Cheat the Hangman

by Gloria Ferris

  A few minutes later I opened them again. My mind was spinning with colours and sounds, and sleep would not come.

  I lay there trembling with fatigue, my skin scorching hot but clammy. I set my mind to think mode, not a good idea as it turned out.

  CHAPTER 25

  I slipped out of bed to shut the windows on the smoke and sounds of merriment drifting up from the back lawns. At once the air was heavier, and I directed all three fans toward the bed and climbed back in. That was better. Not comfortable, but better.

  But I was not alone. Snuffling and wheezing sounds emanated from the end of the bed, and my foot touched something soft and furry—cat fur. Undoubtedly doggy fur was there as well, taking up my valuable breathing space.

  “Get out. You have an entire air-conditioned wing to stretch out in. Why stay up here where it feels like high noon in hell?”

  They continued to wheeze and snuffle pathetically, like that would move me. Boy, catch me sleeping up here if I was allowed in the employees’ wing.

  “It’s too hot for you two in this room. Go back downstairs.”

  I have never understood the habit some people have of allowing their pets to sleep with them. It could not be healthy. Just think of the fleas joining the dust mites in the mattress, a living layer between the sleeper and the coil springs. Eesh.

  “Okay, how about if you move to the floor and I’ll give you your very own fan. How’s that.”

  No deal. Jacqueline and Rasputin continued to gasp as if every inhalation were their last. I could pick them up one by one and toss them out in the hall, then close the door on them. Frankly, I was too exhausted and sore to exert myself in a physical battle with a poodle that for sure bit and a cat that might very well bite too. And a closed door was unthinkable tonight.

  I pleaded with them. “Come on, guys. Don’t you know that the higher up you go, the hotter it is? Think of your nice cool tile floor downstairs.”

  The sounds of impending expiration continued, but I had stopped caring. My own words stopped me. I couldn’t exactly remember everything Aunt Clem had said during my visit to her reading room last Sunday. I should have taken notes.

  I slid off the bed and walked back and forth in the darkness. Two pairs of eyes glowed at me from the rumpled sheets. Something about a high place. The objects missing from the house were not far away, and in a high place, according to Aunt Clem. Close and high. Well, the highest place in the house was the cupola and the widow’s walk which surrounded it. Or even the third floor, a place I had not yet ventured to.

  I hadn’t noticed anything when I was in the cupola the previous night, but it was dark and the flashback or dream had distracted me. There could be anything there. Nobody seemed to have made a point of checking the cupola during the reunion. Or nobody who’s admitted to it. I remembered the figure I had seen that morning.

  Of course the whole idea was crazy. No way could Aunt Clem know where the stolen articles were stashed. The loot was undoubtedly being fenced in Toronto at that very minute. And now was not the time to go exploring. It was night and I wouldn’t be able to see any more than the last time I was up there. I would wait till morning.

  But Aunt Clem, or one of her spirits, was right about the missing doll. And then there was Leander, and the flashback on the widow’s walk, and the shifting photograph—it was getting harder to deny the psychic forces gathering me in.

  I lay on the bed and ignored my bedmates. Which wasn’t easy, with all the racket they were making. I did my best to think of something else, but my mind refused to host thoughts of little Tommy and the mystery surrounding his death, which I thought I had solved, by the way. And my heart was in no mood to think about Marc. My job was no source of comfort either.

  “Okay, guys, how about this. I’ll take you downstairs to the kitchen and give you a snack. Then you can find Caroline and Conklin and sleep on their beds.” After that, I would go upstairs to the cupola and look around. I grabbed my bedside flashlight again and we started out. Much to my surprise, Jacqueline and Rasputin jumped off the bed and followed me. As we passed the drawing room, I could see Peter’s blondish head propped up on some cushions on one of the settees, and I tiptoed past on the black and white marble floor. He must have come back into the house right after I did. He had been a great help to me during these last few days. The least I could do was let him sleep.

