A Dismal Thing To Do (7 page)

“Being careful not to mention who they are or where they live, right? Wouldn’t the Grouses and the McLumbers know the Wadmans?”

“Mr. X is a little too young to have been at school with my father, and too old for Bert’s crowd, but I can’t imagine he’s never heard of us. Now scat. Hello, Nita. Did you eat?”

Madoc scatted, to take his place at the dining room table, which Muriel had set with the best silver and some placemats Annabelle had embroidered. She was impressed by doctors, and thought it nice of this pair to have flown in from Halifax or Saint John or Montreal or maybe even Boston.

She’d know they didn’t come from Fredericton, since there was precious little about Fredericton Muriel didn’t know. Anything pertaining to the military, would be a different story, and just as well. Mr. X, or Major Grouse or Colonel McLumber as the case might be, was not precisely a master of disguise. If he were, he’d watch his final consonants. Now that he knew what to listen for, Madoc had no trouble picking up the little extra emphasis, the quick expulsion of breath.

“Doctor, I’m sure you noticed how tense my wife was despite her efforts to appear calm and collected. I think I should tell you that we had a small nervous crisis just now. No, Muriel, it’s quite all right. Nurse Nurney is giving her a sedative. But the gist of it is, Janet thinks it would be best if she got away to her people for a few days. They’re a close-knit family, and she says she’d feel safer among them. I must say I agree. Complete rest, quiet chats with her relatives—”

That was laying it on a bit. Fancy anybody having a quiet chat with Annabelle, the one-woman soap opera. But Annabelle was fond of her young sister-in-law, and Janet would indeed be well protected there with Bert and the boys and Sam Neddick, the hired man who saw all, knew all, and told only what he was of a mind to.

It was a good thing Janet hadn’t yet got around to putting up the family photographs. Mr. X nodded, all unawares. “Don’t see why not, if she feels well enough to travel. Probably the best thing for her. You weren’t planning to stay there with her, I don’t suppose?”

It was an order. Madoc let Mr. X know he understood that fact.

“Oh, there’s no need. She’ll be well taken care of and I can always nip over when I get some time off. Would you care for a little more of the pie?”

Mr. X announced himself replete and in a rush to get back to the—er—hospital. He beamed kindly on Muriel, addressed her as “gracious lady,” and left her pleasantly aflutter and no doubt champing at the bit to run up and tell Janet all about it, if Nurse Nurney would only let her. That was all right; she could help with the packing. Madoc would ride back to headquarters with Mr. X and the deputy commissioner, stay just long enough to tie up some loose ends, and negotiate the loan of his own chief’s Winnebago. He could then tuck his Jenny up in a comfortable bed, make the trip without discomfort, and have her in Pitcherville by nightfall. Tomorrow he’d take a little run over to Bigears.

J
ANET HAD LAUGHED HIM
out of the Winnebago, which was probably just as well. She’d insisted she’d be fine in the car and, as far as Madoc could see, she was.

They’d waited until morning to start because Madoc had to clear his desk first and besides, as Janet thriftily pointed out, they still had last night’s supper to eat. She’d taken a trial run down to the kitchen late in the afternoon and found she could manage well enough so long as she didn’t try any fancy bending or stretching. So Officer Nurney was freed to go off duty and Muriel to run home and tell Jock all about the big doctor from Winnipeg, and Janet and Madoc to spend a cozy evening and a cozier night together.

Then Janet had treated herself to a good hot soak in the tub to limber her up, got dressed with more help from Madoc than she really needed, and they were off. Muriel was going to water the plants and take in the mail. Every man and woman on the Fredericton Police Force, not to mention the local RCMP, would be guarding the property off and on as other duties permitted. Nevertheless, Janet rather hated to leave. This was the first time she’d be sleeping away from her own home since they moved in, and she wasn’t keen on the idea. On the other hand, if Madoc was going to be detecting somebody over at Big-ears, she’d be near him. Now she knew how Lady Rhys felt when Sir Emlyn got an invitation to conduct a chorus in Riga or Wellington.

They didn’t bother to phone ahead to the farm. That would only have put Annabelle into a premature tizzy. Janet still had her door key, but she wouldn’t be apt to need it. At least one member of the family was pretty sure to be around. There was also the question of security.

