by Shelly Frome
“Since when?”
“Since when what?”
“Since when are you getting so chummy?”
“Like the saying goes, you hoist it up the flagpole and see who salutes it.”
Babs neglected to reveal how she planned to shake any of this out of Doc, a man she’d never met. But no matter. The prospects and cheap thrills in the offing were her only compensation for a lousy love life.
Dave Roberts’s face registered nothing. A chair squeaked. The portly judge looked back once more in his direction.
Roberts paid for his lunch before it arrived, squeezed out of the booth and said, “Excuse me, Miss Maroon, but I can’t take any more time out from my duties. An important investigation is under way on that vandalism case. I’m not at liberty to fill you in on the progress we’ve made or the details at the present time.”
Babs didn’t know what to make of this one. She took it as a maybe. In any case, she couldn’t help feeling something had to break. Otherwise, why was Miranda suddenly zipping back over to meet Brian Forbes at JFK? And why was Doc back on the scene as well, as Babs’s call to the GDC main office had confirmed? The assistant had added that Doc was in touch now and then when the occasion called for it. Taken together, all bets were on that, by golly, today was the day.
Emily also thought there was more to the fact that Doc and Miranda had returned to the states at the same time, together with Brian Forbes in the mix. But that didn’t change her immediate point of attack. Two people had lost their lives on her watch and this was her make-or-break chance for redemption.
Returning from her errand at Chris’s place, Emily drove past the B&B to her right and slowed down. Everything had become too clear, too bright under the cloudless sky, as though the glare would erase anything that might appear troublesome. The sparkling brightness held true as she approached the Curtis property and noted the tiny red markers still in place, starting from the point where the side yard met the slope leading up to the tree line and the high meadow.
She pulled over for a moment and shifted her gaze away from the flags, directly beyond the elongated side of the house, over to the straggly garden next to the rose arbor. There she spotted Pru struggling with a weeding tool. The second Pru dropped the tool and moved out of sight behind the sprawling house, Emily drove on, passed the bank on her right and looked for a place to park.
She made a U-turn and took an empty space at the corner of the Green opposite the vacant bookstore. Turning off the ignition, her eyes strayed to the large sign covering the plate-glass window. There was no mistaking the new gold lettering etched in black. The venerable bookstore was now the local GDC headquarters and sales office, jumping the gun and readying itself for the inevitable buying spree.
Undaunted, Emily glanced at her knapsack nestled on the back seat, reached over, and patted it for good luck. When she turned back, she caught a glimpse of Silas’s stooped form crossing the road. In that same instant, she caught a glimpse of Brian Forbes in his powder-blue suit a step or two ahead of Silas. She made a mental note and put it on the backburner for now.
For the next few minutes, nothing else of any import happened, unless you counted the sight of a Martha Forbes look-alike crossing at the intersection, making her way toward the post office. Admittedly, Martha wasn’t the only rail-thin woman in town with a supercilious air about her, but it made Emily wonder what would happen if Brian, Martha, and Miranda Shaw should happen to meet.
But no matter in terms of her pressing, immediate plans.
A wave of jet lag came over her but before she had a chance to close her eyes, Babs showed up, slid onto the passenger seat, and folded her scrawny arms in a huff.
“Brilliant,” said Babs. “This Doc character is driving up from the Bronx as scheduled.”
“How do you know?
“Never mind. But he wants to talk to you.”
“What for?”
“Because I opened my big mouth, that’s what for. Told him not only were you back, you were running around like crazy and totally out of it. That did it. He’ll be right over around three thirty after his meeting in the Big Apple with good ol’ Hacket, Martin Gordon’s silent partner. Swell, terrific, just great. How do these things happen? How?”
At first, Emily couldn’t handle it. Then she reminded herself all the players were on the move. That’s how the game was played. No one was ever just standing still. It took some dickering and more stewing on Babs’s part before Emily came up with something.
“Okay, Babs, I’ll tell you what. Since Doc is planning to get here at three thirty, I’ll make sure I won’t be back to the B&B until four. You can tell him I was duty bound to help poor, bereft Pru tidy up Harriet’s garden and that it was probably taking longer than expected.”
“What do you mean, ‘poor, bereft Pru’? Are you gonna console her about cutting short that Twinning thing? And what were you up to at Chris’s old place? I mean, are you really okay, or is something going on with you that requires some real attending to? Why do I have this weird feeling you’re either on top of this or unraveling right before my eyes?”
“Granted, I admit I’m suffering from jet lag. But I do have some personal matters to look into and I have a very tight window.”
“What does that mean?”
“I can’t explain. It’s too complicated, and it’s hard enough to try and keep all the balls in the air.”
“Weird, Ryder. That’s the only word for your behavior. Pretty damn weird.”
“Call it what you will. I’ll arrive late to the B&B and you’ll act as my proxy. If anybody’s good at winging it, it’s you. Plus, think of what you might wheedle out of Doc. In exchange, all you have to do is lend me your pocket digital recorder.”
“Wait a minute, hold the phone. I don’t mind that you’re wasted out of your gourd and running around half-cocked. What I do mind is a person who owes me one, if not a helluva lot more, still holding out and dictating my strategy.”
