She was painstaking in her thoroughness. The discipline of doing this seemed to allay some of the horror.
There was still no sign of the trunk Grev had mentioned that contained stamps and coins. Perhaps the basement. She cringed at the thought of venturing into the bowels of the house just then. But no, if it were there, surely he would have mentioned it. Oh, there was so much that he hadn’t mentioned. She had just come blindly at his suggestion. Perhaps the trunk was in the Indian room. That wasn’t likely either. It was inconceivable that he wouldn’t have mentioned that peculiar situation—a room whose entrance was through a closet. The original doorway had been paneled over, probably. But that room could wait too.
After adding wood to the fires and stopping for a quick cup of tea, she resumed her work. Countless drawers and shelves yielded a veritable harvest of curious bits of jewelry, enamelware, and crystal. There seemed to be no rhyme nor reason to the method of storage.
After hours of intense concentration, she was ready to move on to the library. This job, too, was difficult and time-consuming, as valuable leather-bound first-editions were interspersed among paperbacks and periodicals. The longer she worked, the more confused became her picture of the Bourkes. There was no logic to the selection of books or, in fact, to any of the belongings. They seemed to have been selected by families of twenty different life-styles from twenty different countries. The lack of consistency in their taste was disconcerting. The islanders had told her so little about the Bourkes; perhaps they had so many interests that they had something in common with everyone. Just the same, things didn’t ring true.
The house was curiously quiet, with even the fires gossiping in subdued tones as she straightened herself slowly and listened intently. It was so quiet. Not even the wind nor the sea could be heard as she made her way to the kitchen window to peer out into the dark yard. It was a moonless night, with sullen dark clouds hanging stock-still in the sky, the conical evergreens absolutely motionless, dim stars weakly glowing here and there between the clouds, looking like pieces of tarnished foil that had been pasted on for effect.
Yes, it was a somber night, well befitting her uneasy mood, her sense of waiting—waiting and not knowing what it was that she was waiting for. The ugly message began to permeate her consciousness, despite all efforts to chase it away. You next. Think of something else. You next. Don’t think of Casey swinging stiffly. You next. Get busy, do something. You next. Frantically she filled the sink with hot water, gathered together her laundry, and began sloshing it around in the suds with vigor while singing Irish ditties with great determination. A sudden clatter reverberated through the house. Where had it come from? Where could the stairs to the attic be? It didn’t make any sense. Why would there be windows and that high-pitched roof if there was no accessible room in the attic? Could someone be up there? Surely no sane person would spend the night cowering in the attic or hovering around the house. The idea was incredible. It must have been a squirrel. Surely no sane person, she whispered numbly. Surely no sane person, as she recalled the mutilated cat. No sane person indeed. She wrung the clothes with a strength born of fear and rapidly wedged kitchen chairs under the knobs of the entry door and the basement door. Keep singing, don’t think. Rinse the clothes, slosh and splash, make lots of noise. She rinsed them three times, taking her time, willing to do anything to pass the night.
With her hands in the sink, she slowly considered all that had transpired Since Grev first offered her this assignment. His matter-of-fact assumption that she would do it rankled somewhat. On the other hand, the assignment had brought her here to a way of life she had forgotten could exist. Now she was determined that this should be her way of life, too. So convinced, in fact, that the harassment and difficulties, the torment and threats stood as token obstacles that must be cleared in order to obtain anything of value. Clearing these obstacles and discovering their cause had now become more important than any other task that she had previously encountered. And what of Grev? Where did he fit into this era of self-discovery? Why had there been no communication from him and why wasn’t he here now? If only she could clear some of the obstacles away, she was certain that she would find some answers to her relationship with Grev. For the present, at least, she was alone, and would tackle the confusion alone. Alone, alone. You next.
Time to stoke the fires. It must be nearly midnight. You next. Her eyes were becoming irritated, her cheeks taut and burning. She urged the living-room fire back to life, the flames licking high into the flue. She was still holding the poker when she heard a muffled sound.
Before her tired mind could decipher the source of the noise, taut muscles had knotted in her neck. On her knees by the fire, gripping the poker tightly, she waited.
Yes, there it was again. Slow footsteps on the shale walk. She rose carefully to her feet. Go before it’s too late, Casey had implored. You next. The taut muscles hadn’t extended to her legs. They felt flaccid, weak and trembling.
Where had the footsteps gone? Serious danger, Casey had said. Please go. But I don’t want to go. I want to live here.
The footsteps edged around the house. Wait with the poker.
She took a deep breath to steady herself. Soon the owner of the footsteps would surely come in.
Whatever the outcome, it would be a relief to confront Casey’s killer, to know at last who and why. You next. At last it came. The deliberate metallic sound of the kitchen doorknob being turned. The door was locked, but it would only be a minute now. It seemed the key was common property. She waited for the opening of the door with something close to impatience. She had waited long enough. Waited for answers since the day she arrived. Things had to be settled.
