A Pint of Murder (14 page)

As to that dent in Henry Druffitt’s skull, Rhys didn’t doubt that it had in fact been the wrong shape when Janet and Fred Olson felt it, but it was surely the right shape when he was buried. Either the obliging Ben Potts or the enigmatic temporary assistant Neddick would have made sure of that.

R
HYS HUNG AROUND TILL
Gilly and her menfolk came back and gave him a halfhearted invitation to join the fishfry, then he politely declined. He had other fish to fry. A Mountie’s lot is sometimes not a happy one. He had no intention of denying himself such fringe benefits as came his way, such as a chance to look at Janet Wadman while he ate.

Like any good housewife, Janet was profuse in her apologies as she set a feast before him. “I’m sorry it’s such slim pickings around here tonight. I just can’t seem to think straight, much less cook right. Dot Fewter never did come back. She’s going to stay down with Mrs. Druffitt tonight. I suppose the poor woman’s afraid to sleep in the house alone. At least Dot’s better than nobody.”

“That’s a matter of opinion,” said Rhys. “This food is delicious, Janet, and I shall help you with the dishes. Where’s your brother? Doesn’t he want to eat with me?”

“He was too excited to eat with anybody. Mama Dupree—that’s his wife’s mother—called up and said they’d just told Annabelle she could leave the hospital, so he hared right on down there without even stopping to wash his hands, much less eat his supper. It doesn’t matter, Mama Dupree will give him something. She sets a beautiful table.”

“No better than yours, I’m sure,” said Rhys with all sincerity. “Then Bert will be bringing his wife here tonight?”

“Oh no. Annabelle’s going to stop on with her folks for a week or so. She wouldn’t be able to stand the ride up here yet, and she still has to see the doctor a couple more times at the hospital. I expect Bert will sleep over with them and drive back about daybreak. That’s what he usually does.”

“Then who will do the chores tomorrow morning?”

“Sam Neddick, I expect, if Bert’s not back in time. Sam lives right next door, you know, in the loft over Mrs. Treadway’s barn. I guess I told you that before. I do feel awful about that business with Sam. I should have warned you. We’re so used to him, I just didn’t think.”

“Please don’t blame yourself, Janet. I only wish I knew how he does it.”

“He’s a snoop, for one thing. Can’t you manage another spoonful, Cousin Madoc? I don’t know why I keep calling you that.”

“I’ve been called worse.” Rhys passed his plate without further coaxing. “What are the chances of getting anything out of Sam, do you think?”

“Slim, unless there’s something he wants you to know.”

“You don’t surprise me. But Janet, if your brother’s going to be away all night and Dot isn’t coming, that means you’ll be here alone, unless—” Her Majesty the Queen might not care to have him pursue that line of thought much further. Anyway, Janet didn’t seem worried.

“I’ve stayed alone at least two nights a week for the past month. One more won’t kill me, will it?”

He sincerely hoped not. “You’re sure this was a bona fide call?”

“What? Oh, you mean—” Janet laughed uncertainly. “No, we’ve known for the past few days the doctor was planning to release her any time. I took the call myself, and it was Mama Dupree on the line all right, and the kids were all excited, I could hear them asking when Daddy was coming, and Grand-pop Dupree was right there telling her what to say and she was shushing him the way she always does. That sort of bedlam would take a lot of faking. Besides, when I went to tell Bert, he came straight in and phoned Annabelle at the hospital to make sure, because Mama Dupree does get things twisted sometimes. She needs a hearing aid and won’t admit it. And Annabelle said yes and to come as quick as he could because she couldn’t stand being away from him and the kids one more minute than she had to. I don’t know why I’m going on like this.”

Rhys gave her one of his shy smiles. “It’s natural enough. Would there be any more tea in the pot?”

“I guess likely.” She smiled back, a good deal more attractively. “What were you planning to do after supper?”

“What would you suggest?”

“I don’t know anything about detecting.”

“Sometimes I wonder if I do. Suppose for the sake of argument that I really were a visiting cousin. What would be the program then?”

“Sit around and chin about the relatives, I suppose. Or I could show you over the farm or maybe take a walk down by the pond. It’s pretty there when the fireflies come out, provided the mosquitoes don’t join them.”

“There’s a little breeze tonight that should help to keep the bugs down. I vote for the pond. Where is it?”

