Murder Takes to the Hills (8 page)

None of the three of us wanted to go upstairs to bed, so we spent the night at the kitchen table. Sometimes we turned the battery radio on long enough to be told the storm was expected to diminish by a dawn we feared would never come. Sometimes we dozed in the straight chairs, wakening every few minutes as we lost balance. Finally, we put our heads down on the table,
having digested all the terror we could hold, and simply became
numb.

Daylight finally did come, as it inevitably must, unless it is truly, finally the end of the world. The wind had slackened to a mild gale; the rain was a manageable downpour. We realized we had survived and were overtaken by a silly lethargy that made us giggle at nothing and satisfy our hunger noisily with the stale leftovers of last night’s banquet.

Dad came in from the den where he had slept on the couch, expecting a steaming mug of coffee and a trencherman’s breakfast. He looked with distaste and disdain at our sandwiches with the curling edges and hardening streaks of mayonnaise, at the glasses holding flat soda or smudged with congealing milk. He poured a hefty shot of scotch, added a bit of water from the tap, and sat down, turning on the radio only to curse the announcer who warned of flooding in low areas and downed wires which could still kill.

Finishing his drink, he declared he must get to work and see what damage the store had sustained. He didn’t question what his house or his family might have sustained. Sonny informed him that a large branch from our neighbor’s tree blocked our driveway.

Dad told him to put on a coat and help him move it. Mom said that it could have live wires tangled in it and that Sonny wasn’t going anywhere near it. Sonny looked relieved. Dad shrugged and said she’d turn her son into a fairy yet at the rate she was going, grabbed his slicker and went out to drag the branch aside.

The radio announcer had been right.

We were now a family of three with no breadwinner. Mom got a job, Sonny and I helped as and when we could. There may have been additional aid from Aunt Mae and our grandmother— I never knew. I did know that, financially strapped or not, we were more lighthearted and content than we had ever been. Eventually Mom got promoted, first Sonny and then I became independent…and everyone’s checkbook now looked reasonably healthy.

Over the years, Mom had several invitations to marriage that I knew of. She turned them down gently but firmly. Now—it still seems strange to use these words in reference to my mother—she is in the midst of a very successful affair with an actor several years her junior. She had met Noel Fortnum when he was appearing in a play here last summer and they were immediately attracted. Neither seems especially interested in marriage, but they obviously care deeply for each other. At first I thought the long-distance relationship might not work. Now I think perhaps the distance makes it work better. All that really matters to me is—Mom is happy.

Aunt Mae looked at her watch, caught Joe’s eye and made a “check” motion with her hand and said, “Jeanne, we’d best stir ourselves. Being late will just make it drag on longer.”

“What’s dragging on?” I asked.

“The bi-monthly meeting of the Ladies’ Altar Guild,” Mom answered for her.
 
“I’m chairwoman this year, so I guess they can’t start without me, but I do hate being late. It just makes it look as if you consider your time more valuable than anyone else’s. Now listen, you two girls be careful and call either of us if you want some extra company. Any time.”

I waited till they were safely out the door before ordering another beer and lunch…and then canceling both. I decided to go home and take the furry ones to the cottage so they, too, could have some peace. I’d call Cindy later and tell her where I was.

Ordinarily I don’t fall for advertising gimmicks. A gizmo that usually sells for a hundred dollars, but is available right now for nineteen ninety-five doesn’t snare me. Telling me that if I order this very minute, you will send me
two
gizmos for the price of one doesn’t have me running for the phone.
 
Advising me that the gizmo is guaranteed for life leaves me unimpressed, for the simple reason I have never been able to figure out whose life they mean. The announcer’s?
 
Mine? The manufacturer’s?
 
The gizmo’s? The TV station’s? And exactly what constitutes
life
in this circumstance?

 
But about three weeks ago, I was trying to ignore the Orrick Concerto and turned on the
telly
.
 
The movie I got must surely have been a loser even in 1950 and was no better some sixty years later, but in desperation, I left it on.

One of the commercials that seemed to pop up about every five minutes, advertised a sound-activated long-range mini tape recorder which you wore on your wrist, like a handsome sports watch, and batteries were even included. It was valued at more than twice what they were charging for it and—yes—if I called now, they’d send me two…both guaranteed for life!

I figured it might come in handy in my work at some time. I saw no need of two, but figured I’d give the extra one to Sonny, who might also find it useful. I went briskly to the phone and placed my order and promptly forgot about it.

Today, when I took the mail from the mailbox, it included a small carton with a generic company return address, and I had to go in the house and open the damn thing before I remembered what it was. The printed instructions and lifetime warranty, written in elegant script, reminded me what I had ordered. And made me wonder what in the name of heaven I had been thinking of.

A handsome sports watch it definitely was not. It was bulky as hell and looked more like one of those ankle bracelets some unfortunate people have to wear to prove to the police they really are at home.

Wondering if it worked as well as it looked, I followed the instructions to get it ready for action, backed off about eight feet and spoke a few words at my natural volume. I rewound the tape and hit the
Play
button.
 
And I heard my voice, a bit scratchy and tinny, but easily understandable say, “Hi there! I’m about to rob the jewelry store. Want anything?”

I was pleasantly surprised with my new techno-toy. Only the looks of the thing disappointed me. It was about as inconspicuous as walking around with a grenade on your wrist. I’d have to think of some other way to carry it.

