by Alexie Aaron
I sat straight up in bed and as the dream waned I felt a cold chain slide from my throat. I shook away the last of the dream, fluffed the pillow and lay back to sleep and dream hopefully somewhere drier.
I was surprised to wake up so refreshed. You would think that after all the booze I would at least have a hangover. My head was clear, and as I rolled over and sat up I found my body was stiff but moveable. All in all, I faired pretty well considering. Although, why I was wearing my raincoat instead of pajamas did alarm me. That was until the events following my walk back from the Comstocks’ last night oozed back into my memory.
I got out of bed which was some feat considering it was more than four feet off the floor. Grabbing some clean clothes I went in search of the bathroom I used last night. It was a large room with a claw foot tub and shower. I picked up last night’s clothing. I withdrew my ruined loafer from the back pocket of my jeans and examined it. A nice cut had severed the toe from the rest of the shoe. I shuddered at the thought of what the tiller could have done to Angie. I dropped it and its mate into the trashcan. Now that was sad. I paid eighty-nine dollars for those shoes.
I took off my raincoat and gave my body a once over. A nice bruise was forming on my chin. My lower left arm was a bit swollen. I flexed my hand. I would need some ibuprofen, but otherwise I would survive.
I pulled my hair back and washed my face. It felt nice to use the fancy little French-milled soap. At home it was reserved for guests, but here I was the guest. Drying my face I looked at my reflection. My brown eyes were a bit red and the dark patches under my eyes might just be from fatigue. Yeah right, more like the whisky. What possessed me to drink so much? Was I an alcoholic? The thought had occurred to me before. I would have to do some soul searching on the subject, but today wasn’t the day.
I pulled on my clothes and was a bit surprised the jeans were loose in the legs. Hey, that is a nice surprise. My pear shaped body usually needed a paring of inches around that area. I finished dressing and worked my fingers through the long tangle of auburn curls that was par for the course considering I went to bed with it wet. I sectioned it and loosely braided it and held onto the end as I walked down the hall to my room. There I found the contents of my travel tote bag all over the floor. I didn’t remember dumping it, but it did make it easier to find a rubber band so I pushed it from my mind. With my braid secured I went back to the bath and cleaned up my mess, and with my soiled clothes under my arm I went in search of a washing machine.
Being in someone else’s house is only unnerving when they are at home. Otherwise, I loved the discoveries I made with each door and cupboard I opened. When I reached the kitchen I found it bathed in sunlight. I was surprised by the lack of mess I had made last evening. I had left the bread out but my plate and pint jar were clean and dry on the drain board. The last set of louvered doors I opened held a small washer and dryer. I put my things in the washer and started it. My stomach growled. Food. Breakfast.
Angie Bathgate had a well-stocked kitchen. The pantry was filled and the side-by-side yielded all the staples that you would need if you were feeding an army. The ancient aga scared me away from attempting a cooked breakfast, so I opted for a cold breakfast of bread and jam. The electric teakettle and I got along famously. I had just sat down when I heard the phone in the living room ring.
I got up to answer it, and as I was reaching to remove the handset from the cradle I stopped. It wasn’t my phone. I was a guest here. Letting the answering machine pick it up was the better course of action I thought. After four rings it did. Angie’s message played and the beep was greeted with Angie herself telling me to pick up.
“How are you feeling?” I asked while licking some jam off my fingers.
“Aside from the bumps, bruises and a new part in my hair, I’m doing well. If it wasn’t for my age they would have let me loose this morning,” griped Angie.
“Where are you? I know in the hospital, but I haven’t a clue where in Cornwall you might be.”
“Poor dear, this wasn’t what you had expected was it? I’m in Truro presently, and at about four pm they are going to release me.”
“Do you want me to pick you up?”
“Billy is coming to spring me.”
“Is there anything I can do that doesn’t have to do with a tractor?”
I heard her laughing through the hand she had placed over the mouthpiece. “Sorry dear, Billy told me you single-handedly destroyed the asparagus! Good for you. I never could understand why she needed so much of the stuff. Anyway, Billy will bring back the tractor and besides making up the girls’ beds on the third floor, you’re free. As for the farm, Mother Nature primarily runs the place. Oh, before I forget, the linens are in the closet between your room and the bath.”
“Angie, hold on. Did the Superintendent talk to you yet?”
“He was here. I expect he will be along to see you. I couldn’t really help with the investigation. All I remember is that something hit the dirt in front of me. The next thing I remember is being here and hearing about what a fine tractor-ess you are.”
“One of my many talents.”
“Seriously, thank you Cin. We’ll sort all of this out when I get back. Oh, the keys to the truck are just inside the back door. Feel free to drive it. Remember we drive on the opposite side of the road than you Americans do.” Angie broke off the conversation. I could just hear someone else in the room. “Have to ring off, the blood suckers are here for my blood. Leave the side door open if you are going to be gone this evening. Give my apologies to your daughter and her friend. I had intended to bake scones this morning.”
“Don’t worry about a thing. Remember we’re here to do work not be waited on. Feel better. Bye.”
“Ta ta, Cin.”
