A Dismal Thing To Do

by Charlotte MacLeod

  “He kind o’ hinted that she’d run into a gang o’ toughs an’ had ’er car stole, but he didn’t want Annabelle an’ the boys to know ’cause you’re out to get ’em an’ you don’t want any talk goin’ around that might tip ’em off who she was.”

  “That’s the general drift. Here’s the rest.”

  Madoc told Sam the whole story, beginning with Perce Bergeron’s bull box and ending with Eyeball Grouse’s stolen object. Sam listened without saying a word. Then he nodded.

  “Them names. You want to write ’em down?”

  “If you’d rather I did.” It dawned on Madoc that Sam had likely never learned to read and write with any facility, if at all. He wiped off the gingerbread crumbs on the paper napkin Annabelle had furnished, picked up his pencil, and said, “Go ahead.”

  Sam began reeling them off in alphabetical order, giving each one a pithy character reference as he went. They seemed a worthy enough bunch on the whole, though there were some who couldn’t be trusted with a bottle, a surprising number who couldn’t be trusted with another man’s wife, and a few who couldn’t be trusted with anything whatsoever. Two of these were McLumbers and one was a Grouse.

  “That lot come from Bigears, I assume,” said Madoc. “Do any of the others?”

  “Nope.”

  “Does any of the rest speak with that odd little Bigears twist to the ends of his words?”

  “Nope. You got to be born to it, seems like.”

  “Then let’s concentrate on those three. Does any of them go off for overnight or longer without letting on where he’s going?”

  “Hell yes. They all do.”

  “Together or separately?”

  “Depends.”

  “Was one or more of them away night before last, when Janet had her car stolen?”

  “I can find out.”

  “Do that, will you? Also, do you know of anybody from Bigears who’s left the village and gone to the bad?”

  “Well, there’s one in jail an’ one in Parliament.”

  Madoc awarded this quip one of his sad little smiles. “Give me their names and I’ll run a check. One never knows. Do you think Pierre Dubois is using this Brotherhood thing as a cover for some kind of scam?”

  “Nope. Ain’t got sense enough to make it work. Look at all that goddamn foolishness about Brother A an’ Brother B when they all know each other as well as I know you an’ a damn sight better. An’ yammerin’ about secrecy an’ then gettin’ em to wear them damn fool sashes in public that Thyrdis Flyte weaves for ’em.”

  “She told me she didn’t,” said Madoc.

  “Don’t s’prise me none. She’d lie in what she figured was a righteous cause an’ feel like a hero-wine for doin’ it. Her an’ Brother E, they go in for high thinkin’. Fine people, but they just can’t help trustin’ that anybody who’s on the right side knows what the hell he’s up to. Far as bomb-in’ them cussed factories that’s spewin’ acid all over the Northeast is concerned, I don’t say as I’d mind havin’ a go at it myself if I thought it would do any good. Trouble is, there’s so cussed many of ’em, an’ it ain’t just the Yanks, neither. An’ it’s more than factories, too. Take that poor young jackass Bud McLumber, for instance, yellin’ about pollution while he was drivin’ that goddamn snowmobile lickety-split through the woods he was so friggin’ concerned to protect. Time you got through bombin’ ’em all, you’d o’ made such a mess we’d never get dug out from here to doomsday. If we get a move on, we ought to make it back in time for dinner. Annabelle might have some o’ that there stew left we had yesterday. Always tastes better warmed up, to my way o’ thinkin’.”

  It had tasted pretty good the first time around, Madoc remembered. Bert was no doubt wondering when Sam would be back to finish the work he was getting paid for. Besides, Madoc had a few projects of his own. He started the car, backed very carefully away from the gully before he turned, and concentrated on his driving till he’d got them safely out to the paved road. Then he asked Sam, “What do you know about that man Jim Badger who brought the house out near Bain’s?”

  “Not a jeezledy goddamn thing,” said. Sam with palpable disgust. “He comes an’ he goes, an’ that’s the best I can tell you. Claims to be a traveler for some sportin’ goods firm.”

  “Why do you say he claims to?”

