The Doctor and the Dead Man's Chest

by Robin Hathaway

  “Sure. To get your attention. She may have made up the whole thing. Set up the accidents and written the note, to entice you down to her farm to play detective this summer. Liven things up. It can’t be very exciting living in the boondocks. Besides, she’s obviously very fond of you … .” Again, that sly look.

  “Jennifer Nicholson, she’s old enough to be my …”

  “Mother. I know, but haven’t you heard of Clytemnestra and …”

  Fenimore laughed aloud. “You’re mad.”

  Beep, beep, beep … . The bleat of the pager filled the car. Fenimore pried it off his belt and held it out to Jennifer.

  She read off the number.

  “The Ashley farm!” he said and pressed the accelerator.

  “Aren’t you going to call her first? It may be something minor.”

  “I can’t take that chance.”

  “You really should get a cell phone.”

  He didn’t answer. Peering ahead, he searched for the nearest exit.

  Once off the main road, they carefully followed the country roads back the way they had come. It was dark and they had to be careful not to miss a turn—keeping in mind Susan’s confession about the twisted road signs. As they passed through Winston, most of the houses were dark, except for an occasional bedroom light. But as they approached the Ashley farmhouse, all the windows blazed. Parked at an angle out front was an ambulance, doors flung wide, waiting to take someone in.

  Fenimore and Jennifer jumped from the car and ran to the house. The door was ajar, and they could hear voices on the other side. When they stepped in, their eyes met a chaotic scene. Clusters of people talking excitedly, others milling around aimlessly. Fenimore scanned the room for Lydia’s prostrate form. He was shocked to see her moving swiftly about giving directions—the only one in command of the situation. Then who was sick? Or injured? Or—worse? His eyes moved to the sofa in front of the fireplace. Two paramedics knelt beside it, blocking his view. He looked over their shoulders at the mound on the sofa. It was covered by a grey blanket, except for one small square of tanned back—and a limp, wet braid.

  CHAPTER 17

  “Doctor! So glad you got our message … .” Amory was at his side. “It happened right after you left. One of the Biggs children found her by the river. Came running across the field …”

  Fenimore and Jennifer exchanged glances, remembering the image of the little girl running across the field in the sunset.

  “Can I do anything?” Fenimore spoke urgently.

  “No. She’s all right. Thank God. Tom Winston was on the scene and provided CPR. She’s going to be OK. But what a scare …”

  Fenimore noticed Amory’s face had lost its ruddy glow. It was the color of putty. And his eyes were unusually bright.

  “Can I get you a drink?” he asked.

  For the first time, Amory’s cordiality seemed out of place—and irritating. “No thanks,” Fenimore brushed him aside. “Let me talk to Lydia.”

  As he moved across the room to intercept her, he caught sight of Tom Winston. Standing at the end of the sofa, hands hanging loose, he was watching the medics wrap Susan more closely in the blanket and ease her onto the gurney. They were swift and expert. Tom’s expression was of someone in deep shock. Fenimore went up to him. “Are you all right?”

  Tom forced his eyes to focus on him.

  “You look as if you could use some brandy.”

  The young man shook his head vaguely. Fenimore beckoned to Amory, who hurried over. “Here’s someone who needs that drink. See if you can find Tom some brandy.”

  “Right, Doctor. I’ll bring it right away.” Off Amory trotted, the perfect host, even in the midst of disaster.

  Lydia spotted Fenimore and came over. Until that moment, she had been in complete control. But at the sight of her physician and friend—the only person she knew could take charge—her face began to crumple.

  “Now, now.” He led her to a chair. “When you’re feeling better you can tell me everything.”

  It took only a few minutes for Lydia to regain her composure. She asked the expected question. “Why Susan? Why would anyone want to harm her?”

  “I thought it was an accident,” Fenimore lied.

  She ignored that.

  When he answered, his tone was flat, “To get at you. When they failed to frighten you, by attacking you personally, they changed their target to Susan, the person you care about most.”

  She understood, and spoke emphatically. “Then they’ve won. I’m going to call Owen tomorrow and tell him I’m ready to sell.”

