Cheat the Hangman

by Gloria Ferris

  As soon as he opened the door, Jacqueline and Rasputin made a break for freedom. I grabbed Jacqueline, and Peter managed to tackle Rasputin before the cat got more than a foot outside the kitchen.

  “Go to bed,” I ordered.

  With a long, disgusted look over his shoulder, Rasputin plodded toward the employees’ wing with Jacqueline yipping and skipping behind him.

  “So Peter, how is everything? Where’s Caroline?”

  He poured non-fat milk into his mug and sat down at the table. “She’s gone to bed. I thought the drug had mostly worn off, so around ten o’clock I put her down in her room, and she’s fast asleep. I’ll check on her every hour or so, but I think she’s fine.”

  “Don’t you need to get some sleep yourself? I can stay up and look in on her.”

  “No, you go to bed, Lyris. You’ve had a busy day, and I caught a nap this morning before Caroline took the pills, so I’m okay. Actually, I’m having a good time.”

  Then he added, “Except for the incident with Caroline, of course.”

  “Of course. Well, if you’re sure you don’t mind, I am a little tired.”

  “You go ahead. I’m just going to take my coffee into the drawing room and read for a while. I promise I’ll make my rounds every hour, including Caroline.”

  “Thanks, Peter.”

  Then something occurred to me and I stopped him at the door. “Peter. Were you up on the widow’s walk this morning? I thought I saw someone, and since you were making rounds for Conklin…”

  “Sorry, it wasn’t me, Lyris. I would like to go up there sometime—I know the view must be phenomenal—but I haven’t had a chance so far. Who do you think it could have been?”

  “Maybe nobody. It could have been a trick of the light.”

  Once Peter left, I did a quick inventory in my head. The sun had glinted off a blond or silver head. If it wasn’t Conklin and it wasn’t Peter, then it might have been Mitch or Tiffany. Although those two were supposed to be sleeping at that time of the morning.

  I would have to ask the both of them where they were between ten and eleven. I don’t know why it was so important to me to know who had been on the widow’s walk. I guess I was afraid it was someone who had no business being there. And only one other light-haired person came to mind.

  Almost dropping from exhaustion, I turned to my herb cupboard and surveyed the mess. While I had cleaned the rest of the kitchen, the cupboard itself was a jumble of overturned tins and bottles. I plucked a box of valerian teabags from the second shelf and hoped the bitter tea would relax me enough to get a few hours sleep.

  A movement behind me turned out to be Conklin as he glided in through the pantry door and blinked at me in surprise. Before he could back out as silently as he arrived, I spoke up.

  “Conklin. Can I make you a cup of tea? Rose hip, or perhaps nettle if you’re concerned about your calcium uptake.”

  He flicked his eyes to the chaos in the cupboard. “Perhaps you have something among those various containers to promote forbearance, Madam.”

  “Ah, Conklin, I’m sure you think that remark went right over my head. That’s okay, though, I understand I’m a trial to you. I know you think I have no business living here at Hammersleigh and trying to look after such a special place with no experience.” Exhaustion had loosened my tongue, but I didn’t care.

  “On the contrary, Madam, I find you a formidable and capable young woman, who will do more than a satisfactory job of overseeing Hammersleigh for the next half century. In my humble opinion, Madam, Mr. Pembrooke made the correct choice.”

  “Well, thanks, although I hear a but in there, Conklin.”

  “If there is a but, Madam, it is that I do not wish to see you spend your life in service to a house, even Hammersleigh House. There is much for you to experience and enjoy, many other things.”

  “Well.” I was flabbergasted. Was this just another way of saying he wanted to get rid of me, or was he being truthful about his concern for my future? “But I have you to help me, Conklin. Between the two of us, we can do anything, right?”

  “Indeed, Madam.” He suddenly looked sad. “However, I will not be around forever, and when I am gone, you will have the burden of Hammersleigh House on your own shoulders.”

  His words alarmed me. “What do you mean, you won’t be around forever. You’ll be around long after I’ve succumbed to some stress-induced disease.” Some Conklin-induced illness, I could have said.

