Does Your Mother Know?

by Maureen Jennings

  “I didn’t hear anything.”

  “Do you remember if they rang the bell?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t think so, but it’s very vague.”

  Nic came back and flopped at Joan’s feet. She reached down and began to twiddle with the dog’s black fur.

  “Do we need to go over this again? All I cared about was who was driving the bloody car, and now I know... thanks to you. I appreciate what you did, Chris. I am proud of you.”

  Another milestone, but I was uncomfortable with this overt maternal attitude. I moved on too quickly.

  “We don’t have to go over it all again if you don’t want to, but it’s a loose end that I’d like to tidy up.”

  Joan drank some of her tea, then put down the mug. “All right. But no hypnosis.”

  “I can’t hypnotize you unless you are willing.”

  “What do you want me to do then?”

  “I suggest you sit in the armchair, where you’ll be more comfortable.”

  Still moving stiffly, she complied and sat down, pulling her scarf closer around her neck.

  “Now close your eyes and take in a deep breath. And exhale. That’s it. Do it again.”

  Her face settled into the lines and shape that always underlie our usual waking expressions. Joan’s face wasn’t mean-looking or angry. It was etched deep with sorrow. A face that had known much grief. Another surprise to me. Why hadn’t I seen that before?

  “All right? Comfortable?... Think back to the night of the accident again. Put yourself in MacAulay’s living room. In your mind’s eye, try to see where Tormod and Sarah are.... They’re having some kind of row.”

  Joan opened her eyes, blue and sharp at the moment. “It wasn’t a row. She was angry with him, but he wasn’t mad at her. It takes two people to make a barney.”

  I couldn’t resist asking, “Why was she angry?”

  “I told you before, I don’t know. Probably something to do with business.”

  “Had he decided not to sell the house to the Norwegians after all?”

  “No, nothing like that.”

  “Her commission then?”

  She looked away. “Probably.”

  Lie. I was disappointed, I had to admit. I would have liked it if she had come clean.

  “Let’s go on then. Why don’t you close your eyes? It might be easier. You are interrupted by somebody outside. What does Tormod do?”

  “He goes to talk to them.”

  “Does that person come into the room?”

  “No, he stops them in the hall.”

  Got it! No doorbell, and somebody who felt free enough to walk in.

  “How long is Tormod in the hall with this person?”

  “Not long, a couple of minutes at the most.”

  “What do you do while he’s out there?”

  She sighed. “I got some tissues for Sarah to blow her nose.”

  “Was she crying?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why was that?”

  Joan opened her eyes again, but she stayed slouched down in the chair. “Drinkers cry easily... as you know all too well.”

  This last comment wasn’t said defiantly, but with sad resignation — a woman who was coming to terms with her own past and not liking what she saw there. I felt a sudden and unexpected rush of feeling towards her.

  “I’m glad you’re going straight. Has it been hard?”

  “It was at first. It’s easier now.”

  I think I would have held on to this rare, rare moment of softness between us, but Nic suddenly jumped to her feet and ran to the window, barking. I heard applause coming from outside. Joan sat up.

  “Sounds like they’ve finished. I promised Duncan I’d help in the gift shop. I’d better go.” She paused. “Don’t worry about all this, Chris. You’ve been a great help. If we don’t find any witnesses, so be it. I know the truth now, and I’ll just have to trust they’ll believe me. Do you want to come and help me in the shop?”

  “Another time. I’m going to drive around a bit. Catch this sun while I can.”

  “Come on back and have dinner with us then.”

  “I can’t. Gill asked me to go for dinner with him.”

  “Did he?” she smiled. She wanted to say a lot more than that, but she didn’t. I knew she didn’t want to spoil the moment either, and comments about my dates were guaranteed to do so.

  I followed her outside. The crowd of dog-watchers seemed more in the mood for buying than the last group I had seen, and they were all going in the direction of the barn. Duncan saw us and waved. With a light tap on my arm, Joan scurried off.