I hung up the phone and returned to the kitchen. My tea was a perfect temperature, and the jam had oozed itself deep into the homemade bread. I decided to take my meal outside and eat on the porch. I was careful opening the door. Memories of when I visited my cousin’s farm where I always seemed to let in a cat or a dog whenever I opened the door to the house, taught me to ease open the door with a foot poised to block any feline entry. Bathgate had no cats to worry about, I found out, as the porch was empty. And there wasn’t even a dog. No animals at all. I know I spotted sheep and cattle on our drive in from Penzance. Maybe being a woman alone Angie chose not to raise animals, but it really would have been nice to have a dog. I mentally jotted down the question and brushed off the top step and sat down.
The air still held the chill from the evening before, and a breeze brought a soft floral fragrance to the porch. From my perch on the porch I had a good view of the back of Bathgate. The house and main barn were level to the road. Above the grade were three stone buildings connected by covered walkways, cut into the small hill that rose behind the kitchen garden. This must be the music school.
It was very tempting to follow the flower-bordered stone path up through the terraces to the school. I stood up and remembered Angie wanted to show all us girls the school herself. Besides, I had beds to make, not to mention a house all to myself to explore. As I walked in I caught myself humming a beautiful strain of music. Funny, I couldn’t identify it. I was never good at naming all but a few pop artists, but the classical composers I knew, although the titles I usually slaughtered. For example: “Do we really have to play this again?” march by Henry Fillmore. Or: “I wasn’t born yet so how the hell would I know the melody to this show music,” by Vincent Youman. Maybe my irreverence was part of the problem.
I washed up and headed upstairs. The second floor held Angie’s room - which I wouldn’t trespass in - my room and the bathroom. I figured out that Angie’s room took up the entire front of the house. I found the linen closet and a shelf identifying the third floor linen by a hand-lettered sticker. Now that I had the bedding all I needed was to find a way to the third floor. I walked to the north end of the house and opened a door to a small storage room. Backtracking I walked the so
uth end and this identical door opened into the third floor stairs. I noted where the light switch was, but I didn’t need it as the morning light danced around the stairwell from little cut-out windows every few yards or so. Each window held a knickknack or a crystal that colored the walls with prisms of color. I really hated to leave the beauty of the stairs but my domestic responsibility nagged at me.
The top landing opened into the dorm room. Eight single beds set in two bed clusters furnished the room along with a small sofa and two wing chairs that held court in the middle of the room. Four windows on either side of the room were draped in bright floral curtains. I set my linens down on the first bed and set off exploring the room. I found a small bathroom hidden at the end of the room. I noticed the slope of the ceiling on the south wall and surmised there was another set of stairs. I retraced my steps and found at the end of two large closets another door. I opened it and found that this stairway didn’t hold the same magic as the third floor stairs. The light illuminated a straight shot of worn steps leading to an attic.
I huffed my way up the stairs. The attic ceiling was low, and the light was dim at best. I noticed cast-off furniture draped with sheets and there were boxes everywhere. The room was cluttered, dusty, and the grimy windows small. This room would be a great place to explore on a rainy day but not one to enter after dark.
I returned to the dorm room. I selected two beds near the bathroom to put the fresh linens on. Noelle would love the view from the windows. On the east side you could see rolling hills, and from the west there was a good view of the school. The rise of the hill put its first level windows in line with the third story of the house. I imagined that the attic windows would let you see beyond the school. I wanted to go back up and check out the view, but another climb of the stairs wasn’t what my screaming muscles wanted.
I headed down the stairs to my room and finished unpacking. I scooped up the contents of my travel tote and sorted it on the dresser. I don’t wear a great deal of makeup. Mascara is a must because my lashes are strawberry blond. I like to stay clear of foundations, but I will use it if I’m performing on stage. I have auburn eyebrows with character and large brown eyes. My lips are large and full. Freckles still dot my face and my pug nose. All-in-all things fit together surprisingly well. I like my face or at least after forty or so years I’m used to it.
After I made the bed - one must do this when one is a guest - I went down the stairs and put my clothes in the dryer. I had just sat down with a cup of tea when I heard someone knocking on the side door. I walked over and waved in Constable Cayne and a very distinguished gentleman behind him.
“Ms. Fin-Lathen, may I present Chief Superintendent Browning.”
I reached over and shook the Chief Superintendent’s hand. A firm grip; I like that in a Chief Superintendent. “Hello, would you like some tea?”
“No thank you. I wonder if you could show us where you found Angie last evening,” he said brisk and to the point.
“It was dark, but I think I could find it. Hold on while I run and get some sturdier shoes.” I pushed past the two of them and ran up the stairs. My thighs burned at the exertion, but I didn’t want either gentleman to get the idea of how unfit I was. I slid into my sneakers, laced them up, grabbed my sunglasses and was downstairs in just minutes.
The constables were waiting outside when I joined them. The Chief Superintendent had a build very similar to a Lego man. What he lacked in height he made up in shoulders. I had every confidence that he wouldn’t blow over in a gale force wind.
