he envisioned him in rugged wool with a walking stick, tramping through the heather. But no. He was still here.

  She jumped out of bed. Was he hiding up on the servants’ floor? Or in the disused rooms on the other side? The prospect of a treasure hunt for the delicious little man curled her toes.

  Someone was knocking. Francie stuck her head in the room. “Oh good, you’re here.” She held a bottle of whisky by the neck and two glasses. She set them on the dresser. “You won’t believe what’s happened now.”

  Elise held the note behind her back, blinking madly. “What?”

  “Annie canceled the wedding.”

  * * *

  Merle stood in Annie’s room, arms crossed, frowning at her sister. Annie sat in the chair by the window, the sunset glowing against her cheeks. Merle had been outside for hours, watching the activity, talking to the cops, helping look for the old man. It had been good to stretch her legs in the sunshine although the arrival of the coroner’s van and crime scene techs had spoiled the mood just a bit.

  Then this. Merle couldn’t believe it.

  “You mean, postpone it a few days?”

  Annie had thunder in her blue eyes. “No. I mean, it’s over.”

  Merle shook her head. “I don’t understand. If the band or the caterers can’t come, who cares? Why not just run off to the justice of the peace?”

  Annie clamped her lips tighter.

  “What’s he done? Has he done something?” Annie gave her head a little shake. Merle said, “Have you spoken to him?”

  Rigid with fury, Annie drooped a little. “Just to his mother. She called this afternoon.”

  Merle fell to her knees in front of her sister and grabbed her hands. “What did the old bat say? Do I need to slap her around?”

  Annie smiled and flicked her eyes up at Merle’s. “Fiona made the decision to cancel the ceremony, not me. She cancelled the reception, everything. With Callum’s support.”

  “What?” Merle sat back on her heels. “Because of the power being out and you couldn’t be reached?”

  Annie sprang up and went to the window. “Did you know Callum and Davina were engaged once?”

  “What?” Merle said again. Her mind raced. “Hugh’s wife?”

  “Fiona says he stood her up at the altar. Said she just couldn’t stand it if that happened again. To me.”

  This all made no sense. What was Fiona up to? “What does that have to do with the price of fish?”

  “Fiona is telling everyone it was the weather, the storm. But she tells me it’s Callum. That he might do it again. And she— or I— would be humiliated.”

  “But, Annie. You can’t take, you know, that bitch’s word for it. You have to talk to Callum.”

  “I am so mad right now. I don’t care if she’s lying or not.” Annie spun back to face Merle. Her face was pink and she looked ready for a fight. “I don’t want to get married. To anyone. I don’t want people like that woman interfering in my life. I’d rather stay single than get embroiled in that sort of bullshit. I was happy being single, for years and years! Stay single, stay happy! I knew— I knew I shouldn’t have said yes. Deep down I knew this white-dress crap wasn’t for me. And I was fine with that. It was never for me. What was I thinking? I must have been mad.”

  Merle circled her arms around her oldest sister, hugging her tight. Annie was stiff, arms at her sides, not in the mood for sympathy. That Annie wasn’t a big fan of marriage was hardly news. But this? It was heartbreaking.

  Because if there was one thing she knew, it was that her sister loved Callum. And he loved her. Why had Fiona Logan gotten in the middle of that?

  The door opened quietly. Francie poked her head in. “Sorry, um.” Merle let go of Annie. “He’s here.”

  Francie made a face and disappeared. Merle said to Annie, “Go! Go talk to him. Listen to what he has to say.”

  Annie sat down again. “I am too angry to listen.”

  “You want me to talk to him? Find out what’s going on?”

  “What does it matter, Merle? Tell me. What the fuck does it matter? I’m not getting married. Not tomorrow, not ever. Don’t you get it?”

  Her face was red now and her eyes rimmed with tears. Merle hadn’t seen Annie cry for years. She felt her heart break a little. This was serious.

  “I— I’m sorry,” Merle whispered. “Should I— ?” She gestured to the door.

  Annie waved her away. “Just let me think for a while. I need to think.”

  21

  Friday evening

  Merle stepped quietly down the stairs, wondering who was around. She’d had a short lie-down in her room, hoping to sleep. Instead the tangles of the week, the storm, Vanora in the puddle, Pascal’s hands, Annie and Callum, the bridesmaids’ dresses, Jack in the hospital, the drowned bluebells: everything swam in her head until she got up and took a proper hot shower and dressed for whatever came next.

  Would it be dinner? One could only hope.