At this point, Fargo pushed the carton off the table, checking to see if it contained food. And I got my bright idea.

Scrabbling in the kitchen junk drawer, I pulled out a roll of tape. Then I took Fargo’s collar off, taped the recorder to it and returned it to his neck. He didn’t like it. He shook his head, then he rubbed his neck along the carpet, next he tried scratching it and finally he sat and looked at me accusingly.

I petted him and told him it wouldn’t be for long. Actually I was dying to try my gizmo out in an area with background noise and various people talking.
 
I promised him a hot dog and his ears went up. I apologized to Wells and promised her the cottage later and dragged Fargo out the door.

After parking downtown on McMillan Wharf, I walked Fargo, still stretching his neck from time to time, over to one of the hot dog stands.

A smiling face appeared at the service window. “Hi, Alex. Good afternoon, Fargo. What will it be?”

“And a good afternoon to you, Ginny. A plain hotdog for my furry friend and one with mustard and relish for me, plus a coffee, please.”

Minutes later the order appeared on a little cardboard tray, with Fargo’s hot dog neatly cut into bite-size pieces and a small bowl of water beside it. Service was first-class here if you were Fargo.

I looked around the area, deciding which of the benches in the grassy strip along the edge of the concrete wharf to choose. Finally I spotted a bench about ten feet from a young couple just starting their own lunch and walked over to it. Placing Fargo’s meal and water on the ground, I put the gizmo on
Receive
and addressed my own hot dog.

I couldn’t quite hear their conversation…something about whether to go home tomorrow or the next day…something about a place that was closed on Saturday. I wondered if the gizmo was getting any of this. The couple soon left, and we were not far behind. I decided to wait until we got home to see how the recorder had worked. I turned it off and let Fargo into the car.

As we progressed up Commercial Street I spotted Cassie’s car several blocks ahead of us. Suddenly she pulled over, got out and started down the alley to the Rat. I pulled in behind her and followed her down the alley. Near the door I hitched Fargo to the big old anchor there and gave him sufficient lead on his extension leash to relax in sun or shade—but not enough to follow me inside, which would have been his first thought.

Once in, I sat down at the bar next to Cassie. “How’s the Red Baron today?”

She turned. “Well, howdy, Sherlock. Join me for lunch? I know it’s a little late. I just got back from taking a couple of guys down to
Teterboro
airport in New Jersey, and I’m starved.”

“No, thanks. I’ll settle for a Bud. Any news from the Pittsburgh pirates?”

“Not yet, and they’d better not take too much longer. I’m already getting bookings. It looks like an early season, thank God. And I’m not going to cancel flights with people I know, to accommodate three lunatics throwing a clambake! Although,” she added wistfully, “it would be a nice piece of change.”

“Well, you’re good at juggling. You’ll manage to fit everybody in, even if you have to fly somebody to Augusta via Pittsburgh.”

“Maine or Georgia?”

“Don’t be a wise-ass!” I grinned.

“Okay. I’m amenable,” she replied. “Tell me, how’s Cindy dealing with this stalker thing. It must be nerve-racking.”

“
Dammit
!” I set my beer down sharply. “We’ve been breaking our necks to keep this quiet. Even my mom didn’t know about it till an hour ago. How do
you
know?”

“Hey!” She spread both hands in front of her. “Don’t be so touchy. I’m not about to call the
Enquirer.
Sonny talked to the shrink at the clinic about the stalker. The shrink hadn’t dealt with many stalkers and thought
Lainey
might be of some help—she nursed at Bellevue a couple of years before coming back to the Cape, you know—so he called her in on it. Sonny was just trying to get some sort of profile on the guy…in fact I think he mainly wanted some reassurance the man would most likely not turn violent.
 
It won’t be spread all over town. Take it easy.”

“Yeah, sorry. I’m just on edge. Maybe more than Cindy at this point. God, between the stalker and the Orrick workmen, and two pets barking and hissing—I’m beginning to resemble a snapping turtle, and Cindy is worse. In her mind, it seems to be my fault she can’t crowd her entire Catherine the Great wardrobe into the little closet at the cottage. Even that’s a dubious haven nowadays.” I took a long drink of my beer, and didn’t say no when Joe took another off the ice.

Cassie’s lunch arrived. And we sat silently for a few minutes while she knocked off the outer reaches of her hunger. Finally, she put down her fork and spoke.

“You know, a change of scenery wouldn’t hurt you two at all. Now, Nova Scotia is vastly underrated. We were up there last year, stayed in a wonderful B&B. It was originally an inn, owned in the eighteen-fifties by the parents of the woman, Anna, who became famous in
The King and I
.”

“I thought she was English,” I interrupted.

“So did I, but she was Canadian. And our room itself was once occupied by Oscar Wilde on one of his tours. Two enormous double beds so high there was a little stool beside each one to help you get in and out. And the bathroom was mammoth, with a tub bigger than Lake Erie. I had loads of fun pretending
Lainey
was a rubber ducky.”

“Should I mention that little game and its source when I tell Cindy about this great vacation place?” I asked seriously.

“I wouldn’t bother. Then we rented a car and drove out to the Acadian forest—the pines and the hemlocks are still murmuring. Then down to Fort Louisburg…we toured the old governor’s mansion and there was a double-banked harpsichord—like an organ. I’d never seen one like it, and luck was with us: some woman happened to be there playing it. It was fabulous!”