  I walked back to my car. Next stop, Andy MacAulay’s house.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  One of the twins answered the door. I thought it might be Penelope but I wasn’t sure. She was wearing a white summer dress patterned with bright yellow flowers. There were the pearls and matching earrings. I wondered what she had been doing before I called that she seemed so ready for company. Perhaps “at homes” were a way of life among the older generation of women on the island.

  “Good morning. Is Andy in?”

  “Oh dear me, he’s not. He left for the church about half an hour ago.”

  Her sister appeared at her shoulder, in exactly the same dress, but with a navy cardigan. I wonder who made the decision of what they were going to wear every day, or if it was pure twin telepathy.

  “Is there anything we can help you with? It’s Miss Morris, isn’t it? From Canada?”

  “Yes, that’s right. I just wanted to have a word with him.”

  They exchanged quick glances. “This might not be a good time, dear,” said the orange twin.

  “He’s very upset today,” added the navy twin.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t want to intrude.”

  “It’s not just his grandda’s passing that’s upsetting him.” She touched her right hand to her bosom and lowered her voice. “He’s having love troubles.”

  “Really?”

  “That’s what he told us, didn’t he Barbara?”

  Ha. Navy twin was Penelope.

  “Yes, indeed. He came home last night and said he and Coral-Lyn might not be getting married after all. We were so shocked because they seemed devoted to each other, didn’t they, Penny? Well, we asked ever so kindly what had happened, and all he would say was that he was starting to think they were... what word did he use, Penny?”

  “Incompatible. He said they were incompatible.”

  Curiouser and curiouser.

  “He’s gone over to the church, you said?”

  “He did. He said he needed some guidance.”

  “Would you like to come inside and wait for him?” asked Barbara.

  “No, no, thanks. I’d better be on my way.... Is he on his bike? Did he get it fixed?”

  They looked equally puzzled. “It wasna broke, was it, Barbara?”

  “It was not. It’s a good solid bicycle, that one. He goes everywhere on it.”

  I hesitated, then smiled as pleasantly as I could, not really liking the George Smiley role I had put myself in. They were very nice women.

  “It’s such a pity he didna visit his grandda the night he died. He might have been able to get him to the hospital in time.”

  They nodded in unison. “Aye, ’tis indeed sad, that. He was intending to, but the Lord intervened and he got held up at the church elder meeting until late.”

  “He came back here did he?”

  “Aye. We heard him come in about midnight. We were a bit surprised, because usually he bikes over to Shawbost on Fridays to visit his fiancée. She’s renting a cottage up Shawbost way.” They both looked discomfited at this statement. “After all, they were betrothed to each other,” said Penelope. “And times have changed, haven’t they?”

  For a moment, I was puzzled by this remark. Then I realized she was referring to the implication that Andy and Coral-Lyn might be copulating without benefit of clergy.

  “Perhaps it
was an indication,” added Barbara.

  “Of?”

  “Trouble in the nest. She must have picked him up at the church after his meeting, because I heard the car, and they were outside for quite a long time.”

  “Talking, probably,” I said helpfully.

  They both nodded in unison.

  “I’ll speak to him later,” I said, not wanting to risk losing their good opinion by admitting I intended to track down Andy MacAulay, broken heart or no. I said goodbye and returned to the car. I drove down the hill towards the church, remembering just in time to keep to the left.

  As I turned into the parking lot, without the distraction of many people milling around I had more opportunity to view the church. It was a tall, rectangular building with a smooth grey façade and straight, simple lines. There was no adornment, except for the long, narrow windows with arched lintels that pierced the sides and front. No stone angels or gargoyles peeked down from the roof. I saw now that it was a beautiful church with the elegance of utter simplicity, and the starkness I had reacted to yesterday wasn’t that of poverty of spirit, but came more from the confidence of a religion that saw no need to gussy up.