Three firm raps on the door. It wouldn’t be long now. She held the poker over the glowing red coals on the hearth. She would do the best she could with the only weapon available. At last the key scratched in the lock. The door strained against the chair just briefly before snapping the back. She listened, alert, poised, ready for what must come. There would be no more running, no more cowering in a darkened bedroom. Piercing pains shot through her calves as she maintained her position, the poker glowing cherry red. An indistinct sound in the kitchen. Whoever it was was definitely inside. It wouldn’t be long. Quiet padded footsteps across the kitchen, into the hall. Another door opened. Her bedroom door, she was sure. Silence for a bit and then she heard the breathing, slow, deep, and regular. Keep the poker hot until it’s needed. She turned to face the hall entranceway. She had steeled herself and was ready.
The footsteps were coming. Coming into the room. She stared icily at the large, stockinged feet, raised her eyes as she clenched the poker and stood erect.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded woodenly.
“Looking for you.” The voice was husky. “I couldn’t wait another day.” ;
“Grev,” her voice faltered in confusion. “Grev, did you kill Casey?”
“Did I what? Kate, are you all right? What are you doing hiding in here at two a.m., brandishing a red-hot poker? Why didn’t you answer the door?”
“Did you kill Casey?” she asked obstinately. “Tell me.”
“Kate... no, I didn’t kill Casey. Who is he? What’s happening?”
“He’s... or I should say he was a cat,” she said weakly.
With a searching look of consternation, he came to her side, gently removed the poker from her clenched hand, and pressed her head to his chest.
“Do you mean that peculiar cat who pulls the disappearing acts has finally disappeared?”
She nodded, easing out of his arms. “He’s dead. Someone killed him,” she said stiffly.
“You don’t really seem overjoyed to see me. Maybe it was wishful thinking on my part but I was certain, when we parted, that you’d be counting the days until I came. I also trusted my masculine intuition when it told me that you needed me.”
“Grev, I’m sorry I’m not exuberant. I am glad to see you. Really so glad, there’s
so many things I want to ask you and get straight.”
“Yes, such as did I kill Casey,” he said caustically.
“Well, yes. Among other things. It’s just that I wasn’t expecting you.”
“Would you mind telling me who you were expecting at two a.m.?”
“I’d rather expected Casey’s murderer I guess, or anyone. Oh, I don’t know who I expected, but certainly not you. I thought you’d come on the ferry this morning.”
“How was I expected to know that, when I hadn’t heard a word from you since you left? You’re overestimating the power of my intuition.”
They walked back to the kitchen, where Grev poured himself a mug of coffee. Unable to keep the suspicion from her voice, she asked, “How and when did you arrive on the island then? Tell me that.”
He stared at her incredulously. “This is more of an inquisition than a welcoming reception.”
She held her ground. “You’re not answering my questions though, are you? Do you have something to hide?”
“Kate, for the love of Mike, what is this?”
“Answer me,” she said desperately. “Please answer me. I happen to know that there was no ferry tonight and I also know that you didn’t come on the morning ferry because I met it and you weren’t on it. So tell me exactly how long you’ve been on this island.”
“You certainly are twitchy, Kate.” He leaned back and gazed at her lazily. “This is truly fine coffee.”
“Grev! Will you please answer me!”
“I’ll be happy to when you calm down a bit. Now drink some coffee. There’s a good girl.”
Barely able to stifle her indignation, she eyed him balefully. Friend or foe? How would she know for certain? She was tense, alert to every nuance and inflection that could give her a clue. This was not the time or the place to take anyone at face value.
Grev had finished his coffee leisurely, glancing about the kitchen. He idly strolled around, examining objects and poking at the fire, humming quietly all the while. Kate thought she would scream with frustration before he sat down across from her and smiled expansively. “Now, let’s see. What was it you wanted to know? Oh, yes. First of all, I did not kill Casey. Second, I arrived on the island approximately one hour ago, my means of transportation being a private boat owned by a friend of mine, who agreed under considerable pressure to run me over here. I might add that we undertook this perilous journey at considerable risk, it being, as you may have noticed, dark and all. He has the boat anchored down at the point where he is, I presume, having a sleep. You will notice that I have removed my boots as it was necessary to wade through icy water in order to come to the rescue of my fair damsel.”
Kate was watching him attentively as he spoke. He seemed so glib and sarcastic.
“Any other questions from the floor?”
“Yes. What did you mean when you said you’d had no communication from me?”
“The truth, I swear. Not one word of your welfare have I heard.”
“Grev, that can’t be so. I’ve written to you. I sent word back with Lynn and furthermore, I phoned you at the office and left a message with Allan.”
Grev slammed his fist on the table. “What’s going on? I think, now you’d better fill me in. I didn’t get the letter. I’ve tried countless times to get in touch with Lynn, and Allan didn’t mention your call.”
“Why would he not mention it? I told him it was urgent. I’ve tried to contact Lynn myself, but with no luck. Also, I have an awful feeling that my letter is still sitting in that nasty old man’s drugstore.”
Grev burst out laughing. “This has all the earmarks of a mysterious melodrama. Now, let’s have a fresh cup of coffee, get settled by the fire, and you can tell me all about it. Starting from when I last saw you. Don’t leave out a thing.”