Madoc didn’t actually think their phone had been tapped, but he did know some people in Pitcherville still had party lines. Marion Emery, old Maw Fewter, and no doubt a few more would have their ears glued to the receiver as soon as they heard two longs and a short ring. He and Janet spent a fair portion of the drive thinking up interesting explanations for her battered condition. None of them would fool Bert for long, but Bert Would have sense enough not to say so. Living with Annabelle, he’d had plenty of practice keeping his mouth shut.

This was not to say Bert didn’t adore Annabelle and so did Madoc, up to a point. They dawdled along so they’d arrive just before noon, timing it neatly so Annabelle could go into her whirlwind act, producing a Thanksgiving feast out of the old cookstove in about three minutes flat and getting them all sat down to it before Bert had got the top off the rum bottle to give himself and Madoc the ritual snort. They’d have been just as well fed if they’d arrived two hours earlier, but the effect wouldn’t have been so exciting.

For a while there was little conversation except of the “This is delicious” and “Any more in the pot?” variety. Annabelle expected her cuisine to be taken seriously, and it was worth the attention. When they’d got down to the tea and pie stage, though, it was she herself who raised the question.

“But you still haven’t told us what you’re doing here on a weekday. Don’t tell us you’ve run out of crooks to chase. You could have knocked me over with a feather when I saw your car pull into the yard.”

This was a doubtful premise. Annabelle wasn’t many inches taller than Janet, but three kids and a lot of good cooking had increased her girth to about twice her sister-in-law’s. She amplified on this theme for a while, then Bert gave her a big kiss on the mouth to staunch the flow and give Janet a chance to start her story.

It was quite a yarn, starting out with Muriel’s tale of a good pine washstand going cheap and winding up in the barn of a poor old widow with a shaky ladder up to the loft.

“And she actually let you climb it, knowing the state it was in?” cried Annabelle. “You should have sued her!”

“A poor old widow? Besides, her eyesight was so bad she couldn’t have seen how rickety the ladder was. I could, and I knew I was taking a risk, so it was my own stupid fault. I figured with a heavy coat and boots and all, I’d be well enough padded not to hurt myself if it did break, which just shows you how wrong a person can be. Let that be a warning to all of us,” she added with a meaning look at her youngest nephew, who was given to putting on his father’s Loyal Order of Owls regalia and hurling himself off the top of the henhouse, shouting, “Owlman to the rescue!”

“What gripes me is that I still don’t have a washstand and my mother-in-law’s arriving a week from today. You don’t suppose Marion has one over at the Mansion she wouldn’t mind selling?” Janet knew the mere mention of Marion’s name would set Annabelle off for at least another hour while the boys went back to school for the afternoon session and Bert and Madoc adjourned to the barn to see how the livestock were doing and maybe exchange a few words about the Grouses and the McLumbers.

On any normal day, it would be taken for granted Janet would help Annabelle clear the table and cope with the dishes. She did make one feeble attempt to pick up some teacups, then stopped, holding on to the back of a chair. “Guess I’d better go lie down for a while.”

Annabelle was instantly at her side. “Do you want to go upstairs to bed?”

“Why don’t you just help me into my nightgown and bathrobe? Then I can lie down here on the couch. If I can’t help, at least we can visit.” So Annabelle rambled on in her warm, quick voice as she tidied the kitchen and then sat down to darn a sweater of Bert’s that he’d snagged on the cream separator, and Janet smiled and put in a word edgewise now and men. Between times, she nodded off, knowing Annabelle wouldn’t be a whit offended if she noticed. Being together was what counted.

Out in the barn, more serious conversation was going on.

“So that’s why I want Jenny out of Fredericton, Bert,” Madoc wound up. “This case is so damned hush-hush that I’m to handle it by myself and they won’t even tell me what it is I’m supposed to be looking for. What matters most to me is that I don’t know whether somebody’s also looking for Janet, and I don’t dare leave her there alone to find out.”

“I should damn well think not,” Bert replied. “But will she stay? You know Jen.”

“It was her own idea to come here. She knew she’d be safe with you and Annabelle and Sam Neddick. If I honestly thought I was putting any of you in danger, I’d have bunged her straight into hospital under guard and kept her there. I still will if it becomes necessary, so if you see the least little sign of anything out of the way, you damn well let me know in a hurry. Do you think it’s safe to tell Sam?”

