Cheat the Hangman

by Gloria Ferris

  “And this, Madam, is the exit door. It is a requirement of the fire code.” He pushed the bar and the door opened to a garden area surrounded by pines. Instantly, we were engulfed in hot, humid air that took my breath away after the temperature of the staff wing. Conklin closed the door, and another minute later we were both back in the kitchen, which moments ago had seemed so cool and inviting.

  I stood there making a mental inventory of what I had just seen―four bedrooms, a sitting room with kitchen amenities, one full bathroom and at least one ensuite. I hadn’t even known that wing existed until now. And there was still the third floor attic area to be explored. Again, the enormity of what I had taken on threatened to overwhelm me.

  The doorbell rang. From out of nowhere Conklin appeared at my elbow and Jacqueline at my ankle. Conklin managed to get hold of the doorknob ahead of me, so it was a proper butler dressed to kill and a yapping dog who greeted the new housekeeper on that sweltering July morning. I hoped the bewildered look on Caroline’s face was not going to prove permanent. She would have to get used to our strange household and become part of it, and the sooner the better.

  There was a man standing behind her holding a suitcase in each hand.

  Before I could open my mouth, Conklin butted in. “Welcome to Hammersleigh House, Mrs. Fournier. I hope you will be most happy here. I’m sure we will work well together. Now, have you more luggage I can help you with?”

  “Thank you, Mr. Conklin. My belongings are in the car. I wasn’t sure where I was to park.”

  She caught sight of me behind Conklin as I wrested the knob away from him and threw the door wide open. I elbowed Conklin aside. “There’s a parking area around the side of the house. Just follow the bricked driveway. There’s a door at the back, close to your suite. You can take your things in that way.” I hoped those were the right directions and she didn’t end up on Lychwood’s front lawn.

  I looked at the man. Caroline didn’t turn in his direction. “Oh, this is my…this is Scott Fournier, my…husband.”

  The young man put the suitcases down and stepped forward. He held out his hand and smiled. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Ms. Pembrooke. Caroline is very lucky to have the chance to work in this wonderful place. Thank you for giving her the chance.”

  I pulled my hand away and looked him over. “Well, Scott, Conklin and I think we’re lucky that Caroline has decided to work with us. She appears well qualified and I hope she finds Hammersleigh House interesting and fulfilling.”

  Scott was in his late twenties or early thirties, with short, curly, fair hair, and his eyes were a bright blue behind gold-rimmed glasses. He was an attractive young man, confident and charming, smelling of a clean, citrusy aftershave. I wondered what he was doing here with Caroline. Yesterday she seemed positive that her marriage was over, but I suspected her husband did not share her conviction.

  The rest of her luggage may have been in the car, but Caroline was carrying a case by a handle at the top. It had a barred door and looked a lot like a pet carrier.

  Caroline saw the direction of my gaze and clutched the carrier to her side. She lowered her eyes and blushed. “I hope you don’t mind…I mean, I hope it’s okay…” She glanced up at my face, then quickly back down again.

  “I didn’t mention it yesterday because…I mean…”

  “What’s in the box, Caroline?”

  “My cat, Rasputin. I’ve had him for three years, and my grandmother was going to keep him, but now she’s going to the cottage with my aunt for the rest of the summer and can’t keep Raspy because my aunt has a dog and Pierre, that’s the dog’s name, dislikes cats…”

  We were going to be there all day. “We have a dog here, too, Caroline.” I looked at Jacqueline who had not stopped barking since the doorbell rang. My foot twitched.

  “Pierre is a real dog. I mean, not a miniature dog.”

  I didn’t know what to say. I looked at Conklin for inspiration and intercepted a fleeting expression of uncertainty in his own features before he arranged them into the usual austere mask.

  Scott weighed in, though nobody asked. “I knew she shouldn’t bring the cat. I’d be glad to keep him.”

  Caroline’s face was paler than yesterday. I threw in the towel. “Is Rasputin litter trained?”

  A nod.

  “You will keep him in your own wing?”

  Nod.