Chapter 13
The tale was a long time in the telling. At last she stopped talking, weary and exhausted. Grev had been quiet throughout.
“Get yourself to bed and have a good sleep for now. I agree that something smells rotten all right. I’ll mull it over and see what comes to mind. We’ll work something out. But for now, good night.”
“Good night, Grev.” She yawned as she obediently and gladly went to bed.
It was with a tranquility bordering on smugness that she listened to Grev, busy with the fires and breakfast in the morning. Lovely, lovely, she smiled, certain that this was the day in which all puzzles would be solved.
She had awakened earlier than she had expected, but she felt quite rested and well. “Good morning!” she called out as she brushed her hair.
“Porridge time, lassie,” was the booming reply from the kitchen. “Come and get it.”
She quickly slipped into a tartan skirt and yellow sweater. It felt good to be wearing something other than jeans and jacket.
“I rummaged through the cupboards and found a few groceries,” he said as she came around the corner. “Mmm, you look good.”
“Thank you. I was feeling a bit homesick when you said, ‘Porridge time, lassie.’ That was my mother’s morning call for many years.”
“Well, fancy that. I’m pleased that I sensed how to warm the cockles of your heart as well as your stomach, but please don’t call me Mother.”
“I won’t. I promise.” She laughed.
It was a satisfying breakfast, and they chatted companionably over coffee as the brilliant autumn sun blazed through the windows.
“You know,” Kate said, idly staring out the window, “someone must have cleaned the windows recently.”
“I doubt it. It’s simply that there’s not the kind of filth floating through the air as there is in the city. Consequently, windows probably stay clean for a year or more. The scientist has spoken.”
“Well, that’s a pleasant thought, even if it isn’t totally true. I love this place, I really do. Oh, listen, what about your friend who brought you over?”
“Do you mean to say you actually believe that there really was a friend and a boat after all?”
“Yes. I tend to believe you, but where is he now?”
“He was heading back at daybreak. I told him to leave if I hadn’t come back by morning.”
“But what about the office?” she protested. “Shouldn’t you have gone back on the morning ferry? I suppose it’s too late now though, and I must admit I’m relieved that you’re still here.”
“Well, to tell you the truth, I thought Allan could tend to things at the office for a few days, but I am wondering why he didn’t mention your phone call. He knew I was worried and hadn’t stopped talking about you since you left.”
“I never would have thought it of you.” She beamed serenely. “Suave Greville doesn’t worry about petty things.”
He threw a crust of toast at her. “Don’t get sassy, lassie. You’re not a petty thing. I’ve been postponing appointments and letting him handle a lot of routine things because I expected to hear from you at any time and wanted to be prepared. It’s not possible that it could have slipped his mind. He’s very competent and efficient, you know,” he added as an afterthought.
“Yes, he is, and he’s also very ambitious. I’m sure he’ll be able to manage until you return. Perhaps you should phone him though—later in the day. Casey has a phone at the marina, and I would imagine that Grayson’s has one as well.”
“Casey seems to be a popular name in these parts,” he commented. “Yes, I will give Allan a call today or tomorrow. Right now I’m going to see if I can’t get some heat and electricity around here pretty quick.”
“It seems that one of the problems with the heat is the fact that we need oil,” Kate informed him. “The oil truck came yesterday but didn’t bring any here, and it will likely be a week or so before he comes back. Casey said that perhaps some could be siphoned from the Morgans’ tank for the time being.”
“Speaking of Luke Morgan, I guess I was guilty of taking him at face value. I paid him in advance to get heat and power operational.”
&nbs
p; “Oh, no,” she groaned. “I paid him too.”
“Crafty old gaffer, isn’t he? I didn’t think he looked the type.”
While Grev investigated the state of affairs in the basement, Kate quickly did the dishes and tidied the house. She felt lighthearted as she worked. It was interesting to her how so much of the menace seemed to have evaporated by the mere fact that Grev was there. Or was it simply that she had a companion? she wondered. Perhaps anyone at all would have helped just as much. No, that wasn’t true, she realized, recalling how inexplicably edgy she had been during Lynn’s stay. She remembered vividly an emotion akin to relief when Lynn had gone.
“Kate,” Grev called, “old Morgan sure has been working down here. Every heat duct has been disconnected from the system. It wasn’t like that when I was here.” He came up the stairs, dusty and provoked. “Come on, girl, we’re going to have a talk with that character. There’s no doubt that Luke Morgan, for one, is doing all he can to make your stay unpleasant.”
“Well, I can’t think why. It’s been a source of income for him. Mr. and Mrs. Morgan both worked for the Bourkes, and I would think had come to depend on it. I can see why Mrs. Morgan isn’t too happy and that’s because I declined to hire her just yet, but surely she knows what side her bread is buttered on.”
“That makes sense. Let’s go over and find out. Shall we lock the door or leave it open for your phantom visitors?”
The Secret of Bourke's Mansion Page 9