  “Well, I ain’t never seen his paycheck. Can’t be doin’ too bad for hisself, anyhow. He paid cash on the button for the house. ’Bout twice what it was worth, too. Don’t ask me what he wanted it for in the first place. He ain’t in it more’n two or three times a month, far’s I’ve ever been able to make out. Comes in with a bagful o’ them frozen dinners an’ holes up for a day or so, then he’s off again. Drives a big dark green Chevy station wagon full o’ hockey sticks an’ the like.”

  “Yes, Fred Olson told me about that. Does Badger ever have company?”

  “Not to my knowledge.”

  “Fred Olson says Badger told him he’d been trying to find a woman to move in but hasn’t had any luck so far.”

  “Then he’s either hellish fussy or he ain’t been lookin’ very hard. There’s men older an’ poorer than him that don’t have much trouble,” Sam replied somewhat smugly. “He’d have to get one that’s already got ’er own car, I s’pose. Time was when you could set a female down somewheres an’ she’d stay where you put ’er, but now they all want to be out runnin’ the roads.”

  “I must have a few words with Janet on that subject,” said Madoc. “Badger can’t be much to look at, then?”

  “Well hell, neither am I. I wouldn’t call ’im no ravin’ beauty, but it ain’t the kind o’ face that would scare a person on a dark night.”

  “Just what does he look like?”

  “ ’Bout like a bowl o’ rice puddin’ if you stirred it up some an’ stuck in raisins for the eyes an’ mouth. Nothin’ what you’d call outstandin’ about his looks. He’s middlin’ height an’ prob’ly peels down to about a hundred an’ seventy.”

  “He’d be a bit on the hefty side, then?”

  “Ayup, you might say so. Squabby, you know, not hard fat like Fred’s. Don’t s’pose he takes much exercise himself for all he peddles them sportin’ goods. Spends most of ‘is time behind a steerin’ wheel, from what Fred says o’ that wagon.”

  “How old a man is he?”

  “Forty, forty-five, somewheres around in there, I’d say. His hair ain’t gray, what I seen of it. Kind o’ what they call mousy, though God knows why. You can catch a mouse pretty near any color you’re o’ mind to.”

  “What color are his eyes?”

  “Come to think of it, I ain’t never seen ’em. Badger wears them big dark drivin’ goggles all the time like they was glued to ’is face. To find out, seems to me I’d have to pick a fight with ’em an’ knock ’em off.”

  “Yes, well, you might do that,” said Madoc absently. “If you don’t mind, I think I ought to swing around past Bain’s and see what the bomb squad chaps have picked up. Would you like me to drop you off first?”

  Sam wrestled silently for a moment between Annabelle’s cooking and his innate reluctance to miss out on anything that was happening. Curiosity won. “Go ahead. I’ll stick with you.”

  They found the junkyard more thoroughly junked than before, and the men from the bomb squad just packing up to leave. The place had been thoroughly explored, they reported, and no undetonated explosives discovered. Their verdict was that the demolition had been wrought by a series of small dynamite charges, placed at strategic spots, wired together, and detonated probably all at the same time.

  “A professional job, men,” said Madoc.

  “Oh yes, quite professional. We couldn’t have done it better ourselves. By the way, your Mr. Bain must have been pretty broad-minded about what he collected, wouldn’t you say?”

  “He’d take anything that wasn’t nailed down, according to local opinion. Did you find anything interesting, other than the fragments of seventeen used chemical toil
ets?”

  “Is that what they were? We were rather hoping for flying saucers. Anyway, there were a good many bits and pieces of old automobiles, fencing, and other jagged metal. Nasty stuff. A lot of wood, and an incredible amount of broken glass. No trace of man or beast except a number of dead rats. We’ve put up a ‘Danger—Keep out’ sign, as you see, and heartily recommend the site be bulldozed as soon as possible so that it doesn’t become attractive to kids and scavengers. As it stands, the place is an open invitation to a mass epidemic of blood poisoning.”

  “I’ll pass the word. Have you had a chance to check out the Badger house?”

  “We did, and found nothing in the way of explosives. Nor a great deal of anything else, for that matter. Goes in for the simple life, does he? We lifted some readable fingerprints from a pair of shin guards and a glass in the kitchen.”

  “Good. Let me know if you turn up anything on them. And thanks for coming.”

