Mum's the Word (36 page)

“Yes dear!” How could I refuse? Valicia X, Pepys, and Jeffries had all offered to fetch me whatever I wanted, but Ben had fought for a man's inalienable right to cook for his wife when she was having the vapours. In the manner of a priest regretfully renouncing celibacy for a higher calling, he
had informed Ms. X that he wished to be released from his sacred commitment not to engage in any and all cookery practices prior to his assigned role in the Inaugural Dinner. Even more amazing, Bingo had seconded the motion, with the result that here I was fifteen minutes later, the cravings that had attacked me in the lift assuaged. A pity the same could not be said of my curiosity.

“About the sheriff …?” I gazed hopefully into my love's brooding eyes.

“Yes, I blame him for your not being found sooner. I don't suppose he gave Pepys a spare moment to think about the generator, but doesn't do to dwell.” Turning my cup around so I wouldn't have to expend energy reaching for the handle, Ben settled himself more comfortably on the edge of the bed and drew a paper from his pocket—Primrose Tramwell's letter, as it turned out. “Sweetheart, I have to be honest with you; I made some substitutions with this recipe. The herb garden was out of several ingredients and I used apple cider instead of ale because there was some in the refrigerator. Although there are two schools of thought on the matter, I believe it preferable for a woman in your condition. As for sun brewing, you understand there wasn't time; however, I am convinced that by warming the sides of the coddle cup with a match—”

“Ben!” I gripped the tray. “Has the sheriff arrested Theola Faith?”

His face was grim.

“Yes.”

“Well … that's that then.”

“Sweetheart …”

“I'm relieved really.”

Removing the tray to the bedside table he stroked my hair. “You don't have to pretend. This morning during the meeting my mind wasn't on the subject at hand: whether or not scrambled kidneys should be served with a slotted spoon. I was thinking about how I had let this business come between us, and I remembered Chapter Seven of
Mommy, There's a Strange Man in the House
.”

“Oh, yes, exercises an expectant father can do to build up his parenting muscles. You're supposed to imagine that you're the one carrying the baby.”

“That's it! Ellie, suddenly I was
you
for a split second; I knew why you wanted the bad guy to be anyone other than Theola Faith.”

“Thank you.” The words came out in a sigh in which sadness and joy were all mixed up together. Pressing tight against him, I breathed in the wonderful safe herbal smell of him; my fingers moved through the crisp silk of his hair, then found the beat of his heart under his shirt. What riches! We were alive, the three of us! “Ben, did they find Mary's body?”

“Not yet.”

“Then how”—I drew away from him—“how can they be sure she's dead? What if she were thrown overboard by the force of the explosion and was swept downriver? What if she is still alive? She could have been washed up on a beaver dam or—”

“Ellie—”

“I know.”

“Pepys fetched all of us—other than Ernestine and yourself—into the Red Room to hear what the sheriff had to say. An alarm clock used as a crude timing device has been recovered and Laverne Gibbons who is living-in as Mary Faith's housekeeper had refused to discuss what she knew of Miss Faith's whereabouts yesterday until she consulted an attorney.

“What did Miss Faith have to say for herself?”

“A lot of bravado, according to the Sheriff.”

“Well how does Miss Manners say one should act when accused of murder?” I'll confess I sounded a little tart.

“Ellie, he's not trying to railroad her. You should have seen him, the poor chap looked grey. Mud Creek can't be a river bed of crime! Don't suppose he does have the Miranda warning memorized. He said several times that, whilst Theola Faith had been arrested and charged with the murder of her daughter, she gets a preliminary hearing before being bound over for trial.”

“Where is she now?”

“At the police station until bond is set, which should be tomorrow by the sound of it.”

“Well.” I sat up and shook back my hair. “I can't lie here glooming. Shouldn't you be downstairs getting revved up for the final lap of the competition—the Dinner?”

“I suppose so.” He stood.

“You don't sound too excited. Nervous?”

“When I think of what the shock of being stuck in that lift could have done to you and the baby, I realize that as long as you're all right, I'm a winner.”

