Matilde appeared, tacking around the tables, her tight server's jacket emphasizing her more than substantial curves. Always reminded her of a figurehead on a ship, Erin thought.
"Good evening, Ms. Maxwell. Table for one?"
"Good evening, Matilde. No, I'm meeting Dr. McPhail. Is she here yet?"
"Yes, but I placed her at a table for two. Will you be joining her and Lieutenant Davidson?"
The arch tone of her voice irritated Erin.
"No, I'll be replacing Lieutenant Davidson."
Matilde drew back a little, realizing her error.
Erin followed her across the room to the small table near the fireplace she and Adam called theirs. The color scheme drawn from the foyer continued in here, with vibrant red tablecloths set off by brass-and-glass table lamps and royal blue napkins. Anne sat facing into the room. Adam wouldn't have liked that, Erin thought. He never sat with his back to others.
"Hi, Anne. I'm so sorry, but Adam can't make it."
"Oh, that's a shame. He's all right, is he?"
"Yes, but he can't get back in time."
"An opportunity for us to get to know each other better."
The conversation initially centered on their obsessions, antiques and genealogy, but then ranged into the international situation—which was frightening, as usual— and then the murder and missing artwork.
"Are you any closer to finding out if Mr. Trevelyan is the actual heir to this place and the painting?" Erin asked in a low tone as Matilde hovered nearby. Service had been outstanding after her initial gaffe.
"Perhaps later," Anne said, indicating the server with a slight movement of an eyebrow.
"I think I'll go to the ladies' room."
A short hall off the foyer led into a tiny antechamber ornamented with a gilt-edged mirror and a papier-maché table. Both stalls were occupied, so Anne sat and touched up her makeup as she waited. A conversation was going on, too loud to ignore.
"How much were you offered for the place, Mary?"
"A lot more than it's worth. Three hundred thousand dollars."
"Three hundred. Why?"
"I have no idea, especially after the fire."
"You had a fire?"
"A small one, in a shed in the backyard. Matilde saw it and called the fire department. They said it had been deliberately set."
"No. How did they get past the dog in the yard?"
"I don't know."
Noises indicated the occupants of the stalls were soon to emerge. Anne slipped out and hurried back to her table. She sat before Mary entered the room and came over to speak to them.
"I hope you ladies had a good evening?"
"Everything was excellent, thank you," said Erin as she gave Mary her credit card.
"Let's split it."
"Oh, no. Adam will pay me back. Dinner's on him."
Anne watched to see who else emerged from the ladies' room, but no one reentered the dining room by the time they left.
Chapter Eighteen
Mike whimpered again when he heard the voice calling them.
"Why don't we wait for them? They'll take us to Mom."
"They'll put us into foster care. Remember last time?"
Mike remembered last time and was quiet.
"Why aren't there any sounds? Where are the birds?"
"They go to bed at night, dummy."
Kyle was scared now, too. With the light gone, he couldn't see the lake. Maybe they walked in circles.
Tall pines loomed overhead, blocking the sky and any hopeful glimpses of moon or stars. Bushes and roots grabbed at their legs; branches stung their faces and caught in their hair. Kyle was not an imaginative child, but he felt as though the forest was attacking him, holding him back so they would capture him. Mike fell and cried again.
They stumbled on, fell into a creek, and trudged along in the water for what seemed like miles before finding a place where they could climb out.
A light flashed through the trees ahead of them. Searchers? No one called.
"Mike, we have to be quiet and see what the light is."
"What if it's the police?"
"We'll be quiet until they go."
The light wasn't moving; Kyle was sure. He crept forward, dragging Mike with him. A tiny building loomed in front of them, but it was in darkness. The light came from beyond it.
The moonlight flooded a clearing, shining on a cabin and the lake beyond. The light in the cabin flickered as a figure passed back and forth beyond the window. Kyle couldn't hear anybody talking or yelling and only saw the shape of one person. That's a woman, he thought. Maybe she would help them.
Knowing he had to move closer, he whispered, "You stay here while I look in the windows."
"No, Kyle, no. Don't leave me. I'm coming too."
Mike panicked, grabbing at Kyle's arm and tugging on his jacket.
"Okay. Okay. Don't make any noise. No talking and no crying."
The boys crept around the edge of the clearing, oblivious to the dog chained beside the back door, and to the low warning growls deep in the throat of their dog. As they neared the cabin, the chained dog exploded into frantic barking. Kyle grabbed the collar of his dog as he flew past on the attack. Ahead of him, the screen door of the cabin flew open and the sudden light trapped the boys.
"I have a rifle aimed at you. Come in here."
"Don't shoot us, lady. Don't shoot us," Mike said.
"We're lost," Kyle said. "Can you help us?"
"Walk in here. Quiet, Tark," she said to the dog.
The boys crept forward, holding tight to their dog.
"What are you kids doing out here? Are you alone?"
"Yes," said Kyle. "We're lost, and we're freezing. We fell into a creek."
"Come in the house."
