Gerry felt sick to her stomach and sank back down onto the sofa. “Oh, Margaret,” she said softly, and realized that she’d never really believed her cousin, or anyone else, could kill her aunt. She’d just been playing a silly game of detection, with Prudence for audience, had hoped Margaret would admit to the letters perhaps, and nothing more.
Margaret fiddled with her empty coffee cup, running one index finger round and round the rim. “Mummy’s got loads of gardening books, just like Maggie had.”
Gerry felt a cold chill as Margaret’s voice slipped into a childlike one, and she resumed using the familiar “Mummy.”
“I just looked in those, at the pictures, found the ones in Mummy’s garden that are poisonous and picked one.” Margaret continued in a dreamlike tone. “I wanted one where she’d just go to sleep. I didn’t want her to suffer. It was so easy. She phoned up Mummy, saying she couldn’t sleep and Mummy sent me over with an herbal tea she’d bought.”
Gerry interrupted her. “So Aunt Mary knows you went over there. But she didn’t say anything when I was at her house.”
Margaret laughed. “She’s not going to help you! I took the herbal tea, but I gave Aunt Maggie something else, yes, I did.” She hugged herself. “I had had it ready for weeks, the roots. All I had to do was make the tea.” She frowned and her voice became querulous. “But she wouldn’t drink it. She said it smelled nasty. She said, ‘Just leave it there, Margaret, and maybe I’ll drink it later.’ Ordering me.” Her voice became small again. “Just like Mummy does.”
Gerry waited, barely breathing. “And then what happened?”
“I went home.” Margaret straightened up and sounded like her usual sarcastic self again. “She wasn’t going to drink it with me standing there. So I left. She was still alive when I left. But she must have drunk it later, and the best part is, you don’t even know about — ” She stopped herself and looked triumphantly at Gerry.
“I don’t even know about what, Margaret?”
Margaret just laughed. There was nothing left for Gerry to say. On the step outside she found Prudence alone. “Where did David go?”
“He took off into the woods. He’s very upset. Are you all right?”
“Me? I’m fine. Except I feel a bit sick to my stomach. I hope David goes to Doug. Come on, Prudence. Let’s go home. I’ll tell you what she said on the way.”
Neither of them got much work done that afternoon. They tried to puzzle out if there was any way to prove any of what Margaret had said. By speaking only with Gerry, she’d made it one person’s word against the other’s. And to top it all off, Gerry received a vituperative call from Mary, claiming that Margaret was so hysterical that she and Geoff were thinking of taking her to the hospital if they couldn’t get her to calm down.
“Where are you calling from?” Gerry asked.
“Our house. Why?”
“Well, if she was together enough to drive to your place, she can’t be all that hysterical,” Gerry concluded. That didn’t go over well. An enraged Aunt Mary shrieked into the phone and hung up.
“I should have spoken to Uncle Geoff,” muttered Gerry. “He’s the only one there with any sense. Prudence, you might as well go home. I’ll do the cats tonight.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. We’re both tired and shocked and need to rest. Let Uncle Geoff deal with those two. I’ve had it.”
That evening neither Gerry nor the cats could settle. She trudged from room to room; taking a book, then putting it back; lifting up some of the family china, wondering when she’d ever use it. The cats, some of them, took turns accompanying her. Of course, they still needed their sleep, but when Marigold tired, Lightning took her place (much to Gerry’s surprise); when Bob went outside, Ronald showed up; and so on until well after midnight when Gerry found herself sitting in her pyjamas, robe and slippers on the grand staircase staring down into the hall.
The hall was as big as a room. She’d never taken it in from this vantage point, and at this time of night, and in her frame of mind, she found it utterly gloomy. She peered through the heavy wooden railings at the dark red wallpaper, only slightly illuminated by antique wall sconces that looked crookedly mounted. The wispy sheer curtains over the front entrance’s windows shifted slightly, as though someone had brushed by them.