  “Owen?”

  “Owen Bannister. My lawyer.”

  Fenimore swore to himself. He had forgotten all about Bannister. He was the one who had been urging Lydia to sell in the first place. He should have gone to see him before this.

  The paramedics were carrying their burden to the door as easily as if it were a scarecrow. The little procession moved past Fenimore and out the door. Jennifer came and stood beside him. She wished she could atone for the flip remarks she had made about Susan in the car. Reading her thoughts, he said, “Let’s talk to some of these people and see if we can learn more about what happened.”

  Agatha Jenks was standing in the doorway, bearing a tray with a teapot and cups.

  “Let me take that.” Fenimore placed it on a table nearby where people could help themselves. “Now, tell us everything you can remember, Mrs. Jenks.”

  “Well, it was about five o’clock. I had packed up my cakes and pies, and was getting ready to go to the big tent to help Mrs. Ashley serve tea, when there was this commotion. One of the Biggs children—the youngest girl—came running up from the river. She was crying, half-hysterical. Could hardly talk. They finally got out of her that Miss Susan had had an accident. The Reverend Osborne took off like a shot. He has long legs, you know. But by the time he got there, Tom Winston was already giving her CPR. Next thing I see is the tractor chugging up the riverbank with the Reverend at the wheel and Tom huddled over somebody in the cart in the back. As they came closer I saw it was Miss Susan. Tom carried her into the house while the Reverend and Mrs. Ashley brought up the rear. Mrs. Ashley was wringing her hands, poor soul. It was just like one of the soaps. The ambulance came soon after that. Susan was still unconscious, but she was breathing all right. But if it hadn’t been for Tom …” Mrs. Jenks dabbed at her eyes with a corner of her apron.

  “Where did Tom find her, Mrs. Jenks?” Fenimore asked.

  “By the new wharf. The one near the house. She was half-in and half-out of the water. She’d pulled off her goggles and mask. Nobody knows for sure exactly what happened. And I guess no one will until she comes to and tells us.” Agatha looked at the empty sofa that still bore the impression of the young girl’s form. No one seemed anxious to sit there.

  “You’re right, Mrs. Jenks. I’d better get over to the hospital and talk to Susan.” He hurried over to Amory. “Are you going back to town tonight?”

  “I suppose—if I’m no longer needed here.”

  “Would you do me a favor and take Jennifer home? I don’t want to leave her stranded. I’m going over to the hospital. I want to be there when Susan wakes up and find out exactly what happened.”

  “Of course. Good idea. Don’t worry about Jennifer. I’ll be glad to take her home.” He bobbed off to attend to someone else’s wants.

  Fenimore took Jennifer aside and told her he’d arranged for her transportation home.

  “Can’t I come with you?”

  “Better not. I don’t know when I’ll be done. It may be a long night. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  She turned away.

  “Jen …”

  She turned back.

  “I’m sorry the day ended like this.”

  On his way out of the house, he stopped to speak to Tom. The young man was seated, sipping some brandy. “Feeling better?”

  He nodded.

  “Mind telling me about it?”

  “I’d been l
ooking for her all afternoon,” he said. “Then somebody told me she’d gone diving. Damned fool. No one should dive alone. She knows that. I went down to the wharf where she usually dives, and …” he faltered.

  “Go on.”

  “There she was—sprawled on the bank.” He paused. “I didn’t know how long she’d been there. I just did the first thing that came to me—CPR. She started breathing almost right away. Then the Reverend came rushing up and I told him to get the tractor. It was near the barn. We got her in the cart and up to the house and someone had already called the ambulance. Then they came and …” He suddenly ran out of words.

  Fenimore touched his shoulder. “She’s going to be all right, Tom. Thanks to you.” He stayed with him a few more minutes, even though he was anxious to get to the hospital. By the time Fenimore left, Tom was looking much better.

  When Fenimore finally reached his car and started up, the right rear tire dragged. “Damn.” He had a flat.

  CHAPTER 18

  Changing the tire in the dark delayed him another half-hour. By the time he reached the hospital, Susan had been awake for some time. She looked exhausted, and, oddly, angry.

