Cheat the Hangman

by Gloria Ferris

  The reference to a baby confirmed that the woman was Wisty, since she was one of the two women staying in the house, and the only one with a baby. The man, the first man, I wasn’t yet sure who he was. Either Uncle Patrick or Bruce Wingate. The mention of business and family fit Patrick’s profile, but I would have to find out more about Bruce Wingate’s life to be sure.

  The other man was Wisty’s husband, Thomas. There was no doubt in my mind he was in the house that weekend, the fifth person. I wondered when he had arrived and how many people knew he was here. And it seemed he was responsible for Tommy’s death.

  I put the pad back in the desk drawer to think about later and I picked up the picture of the 1943 reunion. As I held it, I almost hoped it would shift and change the way it had before, to perhaps make clear what I heard last night. But the sea of faces, many long dead, looked back at the photographer and did not speak to me. It was just a snapshot of a long-ago time. I was on my own from here on.

  I went downstairs to face the present. Yesterday was the dress rehearsal for the reunion. Today, the curtain rose.

  CHAPTER 21

  Peter snored on a wingback chair in the drawing room, his bare feet resting on a flowered ottoman. He clutched my radio to his chest and didn’t awake when I pried it gently away.

  The kitchen was empty except for Jacqueline hopping about near the back door, and Rasputin watching her with a condescending expression on his broad face. I snapped the leash on Jacqueline and took her beyond the terraced gardens to the maple wood at the back of the house. Rasputin joined us, making heavy work of the walk. Not that I blamed him. The air hadn’t improved through the night.

  “You’re too fat. Caroline is far too indulgent. Maybe I should take charge of your diet for a while. “

  Rasputin sat down with his back to me, his tail flicking. Jacqueline yelped and ran around in circles, as was her habit before finding the perfect spot.

  The woods were silent once Jacqueline was settled in front of a hapless maple sapling. The heat had penetrated even this fragrant place, but at that early hour, it might just have been the coolest spot on the continent. Reluctantly, I gathered up the pets and headed back to the house.

  I was glad to be alone with my thoughts. I opened my herb cupboard and took out a canister of loose green tea. After some deliberation, I added twenty drops of gingko biloba tincture to the pot. I needed my brain cells firing on all cylinders.

  Conklin stepped in from the pantry. “Good morning, Madam.” He gave me his courtly bow. “It appears all was serene last night.”

  “No major incidents anyway.” The ethereal conversation on the widow’s walk didn’t count. “Today will be different. And tonight.”

  He bowed again. I wished he would quit it. He never did it to anyone else. It was just another sign he considered me a separate species. He accepted a cup of green tea and sat down. I didn’t tell him about the gingko biloba in case he balked, but figured any man his age could use some help with his circulation.

  “Madam, I regret that another item is missing. An ornate paperweight in the shape of a globe on a gold-plated stand dating to the early nineteenth century.”

  “Shit. I mean darn it. Missing from where? And when did you notice it last?”

  “It was on a gateleg table in the upstairs gallery. I’m afraid I noticed its absence just this morning, but as I make rounds on the upper floors only once a week after the cleaning team have left, it could have been taken away a week ago.”

  Upstairs. I wondered if the thief had taken the globe and Amelia at the same time. I hoped so. One intrusion was better than two.

  “Way up on the second floor where I sleep all alone?”

  Conklin looked pained, but nodded at me. “We must call in the police again, Madam. For the first time ever, I feel we are unsafe here at Hammersleigh.”

  I thought his expression was accusatory, like I had brought a thief along when I moved in. I swallowed my uneasiness at the thought of someone prowling around Hammersleigh while I was asleep a few feet away.

  Maybe it wasn’t Scott Fournier at all. It could be the gang of teenagers Marc was after for breaking into houses in the Blackshore area. Or, and the unwelcome thought jumped to the forefront of my thoughts, it could even be someone closer to home.

  When I had a chance, I would have to write out a time line. I already had the list of visitors to the house during the past week. Now I had to remember the exact time each person was in the house and who else was around at the time. I felt sick when I realized the list included Patsy, Peter, Caroline and a lot of other people I trusted.