She reached over and picked Ronald up and put him on her lap. Absently, she also reached over and began stroking Lightning, then drew back her hand in alarm. But Lightning, while not purring like Ronald, hadn’t reacted as though Gerry were trying to kill her, but continued to sit placidly. Gerry said nothing, but smiled a little and resumed stroking. Progress!
She wasn’t sleepy but went up to bed, lay there for hours before she slept for a bit.
Saturday, she tried to settle to work, but was unsuccessful, got so nervous she drove to a nearby flea market and wandered from stall to stall, looking at overpriced antiques and junk, bought a bag of candy from one merchant and some donuts from another, before devouring a good, home-style burger — with everything.
When she got home, she slept for most of the afternoon and awoke feeling better, was able to work on the painting of Bea’s pansy orchid. She thought it would make a nice Christmas present for her.
As always, when she was absorbed in work, time passed unnoticed — but not by the cats, who gave her half an hour past their usual supper hour, then began scratching at the studio door.
As she passed through the entranceway on her way to the kitchen, the last rays of the setting sun slanted in through the windows and the filmy curtains, illuminating the spot where she’d sat so sadly the night before. “The sun! The sun!” she sang as she fed the cats, and her mood lightened.
Sunday was better, a cool, crisp autumn day. The furnace had kicked in during the night, so she turned the thermostat down and made a fire in the living room. This proved to be a magnet for the cats, who chose radiant heat over forced air and joined her.
She read a book about perennials and their management, and realized her beds could be left uncut for several reasons. After reading the passage, she hoped Doug was leaving them like that on purpose and wasn’t just busy elsewhere. She’d have to ask him next time she saw him.
For one thing, snow accumulated more efficiently to cover the roots if some of the top structure of the plant was left. Secondly, and this was the reason Gerry liked the best, the dried seed heads offered some sustenance to over-wintering birds. Thirdly, the garden looked nice. There were some photographs of the winter garden, its bare bones draped with snow.
She reached for her sketch pad and doodled. The phone rang. “Ah, hello?” she said distractedly, dragged back to reality. Andrew was speaking. She looked out the roadside window.
“Gerry, my father is missing.” His voice, usually so steady, cracked. Gerry didn’t have a response for that. “Gerry? Gerry? Are you there?”
“What?” was all she managed.
He spoke carefully. “My mother just phoned me. He was at home yesterday.” His tone became bitter. “That’s the last time she remembers seeing him. Careless of her, to lose her husband.”
“Andrew, is Margaret with your mother?”
“Uh, no. She’s at her house, as far as I know.”
“Do you know if there was a scene, or scenes, rather, on Friday?”
“I heard something about it,” he replied cautiously.
“I believe Margaret’s unbalanced, Andrew. You should check her first, see if Uncle Geoff’s there. Call me when you’ve been there, if you like.”
“Right.”
Gerry put down the phone with a sinking feeling in her stomach. Just when she’d gotten over Friday’s revelations. “Drat!” she told the cats. “What next?”
Next was another call from Andrew. “Margaret’s in bed. She’s not saying much. What?” He appeared to be speaking with someone. Gerry waited. “Ge
rry?”
Gerry could hear, by the change in his voice, that something more was coming. “I’m here, Andrew. What is it?”
“Mother came with me. She’s just informed me that Dad went out hunting yesterday.” He spoke to Mary. “How could you not think of that until now?”
Gerry heard her irritated response. “I just thought he’d gone out to have some fun. Left me to hold everything together here.”
Andrew’s voice dripped with exasperation. “When has he ever done that, Mother?” He switched back to Gerry. “I think my father’s in the woods. He may have injured himself.”
“Andrew, I met him up near the sugar shack a few weeks ago. He’d shot some birds. He said he couldn’t walk as far as he used to and had parked over in that development near the tracks and walked in.”
“Right. I’ll go and see if his car’s there.”
Gerry grabbed her jacket from where it hung in the kitchen porch. “I’ll come on foot from this end and meet you by the shack.” They both hung up.
Gerry stuffed a bottle of water and a flashlight into her pockets and, with a shouted “Sorry, cats, I may be late!” stumbled outside.