  “Time is on your side, Madam.”

  “You can’t be more than…” I cast around in my mind for a number that was less than his actual age, but not low enough to be unbelievable. “Seventy-one?” Geez, my mother was seventy-one.

  “I am eighty-eight, long past the normal age for retirement.”

  Holy shit. “You’re not going to retire, are you?” He had me on the ropes now—if this was a mind game, he was winning.

  “Madam, you will have to prepare yourself for the day, not long now, when I will be forced by time and age to give up my duties here at Hammersleigh House.”

  “No, I can’t do this without you. You have to stay.” Then I stopped the wail fest. I wanted to get something else cleared up while we were at it. I wasn’t so far gone that I forgot all his shenanigans when Marc was around.

  “Another thing, Conklin. What have you got against Marc Allaire?”

  “Madam?”

  “Well, you act like you don’t think it’s a good idea for Marc and me to be together or alone.”

  “Madam. I hope I don’t interfere in your relationships…”

  “Come off it, Conklin. You follow me around when Marc’s here like I have some honour left to defile or something. Or Marc has.”

  The poor guy was speechless and turned an ominous shade of pink. I caved, again.

  “Come and sit over here, Conklin. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say all those things. I just want to know how I can change your opinion of me. Is there something specific I’m doing wrong, other than my attitude I mean? I don’t think I can change my personality.”

  He held up one hand. “No, Madam. You are perfectly right. I haven’t been fair to you. You are more than capable of caring for Hammersleigh and I will attempt to assist you as long as I am able to.”

  “Well, you can’t go anywhere just yet. We both know I’m not ready to solo, so put any ideas of retiring out of your head. Please.”

  He bowed his head, which meant yes, no, or I’ll go when I’m damn good and ready.

  “Anyway, you haven’t explained why you keep trying to keep Marc and me apart.”

  “Madam, I sense your ambivalence about Chief Allaire. It is not my place to interfere, I know, but I would like you to be sure about your feelings before making a physical commitment.”

  Physical commitment? Yikes, that sounded like another term for sex.

  “Well, I appreciate your concern, Conklin, but I’m a big girl and need to handle that aspect of my life by myself.”

  “You are correct, Madam. My concern for you has overcome my inherent disinclination to involve myself with the relationships between others. I know you had an unfortunate experience with your first husband, and while Chief Allaire is a fine man, I am most concerned that he be the right man for you. And you seem unsure of that.”

  I sighed. “You got that right, Conklin. I’m glad we had this talk, and I hope from now on we can be honest with each other.”

  His eyes shifted fractionally and that pretty much nailed my suspicion that there was something up between him and Marc. I was too tired to pry it out of Conklin then—a decision I was to regret later when I thought back to that moment.

  On the landing, no essence of baby powder assailed me. But the other odour, faint and spicy, was present. No tingle between my shoulders accompanied this smell, but I felt it too was familiar, something I should recognize.

  After a quick, cooling shower, I sank into a sleep so deep and dreamless that the light of morning caused my awakening to be painf
ul. I could sense the brightness of the sun behind my closed eyes as I was dragged from unconsciousness.

  I resisted, and was on the verge of drifting away again, when a muffled sound forced my eyes open wide. The light was not from the rising sun, that much I could tell from the shadows that still filled the corners of the room.

  The motion detector had been tripped again. I assumed that either Conklin or Peter would have turned it off tonight. I groaned and felt a thousand achy places in my body.

  Voices, urgent and loud, pushed my unwilling body out of bed and onto the window seat. One glance woke me up but good.

  Fire!

  Flames in the distance. It had to be one of the outbuildings beyond the brick patio area. And far too close to the house. I smelled smoke and looking across the grounds, I could make out a smoky haze escaping into the night sky. Human shapes were running either toward the blaze or away from it, and I hoped at least one of them was Mitch or Tiffany with their cell phones.