  “Conklin, would you mind calling the police station and making sure the paperweight goes on the list of missing items?”

  “Certainly, Madam.” He bowed again. “Might I take the liberty of reminding you that the facilities will need pumping out this afternoon before they become…offensive?”

  So I was in charge of the sewage. You could bet Uncle Patrick never called Wooter Sanitation himself to ask them to pump out the outhouses.

  “Fine.” I stomped off to the telephone room to make the call. It seemed I woke Benny from a deep sleep. I looked at my watch and was astonished to note it was 7:30 a.m. and the cock hadn’t crowed yet, at least not at Benny’s house. Apologizing, and almost meaning it, I asked Benny to pump out the porta-potties and was surprised when he related that he always came on the Saturday to do so and didn’t need me waking him up in the middle of the night to remind him. And by the way, if I had a man of my own to look after, maybe I wouldn’t be so nitpicky with other men.

  I slammed down the phone, more angry at Conklin than at Benny’s rude parting comment.

  Conklin had reminded me to do something that was already arranged, part of the service in fact. It was obvious he thought I was a half-wit.

  Still steaming, I stood under the portico and used my radio to call in the night shift. They straggled in, and I dispatched them home for some sleep, asking them to return by 4 p.m. I waited while the day shift mooched through the gates to receive their instructions, which were just a reiteration of what I had said the day before. I took Tiffany aside and reminded her that today was supposed to surpass all temperature records and to make sure that no young child or senior was running or standing around in the bright sunlight.

  The campers in the field were stirring. Children cried or screamed, depending on their ages, while the door to Shangri-la creaked and slammed at two-minute intervals.

  Inside, I found Caroline scrambling eggs and Peter buttering toast. Conklin was sitting alone at the table, drinking his tea like the Grand Poobah of Somewhere. When Caroline turned from the stovetop, I was relieved to see she had no fresh bruises. I hoped this meant she had refused Scott entry last night if, indeed, he had even been on the grounds.

  I sat down and thought about that for a minute. Conklin had noticed the globe missing this morning. He was right, though. It could have been taken any time since last Saturday, even the same time as the hummingbird and the jade dragon. And Amelia. Unlikely the cleaning staff would notice one item missing among thousands since they didn’t dust the collectibles. I sighed and dug into my eggs. There were such a mob wandering through Hammersleigh at any given time, I could no longer remember who they all were.

  The field was thick with campers, and vehicles belonging to Blackshore families lined the county road. Lawn chairs sat beneath the trees and under the tent. Children chased each other over the grass and were yelled at by parents who just wanted to sit and gossip or drink beer with people they may not have seen since last year. The whole area was taking on the atmosphere of a ploughing match. And it was just 8:30 a.m.

  I walked up to a young couple trying to unfold a mesh playpen. “Need any help?” I captured the struggling toddler who was doing his best to escape his father’s one-armed grip. “Hey there, Trevor. Remember me? I’m your Auntie Lyris.”

  Trevor wiggled out of my hands and dropped to the ground, where he viewed me with round-eyed
suspicion. A rare Pembrooke indeed, he had his mother’s blue eyes and blonde hair. As a westerner from Whistler, Denise had not a drop of Pembrooke blood in her veins, and I for one welcomed any dilution of the dominant Pembrooke strain.

  The sleepy-eyed infant cradled in my sister-in-law’s arm stirred and peeped. Denise smiled and handed over my new niece. “Here, meet Grace Emily. She’s just waking up.”

  I cradled the baby and felt a dull ache in the middle of my chest. It happened every time I held a new baby, and I thought the spot near my heart must encase my soul.

  David dropped his end of the playpen and engulfed both of us in a hug. “So what do you think of her? Isn’t she beautiful?”

  “She is,” I agreed, looking down at the tiny face. Just then, Grace peered at me with her milky eyes that nonetheless promised to be as dark as her father’s.

  “I’m sorry I haven’t been around to the house to see you, but I’ve been busy with the reunion. I hope you found everything you need.”