  Instead of heading to the library Merle turned to the back of the house and peered into the kitchen. Mrs. MacKeegan and Jinty were bustling at the stove. Delicious smells of rosemary and garlic were in the air.

  Thank god. Dinner.

  Jinty looked up. “Cocktails in the library, miss.”

  “Right. Are the police still here?”

  Cook looked over her shoulder at Merle. “Aye. My nephew’s stayin’ for dinner.” At least somebody was cheery.

  Jinty grimaced. “Mrs. Logan invited him. Since we’ll be giving statements all evening.”

  “Is that right?” Merle hadn’t heard that plan. Did that mean —“Is Mrs. Logan staying as well?”

  “To be sure, miss,” Mrs. MacKeegan said. “She brought the roast and vegetables and many more good things.”

  “We were almost out of food,” Jinty reminded her.

  Merle said in a low voice, “And we were supposed to be eating at the hotel tonight.” At the rehearsal dinner that wasn’t to be.

  The cook and caretaker exchanged glances. They would have discussed the wedding and all its cancellations at length. They said nothing. No condolences to the bride.

  Merle backtracked out of the kitchen. So Fiona Logan thought they would all sit down together for a big, happy dinner. What the hell was wrong with the woman? Had she told one of the Bennetts it was time to move out? Nothing would please Merle more. Maybe they could move out right now. She paused in the front hall, thinking she should go upstairs and pack her bag.

  What would her mother say about all this? Suddenly Merle wanted to talk to her, tell her how stupid and high-handed Fiona Logan was being. Bernadette Bennett was a practical woman, just like Merle. A tough old bird, a former junior high teacher who could rally any troops necessary for this calamity.

  Did Jack and Bernie know about the wedding cancellations? Stasia must have told them. But they had more important things on their minds. Jack had to heal, get better, and get back home. Involving Bernie just to complain wouldn’t help her poor mother. It wasn’t the best idea.

  Instead Merle texted Stasia: ‘How is Daddy? Give all our love.’

  She waited five seconds, still at the bottom of the stairs. No answer. Stasia always answered right away, or days later.

  The front door opened. Pascal, Callum, and the round Detective Inspector entered the house after wiping their feet at length on the mat. Merle straightened, concentrating on arranging her face into mild pleasantness. It must look like contortions. Pascal came to her side.

  “How are you, blackbird?” he whispered.

  She nodded in reply then flicked her eyes to Callum. He stood by nervously, staring at his shoes, hands clenched. The inspector looked around curiously, eyes wide as if this was his first time inside the house.

  “And Annie?” Pascal whispered.

  “Not great,” Merle whispered. She squeezed his hand to stop that line of talk. Callum looked up and she caught his eye. “I’m sorry, Callum. About Miss Petrie, about everything.” She didn’t want to say
Annie’s name. Maybe he didn’t deserve her after all.

  It had fallen to Merle to find him earlier in the afternoon and tell him Annie wasn’t ready to talk. It had been even more uncomfortable than this meeting. He told Merle he was “in a rage” at his mother and his brother. Why his brother, she had wondered. Had Hugh encouraged Fiona to cancel the wedding? Because of his wife, Davina, and their past? Merle’s head spun with conspiracy theories.

  Now Callum was silent, his face stiff. With anger or guilt or sadness, she couldn’t tell. He just stared at Merle as if reading her expression would tell him something. The pause stretched, awkwardly long. Finally DI Grassie cleared his throat.

  “Where shall we set up the interviews, sir?”

  “The library is the spot, don’t you think, Callum?” The voice of Mrs. Logan boomed from behind them. She had appeared out of nowhere, in a sensible green tweed suit and low heels, an orange scarf at her neck. She walked past Pascal and Merle as if they were invisible and dramatically swung open the library door. “This way, inspector. Callum.” Was it possible she was enjoying this?

  Callum shot Merle a last flat look as he followed his mother and the policeman through the door. It shut with a solid click behind them. Not that they would have followed. She felt her nostrils flaring.

  Pascal took Merle’s arm and pulled her into the drawing room. He pushed her into an armchair and grabbed a bottle of red wine from the night before. Their brandy snifters still sat on the console. He examined them briefly then poured in the wine, handing one to Merle.

  She stared at the liquid and tried not to scream.

  “Drink, blackbird. Everything is better after wine.”

  * * *

  Annie didn’t come down for dinner which was no surprise to anyone. Fiona Logan presided over the table like an empress, placing the Detective Inspector at the far end. This was a bit awkward since that was Callum’s place. The three Bennett sisters sat along one side, across from Callum and Pascal, as if lining up girls against boys at dodge ball.