  Just in case, I stumbled back to the bedside table and reached for the phone to call the fire department before remembering. No phone in this room or anywhere on this goddamn floor. And my radio was with Peter.

  I knocked over a table on the landing—breaking another antique I found out later, an enamelled snuff box—and cracked my knee on the railing before reaching the telephone room under the stairs.

  The dispatcher responded at once and informed me the fire had already been reported by the volunteers who were still on the grounds. The trucks would be there immediately.

  I dropped the phone and ran through to the employees’ wing shouting fire, almost mowing Conklin down as he came out of his room, tying the sash of a bathrobe around his waist.

  “Fire.” I yelled at him again, in case he didn’t hear me before. “Outside. The fire trucks are on their way. Get Caroline up, will you, in case we have to evacuate. Then make sure the gates are open for the trucks.”

  “Quite, Madam.” He knotted his sash and hurried to Caroline’s room.

  I ran out the door at the end of the corridor, into a night filled with heat, smoke, flames and the shouts of what seemed like dozens of people.

  I got as close as I could to the fire which was, indeed, coming from the shed where we kept the garden equipment. I almost fainted with relief when I found Mitch and Tiffany counting heads and calling on their radios for the rest of the night team to come in.

  Mitch saw me and yelled, “Mom, I called the fire department and the police. I don’t know how this started. We’ve been watching for anything suspicious and the volunteer firemen are still around…”

  “Never mind that now. The important thing is to determine if all team members are accounted for.”

  “It’s okay. They are.” He gestured to where Tiffany was herding a group of teenagers into a disorderly cluster. “Jason and Todd are the last, and I’ve just reached them by radio. They’re coming in too.”

  “Thank God. See if you can keep them away from the fire until the trucks arrive.”

  I looked around behind me and spotted Conklin and Caroline standing together near the house. Conklin had turned on all the outside lights and the bulbs shone onto the scene, harsh and surrealistic. I had no doubt the gates were open to receive the fire trucks.

  “I wonder if the garden hose will reach the fire,” I said to Mitch. Before I could act, Peter was unrolling the hose and stretching it to its full length. It stopped short of the fire by about twenty feet. Peter turned it on anyway and sprayed water over the grass and patio.

  “At least I can wet down the area close to the house,” he shouted at me.

  I said to Mitch, “I wonder if we should move these orange trees.”

  He looked at the heavy concrete pots. “No.”

  The tool shed was completely engulfed, and flaming ashes scattered into the air. I could do nothing except pray that they would extinguish themselves before landing. But everything was so dry. I looked anxiously at the house, wondering if I should organize a squad to start carrying things onto the front lawn. Or maybe we could dig a trench to contain the fire. But the shovels were probably part of the conflagration. The heat was unbearable and the smoke was stinging my eyes.

  Sirens had been audible for some time and now five or six yellow-slickered firemen ran toward us, carrying one gigantic hose. With a series of shouts, water erupted from the spout.

  One firefighter handled the crowd, which I was not surprised to see, included members of the camping brigade. Well, what could we expect with the gates set wide? Soon the whole town of Blackshore would be standing on Hammersleigh’s back lawn.

  The volunteer fireman pushing the spectators back was none other than my Grade 12 lab partner, Andy Finney, although you wouldn’t know we were ever friends by the way he barked at me to move behind the lines. Andy was threading a thick rope in and around trees, bushes, benches and whatever else he could use to set a barrier between the fire and the house. Its purpose was not immediately apparent since the flames were beginning to fizzle under the onslaught of the super hose, but at least it kept the teenagers―and other people mature enough to know better―away from the smoke and flames.

  Conklin moved up and wrapped a blanket around me. I pulled it off. “Geez, Conklin, I’m almost cooked. But thanks anyway.”

  Indeed, the heat was crippling and I was glad of the rope barrier to keep me—and everyone else—from getting too close. There’s something mesmerizing about a fire and I’m sure most of us would have been standing too close, if allowed, despite the heat.

  I noticed Marc and Ronnie Guilbert in a group with one of the firemen, the chief I thought. Ronnie unwound a roll of yellow police tape, following the path of the rope.