I smiled up at him. “We love you, Daddy.”

“And nothing hurts?”

“Of course not.” No point in mentioning the stitch in my back. I knew how I'd got that—from leaning against the door knob in Marjorie Rumpson's room when talking Ernestine into handing over those awful knives. But to please Ben I agreed to stay put and rest for a while.

When he left the quiet felt good, as though I were snuggling down inside the comfort of Ben's love. Sleep drifted close then ebbed away—the tide playing catch-me-if-you-can games with childish feet planted in the sand … the ticklish delight of gooey silt oozing up between the toes. I'd had some lovely hours on the beach during my first visit to Merlin's Court. My time there hadn't been one horror-packed moment after another as with Mary's visit to her gruesome Great Aunt Guinevere.

And suddenly the quiet turned into waiting. For what, I had no idea; but I knew—from the way the shadows stood to attention and the furniture shrank against the walls—that the room felt it too. The curtains being closed didn't help. I had this crazy feeling that outside the window a flock of questions and answers was whirling about in a storm of feathers. I could hear the beat of their wings, the chipping of their beaks on the glass. Was this the result of drinking that herbal bev? Primrose Tramwell had stressed the calmative effects but had said nothing of ensuing flights of fantasy and Ben had, from the sound of it, reduced whatever potency there was.…

“Look,” I told the window, “the important questions have been answered. Theola Faith murdered her obnoxious child to put an end to all that horrid publicity. And I am not the least bit worried about our departed candidates. The Groggs and Le Trompes were told to leave, and the Browns opted for romance over gourmet meals. How they got off the island only constitutes a mystery because I don't know the answer.”

Who … what was that knocking?

“Ellie?” Ernestine pushed open the door. “How are you feeling?”

“Glad to see you.” The pumpkin trouser suit turned her back into the woman I had met and liked on our first evening here, not the one I had caught snooping in Miss Rumpson's room that morning.

“I won't stay above a moment, but wanted to tell you I talked to Bingo a short while ago. You were right, he did take the knives and hid them first under the floorboard in his room—and again last night in Marjorie's room. That last was panic, he sure never wanted her blamed; he was going to move them later.”

Her face had a naked vulnerability. “He wanted to create a scare. He wanted me to decide this was no place for him and get him out of here. You won't believe it, Ellie, but Bingo doesn't want to be a Mangé. He says he wants to be a kid. What I don't understand is why he couldn't come straight out and tell me. His dad and I only want what's best for him.”

“I'm sure.” I thought about Bingo trying to move his treasure trove of snack foods to the bird's nest for greater safety; had he hoped the knives would be found—before murder entered the picture?

“Bingo's with Ms. X now, telling her he wants to drop out as a candidate, which means”—she put her glasses back on—“the battle's on between your husband and Marjorie Rumpson.”

Rubbing my back where it still ached, I swallowed hard on this piece of news, when there came another knock on the door and in came Jeffries and Pepys. Her cap was askew and her bunchy curls lopsided. She was wheeling a television. He was carrying a small cardboard box atop a large plastic one.

“Visiting hours ain't over, I hope!” She executed a swivel and a run around Ernestine. “Baldie and me decided as how you might like to watch a film on the VCR.”

“How kind! But really you mustn't pamper me.”

No answer. They were busy plugging in and setting up. Seconds later the TV was angled toward me and I was sitting up straight. No slumping shoulders! I would have preferred to take a nap. But this was a wonderful treat.

“There!” Pepys tottered over and placed the remote control in my hand. “Press the red button, that's all!”

“Thank you.”

I didn't get to say any more because Jeffries' face squeezed into a frown, and she was across the room, flinging open the window. And in hopped a pigeon. So I hadn't been fantasizing! I
had
heard that fluttering and pecking at the glass.

“Sometimes he's like the rest of us, forgets his place and refuses to come by the tradesmen's entrance.” Jeffries scooped him up. “I'll get him out of here.”

“Please,” I said, “Leave him! We can watch the movie together.”