  “Oh, Andrew,” Lydia seemed at the end of her rope. “Please talk some sense into this child.”

  “Grandmother, nothing you or he can say will change my mind. I don’t want you to sell the farm. I won’t let you.”

  “But look what’s happened. Who knows what may happen next. I can’t subject you to more danger.”

  “Doctor.” Susan’s eyes were pleading. “Please talk to her. Make her understand it was just an accident. Not some sinister plot to do me in. I did a foolish thing. I stayed under too long, tiring myself. Then the air hose wasn’t working properly. It sprang a small leak and water seeped into my mask. It happens now and then. It was old. They don’t last forever.”

  “And she leaves it lying in that boat in all kinds of weather,” Lydia added grumpily.

  “I should have checked my equipment. But if I hadn’t been tired—”

  “And alone,” Fenimore interrupted, suddenly angry himself. “Where is the air hose now?”

  She thought a minute. “Still down at the wharf, I guess. I yanked the mask and hose off all at once to get some air, and …”

  “Don’t talk anymore, dear,” Lydia said. “I’ve worn her out, Andrew. You’ll just have to save your questions until tomorrow.”

  The girl sank back into the pillows. Fenimore acquiesced. Damned tire, he fumed to himself. Now all the information he would get would be stale—or secondhand. The least he could do is go back to the wharf and look for that air hose. A nurse came in to take Susan’s pulse and blood pressure.

  “Get some sleep now.” Lydia bent and kissed her. “I’ll be back first thing in the morning.”

  Already asleep, Susan didn’t answer.

  As they went out, Lydia told him, “They want to keep her overnight for observation.”

  “Of course. I’ll drive you back to the farm. There’s something I want to attend to before I go home.”

  “Amory was supposed to come … .” Lydia paused in the lobby, looking vaguely around.

  “I told him I was coming here and asked him to take Jennifer home.”

  “Oh.” She let him take her arm, seeming relieved to have someone to lean on.

  An episode like this is the last thing Lydia needs, Fenimore worried. It could spark angina—or even an attack of torsade de pointes.

  After he had seen Lydia safely into her house, he made his way cautiously through the dark down to the wharf. It was rough going. The ground was uneven, and he had only a vague idea where the wharf lay. Groping his way down the bank, his hands were scratched by thorns and nettles. Once he stepped in a hole—probably the home of some rabbit or woodchuck—and nearly turned his ankle. By the time he reached the river’s edge, he could see the outline of the dock a few yards ahead and the silhouette of the small motorboat moored beside it. A flashlight would have helped, but that would draw attention to himself. He stepped on something hard lying in the grass. Susan’s goggles. The air hose should be nearby. Trying to stuff the goggles into his jacket pocket, he found it filled. A book. The copy of Northanger Abbey. Had that lighthearted episode occurred today? He shifted the goggles to his other pocket.

  Getting down on his hands and knees, he began feeling methodically from left to right. Inch by inch, he moved his hands over the surface of the grass until he had meticulously examined about four square yards. Of course the hose could be lying just outside the perimeter of the area he had searched. But he couldn’t keep this up all night. And there was no point waiting until dawn, because if someone saw him in daylight it would cause suspicion. No. He had to be satisfied that someone had been there before him and removed the defective air hose. But who?

  As he stood up, he thought he saw a flash of light downriver. Lightning? But the air was dry, not heavy with humidity as before a storm. He scanned the horizon for more lightning. None came. Instead, mosquitoes came. He slapped at them and, for the second time that day, ran to his car. Once inside, he glanced at his watch. Nearly midnight. He drove back to the city alone, depressed, and itching—a far cry from the euphoric state in which he had driven down.

  CHAPTER 19

  “How come you never married, Doc?” Rafferty was on his second martini.

  It was Sunday evening, the day after the Strawberry Festival, and they were settled in their favorite booth. Fenimore felt extremely lucky to have found Rafferty available. Sunday was usually a family day for him. But this weekend his wife had taken the children to visit relatives out of town and Fenimore had the detective to himself.

  “Never met the right woman,” Fenimore answered his question.