  In the kitchen, there was no sign of Conklin or Caroline. Either they were still outside or they were snug in their air-conditioned rooms. I poured some dog and cat treats into their bowls, refreshed their water and then, with one eye on the gobbling animals, looked around me. I thought about the layout of the house.

  The grand staircase in the great hall reached only to the second floor. The enclosed stairs from the tower room on the second floor led directly to the cupola. As far as I knew, you could not reach the third floor from the second floor, and equally strange, you could not reach the cupola from the third floor. It didn’t make any sense.

  In the kitchen, I opened the door to the staircase I had not yet explored. I flicked the light switch and peered upward where the steep steps disappeared into the darkness, a black hole the low wattage bulb did not penetrate.

  Conklin had mentioned that these stairs led to the third floor, the former servants’ quarters. That wouldn’t get me to the cupola on the roof level, and I couldn’t get past this odd architectural fact. It appeared that sole access to the cupola was by the steep winding staircase from the tower room on the second floor. Well, maybe Conklin would have an explanation, but for now, if I wanted to poke around in the cupola, I would have to get there via the staircase from the tower room, like last time.

  If I had known where to find batteries, I might have recharged the flashlight. Or not, as I was so focused on my quest, a mundane safety matter like light just wasn’t a priority. Besides, the flashlight emitted a feeble glow after I banged it on the kitchen floor a few times, and I figured I would be in and out of the cupola within a minute or two.

  The Family Pets followed me back up the grand staircase and into the tower room. I thought they would stay there, but halfway up the narrow stairs to the cupola, I heard their laboured breathing and didn’t bother to try and send them back. If they wanted to climb through that airless tube with me, it was their own lookout.

  In the end, I had to carry Rasputin up the last dozen steps, with Jacqueline huffing and complaining behind me. Once in the cupola I dropped the cat on the floor and looked around me, but by the fading shine of my flashlight, I wasn’t able to see the walls. I turned it off and stepped out on the widow’s walk, curious to see what the smouldering shed looked like from this vantage point.

  The animals followed me onto the narrow walkway, and we stood in a line gazing down on the back lawn and gardens of Hammersleigh House. The motion lights under the eaves illuminated the scene below where dozens of people still sat on the grass or stood around in groups. I heard their voices, but couldn’t make out any words. The remains of the shed still smouldered, and the smoke hung thick and heavy in the still air, detectable even from where I was standing.

  The widow’s walk was somewhat cooler than my bedroom or the cupola, although not enough to tempt me to linger there and breathe in the smoky air. I thought I could see Marc still talking to Jamie Petrowski, but I was so high up and far away, I wasn’t sure.

  In the cupola I turned the flashlight back on and started to play the faint beam around the room. The light would not reach into the corners, and there were plenty of corners in the hexagonal space. I had to examine every inch of floor.

  I felt uneasy, but since Leander’s spectral finger wasn’t poking me between the shoulder blades, I figured there was no danger. My skin felt crawly and I blamed that on a very long day plus an overactive imagination. I ventured into the blackness.

  At first I saw nothing. The painted wooden floor seemed clear of any kind of clutter. Not a chair or even a cushion to sit on.

  At that moment my beam of
light fell on a cardboard box shoved against the east wall. I cried out and took a step back. I trod on a tail—Rasputin’s since Jacqueline sported a mere stub on her behind—and heard an answering howl of indignation.

  “Sorry. Sorry.” In my fear, I forgot myself enough to grab the cat and squeeze. I was only seeking comfort from another living creature, but Rasputin took exception to my gesture and scratched the back of my hand.

  I released him and ignored my first impulse to throw myself down the steep staircase to the tower room. I aimed my flashlight at the box again. My light was fading fast and I shook the flashlight.

  I was understandably a little nervous around boxes. I crept up on that one. The cowardly duo stayed behind me, and I knew they would be no help if I needed it.