“I followed the sound of the tractor across the road.” I led them on the path I followed. “When I saw the predicament she was in I ran in search of a way to get to her.”
“It was dark.” He shook his head. “How could you see the tractor, let alone Angie?”
“Full moon was coming up.”
He stared a minute and nodded for me to go on.
“Not knowing the terrain here - since I had just arrived an hour before - I ran in search of an opening in the hedgerow. I found a set of steps here.”
“Right of way.”
“Pardon?”
“This is an entrance to a footpath, right of way. You will find them all over England.”
“Oh.” I took a moment to find my place. “I climbed over and took off running up the hill.”
“Chief Superintendent, I see two sets of tracks,” Constable Cayne called out.
“They’re probably both mine. One set leading to the tractor and the other coming back from the Comstocks,” I explained.
We followed my tracks and stopped where the tractor had cut a circle into the earth. The CSP held up his hand to tell me to stop walking. He walked a grid pattern, stopping to examine the ground from time to time. He directed Cayne to follow the hedgerow paying special attention to any footprints that weren’t mine. Mine were easy. I was wearing one shoe. I waited for either gentleman to inquire about that, but they didn’t.
“Chief Superintendent!” Cayne called as he waved his hands wildly. “I found something.”
“Stay there and don’t touch anything.” The CSP continued his grid, and when he finished he walked over to where Cayne stood obediently not touching anything. I followed him basically because he didn’t tell me not to.
“Well?”
“I followed a set of Wellington prints over to here. The shooter must have been waiting a while for he smoked three fags.”
“Fags?” I asked.
“Cigarettes.”
“Thank you.”
“The edge of the field is all trampled down.”
“Good work Cayne.” The CSP waved him away and proceeded to process the scene. He drew out of his pocket some little bags into which he put the cigarette, excuse me, fag butts. One bag already held a metal object, a bullet casing. I didn’t even see him pick anything up. What a detective I was. I was beginning to doubt my press.
We walked back to the house. When we got there Cayne produced a typed copy of the report for me to read and sign. I was amazed at the accuracy.
“This is very well done.”
Cayne colored. “Thank you.”
“Ms. Fin-Lathen, is there anything that you remembered about the incident after you gave Cayne your report?”
“Just the music. I heard music before I heard the tractor. And I heard the same music when I was on my way back to Bathgate. That and the light that I guided the tractor by. The Comstocks said they didn’t have a light on. I didn’t mention it because I didn’t think they were real. I had heard and seen them but...”
“The funny thing about this area of Britain is we all have experienced lots of things that are unexplained. Cayne and I leave them out of the official reports. We sort of save them to tell at parties and to scare the tourists.” He smiled and nodded as he got into the car.
“Ms. Fin-Lathen, could you?” Cayne held out a pen.
“Oh, sure.” I signed my name and handed the pen and paper back to Cayne.
“When we know anything, we will be back.” Cayne squared his shoulders and joined the Chief Superintendent in the car. They backed out and drove off.
Chapter Six
I walked into the house and decided that it was too quiet in there. I grabbed my purse and Angie’s truck keys and set off to find the truck. I found it in the barn. It was an older model but seemed road worthy. I would start off slowly, and if I got scared I could always come back. I knew basically where Land’s End was from here and where Penzance was. I mean how hard could it be? I jumped in and the heap started on the first try. I backed it out and tested the brakes and they were a bit soft, but I could get used to that. I parked the truck or lorry, maybe if I use the right words for this area then driving on the left would become easier too. It didn’t.
After closing the barn doors I got in and after some thought decided to turn right out of the farm and travel until I hit the A30 to Penzance. The lane was barely wide enough for the truck, so I didn’t have to experience driving on
the left until I turned east towards my destination. Holy hell, at first I did fine as there wasn’t any oncoming traffic. I kept singing, “left, left, drive on the left.” The natural instinct of American driving kept trying to take over, and when the first car past me I almost peed myself. The road in was hilly and I’m sure the landscape beautiful, but this white-knuckled woman driver saw nothing, heard nothing but my driving mantra. When it came time for me to turn right from the left lane I almost started crying.
Why do I get myself into these pickles? When a break in traffic came I took a deep breath and turned on to a less traveled lane and slowly made my way into the town. I parked near the hotel as it was recognizable from the day before, and I knew that I could find it again. I started walking towards High street where I found a bank that would exchange my dollars for pound sterling. Everyone I bumped into seemed nice enough and only a few times I feigned being hard of hearing so the speaker would repeat what they were saying as some of the accents were tough on my inexperienced ears.
Soon my commercialism kicked in and I shopped. I mean I went in everywhere, chatted with clerks and proudly lugged my purchases back to the truck before finding someplace for a snack. I spied a small news agent’s shop where I could get a soft drink and crisps to take to the waterside and enjoy the view. I started walking towards it when I collided with someone tall exiting the hotel.
“Yikes, sorry, I wasn’t…you?” I looked at my fellow collider and saw the familiar dancing blue eyes. “What the he…fancy meeting you here,” I managed.
“I’m as surprised as you are,” Father Michael said none too convincingly.