Hesitating for a moment, Babs came right back with, “On second thought, you being out of the way until after four is a plus. But you’re getting no pocket recorder till you fork something over for my first job, getting Trooper Dave off your back.”
“And that’s it,” said Emily. “No more tit for tat, you hear?”
“But that’s the basis of our whole relationship. So, let’s see now, I get a crack at this Doc character and a chance to finally blow the lid off this GDC scam . . . Okay, gotcha, you’re on.”
Emily followed Babs to her garage apartment by the rippling Housatonic. Babs pulled in and returned a few minutes later with the pocket recorder.
“Well?”
“Well what, Babs?”
“Divvying up for the proxy stunt with Dave. And don’t tell me gardening with daffy Pru is any revelation.”
Emily held back for the longest time and finally said, “Harriet had a terrible fall.”
“Oh?”
“She didn’t recover. She didn’t make it.”
For the first time in living memory, Babs was speechless. It took a while before she handed over the recorder and recovered her cocky style.
“Well there now. No wonder you tossed in the towel and don’t seem to know which end is up.”
Emily didn’t counter Babs’s little jab, Babs backed off, and that was the end of it.
As Emily drove back to the village, she reminded herself that despite all of Babs’s put-downs, she was the only one who could call the game from the opening play to the final whistle. The only one haunted by a beloved guardian falling from a great height, tumbling and crashing to the cobblestones. The only one, as far as she could tell, who wanted to pursue the cause of Harriet’s death and put things right.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Pulling in past Will’s pickup, Emily grabbed her knapsack and hurried inside the cottage. She placed the knapsack on the kitchen counter, pulled out Chris’s answering machine, plugged it in, and was about to check on his calls last week w
hen there was a knock on the door.
She flipped the latch and was greeted by Will’s lean frame and expectant look. Oliver peered up from a few feet behind, wagging his tail.
“Glad you’re finally in,” said Will. “Guess we somehow missed each other.”
He stood there as she searched for something to say and just gazed at her. Then, apparently sensing whatever response he was waiting for was not forthcoming, he reached into his denim shirt pocket, took out a whistle on a rawhide loop, and asked, “Hey, you got a minute?”
When Emily still failed to respond, he said, “I know you’re kinda busy unpacking and settling back in and all. But lunch isn’t on for another thirty minutes or so.”
“Lunch?”
“So I was hoping you could give Oliver and me a hand with an experiment. Providing I can then really wing it with the recipe and the ingredients I scraped up.”
Emily was still at a loss as to what to say. She realized there should be some kind of welcome home exchange after all this, but under the circumstances . . .
Then Will came right out with it. “This little practice session will only take a minute.”
“Practice session? Right now?”
“As good a time as any. And, seeing how you look a little frazzled, which I can well understand, it might help get your mind off things.”
“I’m sorry, Will, I—”
“I mean, just to ease off a bit while you get your bearings. What do you say?”
Emily had no idea where he was going with this, only that he was obviously stalling. There were those telltale shifts in rhythm and tone she had come to know that told her he definitely had something on his mind. In the rush of trying to avoid all the possible complications, she forgot to factor in Will. Whatever it was he was after, it couldn’t have come at a worse time. Throwing her off track, a one and only opportunity possibly come and gone.
Undeterred, Will explained that Oliver had been incorrigible again, ignoring Will’s commands and taking off after a small child strolling by the B&B with her older sister, scaring the kid to tears. As a result, an obedience trainer was called upon, who assured Will it was simply the nature of the breed and Oliver’s young age. But with a little practice, Will or anyone else could gain control.
“Will, can’t this wait?”
“Afraid not. If it isn’t reinforced right after working with the obedience lady, if it isn’t locked in, there’s no telling.”
“And if I don’t or can’t right this minute or—”
“Nothing to it, Emily. The whistle is the key. High-pitched sound can only be heard by Oliver and serves as a command to return to your side no matter what he’s up to. Like that time with the turkeys up on the high meadow when I wasn’t around. He’d have come tearing right back to me or you or whoever’s blowing the whistle, and the problem would’ve been solved.”
Unable to get her mind around this interruption, but unable to take the dejected look on Will’s face coupled with a tinge of guilt over a missed reconciliation, Emily said, “Look, you’ll have to excuse me. There is something I have to get back to and I can only spare a minute.”
“A minute will do just fine.”
She nodded halfheartedly as he told her to station herself about thirty paces up the trail and count for sixty seconds before blowing the whistle. She knew full well she was being standoffish as well as coy, but whatever Will really was after would doubtless take a couple of false starts before it was out in the open.
Will ordered Oliver to stay and walked into the kitchen while Emily waited up above, squinting under the dappled sunlight. It was all she could do to keep from calling this off. Apart from her mixed feelings about Will, she didn’t know how much longer she could stay on her feet, sharp and fully functional. All she wanted to do was get back to the answering machine. Assuming her hunch rang true, she’d have to make a call to the UK and move into gear.