  “He doesn’t hunt birds, does he?”

  Shake. “He would never hurt a bird, would you Raspy darling?”

  No answer from the cat. “Well, let’s try it then.” After all, it was just a cat. I figured I could count on Jacqueline to keep Raspy darling under control.

  With Caroline, her husband and Conklin all out of the way unloading her car at the back of the house, there was no one around to prevent me from answering the doorbell when it rang again a few minutes later.

  Peter and two body-builder types stood on the threshold. Peter wore an eager smile and an immaculate purple T-shirt. His friends—both with freshly shaved heads, one with a moustache, one without—wore brief, tight shorts and no smiles whatsoever. One was fair with a peeling, sunburnt nose, and one swarthy with no tan line where his shorts hung low on his hips. Not twins would be my guess.

  Peter introduced us. “This is Gordon, and this is Roddie.”

  We all nodded.

  “We’ll go right up, Lyris, if you don’t mind. It should take us about an hour, then Gordon and Roddie have a job moving a household this afternoon. Any changes to what we discussed yesterday?”

  There were not, so the trio trooped upstairs, Peter’s thin legs leading the way, the burly thighs and calves of the other two following after.

  Peter was a very organized person, I realized, as was Conklin. Now if Caroline turned out to be so as well, then it shouldn’t matter that I wasn’t.

  I was further assured when I showed Caroline around the ground level of the house, finishing with the kitchen where we discussed tonight’s dinner menu. She seemed to feel right at home in Hammersleigh’s state-of-the-art kitchen and was confident she could prepare a meal for eight with the supplies I had bought. And there was no sign of the cat or the charming husband. I was satisfied.

  When asked if her suite was adequate, she was adamant that she adored the bedroom, the sitting room, this kitchen and everything else about the house.

  But her eyes were apprehensive as she explained why her husband had accompanied her that morning. “I’m sorry, Lyris. Scott insisted he wanted to come with me to make sure I was going to be all right. I’ve told him it’s all over and I will look after myself from now on, but I can’t seem to get through to him. I guess it will take time before he realizes our marriage is over. But I’m sorry he came with me. I made it clear he wasn’t to come here again.”

  I put my hand on her arm to stop the flow of words. “Stop worrying about it. You’re making a new start here at Hammersleigh, and you can begin by not apologizing for your former husband.”

  Since everything seemed to be rolling along without me, I found myself with nothing to do. It couldn’t be. There must be something.

  There was. The reunion.

  Exactly six and a half days from that moment, the first campers and trailers would be rolling up in the field beside Hammersleigh House. All those people would be wanting…things. Where was the list Conklin had given me?

  I left Caroline in the kitchen and went to look for it. It took me a half hour to find the list in the outside flap of my purse. By this time Peter and his pals were ready to leave. I gave Gordon and Roddie fifty dollars each, thanked them for their help, and waved the three of them off from the front steps. Peter promised to be back within the next few days with wallpaper and fabric samples.

  I peeked into the kitchen to see if Caroline had everything she needed. If she didn’t, she wouldn’t find me much help. But she was moving bowls and pots around, looking less anxious than I had yet seen her. She seemed in control. Conklin had shown her where the table line
ns were, as well as the china and silver. Everything would be ready at seven.

  I left feeling that my simple supper was turning out more formal than I had intended, but Caroline was cheerful and on a roll, and I hadn’t the heart to derail her by reminding her I had been planning a casual meal for close friends and family.

  I saw no sign of Conklin anywhere. Or Jacqueline for that matter. Or a cat. I wandered into the drawing room and dropped onto a velvet sofa.

  Okay. The list. As the list unfolded, I straightened up. There were over a dozen items on the list. And I had to do all of it? Thank God it was Saturday and none of these places were open. I put the list aside until Monday.

  I lay back on the sofa and closed my eyes. Almost seventy years ago a terrible tragedy had taken place in this house. Maybe it was murder, maybe not. Hiding the child’s body could have been an act of fear and desperation, and this did not preclude accident rather than murder.