“Straight down at the end of the road, only the road doesn’t go that far.”

“How far goes the road go?”

“Depends on what sort of mood Bert’s in when he’s out with the mower. Officially it stops just past our house.”

“Then nobody lives beyond you?”

“No. There’s never been any family on the hill except the Treadways and the Wadmans that I know of.”

“Then who owns all the land around here?”

“We do. Marion and Gilly will get everything from the Mansion down to the town road, and the rest is ours, pretty much. Bert’s and Annabelle’s, anyway. I’ve been meaning to sign my share over to them ever since I was twenty-one, but they keep talking me out of it. They’d like to see me come back here and settle some day, which is natural enough, I suppose. There aren’t many of us Wadmans left, and now Annabelle won’t be able to have any more.”

She looked sad about that. Rhys changed the subject by asking, “And when were you twenty-one?”

“Last October. I’m getting to be an old woman.”

“That makes you about seven years younger than me, so I must be a very old man.”

They laughed together. Seven years was a comfortable enough span between a man and a woman. Rhys wrenched his mind back to real estate.

“Then Gilly’s and Marion’s inheritance is a sizable one. There’s considerable acreage in that parcel.”

“Yes, but the land’s not worth much,” said Janet. “We got the best of it. Theirs is mostly ledge. That’s why the Mansion is built so close to the property line. It was the only place they could dig deep enough for a foundation. Anywhere else you’d hit rock within a foot or two. You can’t build on it, can’t farm it, couldn’t even graze anything except maybe sheep or goats.”

“Has anyone ever tried?”

“A contractor came over from Moncton a few years back, pestering Mrs. Treadway to sell him a strip down by the road. Now that we have the highway, Pitcherville’s not quite so far off the beaten path, and a lot of people who have buildable land are figuring to make their fortunes in a few more years. Mrs. Treadway would have sold, but after the man had done a little exploratory digging he backed off.”

“And nobody else has come forward?”

“I shouldn’t suppose another builder would care to get stung any more than the first one did. Madoc, are you sure you’ve had enough to eat?”

“Janet, I could not be surer. Why don’t you go rest yourself in the rocking chair while I give you a demonstration of how we supersleuths wash dishes?”

“Don’t be silly. You can dry if you want.”

“I’ll wash and you dry, so you won’t get your bandage wet.”

“All right. Then I can wipe off what you miss.”

“I never miss. We Mounties always get our grease spots.”

“Just don’t get them on your suit. Here, let me give you an apron.”

His chosen profession had led him into many vicissitudes. Rhys supposed he could handle a ruffled lavender-checked apron. Janet was amused, and who was more entitled to a spot of innocent merriment than this dear, brave young woman who had been through so much? Than this dear, brave young woman who’d been next door when Mrs. Treadway succumbed to botulism and in the next room when Dr. Druffitt got his skull bashed in? Rhys reminded himself that Janet was as likely to be guilty as anybody else, but he wasn’t listening to himself and knew he wasn’t. He wore the apron and washed the dishes and found the experience pleasant.

When they’d finished the task and got the kitchen tidy, Rhys untied the apron and handed it back to Janet. “Now what shall it be, relatives or fireflies?”

“I expect you’d like the walk.”

“If you feel up to it.”

“Oh, I think I could stagger that far. Maybe the fresh air will do me good.”

The sun was modestly gathering a few clouds around itself before taking the evening plunge. They strolled down the path from the house, not saying much. Over by the Mansion, Elmer and Bobby were having a game of catch. For a while they could hear shouts and laughter and the yapping of whichever dachshund wasn’t upstairs nursing her pups. Then they couldn’t hear much except wood thrushes singing their version of “The Bell Song,” and some crows having a political argument.

The path got rougher as it began to descend. Rhys, being a loyal officer of the Queen, found it his bounden duty to give the weak and afflicted a helping hand. The weak and afflicted accepted his aid with a smile that showed a dimple he hadn’t realized she possessed. Decidedly, Janet Wadman needed a great deal more investigating. He wondered if she’d care for a rendition of “Rose Marie.” Not being Nelson Eddy, he wisely abstained, but retained possession of the afflicted’s hand as Her Majesty would naturally expect him to.