Bert grinned. “Hell, he probably knows more than you do already. But Sam will keep his mouth shut, unless there’s something he thinks you or I ought to know. So all you want from Belle and me is to keep Janet safe and quiet till she gets better, eh? She’s not hurt bad, is she, Madoc?”

“As far as we can tell, it’s mostly bruises and a few superficial cuts from the broken glass. That’s part of the problem. It won’t take her long to get back on her feet, and I don’t want her going anywhere, not even down into the village. Maybe you can put Annabelle up to starting her piecing a quilt, or something of the sort that will keep her indoors and occupied. I may be around for a few days myself, if you can stand me.”

“Tickled to have you. Matter of fact, Fred Olson was telling me just yesterday that we might have to call you out here again. Seems Pitcherville’s in the midst of a major crime wave.”

“Why? What’s happened?”

Bert grinned. “Somebody stole Perce Bergeron’s old truck.”

“The one his father used to carry the stud bull around in?”

“Hell, Madoc, how’d you know that?”

“We have our methods. What color was this truck?”

“Kind of a dirty barn red, or used to be.”

Janet had said the truck she saw was painted dark green. The first thing any sensible thief would have done would have been to repaint it a different color.

“Could you describe the truck for me?”

Bert could describe the bull who’d served the Bergerons, not to mention the lady Guernseys and Holsteins of the area, so long and so well. He was clear on every detail from the horns to the hooves, but when it came to what make and year the truck was, he couldn’t rightly recollect. “Fred Olson could tell you better than I,” he apologized. “It’s more in his line of work than mine.”

That was true, Fred being not only Pitcherville’s town constable but also its town mechanic, and its blacksmith when there was any smithing to be done. “Then I’ll take a run down there,” said Madoc. “I owe him a courtesy call anyway. Does Annabelle need anything from the village?”

“I hardly think likely. If there is, one of the boys can scoot down for it after school. Young Bert, most likely. He’s in love with the little Williamson girl. Or was, last I heard. Cripes, they grow up fast nowadays.”

Madoc said he supposed he’d be saying the same thing himself in a few years’ time, and got into the motor pool car he’d borrowed instead of the Winnebago. He hadn’t wanted to shake Janet up in the old Renault. As for her own car, it was in a garage somewhere near Harvey Station and it could damned well stay there, as far as he was concerned, till his birds were safely in the bag.

Fred was glad to see him. Madoc was equally glad to see Fred. He had considerable respect for the overweight, middle-aged, one-man police force who’d braved Pitcherville public opinion—and that took some braving—to call in the Mounties on the off-chance there might be a murderer loose in the village, and thus bring him together with Bert Wadman’s younger sister.

“Hello, Fred. I understand you’ve been wanting to call a high-level conference on the subject of a missing wedding vehicle.”

“Wedding vehicle? Oh, I get it.” A grin found its way with some effort through and around the jowls and wrinkles. “Yep, we got a grade-A crime wave around here. Perce Bergeron’s old bull truck an’ a dozen two-by-fours from Jase Bain’s junkyard.”

“Well, well! This is more serious than I thought. Has Bain filed suit against you yet for negligence or malfeasance?”

“No, but he’s workin’ up to it. Care to set a spell?”

“Thank you.”

It was warm enough in the garage with a fire of wood scraps burning in the stove Fred had fashioned from an oil drum and a few angle irons. The seating arrangements weren’t fancy. The chair Fred offered had a hunk of plywood roughly nailed on over the hole where the cane had let go, and that was the best of the lot, but it did well enough.

The constable picked up the teakettle that was simmering on top of the oil drum and gave it an interrogative slosh. Madoc shook his head.

“No tea for me, thanks. I’ve just got up from one of Annabelle’s little snack lunches. Any ideas about who’s waving the crime?”

“Nary a one. Sam Neddick don’t know, an’ neither does Maw Fewter. Sam still goes to see ’er now an’ then, for old times’ sake. Annabelle sends things down sometimes when she bakes. Once or twice, Sam’s even paid out his own money for a bag o’ gumdrops. Maw’s talked herself into believin’ he really meant to marry her Dottie.”

“What does Sam think of that?”

“Doesn’t bother him none. Let ’er think if it gives ’er any comfort, is the way he looks at it. Don’t cost him nothin’. O’ course he picks up all the village gossip at the same time.”