  The front doors were unlocked, and I pushed one open and went inside. Andy MacAulay was sitting in one of the front pews, his head bowed. I might have considered retreating, but he heard the sound of the door and he turned around at once, half-hoping, half-fearing who might be coming in. When he saw it was me, relief was predominant. I walked down the aisle, and he stood up to greet me.

  “I apologize for disturbing you, Mr. MacAulay, but I wonder if I could have a word with you.”

  The polite smile vanished and he definitely looked nervous. “What about?”

  “I am investigating the car accident that resulted in the death of Mrs. Sarah MacDonald.”

  “Why? I mean, why are you the one investigating it?”

  “The other woman in the car is a Canadian.”

  “Have you found her?”

  “Yes, we have.”

  “Is she all right?” His voice was tight with fear.

  “Yes, she suffered only minor bruises.”

  He let out his breath, clasping his hands together and raising his eyes towards the high roof as if he were addressing God himself. “Thank the Lord. Oh, thank the Lord.”

  An intense reaction towards somebody I assumed was a total stranger to him.

  “Is there somewhere we could go and talk for a minute or two?” I was uncomfortable having a secular discussion in a house of God.

  He hesitated. “We can go into the meeting room, I suppose.”

  He stepped in front of me to lead the way, and I caught a whiff of his stale sweat. I followed him through the rear door, backstage to the offices. One door was closed and a simple plaque said “Reverend Murdoch.” We went through the other door into a rather large room with folding chairs lined up in rows facing a podium. A notice board was at the side and I had a glimpse of dated notices, all in Gaelic. The room smelled faintly of antiseptic, and I saw that the linoleum floor was still damp from a recent cleaning.

  He took one chair at the end of a row, which made it awkward for me. I took a chair in the row in front, turning it around to face him. In these close confines, his odour was far worse, easily overpowering the cleaning liquid. He hadn’t shaved either, and that gave him such a haggard appearance, I felt sorry for him. I would have offered tea if I’d been able.

  “So, where was the woman? How did you find her?” He asked.

  “She’d made her way to the house of somebody she knew, not far from here.”

  He looked at me, wanting to ask who, but too afraid to show his hand. He rubbed his forefinger down his chin, testing the stubble.

  “And she’s not badly injured then?”

  “The usual cuts and bruises you get when your car has rolled down the side of a hill. She did have amnesia for a while, but that has cleared up now.” I let him digest that information for a moment. “Why I was interested in talking to you was because, just prior to the accident, the woman in question was at your grand-father’s house with Mrs. MacDonald.”

  “Really? Friday night, you mean?”

  “Yes. She says she went there at about nine o’clock. Then they both left about ten...”

  I paused to give him time to react, but he had gone very still, listening to me like somebody sitting in the dark who needs to know if those sounds from the kitchen mean an intruder is in the house.

  “She claims she was not driving, that Mrs. MacDonald was. As the accident resulted in a death, it would be helpful if we could find somebody to verify that.”

  He watched me, transfixed.

  I continued. “The woman also says that Mr. MacAulay had a visitor that night while they were there. This person didn’t stay more than a few minutes, but there is a possibility that they might have seen the car drive off and witnessed who was driving.”

  “Yes?” He stared at me, trying to keep his bottom lip from trembling; at the same time, he wasn’t going to give me an inch if he could help it. To hell with it, I was losing patience.

  “Andy, were you the one who came to the house that night?”

  “Friday? No, of course not. I already told Gillies, I hadn’t seen Grandda since Thursday. No, it wasn’t me. No.”

  I threw out a line, baited. “Your landladies said you were intending to visit him, but you were late at the church.”

  “Right. That’s right, I was.”

  “What time did your church meeting finish?”

  “I don’t know. I wasn’t paying attention.”

  “Of course. Why would you? I understand you usually bicycle over to Shawbost to visit Miss Pitchers. Good for you. That’s quite a distance.”

  “It’s not so bad when you’re fit.”