  My first step should be to find out who was staying in the house during that reunion weekend. Marc would have all that in the police reports and lots more besides. But I doubted he’d let me see them. He might part with some clinical police facts, but it would be best to talk to somebody who had been on the spot.

  Despite her promise to think about it, my mother would have been too young to remember details. But there must be dozens of older people who were here in 1943 and would be again next weekend. The Pembrookes were notoriously long-lived, most reaching their nineties before kicking and screaming their way into the arms of their ancestors.

  Okay, I had a plan of sorts. Talk to Marc that night after dinner and find out what he knew and was willing to part with. I would have to tell him about the figurine of course, and we needed to discuss that. Something didn’t feel right about the figurine.

  Then, see Aunt Clem the next day, Sunday. And while I wasn’t keen on visiting Lychwood, Aunt Wisty might be lucid enough to remember something. But first, the public library. They must have an archive where records were stored, microfilm of newspapers if nothing else. I could do that right away.

  I was just dozing off for a much-needed rest when I felt I was being watched. And there was a crawling sensation on my skin. My eyes snapped open to behold a wizened troll staring at me from a few feet away.

  “Yeek.” That was the troll. He jumped back and scuttled toward the great hall, dripping water from a giant watering can every step of the way.

  Now that I was wide awake, I saw that the watering can was regulation size. And the troll was merely a short, wizened man heading for the hall in alarm.

  “Stop. Wait.” My legs were longer and I had almost overtaken him when Conklin stepped between us and held up his hand to stop me.

  “Madam. Please. May I introduce Malcolm O’Reilly.” The little man peered out from behind Conklin. “Malcolm waters the house plants here several times a week. I’m afraid you frightened him.”

  “Well, I’m sorry. I forgot today was watering day. Sorry, Malcolm. I’m very pleased to meet you.”

  Malcolm shook his head, and with a reproachful look at Conklin, skittered away, leaving Conklin and me standing in a puddle of water.

  Conklin cast a reproachful look of his own in my direction. “Malcolm is frightened of women, Madam.”

  “I said I was sorry. Why do we need somebody to water the plants anyway?” It sounded like a housekeeper task to me.

  “There are over eighty house plants, Madam. Your uncle was pleased to assist a fellow veteran and Malcolm has been performing this duty for the past fifty years and more. He depends on the stipend he receives to supplement his pension.”

  “So Malcolm was in the army with Uncle Patrick? Then he was around during the 1943 reunion.”

  Conklin soon squelched that idea. “Not at all, Madam. Your uncle and Malcolm did not serve together. Malcolm sustained a serious head injury in combat and your uncle took him on out of kindness when he came to the door seeking employment some years after the war’s end. I was already here by that time. Malcolm is very shy around people, and terrified of women.”

  He went off to the kitchen again, and I had just flopped back onto the sofa when the doorbell rang.

  I shouted, “I’ll get it.” But it was too late. Conklin was at the door by the time I reached the hall. How he did it, I’ll never know. He handed me a mop before pulling the door open.

  The short, dark man on the doorstep was wearing an insolent grin and not much else. This was my day for naked men. Why do men think it’s okay to take off their shirts when the thermometer soars? Never mind, that question will never be answered in our lifetime.

  I handed the mop back to Conklin. “Come on in, Angelo. My computer stuff is upstairs. I’ll show you where I want it set up.” I had forgotten that Angelo was coming over today to run network cable and whatever else is necessary to get me online. I was a little concerned that it might be difficult to do this, given the age of Hammersleigh House, but Angelo pointed out that Hammersleigh was already set up with electronic access and other security measures, and he was sure he could hook up a simple computer.

  Since Angelo Bertollini was our systems analyst at the Hydro Commission and a wizard at his work, I had asked him to moonlight for me.

  Peter and his crew had done a good job in moving in and rearranging the Queen Anne furniture. Already the room looked brighter and more comfortable. I showed Angelo the nook and the workstation where I wanted the equipment.

