Grave Deeds (16 page)

“I've got to go.” I pushed her, none too gently, in the direction of the bedroom. “We'll talk in the morning.”

She opened her mouth to add something, but changed her mind and returned to her bed.

“How're your feet?” I asked Will.

“Wet.” He handed me a second switch. “I think the cows are ready to leave. Just keep the switch moving and keep your voice low and even. I don't think they'll go into the trees unless they get scared.”

“When did you learn so much about cows?”

“Misspent youth.” We'd reached the drive where the cows were milling about the cars. There were six of them, one a calf. “Hoo-ee,” Will carolled. He snapped the switch. The cows shuffled and lowed, but moved off down the hill toward the gate. “Remember my friend Arnie? His Dad had a dairy farm. I used to help out sometimes.”

The cows lumbered along, the two of us following, whistling our switches when they slowed or threatened to leave the path. I gave up trying to avoid the puddles.

Now that the rain had stopped, the night was still and cool, silent except for the plodding and complaining herd. Once they were through the gate, I pulled it shut and looped the chain over the post so that it wouldn't open again.

Will shivered. “It's cold.”

“Yeah.”

We held hands walking back up the drive but had to pass single file between the parked cars. Between the white Ford and our Honda, Marilyn's car squatted like a turtle beneath the green shell of the tarp.

“What kind of car do you think this is?” Will ran his hand along the low rooftop and down over the tiny trunk.

“Probably a Miata. I've always wanted one of those. Bright red.”

“Some kind of sports car, for sure.” He felt the door handle under the cloth. “It's locked.”

“What did you expect? She wouldn't go to the bother of covering it up and then not lock it.”

“Seems a bit paranoid to lock up way out here. No one's going to come down that road.”

“We did. And so did Bonnie.”

“Yeah, Bonnie. Some friend you have. You realize you could be arrested for assisting her in kidnapping those kids.”

“It's not really kidnapping. They are hers.”

“But her husband has custody.”

“I thought you said we'd had enough talking tonight.”

“Okay.” He slapped his shoulder. “Bugs are still bad. I hoped they might quiet down after dark.”

“Only mosquitoes do that. Black flies feast by moonlight.” I spread my arms and vamped, “I vant to bite your neck.”

“Not a bad idea. Ouch,” He smacked his ear. “That one really hurt. Time to go in.”

“Bonnie told me something funny just now when I was getting the light,” I said, as we trudged up the path to the back door.

“Oh?” He paused to let me catch up. “She saw Hank at the museum.”

“Hank? Is she sure?”

“She thinks he had an appointment with one of the staff archaeologists.”

“Must have been about those relics.”

“That's what I said. But if he wanted to give them to the museum, why are they still under Marilyn's bed? And how did he find out about them in the first place?”

“He has a key to the cottage. Maybe he found them and didn't know what they were.”

“Do you think she knows he knows about them?”

“Beats me.” Will held the screen door open for me.

“Give me the flashlight. I have to use the john.”

A stray gust shook down a shower from the leaves. I stood for a moment looking through the gap between the trees at the still blackness that was the water. Nothing moved. Out on the lake, the loons began to laugh.

I never sleep well in a strange bed. This night proved no exception. I tossed and turned, unable to stop thinking about the relics in the trunk, Bonnie's desperate flight, and my cousin's mysterious absence. I finally drifted into a kind of sleep before dawn. The clamor of birds rising from the marsh jolted me awake. My jaws ached. I'd been dreaming again of chewing toffee and, as I chewed, my teeth one by one loosened and fell out. I was so convinced by the reality of the pain that I ran a finger over all my teeth right away. All were there; none were loose.

Will still slept, curled away from me in a protective ball. I heard footsteps in the hall, the muffled squeak of the back door opening: Bonnie or Ryan going to the outhouse. Gray light filled the room. A crow cleared its voice over and over. I snuggled down in the sleeping bag, waiting for whoever had gone out to come back. I dozed off.