Adam waited for search-and-rescue to arrive. Based in Burlington, they were going to take quite a while to reach the scene. He also waited for word from Jones about Bassett. The taciturn sheriff said they'd get Bassett, but as Adam understood the geography, there was only one marina on the lake. Bassett hunted these woods all his life. He could beach the boat and disappear into the empty country between the lake and Canada.
Out in the middle of the lake, Bassett cut his engine and listened. No other sounds on the lake so no pursuit. Christ, why did he drink so much? He had to think. What would the cops do? The wharves on the lake were two miles further on. They would have cruisers waiting and put a boat in the water. He had to escape the lake and into the woods.
His buddy owned a cabin along here on the east shore. He'd dock and plan a route into the mountains and across the border. It was still open country at the border, even after 9/11. He drifted towards shore, restarted his engine, and chugged along the bank, watching for familiar landmarks.
Pale dawn light crept between the trees where Adam and Pete sat and waited. Nothing in the cabin belonged to the boys, so the dogs couldn't tell one scent from another. Adam rousted Brad out of bed and sent him around to Bassett's home to collect some of the children's clothing.
"Why did those kids run? Why not hide in the bushes, waiting for it to be all over?"
"Afraid of us."
"Why? I mean why in particular?"
"Foster home."
"What?"
"Two years ago it happened. The mom had an accident and was in hospital. Bassett was doing three months for assaulting some guy in a bar. The kids went to foster homes. The social workers separated the boys. The older one kept running away to the younger one. It lasted a month until the mom went home. I was with the children services worker who took them out of their home. It wasn't good."
"They're going to look for someplace to hide?"
"Yeah. The older one is smart enough. I don't think he'll panic."
A sudden blast from the radio told them Bassett escaped. They found his boat adrift, but there was no way of telling where he went to ground.
Chapter Nineteen
Local media crowded the entrance to the cour
thouse as a glowering Captain Naismith read a terse statement about the lost boys and their disappearing father. Atkins had sniffed out the attack on Trevelyan and his apparent death.
"Is this related to the murder at the hospital, Captain?"
"Not to our knowledge."
"What about to the thefts at the library?"
"Again, not that we know. The investigations are ongoing."
"What are you doing to find the boys?" asked a local television news reporter.
"Search-and-rescue, some of my officers, and some from the county are up there, Angie."
"What about getting help from the public?"
"If someone wants to help, call the sheriff's office in Kirk County. The search is in their jurisdiction. That's all. Thanks."
Oblivious to the reporters' shouted questions, he disappeared inside the courthouse.
Over at Lil's, excited conversation at every table had too many topics: murder at the hospital, the missing boys, a daring escape, the theft at the library. Behind the counter, Peg watched and listened. There were people in today who rarely showed until lunchtime, or not at all. Nancy Webb, now, Peg hadn't taken her for a sensationalist, but there she was, all ears. Fragments of the conversations drifted over the counter.
"Debbie, how's everyone at the hospital taking the murder?"
"What murder?"
"I hear those boys know something about the dead guy at LaPorte's."
"Murdered out at the Red Roof, they say, while he was in bed."
"The wife's in town."
As Peg walked out to the booths to serve her orders, she overheard speculation as well.
"You hear about the fire at Evan's?"
"They say it was arson."
"What's going on in this town?"
Lots of gossip and some fear, Peg thought. She hoped Adam made some progress soon. All the crime seemed to be wearing on Nancy Webb, judging by her pale face and shaking hands when she paid her bill. Maybe the board was threatening to fire her because of the robbery.
Lil's did brisk business all day, with people dropping in after visiting the antique show at the Legion. Quite a few made their way across to Erin's shop and even to Todd James, her neighbor whose window advertised "decorating hints".
Erin was finishing her morning chores—dusting, rearranging disturbed items, and setting up her cash— when the front door rattled. It wasn't yet ten o'clock, her opening time. The bubbled old glass in the heavy oak door distorted and blurred the figure beyond, but Erin easily recognized Dan Abbott's unwelcome face. What did he want at this hour? Reluctantly, she turned over her closed sign and opened the door, setting off a tinkling cascade of sound from the nest of bells above it.
"Good morning, Erin. I wondered if I could look round the shop before I went home?"
"Certainly, come in."
Dan Abbott had been an irregular visitor to the shop, always looking. Erin couldn't remember him buying anything, but he took up her time, gossiping. She had no idea why he was so interested in Culver's Mills. Maybe he wanted Nancy's job. Erin sat on the library board as a representative of its fund-raising foundation.
"What's new?" he said.
"What I'm sure you heard over at Lil's. How did you like the show at the Legion?"
She hoped to divert the steady questioning she knew was coming. The man should have been a reporter.
"Well, the best people, like yourself, aren't attending. I assume that's why you passed it up?"
Slimy, Erin thought.
"Certainly not. There are some fine dealers here. I don't do shows."
"Did you buy?"
"Yes, a few things."
"What did you find?"
"Some linens, and a lovely vase I think is Loetz."
Erin watched Abbott wander about the shop. He stopped at her locked case.
"Is this it?"
"Yes."
"It is lovely. You have exquisite taste."