The pond, he found, was worth coming to see. It had all the requisite panoply of peaceful waters, overhanging leafy branches, exquisite water lilies clustered about picturesque snags of fallen forest giants, and even the fringe benefit of a green heron fishing in the shallows on the opposite shore. They watched the tall bird catch his supper, flip the small fish expertly down his throat, then flap off to digest his meal at leisure in some cool roost.

“You have a nobler nature than I, Janet,” said Rhys at last. “I don’t think I could ever sign away my share of a spot like this.”

“Neither could I,” Janet admitted. “Perhaps it’s well we don’t own it. Our land stops back there on the ridge.”

“Then who owns the pond?”

“It’s still part of the Treadway estate, far as I know. The Treadways were Loyalists who came up here from Boston at the time of the American Revolution. New Brunswick was formed as a Loyalist colony, as you doubtless know. Anyway, they got a big land grant at that time. Bert could probably tell you how many acres. They sold some of it off to the lumber companies over the years, and our farm to my great-grandfather when he came out here from England, but they kept title to this little strip around the pond. Great-grandfather didn’t need it, you see, because we have that other little pond out by the lower pasture for the cows to drink from, and I guess nobody else ever wanted it. The pond’s not good for much, except to look at.”

“Don’t you ever come here to swim?”

“Oh yes, though you have to be on the lookout for snapping turtles. Some of those old snappers could nip your toes off. But the water’s lovely, though it never warms up much. It’s fed by underground springs, you see. Oh look, there’s the first lightning bug. And,” she slapped at her bare arm, “the first mosquito.”

Rhys didn’t want to leave, but duty compelled him to suggest, “Shall we start back before we get eaten alive?”

The “we” was pure gallantry. The mosquitoes were ignoring him in favor of Janet’s more succulent epidermis, as what sensible bug wouldn’t?

They climbed back to the ridge where the breeze was brisker and the mosquitoes fewer. It was impossible not to pause and look back. Dusk was deepening now, and the fireflies were putting on some impressive pyrotechnics.

“Such a beautiful, beautiful place,” Janet sighed. “I used to dream about it down in Saint John. I wish our folks had bought the pond years ago. I hate to think what might happen to it now.”

“What could happen?” said Rhys, knowing full well.

“Lots of things, I’m afraid. We never gave it a thought as long as Mrs. Treadway was alive because we knew she’d never do anything to hurt us, but once Marion gets a clear title, she’ll sell it to anybody who comes along. Some rich so-called sportsman, like as not, who’ll cut down all the trees to build him a fancy lodge and fly in parties by helicopter. They’ll be staggering out blind drunk to take potshots at anything that moves, polluting the pond, scaring off the herons—”

“And the snapping turtles,” Rhys added gravely.

“Well, the turtles were there first, weren’t they?”

“Couldn’t you get in your offer first?”

“We could if we had the money, I suppose. Marion will want top dollar, you can bet your boots on that. As it is, I suppose Bert will just have to put up a fence and pray.”

“Of course, if the place became popular, Bert himself could sell out to a developer for a tidy sum.”

Janet gasped, as though Rhys had said a particularly dirty word. “Bert would never sell! This farm is his life’s blood. He’d die if he ever had to move.”

Rhys nodded. He’d known of people who’d died from having to leave their home acres. He’d known of others who’d died of trying to hang onto them. The case was taking on new ramifications, and he was liking it less and less.

R
HYS BADE JANET A
chaste good night, went back to the Mansion, and settled into his assigned bedroom. When Marion, Gilly, and the rest were safely bedded down for the night, he sneaked out, went back to the Wadmans’, and kept vigil on the porch hammock. He encountered no marauders except two raccoons, a family of formally attired skunks, and a number of wild rabbits. As dawn began to show gray over the cowsheds, he crept back to his lodgings and got into bed.

Because there was nothing special to get up for, he allowed himself to sleep till nine. He’d told Janet not to expect him for breakfast since he could always get something at the Mansion and didn’t know what he’d be doing after that. She’d said not to be too sure about breakfast and the teapot would be on the stove if he got desperate. A beautiful woman.

He could see that Bert’s car was back, so things must be under control over there. There was some secondhand coffee in the percolator and a box of sugar-coated frosty pops or some such abomination laid out on the kitchen table with a bowl and a spoon thoughtfully placed beside it. He ignored them, brewed a pot of strong tea, and cut a thick slice from a loaf that Janet must have contributed. After this simple but satisfying repast, he wandered into the yard.