  My heart nearly failed when I was close enough to look down at the contents of the box. I thought at first I had found the body of another baby. The little head was topped with an over-sized bow and the tiny hands hung outside the box. I patted my chest to try and regulate my racing heart. I refused to faint again.

  Then recognition struck. Amelia. I reached down to pull her out and into my arms. By the feeble light, I checked her over and found no sign of damage.

  Tucking her under the arm that held the flashlight, I examined the interior of the box. The rest of the missing articles were there―the jewelled hummingbird, the little ivory jade dragon and a water globe paperweight. As far as I could determine in the dim light, all three objects were undamaged as well.

  Well, Florence was right. Or maybe it was Luke. In any case, the missing items were close by and in a high place. The question was, who put them there and why? My money was on Scott Fournier.

  Thinking about Florence and Luke, not to mention Scott, gave me the creeps again. I put Amelia back on top of the other articles and lifted the box in my free arm. It was light enough.

  “Come on, you guys, I’m taking this stuff downstairs. Let’s go.”

  Have I mentioned that the staircase between the tower room and the cupola twisted and turned so that it was impossible to know which direction you were facing at any given time? The enclosure was also very narrow and I was forced to hold the box in both arms close to my body. For this reason, the flashlight pointed to the left. I cautiously started down.

  I was concentrating on my feet and nearly missed the door halfway down. It was set into a curve of the wall. There was no handle as such, just a handgrip cut into the wood, which was likely why I hadn’t noticed it on my last trip. This had to be the door to the third floor servants’ quarters.

  I stood still, contemplating the wisdom of following my impulse to see what was on the other side. The third floor was an area I had not yet explored in Hammersleigh, and I was curious. I wanted to see what condition the rooms were in and if there were storage rooms to house the animal heads and the other objects I had left in the tower room.

  Common sense dictated I take the box and go back to my room. As usual, curiosity triumphed over common sense. Ignoring a shiver of dread, I juggled the box until I could insert my fingers through the handgrip. I pushed.

  The door swung open on creaky springs. I stepped forward and let it shut behind me, but not before Jacqueline and Rasputin edged through as well. I was glad to have their company.

  My feeble light displayed a long corridor ahead. Many doors, some open, others closed, faced the hall at intervals.

  Which way? The staircase that led down to the kitchen was behind one of these doors. Which door? I had no idea which end of the house I was facing, north, south, even east or west. All were the same to my directionally-challenged brain. I felt around on the walls beside me, but couldn’t locate a light switch.

  Rasputin headed out, tired of waiting for me to make up my mind. I followed, figuring he might know which was the right door. I felt Jacqueline’s wet nose on the back of my calf.

  I respected a take-charge cat, but a thought occurred to me. “Wait a minute. You’ve never been up here before. What makes you think you know the way out?”

  We passed several closed doors, and I hoped I wouldn’t have to open any to find the stairs. Ahead, I spotted Rasputin’s dim form as he paused in front of a partially opened door.

  He froze. His fur straightened until he looked twice his normal size. He emitted a grating, mewling noise. Hearing this, Jacqueline growled deep in her throat. My skin tightened.

  Both animals faced the door, heads down. Jacqueline growled again, unmoving—strange behaviour for her since she usually ran in circles when she was frightened or excited. On one or two memorable occasions, she peed as well.

  My skin contracted. “Come on, you two,” I whispered. “Let’s go back.”

  I sensed a threat. I had to run, but I couldn’t leave the pets there to fend for themselves. I set the box on the floor. The flashlight was nearly dead and it was impossible to see anything but the shapes of the two creatures in front of that door.

  “Come on.” With every nerve in my body vibrating in alarm, I bent over to pick them up. And the door was yanked aside.

  Half expecting something to happen, I was already twisting to one side so the blow just glanced off my temple. It didn’t knock me out, but I was dazed and helpless to avoid being dragged down the corridor by one arm.

  I suspect Jacqueline was fixed to the pant leg of the intruder by her teeth. I heard a muttered profanity and then she yelped. I think he kicked Rasputin too. The thud of a well-padded body hitting the wall was followed by a crying sound.