  “Our pleasure. Here’s Badger’s key back. Regards to your wife. How’s she feeling, by the way?”

  “Much improved.” Madoc knew Annabelle would be tickled pink if he brought the crew back for Sunday dinner, which would assuredly not be warmed-over beef stew, but decided against doing so. There was a pretty good restaurant on their way back, and he didn’t want to get involved with playing host, even to his own colleagues. “We’ll see you back in Fredericton, then.”

  “You’ll be at headquarters tomorrow?”

  “No, I hardly think so. Not till we’ve got a better line on this bombing.”

  “Haven’t you already bagged somebody?”

  “Yes, but I’m not sure what for. The official charge at the moment is kicking me in the shins.”

  Laughing, the men went off. Sam cast a hopeful glance at Madoc, but got a shake of the head. “Sorry, but I want to stop at Badger’s for just a moment.”

  “How come? I thought they done it. What was they sayin’ about checkin’ for explosives?”

  “I wanted to make sure his won’t be the next place to blow.”

  Sam chewed that one over for a while, then nodded. “But how come you had ’em take fingerprints?”

  “General principles. Since nobody around here appears to know a great deal about Badger, it occurs to me the RCMP might. Running a trace is no great job nowadays, you know. Somebody just pops them into a computer. After making those poor chaps drive all this way on a Sunday morning, I thought we might as well make them feel loved and needed.”

  Sam didn’t ask why Madoc felt an urge to stop at Badger’s again, but he was right there when Madoc turned the key in the lock. Once inside, he sniffed from room to room like an old setter on the trail.

  “Anything strike you?” Madoc asked him.

  “Too damn neat. Ain’t natural for a man alone.”

  “It makes me wonder if perhaps he’s spent a fair stretch of time either in the military or in jail,” said Madoc. “That’s one of the reasons I find him interesting.”

  “Well, like as not you could get to meet ’im tonight.”

  “Do you think so? It seemed to me that his clearing off so early with his shaving tackle and suitcase suggested he was either doing a vanishing act or facing a long drive that would get him to an early appointment tomorrow.”

  “S’pose he ain’t runnin’, he might get to thinkin’. I mean, hell, here’s a man that’s sunk a pretty good hunk o’ money in a house he claims he’s been wantin’ for a long time. He’s been shook out o’ bed by his nearest neighbor’s place gettin’ blown to hell an’ gone. If ’twas me, no matter how big a deal I had on, the farther away I got, the more I’d start wonderin’ whether the place would be standin’ when I got back. That bein’ the case, I might decide to hell with the appointment an’ turn around an’ head home.”

  “Unless Badger happens to be on a plane heading for Vancouver.”

  Madoc didn’t believe it. A mere traveling salesman wouldn’t be covering so vast a territory, and a man high enough on the company ladder to be sent on that long a trip would be pulling down enough money to afford a less shabby home than this. Sam might or might not be clairvoyant, as some people claimed he was, but he did have an almost infallible animal instinct about which way any cat was likely to jump. Madoc finished checking around to make sure no telltale dabs of fingerprint powder had been left for the finicky Mr. Badger to spot and wonder about, then picked up the key again.

  “All right, Sam, let’s move out.”

  “Where to?”

  “The farm. It looks to me as if the next thing on our agenda ought to be a damned good dinner and a nice long nap.”

  Chapter 18

  MADOC FELT BY NOW as if it ought to be somewhere around the middle of tomorrow night. In fact, though, they got back to the hill in time to get washed up and share the ritual snort with Bert before Annabelle called them to the table.

  “Sorry I didn’t have something better to give you,” she apologized as they helped themselves to fricassee of fowl with dumplings so light it was a problem keeping them on the plates. There were carrots and turnips from the root cellar, homemade hot rolls, a crisp salad to cleanse the palate for a superb dessert of pommes en belle vue with whipped cream Charlie claimed to have produced by playing Sousa marches on his trombone to a musically inclined cow. After that there was coffee with chicory, ground fresh in the old box grinder that had been kicking around the pantry since before anybody could remember, and after that there wasn’t much a person could do but crawl upstairs and fall asleep.