Across the road, Andrew’s house had that stillness common to unoccupied places. She looked at Mr. Parminter’s frontage, hoping for a glimpse of Graymalkin. Only Mr. Parminter’s curtains, drawn for the night, showed her someone was home.
As she half ran, half walked up the lane toward the woods, Cathy’s house presented a livelier appearance. Lights shone in the front rooms as well as upstairs, and several parked cars indicated the B&B was having a busy weekend. Gerry thought she heard Prince Charles’s basset tones and smiled. She wished she was headed for a convivial supper with Cathy and the prince.
The sun was low, directly in front of her as she continued to where the lane ended and the trail began. Old fence posts aslant in the ground and bits of rusty barbed wire reminded her these were relatively new woods; that all this land had once been for crops or pasture, possibly land her family had farmed once upon a time.
She smelled the steeped tea odour of damp fallen leaves and dying ferns. She’d forgotten her rubber boots and her sneakers and socks were soon soaked as she moved through wet underbrush and muddy puddles.
She came to the train tracks, turned and jogged the length of one field and then another. Faster than going through the woods and more light. The sun was almost gone. The railway ties were set just the wrong distance apart for her tempo and it hurt as her feet repeatedly slipped off them onto the large rocks between. The creosote-soaked ties gleamed black against the pink and grey of the rocks.
The trail to the sugar shack sloped down to her left. Far away, down the tracks just before they curved out of sight, she could see a tall figure coming toward her. Andrew, still a few minutes away. Minutes might count if Uncle Geoff had had an accident, a heart attack. She would go in ahead of Andrew. She clicked on her flashlight.
Her feet thanked her as she moved off the tracks and onto soft soil. Here was the old growth forest, giant trees you couldn’t get two people’s linked arms to meet around. More conifers too: hemlock, cedar. She flashed her light around and cursed. It lit up only ten feet in front of her, would save her tripping on a stone or root, but would be useless for looking for her uncle. Why hadn’t she thought to grab the heavy-duty emergency light from her car’s trunk?
She rattled the lock on the sugar shack door. Shut. She ran around to a side window. Boarded up. The back? Ah. Here the boards had been partially pried away, probably by kids. She shone her light into the shack. “Uncle Geoff?” Where was Andrew?
She lifted her leg, balanced on one knee on the window frame, stuck her head inside. Something rustled in a far corner. “Uncle Geoff?” She heard her voice, tremulous, and shone her light. The rustle was coming closer. An animal?
“Holy shit!” she yelled and threw herself backward, landing awkwardly, half-sprawled against a stump, before falling sideways onto the ground. The wall of the shack almost completely saved her.
The skunk sprayed the interior of the shack, having aimed toward the window. Gerry got up and ran back to the path in front. She’d dropped her flashlight when she’d fallen. She stood there in the dark as the terrible smell permeated the forest. “He’s not in there,” she was able to tell a breathless Andrew.
“I heard you yell,” he panted, bent over from his effort. “I’m not as fit as I thought I was, obviously.” He waved his hand in front of his nose. “God, you smell terrible.”
“It’s not all me,” a furious Gerry replied. “It sprayed the whole shack!”
Andrew’s light was powerful, and he was able to shine it well into the woods either side of the path as they made their way up the hill through the sugar bush. Andrew asked, “Where could he be? His car was where you said it might be. What if he’s not out here? Where could he have gone? What’s happening, Gerry?”
“I’m not sure, Andrew. I only know part of it, I guess. Just keep looking.”
They reached the top of the hill and walked through a plantation of pine. It was colder in there and fallen needles muffled their footsteps. Gerry didn’t like the darkness or the rigidity of the neat rows. “He planted this, you know,” Andrew said softly. “He liked to — ” But Gerry had grabbed his arm, was pointing.
17
It took a lot of gentle pleading with Andrew to get him to leave what was left of his father. The shotgun blast had taken most of the head, but Andrew wanted to touch him anyway. “Best not to, Andrew,” Gerry said through her tears. “He’s not here. He’s not here.”