When I woke for the second time, it was much brighter, the sky a clear pale blue, blushing pink at its horizon, and decorated with wisps of cloud. I dressed quickly and went out to the outhouse myself. Birdsong racketed. I recognized the most common — the robins, redwinged blackbirds, jays, gulls, and loons — but they accounted for only a fraction of the chorus that greeted the rising sun.

As quietly as I could, I made a pot of coffee and took my
cup out to the screened porch. It was furnished simply with a wicker table and two matching rockers, which were surprisingly comfortable. I sat and sipped, looking out over the marsh at the glint of sunlight on the lake water. Swallows swooped and spun over the rice beds. A great blue heron flapped lazily by, its knobby legs trailing. Down by the river, a blackbird trilled over and over, asserting his right to territory. Things were so peaceful I could almost imagine that the events of last night were part of some nightmare.

“Hi,” a small voice piped up. “Can I come out here with you?”

I turned to see Megan standing by the porch door. She was still in pyjamas. Her teddy bear dangled from one hand, a faded pink baby blanket from the other.

“Sure. Want some breakfast?”

She shook her head. I watched how precisely she closed the door behind her and walked over to the window where she stood with her nose against the screen. I wondered if she might be short sighted. I got my first pair of glasses when I was seven; I could still remember my amazement when the blur of colour that surrounded me resolved into leaves and letters and people's faces.

“Is your Mom up yet? Or Ryan?”

She shook her head.

I sipped my drink. I wasn't used to talking to children. “Does your bear have a name?”

“It's not real, you know,” she informed me. “It's only a toy.” “But a special toy.”

She treated that remark with the disdain it deserved. But she did hitch the bear up so that it, too, could look out the window.

“His name's T. Bear,” she informed the outside. “Where's the beach? Mommy said we could make sand castles.”

“You can't see it from here. We have to take the boat down the river to its end.”

“Do you have a boat?”

“There's a canoe on the dock.”

“Are you an Indian?”

“No. Why?”

“Indians paddle canoes. Made out of tree bark.”

“That's right, in the olden days. The canoe here is made out of aluminum. Metal.”

“It'll sink. Metal's heavy.”

“Not that heavy.”

“Oh.” She wandered around the room looking alternately out the window and down at the pattern of dust whorls that lay thick on the board floor. She reached the second rocker and, after a moment's hesitation, climbed into it. With one foot, she set it rocking. She wrapped the bear in the blanket and held it closely, her thumb in her mouth.

“There you are,” Bonnie said. She came in the room, a smile struggling to displace the panic on her face. “I couldn't imagine where you went.”

I noticed that the cuffs of her pink sweat pants were wet and stained with grass.

“Been out for a walk?” I asked.

She looked down, rubbing one ankle down the other calf. “Just to the river and back. The grass is still pretty wet.”

“We're having a conversation,” Megan announced.

Bonnie glanced at me. “That's nice. Would you like your breakfast out here?”

“Okay.”

Bonnie turned to me as she was about to leave the room. “Listen, Rosie, I'm sorry about last night.”

I wondered if she meant their unexpected and unwelcome arrival or the business with the cows. “It's all right.”

She nodded and went in. Megan and I rocked silently.

She asked suddenly, “Don't you have children?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Some people do and some don't.” I shrugged. “It's the way it is.”

“I'm going to have six children. All girls.”

“You'll be very busy.”

“It'll be all right. They'll have two Mommies. Just like me.”

I looked at her. She was rewrapping the bear with great concentration, tucking in the ends of blanket so it wouldn't trail.

“You've got two mothers?” I repeated.

“Oh yes. I've got Mommy and Lynne. She lives with us.
Ryan says we can't talk about her.”

“Why not?”

“Mommy gets upset. I don't know why. Lynne's nice. She makes Daddy laugh.”

Bonnie backed into the room, both hands occupied with large bowls of steaming oatmeal. Ryan followed her.

“You can have my chair,” I told him. “I've got to wake Will.”

“He's already up and out,” Bonnie said.