  “Everything’s fine,” Denise assured me. “We appreciate the loan of your house.”

  “You can stay there as long as you like. As a matter of fact, I would have asked you to move into Hammersleigh with me, but I figured you’d want to be on your own while deciding where to build your new house.”

  David and Denise looked at each other and smiled.

  “What? You two have done something.”

  “We’ve bought a house,” Denise blurted.

  “Go on. Already?”

  “Yep.” David seemed proud and not at all unsure of their sudden decision. “We bought Hollyhock Cottage from Aunt Clem. We don’t get possession until the middle of September, so I hope you can stand being our landlady until then.”

  No way. Hollyhock Cottage had been built by Aunt Clem’s grandfather around 1890. Her family had always owned it. But Aunt Clem had no children to pass the house to, Aunt Wisty would never leave Lychwood, and their two sisters were dead.

  “It’s great that Hollyhock Cottage will stay in the family, but where is she going to go? I can understand her wanting to give up the bed and breakfast business. She’s still a vigorous woman, though. Where will she live?”

  “She wouldn’t say.” Denise reached over to shoo a bug away from her daughter’s miniature ear. “She says she has her plans, but didn’t want to talk about it yet.”

  “Why am I always the last one to find out anything? I didn’t even know you liked century houses.” I shot an accusing look at David, who had seemed genuinely happy he hadn’t inherited Hammersleigh House.

  He pushed his glasses further up his nose and grinned at me. “There’s a world of difference between Hammersleigh and Aunt Clem’s house. I think our little family can be very happy at Hollyhock Cottage.”

  “And you couldn’t at Hammersleigh?” I held up my hand as he started to protest. “It’s okay. I know what you mean. Hammersleigh is more a museum than a home.”

  I thought of the many lonely nights ahead of me. Somehow, I couldn’t picture Marc beside me in the Queen Anne bed on the second floor, and felt I was destined to spend the next forty or fifty years alone.

  Spying Aunt Bertilla moving in our direction, I said to Denise and David, “Well, duty calls, so I better get on with it. I’ll see you later.” I bent to kiss the top of Grace’s downy head, and a powerful reaction made me catch my breath and take a step backwards.

  The smell. I sniffed Grace again, then handed her back to Denise without giving myself away. I made it to the porch and dropped into a white wrought-iron chair under the portico.

  The smell of Grace, the smell of baby powder, was the first smell I had noticed in the upstairs hall outside the tower room. It was familiar, but I had never used baby powder on Mitch, since it caused a reaction on his fair skin.

  Now it was gone from the hall, and I would bet my pension portfolio that Aunt Wisty had used baby powder on Tommy. I guessed that the odour was meant to focus my efforts on finding out the truth about Tommy’s death. Leander strikes again.

  Well, it hadn’t been necessary. From the moment I found that pitiful body in the closet, I needed to know what happened to him. Now I knew who caused his death, but the reason was still a secret. And until I learned what happened that night in 1943, Tommy would continue to haunt my dreams.

  It has often been said that the past should remain buried, that if you dig it up, only the living can be hurt. Well, I didn’t believe that was always true, and I just knew somehow that Tommy needed his secret uncovered. Even Leander seemed to think so. Otherwise, why was he helping me? Or pushing me, rather, as I didn’t seem to have any choice about his participation.

  Somewhat recovered, I looked up just in time to see Aunt Bertilla charging up the drive. In deference to the temperature, she was clad in a pair of mid-thigh shorts and a tank top of matching orange cotton. The colour reminded me of my hat, and I touched my head to reassure myself I was still Number One.

  Then, I took the coward’s way out and leaped off the side of the porch and headed for the back of the house with the idea of losing myself in the shrubbery. By that time, Aunt Bertilla was so close I could see her huge underarms wobble. I was forced to jump over the temporary snow fence. It had been erected across the house to the ends of the property on either side to keep people from tramping through the parking lot on the left, the shade garden on the right and the back terraced garden areas.