“I’ll stay while you get the police,” he stubbornly insisted, his face turned away as he leaned on a tree, and Gerry was reminded of the honour guard of cats surrounding her aunt’s dead body, who still slept on her bed.
“Your family needs you,” she stated. “You don’t want me to tell them, do you?” This seemed to penetrate and he allowed her to lead him away.
There was no longer any need for haste. At the tracks they turned left, towards where Andrew and Uncle Geoff’s cars waited. They walked in silence, and Gerry, arm in arm with Andrew, stuck her free hand in her coat pocket. She found the pack of candy she’d bought — what? — just the day before? “Here. We’re both in shock. Eat some of these.” She handed him some sour gummy worms.
He started shaking with laughter. “Who eats these when they’re grown up? You bought these?”
“Andrew, Andrew, calm down. Here, drink this.” She handed him the water bottle and saw the tears running down his face. He drank and she awkwardly patted him on the shoulder.
They left Uncle Geoff’s car where it was parked; the police might want to examine it. Gerry drove Andrew’s. He was shaking his head and muttering, “I don’t believe it. I don’t believe it. He must have slipped and the gun went off. Christ, poor Mother.” He had his face in his hands when they bumped along Margaret’s driveway.
Gerry stayed in the car. “Andrew, I know you’re family and I should be able to come in, but I don’t feel I’d be welcome. In fact, I’m sure I wouldn’t be. So I’ll just take your car and park it at your house. You can call me if you need a ride. Okay?”
He nodded dumbly and entered the house.
Why can’t I have a nice, normal family like everybody else? Gerry wondered.
When she got home she dropped her stinky coat outside, made a cup of tea and phoned Prudence. After her initial astonishment, Prudence quietly said, “We better get baking.”
“Baking!” Gerry faintly replied.
“There’ll be a visitation before and a reception after the funeral. People need something sweet at times like these. You go ahead and have a long hot bath and we’ll make something really good tomorrow.”
“I don’t think I can face the students this week.”
“Wait until tomorrow, then phone and cancel. By then they’ll have mostly hea
rd and you won’t have to break the news five separate times.”
“Were you related to Uncle Geoff, Prudence?” Gerry’s throat constricted when she said his name and she blew her nose.
“I don’t think so, not by blood, but he was my cousin’s husband and a good man. Not many like him.”
They said their goodnights and Gerry did as she had been told: ran a deep bath with plenty of bubbles. She left the bathroom door a little open and wasn’t surprised when a few cats came in to investigate. Winnie, Frank and Joe, with their new sidekick Ronald, were fascinated by the shifting foam and sat on the bathtub edge, batting with tentative paws.
Gerry had placed a box of tissues near the bath, but didn’t need as many as she’d thought she would; watching the cats’ absorption distracted her and she even smiled, albeit weakly.
Perhaps because of the bath, the shock, or the run up into the woods, sleep came easily. The phone’s insistent ringing woke her. It was the police.
She told the officer of her meeting Andrew by the sugar shack and of them finding Uncle Geoff’s body together. The only questions he asked were whether they’d touched the gun or the body — no, and no — and if she’d noticed her uncle had been upset or depressed lately — no, again. Then he wished her good day. Then she remembered how unhappy Uncle Geoff had been when he’d been sitting in his car at her place and wondered if she’d been completely honest with the officer.
She phoned Andrew. “How are you today?”
He sounded exhausted. “Worse. Did you talk with the police?”
“Yes.”
“They’re thinking it’s an accident or suicide.”
Gerry paused. “How’s your mother?”
“Coping.”
“Let me know if I can help, Andrew.”
“I will. Goodbye.”
Gerry shuffled around, making coffee, feeding cats, and was still in her robe when Prudence arrived. Prudence looked her usual self, in her grey pants and white blouse. She did the cat boxes and tidied the kitchen while Gerry slowly dressed and came downstairs.
The Cat Among Us Page 17