At the press of the red button … A surge of surflike music holding under currents of tidal terror. A swirl of mist, twitches away in moments—in the manner of a magician's hanky—to reveal a full moon, hovering above a house of finest Gothic Horror design, rising up out of a dark body of water. A crashing of cymbals, the front door lunges open, and the viewer is swept into a wainscotted hall of magnificent gloom. All in glorious black and white.

My breath caught when the imperious butler, complete with patent leather hair and penciled moustache, descended the stairs, a candle held aloft.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” he intoned, his voice dripping gore, “I regret to be the bearer of inclement tidings …”

Melancholy Mansion! The feeling was most peculiar. To be here in this bedroom while at the same time downstairs in the Red Room with Theola Faith as she comes upon the bespectacled schoolboy busily finger painting.

“Gerald, sweetie! Have you been playing pirates again?”

A boyish pout. “How'd you know?”

Bubbly soft curls, dimpled cheeks—she really is enchanting. “Gerry, you are the most exasperating child! For mercy's sake, you've dripped blood all over this nice clean rug! You can't keep knifing people to the wall like you're posting them on a bulletin board. Soon there won't be any room for pictures.”

“You don't want me to have any fun.”

“What a tall story! You know I don't want to come on
like the heavy-handed stepmother, but you've got to stop this acting out—we're not going to have any friends left at this rate. And all because your darling daddy cut you and me out of his will.”

“You got any better ideas?” A boyish grin.

Coming up behind him, she popped a kiss on his head. “I think it's time we go pay a visit to that nightclub where I used to work. Used to be a bouncer there name of Joe who may have some interesting ideas on how we can torch the boat.”

I felt sick, but I had to keep watching. Here was the nightclub scene I had waited all my life to see. A room thick with tables and smoke and fleshy-faced people in flashy clothes. The music got louder and fuller; it drew me towards a round, rotating stage, where on was a chorus line of high kicking lovelies with plumes in their hair. The young woman third from the end on the right—her leg going the wrong way in an arabesque and her arms doing a Swan Lake float—was my mother.

I couldn't believe that I was seeing her again. I wanted her to look at me. I wanted to tell her that being out of step could be wonderful, but she had gone around. And I didn't know how to stop the damn video and I … had felt something move inside myself. I heard myself cry, “Mother, the baby moved! I'm sure of it, even though it wasn't what I expected at all. So delicate, so sweet. More of a flitter than a flutter, like a butterfly imprisoned in my hand.”

She hadn't come around again, but something else had—the memory of what someone had said. Which meant I had to be wrong … unless Chantal the soothsayer had been right all along! Sitting bolt upright, I was staring at that video stage and my mother finally looked straight at me, before the scene switched. And the truth came crashing down on me in a frenzy of orchestral music, while wind and rain beat against the walls of Melancholy Mansion. For a moment, excitement was like helium filling my bones, I could have floated to the ceiling; but quickly I sobered. This wasn't some crossword puzzle. I must think what was best to do.

Lying back, my mind was like the film, moving from scene to scene and back again and it was getting to the point where I couldn't make head nor tail of either when the pigeon
strode onto the television set. He fixed his beady eye on me, I fixed mine on that small cylinder attached to his leg. A homing pigeon! And if his home is where the heart is … Suddenly I was fully fifty percent convinced that my best cause of action was to send a message to Theola Faith. Bother! I could hardly expect our feathered friend to track her down at the police station. Oh, well! I would have to hope for the best—that Laverne or Jimmy from the bar would spot his arrival, check his leg for mail, and deliver it to the proper party. Because of the uncertainties involved, I must write something whose hidden meaning Theola Faith alone would understand. Finding pen and paper, I wondered if I was being too cryptic, but I couldn't think of anything else that said it all. And, as she had said, her memory was her stock in trade.

Chasing a pigeon around a room is excellent exercise for the pregnant woman. I forgot my backache the moment I cracked my knee into the dressing table and scraped my shin on a drawer handle. At last! My hands closed on his bulgy feathery form. Into the cylinder with the message and it's over to the window with him. Over and out.