  I knew she could never heave her bulk over the fence, and I sighed with relief as I moved through the sun-drenched terrace and rounded the side of the house to collapse on the wooden bench. I figured Aunt Bertilla would soon get over her porta-pottie adventure, but until then, she was best avoided.

  Relaxed for the moment, I gazed up at the canopy of leaves formed by the ancient maples. When I felt a touch on my right foot, I squawked and jumped up, thinking Aunt Bertilla must have sprouted wings and flown over the fencing.

  Not Aunt Bertilla, but someone just as unwelcome.

  “Hello, Dennis. So you came.”

  “Just for a short while. Tracey’s ankles are swelling up in this heat.”

  “That’s too bad.” I had nothing against Tracey. I even felt grateful to her for saving me from another twenty years with Dennis. I wasn’t sure if I would have had the courage to end our marriage on my own without the added impetus of a knocked-up, teenage girlfriend.

  I sat back down on the bench and wiped my face on the bottom of my tank top. My hat had had fallen off while I was sprawled out, and I picked it out of the hosta bed and put it down beside me.

  Dennis, too, looked damp all over. Cotton shirt and shorts clung to his skin, and his fair hair was limp. His face had turned pink with heat or sunburn, and he looked like a candidate for blood pressure medication.

  I felt a slight concern for him, so didn’t make my usual comments about his weight or thinning hair. He was still an attractive man if viewed objectively, and I congratulated myself that I was able to do just that. Now I preferred dark hair and storm-grey eyes, not to mention a dimple and firm thighs. Oh, dear…

  “What are you staring at?” Dennis sat uninvited on my bench.

  I sidled over until I was on the extreme edge. “Nothing much. We didn’t want guests to come back here, you know. That’s the reason for the fence.”

  “Only the lady of the manor can sit in the garden, I suppose,” he sneered.

  “Well, what bit your ass? If it’s too hot for you, go home.”

  He seemed to make a great effort at control and reached over to pat my knee. I pulled away just in time. If he was trying to charm me, he had forgotten all the basics.

  “I just wondered if you had a chance to think over what we discussed the other day in my office.”

  For a moment, my mind was blank. Then I remembered. “Oh, yeah. You want me to give you some of my money. I thought I said no.”

  “Lyris, I’m just asking you to be reasonable.” His eyes swept the high stone walls of Hammersleigh House. “You fell into a gravy
train here, and it’s fair you return a portion of what you took.”

  “Do we need to have this conversation all over again? I don’t know which concept you’re having trouble with, that we split everything even-steven as the law dictates, or that I’m not parting with my half.”

  “It may have been legal, but it wasn’t morally right. That you got half, I mean.”

  I looked at him in disbelief. “Get a grip on reality, Dennis. You have some nerve. As a matter of fact, now that I think of it, I deserved more than half for putting up with your idea of morality.”

  The humour escaped Dennis. His hands curled into fists, which should have been a warning to me. I did look around for a rock or something he might be able to throw. I saw no potential missiles and relaxed. Dennis was fond of throwing things when he was angry.

  “Lyris, I am about to lose my house, and my wife will soon give birth to twins. How can you be so bitter and jealous that you won’t return some of my assets?”

  “Bitter? Jealous? Your assets?” I was astounded. Then, a tiny doubt probed my conscience. Was I wrong in taking half of our mutual holdings, mostly investments and half the value of the house? It wasn’t a fortune, just enough to prevent me from ending my days in the county nursing home. Should I let him have more now because he had a growing family to support?

  In the nanosecond it took for this doubt to cross my thoughts, Dennis was on his feet and stood in front of me. He put his hands on either side of the tree trunk and loomed over me. I don’t believe he meant to appear threatening, but that’s how I felt. I slipped off my seat, ducked under his arm, and stepped away from him. He moved closer.

  Even though Dennis was four or five inches taller, this was an old game of ours. Confrontation head to head. That time, however, I underestimated the depth of frustration and anger built up within him.

  “You have no right. Hand back some money, at least half of what you took from me, or I’ll take you to court and the law will force you…”