She blew the whistle. Oliver came rushing up after her and almost knocked her down in his enthusiasm to be released from his stay position, which did remind her of what may have happened to a small child he’d knocked over. But it didn’t quite make sense under the present circumstances. The only good thing was that the little obedience lesson was quickly over.
After promising Will she’d be right back for a quick lunch, Emily worked on retrieving Chris’s phone messages and adding the telling results to the items she’d placed in order in the Harrods bag Constance had foisted on her. Then she made a hasty call to Maud at the pub, explaining what she was after and making sure she realized there was a lot riding on Maud’s return call.
Shortly afterwards, Emily sat in the spacious kitchen of the B&B watching Will prepare his version of a Florida Keys shrimp and avocado salad. All of this was confounded by trying to work around Will, who kept dragging his heels as to his true intentions, while she used the same disclaimer that she had something pressing to do with time running short. Antsy as can be, she continued to do her best to put up with Will’s stalling, hoping he’d come right out with it by this time.
Instead, he went on, underscoring his past escapades as he fiddled with his recipe. Repeating yet again that he had run a charter fishing boat in the Keys and all the rest of it.
Any other time she would have gone along. But at the moment, getting more and more frustrated, Emily said, “Okay, I’ll bite. Why are you telling me this again? I don’t get it.”
He brushed aside the utensils and looked directly at her. “What I’m driving at is, I’m an older guy. I’ve been around. I know how to put up with things, to a point. But as soon as something or someone starts boxing me in—some tourist, some yacht owner’s daughter who tells me about the wonderful life we’re gonna have, or some proprietor stands over me and tells me how to do my work, I ease out of it and limit the damage.”
“Oh, like my dad, you mean. Did Chris fill you in? Better to walk once the pressure builds. Is that the message?”
“No. I didn’t mean it that way. I just meant—”
“The other way around. Keep from eating your heart out. Let it go through you, let it pass. But even when Chris gave me that option, he never let me turn a blind eye.”
“Not what I’m saying either,” said Will, as he shelled the jumbo shrimp. “Dammit, Emily, I still have that burlap sack in the tool shed full of incriminating evidence. Assuming my ol’ buddy is right, and he’s never wrong about people getting killed from power lines, storms, and loose wires and such. He’s a damn expert.”
“What burlap sack? What incriminating evidence? All you said was it was obviously no accident.”
“Right. Upset you even more while you’re clear across the ocean full of grief trying to do your job. Tell you all about strands of invisible copper wire up by the turret in that Brit lady’s house. That would’ve really done the trick.”
Really agitated now, Will let it all spill out. “So I keep it to myself. I walk by the shed I don’t know how many times. I go in, stare at the bag, open it up, go through it, the crowbar and copper wiring and all. Got to the point yesterday I called Troop L, asked about the chain of command. I lied and said it had something to do with the break-in at the high school, wanted to make sure what I found got to someone in charge. Dispatcher told me the commanding officer was a Lieutenant Neill. But I should deal with the resident trooper first, Officer Dave Roberts, who’d like nothing better than to run me out of town. So what do I do? What do I do about you, who might get real upset and is so all-fired independent and right now maybe up to something to boot? And then there’s Oliver. I don’t believe in tying up a carefree dog, that’s not my nature. I’m just saying, something has got to give here.”
The long silence that followed was palpable. So was the sense of the afternoon winding down.
Struck by Will’s uncharacteristic outburst, taking in this new information but certainly not wanting to get sidetracked, Emily said, “Okay, so you’re worried about Oliver and me, two of a kind.”
Hearing h
is name called, Oliver scratched on the back screen door. Emily got up from the table but Will told her to pay Oliver no mind.
Will scraped the shells off the cutting board and tossed them in the bin under the sink. When Oliver scratched even harder, Will brushed by Emily, went to the door, swept his right hand down, and told Oliver to stay put. Oliver whined and reluctantly slumped down on the stoop.
“This isn’t going right,” said Will. “You’re not hearing me. You think I’m pulling some macho crap. But after what you saw in that downpour that’s been eating at you ever since, and seeing the shape you’re in, circles under your eyes . . . You just got in real late, been running back and forth, and I don’t know what all you’re about to do now.”
“Such as?”
“Whatever it is, that is the whole damn point.”
“So, as an older guy who has done it all except confront things, what is your mature advice?”
While toying with shards of coconut and a ripe mango, Will simmered down enough to begin alluding to the ivory-white flats of the Bahamas. He told her how a prize fish could be taken with a well-presented fly, provided you were positioned near shaded mangroves in the warmer channels. However, if you cast your line carelessly, your fish would flash away.
“Fish? We’re talking about fish when you know darn well I’ve got to get cracking?”
“I’m saying, even if you think you hooked him, he can still surprise you, wrap around the mangroves, tangle the line, and bust free.”
“Don’t tell me. You’ve finally gotten around to it. You’re talking about Doc.”
“And how about you? When are you going to get around to it? What is it you’re so hell-bent on doing?”
“Fine. You want it spelled out for you? I am simply going to drive a tiny, little ways down the hill, help a poor little thing with Harriet’s garden which has gone to seed, and talk to her.”