  He stopped dragging me and opened a door. By this time my head began to clear, and I kicked out. I grabbed onto a forearm with my teeth and bit down. With a muffled scream of pain, my attacker hit the side of my face with his fist until I released his flesh. I kicked out again and flailed at him with my arms, but it was too little, too late.

  “Bitch.” He gave me a shove and I rolled through the doorway and down the stairs. Aunt Clem’s words of warning flashed across my brain like a mantra. “There is danger in a high place.”

  CHAPTER 26

  I remember screaming at the top, and they say I screamed as I lay on the kitchen floor, so I deduce I screamed all the way down as well. With the narrowness of the staircase, you would think I’d get stuck part way down, but you would be wrong.

  I hit every step, bumped down on every uncarpeted, wooden stair. By some miracle, my head escaped serious injury, and I didn’t break any bones. I didn’t know that as I lay flat out on the kitchen floor. If I hadn’t forgotten to close the door when I was in the kitchen, they would have had to peel me off the inside of the door with a spatula.

  As I lay there, screaming if you will, although I remember it more as calling for help, I was sure I was mortally wounded. Everything hurt. It was worse than my little tumble down the few last steps of the grand staircase after I found Tommy’s body. And far worse than my exploit in the hosta bed.

  I heard Rasputin and Jacqueline plummet down the stairs, and felt them run across the entire length of my body, including my face. After that, I presume they raced into the employees’ wing. I did not see them again that night.

  Peter reached me first. He just had time to register that an emergency was in progress when Caroline and Conklin came at me from the direction of their own rooms.

  All three bent down, fussing and hovering. I believe I tried to tell them that an intruder had pushed me down the stairs and he was still on the third floor, but they wouldn’t listen. Cries of “Call an ambulance,” “Get Marc,” “No, the fire chief is trained in CPR,” bounced off the walls and shattered my already sensitive nerves. Next, Mitch and Tiffany arrived.

  Peter muttered something into his radio, then plucked a cell phone from another pocket and spoke into that. They all tried to shush me, when all I wanted to do was explain what had happened and get them to catch the goddamn intruder. Mitch patted my sore head and someone covered me with a blanket. I was underdressed again.

  Next, Marc joined us, closely followed by Ronnie Guilbert an
d Officer Tammie, her frizzy hair frizzled even more by the humidity. Or maybe she got herself a perm, I remembered thinking.

  Marc quickly grasped what I had been trying to communicate to everybody else, namely that an intruder had assaulted me and thrown me down the stairs. He ran up the stairway with drawn gun and working flashlight while Tammie raced out the kitchen door to the back yard and Ronnie headed in the direction of the great hall.

  At that point I wanted to get up, but dozens of hands held me fast to the floor. Somebody, I believe Peter with his assorted pieces of technology, had summoned the ambulance, and by George, there was going to be a customer when it arrived.

  Thirty minutes later I found myself face down in a treatment room at the Blackshore District Hospital. Medically-trained hands had stripped me of every stitch of underwear and I was clad in a paper gown that displayed my posterior parts to a roomful of doctors, nurses, interns and I think cleaning staff, since I noticed a string mop tucked under an arm.

  It must have been a slow night for emergencies. Whoever they all were, they took an avid interest in my butt. Turning my head as far back as it would go, I took a look.

  I have to say it was quite a sight. My buttock, hip and leg had all the majestic purple shine of an eggplant. Having determined that I had suffered no injury in my fall down the stairs other than superficial bruises and a laceration or two, the entire staff of Blackshore District Hospital, medical and otherwise, were concerning themselves with a fading bruise.

  One white-coated individual, whom I took to be a co-op student barely into his teens and standing only five feet, pushed his glasses farther up a snub nose.

  “You have some soft tissue damage there, Ms. Pembrooke. You’ll be a few months healing. Try not to overextend the muscles of the leg and hip for a while, but stay as active as possible to prevent atrophy.”