"Thank you."
"Why are you burying yourself here. I'm sure you could do well in Montpelier or Burlington."
"I like the small-town life."
"I hear you have a romantic entanglement as well. With a policeman?"
The note of incredulity in his voice irritated her.
"I can't imagine why you are so interested, Dan."
"I suppose he's very busy with the robbery at the library?"
"That is none of your business any more than my relationship with anyone is."
Erin glared at him.
"No offence, but as you know, we were supposed to get the paintings after you. Your policeman implied they might have been stolen in Brownsville, which they were not."
"I wouldn't know what he thought or implied."
Surely, if she kept her answers brief, he would take the point and leave.
"Of course since then you have had a couple of murders as well. Any progress?"
"Dan, I've already told you I know nothing about any of it, and I have work to do."
She stood, hoping he would take the hint.
"Hey, I'm passing the time of day. Don't get all huffy. I gotta go, anyway."
"Good-bye, then."
"Yeah, no hard feelings?"
"Of course not."
And good riddance, she thought as the door slammed behind him. What a gossip the man was. And he used too much aftershave.
Chapter Twenty
Kyle was dreaming about his mother, not as he last saw her, her face bruised and bleeding, but happy and smiling, making him breakfast. In his dream, it was summer and sunshine filled the shabby kitchen. As he woke, the dream faded, but the smell of bacon and toast lingered. Then he remembered:
"Come in here."
The two little boys, frightened and hopeful, followed the woman into the house. It was as though they had stepped into a magical land. Paintings of flowers, birds, butterflies and all kinds of fanciful animals covered the walls, the chairs, even the floor. A table in one corner held a collection of paints. A chair in front of it sat before an easel.
"Come in here and take off those wet clothes."
She belonged in a magic land, too. She was the tallest woman Kyle had ever seen. Her grey hair hung in long braids over her dress or nightgown or something. She gave each of them a shirt to wear and put their wet clothes and them, near the stove.
She sat smoking a little black cigar while the boys attacked sandwiches and hot chocolate. When they had finished eating and had begun to look more like little boys and less like small, frightened animals, she asked, "Who are you?"
"I'm Kyle Bassett, and this is my brother, Mike."
"Bassett? Who's your father?"
"Gord Bassett."
"The one who owns the cabin along the lake here?"
"Yes."
"I heard shots over there. What's going on?"
Kyle reluctantly told her the story.
"Kyle, you can't keep running away. By now the police will have called in the search and rescue to try and find you. I want you boys to go to sleep, and in the morning, we'll go talk to them."
"Will you stay with us?"
Kyle desperately wanted to trust this lady.
"Yes. In the morning we'll talk about it. You go to sleep now."
The woman heard the boys stirring and took them their clothes.
"You boys get up and wash your hands and faces. Breakfast is almost ready."
Bacon and eggs and toast and juice and milk and jam. Kyle hadn't had a good breakfast for a long time. Mostly his mother was too sore or too sad to get out of bed.
"Who are you?" he asked when he had finished mopping the last evidence of egg from his plate.
"I'm your Aunt Tabby, your father's half-sister. We had different fathers, so my name is Tabitha Young. We inherited these acres from our mother's father. I never knew your father well; I lived with my mother, and he lived with his father. I didn't know you were all having such a hard time with him."
"Does he know you're here? Maybe he'll come here. We hav
e to run away. By now he's mad at us. He has no one left to hit, only us."
"I won't let anything bad happen to you. We'll go to the police and find out about your mother. Don't cry, Mike."
She put her arm around the whimpering younger boy.
"You're safe with me."
Kyle watched as his new aunt cleaned up the dishes and tidied her cabin.
"Do you live here all the time?"
"Most of the time. I have a house in Culver's Mills, but I like to paint out here. Your father never told you that you had some more family?"
"No. I don't think Mom knows about you either."
"I'm sure she doesn't. Your father and I have only met each other a few times, and we don't like each other. You come on now, use the outhouse, and we'll drive over to your dad's cabin."
After a visit to the little building they had run into in the dark, they went into another shed they hadn't noticed. The longest, pinkest car Kyle had ever seen sat behind the doors.
"Aunt Tabby, what kind of car is this?"
"A Cadillac. I've had it since it was new."
The two boys climbed into the rear seat, slipping and sliding over the black leather, trying to keep the big dog on the floor between them.
Tabitha maneuvered the car out of the clearing, down the narrow lane and out onto the dirt road that led to her brother's cabin. They could see the helicopter hovering over the woods as they drove.
"The cops are going to be so mad at us," Kyle said.
"No, they aren't. But they'll have to ask you what you saw."
"I won't get Dad in trouble."
"Think about your mother, Kyle. They need to know what happened to her."
The big Caddy nosed into the lane behind the long line of police vehicles. When the boys got out of the car, leaving their dog behind, two alert noses sniffed the air, and then the dogs bayed and dragged their handlers towards the boys.
The searchers froze into mug-shot poses, all staring at the tall, grey-haired woman and the two little boys who stood close to her.
The Facepainter Murders Page 10