  There were no visible flames now. The shed had been reduced to a stinking, smoking pile of twisted metal and wood ash, but the hose continued to spew water. I realized that the water to fight the fire likely came from a tanker truck parked on the front driveway. Since the house was located outside of Blackshore, we couldn’t rely on municipal fire hydrants, so they would have had to truck the water in. I groaned and pulled at my hair—I would get a bill for the water.

  I felt something warm and scratchy being wrapped around me. I looked up into Marc’s face. He looked grim and I hesitated to tell him I was pretty warm already, thanks, so please remove the blanket. I just shrugged and let the blanket fall to the ground.

  He hung it back on my shoulders.

  “It’s too hot for that, Marc.”

  “It’s not for warmth, Lyris. You’re next to naked.”

  Hell’s bells, he was right. I looked down at myself and remembered I was wearing what I went to bed in—bikini underpants and a short cotton camisole. Thank God I wasn’t wearing my usual thong.

  Bending down, I picked up the blanket and wrapped it toga style around my body. Well, everyone was too busy fire gazing to notice one woman past her first youth parade around in her underwear.

  “Where did you get that injury?”

  “What? What injury?”

  “Come on, Lyris. You’re bruised from waist to knee. How did you do it?”

  “I had a little accident in the garden. I fell on a rock yesterday, but it’s almost healed already.”

  “Have you seen a doctor?”

  “No, of course not. It’s a simple bruise. Do you always show up at local fires? Not enough excitement for you in police work?”

  “I was still in the vicinity. Too bad I wasn’t still on the grounds. I might have caught the fire bug.”

  “You think the fire was started by someone?” That explained the rope and police tape barrier.

  “I don’t think this shed spontaneously combusted. There was a lot of metal there and I suspect it started on the inside. Is the shed always locked?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think there was anything stored in that shed other than gardening tools, maybe fertilizer. The riding lawn mower and the leaf sucker and the weed whacker are kept in that building on the other side
of the trees…”

  “Never mind,” he interrupted me. “I’ll talk to Conklin and have another word with Jamie.” Jamie Petrowski was our fire chief, another friend and golfing buddy of Marc’s.

  I looked at the activity going on around me and the crowd that had now swelled to fifty or more. I eyed Tiffany resentfully. She was prancing around in very short shorts and a little bitty tube top, but nobody was trying to cover her with a blanket.

  Caroline and Conklin, with Peter assisting, were serving coffee to the firefighters. Most of the men—there were no female firefighters in Blackshore yet—had stripped off their helmets and yellow slickers, and some were even removing their rubber pants.

  The coffee was accompanied by cookies and slices of Caroline’s marble-swirl pound cake. The whole scene was starting to look like a party. Over by the shade garden, my team members were under the loose control of Mitch and Tiffany. I saw a suspect cigarette being passed around and the kids were starting to act silly, bonking each other on the head and rolling in the wet grass.

  I looked around. Here we had a police chief, a fire chief, and the formidable Conklin. Any one of them was more than capable of quelling a riot using gun, hose or attitude respectively. Was I needed? No damn way.

  With that decision under my blanket, I made for the kitchen door, scooping up Jacqueline and Rasputin from under one of the stone benches on the patio, where they had been watching the show. The back door wasn’t locked and I left it that way so the others could get back in when they were ready.

  A whiff of my smoke-saturated camisole propelled me into the bathroom for another shower. I shampooed my hair and scrubbed my body until I was sure the smell was gone.

  Jacqueline and Rasputin were waiting for me outside the bathroom door, looking forlorn as only a dog and cat who are locked inside while all the fun took place outside can look. I felt sorry for them and let them come into my bedroom.

  “Okay, you guys can stay here for a while, but no barking, purring, or any other noises. Got that?”

  They soon settled down together on the floor at the foot of my bed. The fans were still whirring in the corner and I positioned them so they were aiming a tepid current of air at all three of us. I climbed the steps into my bed and closed my eyes.