  Madoc did just that. Janet joined him for a while after she’d helped Annabelle clear the table and put the food away, not that they’d left much to put. At some point during the afternoon, Madoc drifted close enough to consciousness to hear one of the boys complain, “Uncle Madoc still asleep, for Pete’s sake?” and his wife reply in the low, sweet voice his father admired so greatly, “Don’t you dare wake him or I’ll skin you alive.”

  He patted that portion of her most conveniently to hand under the comforter she’d pulled over them both, and sank back into oblivion. When he woke again, he had to go looking for Janet and found her downstairs helping Annabelle get supper.

  “Well, you finally decided to rejoin the human race?” Bert put down the Sunday paper and took off the reading glasses that made him look so oddly scholarly.

  “Madoc didn’t get more than two hours’ sleep last night,” Janet defended.

  “That’ll teach him to run off with another man’s wife. By the way, Madoc, Sam was looking for you a while back. He said to tell you your bird’s a grouse. That make sense to you?”

  “All the sense in the world. Where is he now?”

  “Down helping Ben Potts, I suppose. He generally does. Chances are he’ll turn up soon as Belle gets the grub on the table. Need a hand there, woman?”

  “You might offer Madoc a petit verre. It’s just onion soup tonight, so I thought we’d have a glass of white wine with it.”

  Janet said, “That sounds good to me,” but Madoc said none for him, thanks. It would put him straight back to sleep again and was there any official word on the funeral arrangements for young McLumber?

  “Oh yeah, it’s all arranged. They’re having visiting hours tonight, seven to nine, Sam says. Would you like to go, Madoc?”

  “Can you think of any legitimate reason why we should?”

  “What the hell do we need a reason for?” Bert snorted. “What else is there to do in Pitcherville on a Sunday night?”

  “Anyway, I’m acquainted with Buddy’s mother,” said Annabelle. “We met at the shower for Armand Bergeron’s oldest daughter just last month.”

  “And I went to school with his cousin Isabelle,” Janet added.

  “Do you feel up to it, though, love?”

  “Oh, I think so, if it’s not too much of a crush and we don’t stay long.”

  “You gonna pinch the guy that wasted him, Uncle Madoc?” cried Charlie.

  “What kind of gangster, talk is that?” snapped
his mother. “Go wash your hands and comb your hair. You’re not coming to the table looking like the Wild Man of Borneo. Madoc, you haven’t by any chance found out who it was?”

  “Sorry, Annabelle. I wish I had.”

  “You don’t think it could be the same one who blew up Jase Bain’s place?”

  “Aw, Jase did that himself, for the insurance,” said young Bert in a worldly wise tone.

  “What insurance?” his father asked him. “You don’t think any company in its right mind would sell a policy to Jase Bain? Aside from the fact that he’s about as reliable to do business with as a greased eel, the house can’t have been insurable. Miles out from anywhere, and not worth the powder to blow it to hell in the first place.”

  “Somebody thought it was,” his son argued.

  “Have you ever stopped to figure how many nuts there are in this world? It’s my guess we’ve got one running loose in the woods. I want you boys to watch your step till we find out who he is.”

  “Maybe it’s a she.”

  “An abominable snow woman,” Charlie suggested solemnly. “I get to sit next to Pop tonight.”

  “Who cares? I’m sitting beside Uncle Madoc,” Ed retorted. “Have you ever pinched an abominable snow woman, Unc?”

  “No, but I’ve had my face slapped for trying. Annabelle, after that marvelous dinner, I thought I’d never want to eat again, but I must say your soup smells awfully good. I might just change my mind about the glass of wine, too, if you don’t mind.”

  “I knew you’d say that,” said Janet. “Here you are, it’s already poured. We don’t have to dress up when we go to Potts’s, do we, Annabelle? We can keep our coats buttoned.”

  “If you do, you’ll swelter.”

  Janet had put on a pair of wool slacks and a bulky green sweater with a high rolled neck to hide her bruises. “I suppose you’re right,” she admitted.

  “Wear what you please,” said Bert, taking the lid off the big white ironstone tureen and starting to ladle out the soup. “Pass your bowl, Jen. You know darn well if you dress up they’ll say you’re putting on airs and if you don’t they’ll rip you up the back for not showing more respect. You’re licked before you start, so what difference does it make?”