  “And in the rain, too. Friday was pretty miserable, I hear.”

  “I’m used to it.”

  I put on my best Columbo confused-bimbo expression. “Now, I’m a stranger here. Wouldn’t you have had to go past the scene of the accident on your way to Shawbost?”

  “I would not.” The words leapt out of his mouth, loud and unconvincing. “What I mean is, yes. It is that road. But I didn’t see the accident. It must have happened earlier... I mean later. Look here, I don’t like answering all these questions. I’m not sure you have a right to be talking to me like this.”

  He was absolutely correct, of course, but some ugly suspicions were circling in my mind and I didn’t care. After a while, too many people throwing evasions at you as if you were stupid was extremely irritating. I opened the trapdoor.

  “Your bicycle was in Mr. MacAulay’s shed on Sunday. When did you leave it there?”

  He fell through. There was no way to escape it. “I don’t know. Thursday. It must have been when I went over on Thursday.”

  “But you just said you went on your bike from here on Friday evening.”

  Fear made Andy suddenly bold. He had nice brown eyes that most of the time must have been soft as a cow’s, but now they hardened in anger.

  “I’m not going to answer any more questions. I haven’t been charged with anything. You have no right.”

  He stood up and started to walk to the door. I darted after him and got in front, forcing him to stop. He’d have to shove me out of the way to get past.

  “According to Ms. Morris, they were forced off the road by an oncoming car, just along the way from Dail Beag. The car was way over on their side of the road and, as they swerved to avoid it, they went over the cliff. The driver didn’t stop to see what had happened.”

  He stared at me with an expression of utter horror on his face. This was the first time he had heard this.

  “The car was a small, red one. Could have been a Nissan or a Ford.”

  Joan hadn’t seen the car that clearly, but the MacLeans had. They’d seen in when it was leaving Tormod’s house shortly after the accident. They thought it was a Vauxhall, but I knew it wasn’t.

  “Mi
ss Pitchers drives a Nissan rental car, doesn’t she?” A mute nod. “She must have been on her way to pick you up from the church. The Misses Stewarts said she dropped you off at your lodgings on Friday night. Quite late, about midnight. The timing fits. It was a wet night and visibility was bad, perhaps she didn’t realize what she’d done. She likes to have her music up loud, I noticed.”

  Andy swivelled away from me and studied the notice board in front of him as if there were a message posted there that would save his own life. His shoulders were shaking and he thrust his fists deep into his pants pockets.

  “Can you tell me what happened that night?” I asked in as soft a voice as I could. I touched him lightly on the elbow.

  “No! You have no right!” he yelled. Then, shrugging me off, he bolted through the door and raced back into the church.

  I was squeamish about questioning a suspect in a possible criminal act. I didn’t want to charge down the aisle of a sacred place, either. And if I caught up with him, then what?

  I ducked out the side door I’d seen next to the meeting room. I’d guessed correctly. Andy was unlocking his bicycle from the stand, and as I hurried over to my car, I saw him head out of the driveway and down the hill.

  Cursing my clumsiness with the unfamiliar gears, I set off after him. But I didn’t have to worry about losing him. Just as I turned out of the driveway, I saw a small Nissan was coming up the hill. Both the car and Andy stopped. He flung down his bicycle and got into the car, which did a tire hissing U-turn and roared off. I shifted into third gear and followed.

  We must have been driving for ten minutes max, when I realized we were close to the accident site. I spotted the police tape fluttering ahead at the curve of the road. Coral-Lyn, whom I could see clearly now, suddenly pulled over to the side of the road, not quite stopping; the passenger door flew open, and Andy started to get out. She didn’t give him a chance to step clear. The door swinging open, tires peeling as if she were in a juvenile drag race, she took off. Andy lost his balance and fell to the ground. The car swerved as she leaned over and closed the door, then she straightened up and the car disappeared around the bend in the road. Andy lay where he had fallen.