“We need to talk,” I said to her.

“In a bit. Let's eat in peace, okay?”

I left the three of them to their cereal and went back indoors. Will was re-assembling the sofa.

“How'd you sleep?” I asked.

He glanced up, his mouth twisted in a grimace. “Not the most comfortable night I've ever had. How about you?”

“I had my tooth falling out dream last night.”

“That's what kept jabbing me in all my tender places: loose teeth.”

I threw a pillow at him. “Don't be an idiot.”

He tucked the pillow into the sofa corner and straightened, one hand on the small of his back. “You've made coffee already?”

“Want some?”

“You bet.”

He rolled up the sleeping bags and carried them with our back packs into Marilyn's room. “They'll be out of the way in here,” he explained.

“What are we going to do?” I handed him a cup. He didn't sit, but stood, drinking coffee and staring out the kitchen window at the woods.

“About what? Bonnie? Marilyn? The bones under the bed?”

“I assume Marilyn will have some explanation for them,” I answered. “When she gets here.”

“If she gets here,” Will replied gloomily.

“You don't think she'll show up?”

“Hard to say. She seems to have a talent for avoiding you.” “Hank said she'd be here today.”

“Speaking of which,” Will turned away from the window, “I don't like the idea of leaving you here alone. Whatever Bonnie decides to do. Your cousins…both of them…”

“I can handle them.” I said, beginning to get angry.

“I've got no doubt about that,” Will laughed. “I'd hate to see any of them try to get around you when you get going.” He put his coffee cup down and rubbed his beard. “I have to admit, though, I'm curious. And I don't want to go to my parents' place anyway.”

“But they're waiting for you.”

“I'll go see them and explain. It would be easier if they had a phone, but I shouldn't be more than three hours or so. I'll come back after lunch. Maybe Bonnie will have worked out by then what she's going to do and your cousin will have turned up. And we can get this whole mess sorted out.”

“My hero,” I chirped.

“Idiot,” he kissed me.

“Excuse me,” Ryan drawled, backing out of the kitchen.

Will and I broke apart. How did parents manage to find time for intimacy with kids around? I realized that childlessness was not without its advantages after all.

“Did you want something?” Will asked the boy.

“Can we go down to the beach?”

“In a while,” I replied. “I have to talk to your mother.”

“How come there isn't a TV here? Or even a radio? It's dead boring.” He scuffed his shoes.

“There's a lot of books and magazines on that bookshelf in your room. As well as some games and puzzles, I think.”

“Baby stuff.”

“Why don't you explore the woods, then?”

The boy sighed. Bonnie came in and tried to hug him. He ducked away from her arms.

“We've got Nintendo at home,” he said. “And Frank was going to come over today to play my new Mario game. He knows how to beat the fourth level.”

“You spend too much time playing those games. The whole outdoors is here.” Bonnie flung her arms wide.

“There's too many mosquitoes. And there's nothing to do. It's boring. I hate it. I wish we never came.” He stomped back into the bedroom.

“Don't say a word,” Bonnie warned us. She took a deep breath and marched down the hall. “Ryan,” we heard her say and then the door closed on their talk.

“I'd better get going,” Will said.

“Do you think you should stop at the store and call Robin? Or Harold?”

“I think we'd do well to keep out of this mess as much as possible.”

Bonnie returned, Ryan behind her. She spoke in a carefully cheerful voice. “Ryan's going to take Megan down to the river to look for fish. And turtles. We brought our life jackets with us so they can go on the dock. Won't that be fun, honey?”

The little girl stood in the porch door, her thumb in her mouth. She looked from her brother to her mother and back before slowly nodding.

“Come and get dressed,” Bonnie continued, “while Ryan goes to get the jackets.”

“I'm not wearing one,” he protested. “I know how to swim.”

“So do I,” said Megan.

“You'll both wear the jackets,” Bonnie barked. “No argument.”

Behind her back, Ryan rolled his eyes. Megan's lips trembled.