  Rafferty laughed. “That never stops anybody today. Look at the divorce rate.”

  “I’d like to think it was going to last—at least in the beginning.”

  “Well, Mary and I are still together—for better or worse.” Rafferty had married Mary Reilly right out of high school. They had five children. Most of them were in high school themselves now.

  “How is Mary, Dan?”

  “Busy. With her job, the kids, her relatives, and every now and then she finds time for me.” He sighed. “But I can’t complain. God knows, I’m never home since this gang thing escalated. They’ve started attacking innocent bystanders, all over the city. We’ve organized a task force that’s on call twenty-four hours a day. And they put me in charge.”

  The lines around his friend’s eyes had deepened since Fenimore had seen him a week ago. He looked weary. The reason he was so valuable to the department was because he gave all of himself. But it was hard on him—and on his family. Here they were on their second drink and Raff hadn’t told him a single joke—a sure sign that he was deeply involved in an assignment.

  “What about that Ashley woman?” Rafferty asked.

  “She’s all right. This time they went for her granddaughter.” Fenimore told him about Susan’s diving accident and the warning note he had received.

  Rafferty put down his drink. “Be careful, Doc. What about that lawyer? The one that was pushing her to sell. Have you checked him out yet?”

  Rafferty’s memory was better than his own. Fenimore was still kicking himself for forgetting about Bannister. “I’m going to see him next week. He’s with one of those gargantuan law firms with fifty names spread over the door. I’ll get a lot of polite chat and very little information.”

  Rafferty nodded. “Let’s see that note.”

  After examining it, he said, “This is different from the other one. Looks like the person was in a hurry and took something he had on hand and doctored it up. Pardon the pun.” He rubbed his chin, thinking. “See this ragged edge at the top, as if it were torn from a longer sheet—maybe a list of some kind.” Rafferty was enjoying himself, happy to deal with someone else’s problems for a change. “Who would want you off the case? That fellow, Tom? The caretaker couple? The headmaster? The
librarian? Or that co-worker from the Colonial Society? What was his name?”

  “Amory Barnes.”

  “Yeah. That’s the one.”

  Fenimore thought of Amory with his courtly manner and old world courtesy. “I don’t think …”

  “What about the boyfriend?”

  “Peter?”

  “And don’t forget the lawyer,” Rafferty concluded. “Eight possible suspects …” He leaned back. “Now you’ve got to get handwriting samples from all of them.”

  He nodded. “I almost forgot about the hoodlum.”

  Rafferty was all ears.

  “This fellow in dark, city clothes was leaning against a tree taking in the scene. Jennifer and I both wondered what he was doing there.”

  “So you’re still seeing Jennifer.” An incurable romantic, Rafferty’s eyes brightened for the first time that evening.

  “Anyway,” Fenimore hurried on, “this city dude was a jarring note in an otherwise pastoral scene. When you wear black in the city you blend in, but in the country you stand out like a sore thumb. He definitely didn’t belong.”

  “Hmm.” Rafferty was diverted by the steak the waiter had just dropped (literally) in front of him.

  But Fenimore knew the policeman had tucked the information about the hoodlum away in his data-bank memory and would be able to call it up anytime. The same way he had called up those eight suspects after hearing about them just once.

  When they had finished their steaks, Rafferty finally told him a joke.

  CHAPTER 20

  The next morning Fenimore was too busy to give much thought to the Ashley case. He and Mrs. Doyle had an office full of patients and the phone never stopped ringing. It was after one o’clock when they ushered the last patient out. As soon as they were alone, Fenimore called Lydia. After inquiring about Susan and learning that she had been released from the hospital, he followed Rafferty’s advice and asked Lydia for handwriting samples of the eight people. One by one he ticked them off.

  “Agatha will be easy,” Lydia said. “I have one of her grocery lists. And Alice Cunningham is always sending me nasty little billets-doux, accusing me of something or other. Oliver is no problem. He sends me an invitation to the Academy graduation every June and always scrawls a personal plea at the bottom for those playing fields. Now Tom Winston is another matter … .” She paused. “No, that’s all right. He sends us a Christmas card every year.”