  At one time having Angelo in my bedroom might have presented a problem, but since Marc and I became friends, Angelo had desisted from making his flowery overtures. A year or two ago, Marc had caught him growing a marijuana plant in his kitchen, so Angelo was now respectful of the law. Sometimes having the chief of police for a boyfriend came in handy.

  He looked around the spacious room. “I’ll bet this place has seen a lot of action over the years.” His eyes rested on the bed, but before he could make some other comment, I left him to it and went back downstairs.

  Uncle Patrick’s determination to keep Hammersleigh free of any obvious signs of the twentieth or twenty-first centuries resulted in a few inconveniences, such as having to search long and hard for a telephone. I could never remember to bring my cell phone in from the car.

  There were two phones in the house that I knew about. Neither of them was upstairs. One was in the kitchen with an answering machine, call waiting, call display, call back and every other modern convenience. The kitchen was exempt from Uncle Patrick’s obsession.

  The other phone resided in a cubicle under the stairs. The size of a closet, the room contained a non-functioning antique wall–mounted telephone, an armchair and a roll-top desk. In one of the desk drawers reposed a serviceable beige phone.

  I dialled Patsy’s number. That’s right, I said dialled. Don’t try calling long distance—the day after I moved in, while dialling a Toronto area code, I reached Dubai, where someone wanted to sell me a hotel. Or a camel.

  “Patsy, are you busy?”

  “I might be. Why?”

  “Meet me at the library after lunch?”

  “Why?”

  “I thought we could go through the newspapers and see what we can find out about Tommy’s disappearance.”

  “What’s this ‘we’ business? I already advised you loud and clear I wanted no part of that poor child’s misfortune. I’ll help you with the reunion, but not some investigation you’ve dreamed up to entertain yourself. Let the past alone.”

  “You sure are grumpy, Patsy. I don’t expect to find any answers after all this time. But I think it would be interesting to read about it.”

  “You’re not getting any psychic vibes, are you?”

  “How many times do I have to tell you I’m not psychic?”

  “How long would we be? You’re having us for dinner tonight, I hope you remember. Why aren’t you busy cooking?”

  “I don’t have to cook anymore. I have a new housekeeper. Meet me at the library and I’ll tell you all about her. It s
houldn’t take more than a half hour or so.”

  “Fine, then. One o’clock.”

  I placed the thingy back on the whatsit and went in search of lunch.

  CHAPTER 9

  Babs Hanlon, one of my mother’s cousins who worked Saturdays at the library, was nose deep in a book.

  “Hi, Babs. Where do you keep your archives?”

  “Archives, dear?” She tore her eyes from her paperback. It was one of those bodice-rippers, where the cover showed a man with long flowing hair clutching a woman with long flowing hair to his shirtless, hairless bosom. Personally, I was tired of looking at naked male bosoms.

  “Yes, you know, records and newspapers, microfilm. Stuff like that.”

  “Microfilm, dear? I don’t think we have any microfilm. But there are lots of newspapers on the top floor dating back to before the war.”

  “And how do we get there?”

  “Well, you just take...Why, Lyris.” Her blonde hair swayed. “I just heard Caroline is starting the housekeeper’s position at Hammersleigh House.”

  “That’s right, Babs. I guess you’re related to Caroline, aren’t you?”

  “Certainly, dear.” She patted the blonde bouffant back into an almost upright position. “Caroline is my sister’s girl. Your mother’s second cousin, you know.”

  “Upstairs, you say…?”

  “What? Oh, the archives. Yes, just go past the...I know Caroline will do a good job, and Lord knows, the girl deserves a break. After that husband of hers…” Her voice trailed off just when it was getting interesting.

  “Yes, her husband? I know they are separated.”

  “And a good thing too. The man was no good. No good at all. Why, the way he treated that poor girl was a disgrace. There should be a law against that sort of conduct.”

  There probably was, and I had to know more. “I’m not sure that I know Caroline’s husband…”

  “Scott Fournier, that’s who. A good-looking young man, but evil hides behind a comely face.”

  “And Scott lives here in Blackshore?”