Cheat the Hangman

by Gloria Ferris

  I was tired. Physically, of course, I was battered and overstressed. Mentally, I had too many balls in the air, too many unfinished or unresolved conflicts. No wonder my life at the Hydro Commission seemed to extend unendingly into the future, seeing my staff and friends leave one by one, finding myself rushing from one task to another with no time to do anything thoroughly or satisfactorily.

  I thought of the people around me—Sheila, Kaye, Daphne, Angelo, Kelly from the finance department, the cafeteria workers and the lines personnel. So many of them would be gone, and all of them depended on their paycheques to support themselves and their families.

  I would still be there, probably. I had over twenty years of seniority. But Sheila had only ten, and Daphne, not even two.

  “…vision of sustainable energy we will achieve first-class commercial performance…”

  Sheila’s sharp elbow dug into my bruised ribs again. “Do you understand what he’s saying, Lyris?” she whispered.

  “Nobody does,” I answered and earned a venomous glance from Amory’s secretary, Susan Laurent. Her job wasn’t in jeopardy either.

  “We will experience profit through progress, and if progress means we must sacrifice jobs, then we shall…”

  Amory blathered on, and I closed my mind to his endless monologue. It was no use. My mind was not to be sidetracked by my other troubles. It skittered away from Scott Fournier, from Hammersleigh House, from Tommy, even from Marc. As a matter of fact, the state of my stomach was overriding everything.

  The coffee and donut had been a bad decision. The combination created a conflict that was erupting into warfare in my gut. I broke out in a sweat, quite different from the sheen that coated the face of every other captive in the cafeteria.

  “Each individual will have until the end of the month to accept this opportunity. The Board of Directors has empowered me to offer two years’ salary to each and every one of you, a most generous proposal. If, by August 1, the criteria have not been met, terminations will commence with the most junior…”

  Sheila whispered again, “What happens if more than a fifth of the staff takes the offer?”

  I couldn’t even respond to her. I was experiencing that feeling you get just before you throw up. Reacting for once before it was too late, I jumped to my feet and raced for the door. I just made it to the ladies’ washroom.

  Afterwards, pale and shaken, I lay down on the couch that management had thoughtfully provided in the anteroom. Maybe the filling in the donut was real cream and had been sitting in the heat too long. Maybe my stomach needed pumping.

  A few minutes later, Sheila and Daphne came in. Struggling to a sitting position, I anticipated a spate of questions on my well-being. Not so.

  Daphne plunked herself down on one side of me, Sheila on the other. Faye came in, looking disconsolate and weepy.

  “I think you’re all right, Lyris. But I guess I’ll have to take the offer.” Sheila pulled a tissue out of the pocket of her denim skirt and wiped the mascara off her cheeks.

  “Where will I get another job?” Daphne wailed, searching for a tissue of her own.

  Good question. Blackstone hadn’t many industries. Working for the town or county paid the best, but those jobs were usually passed on from father to son or mother to daughter. Nepotism was alive and thriving in Blackshore.

  “You’ll find something, Daphne,” said Sheila. “You’re young. But someone my age will have a tough time finding another job.” She sniffed and pulled out another tissue.

  Sheila had a point. She was in her early fifties and any jobs not going to the friend or relative of someone in a hiring position, went to a young person.

  I stood up. “I’m going home. I’m sick. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

  In the parking lot, the heat radiating from the asphalt was almost comforting, at least for a few minutes. My car pointed itself toward town, away from Hammersleigh.

  I should have stayed. My staff needed me to be strong and help them through this ordeal. At least as long as they were my staff. After that, they would still be my friends.

  I parked in front of the library. It had been weeks since I had enough free time to read a book, and I thought I might slip in and grab the latest Barbara Fradkin or Rick Mofina. I glanced across the street to the police station. My heart yearned to go in and talk to Marc, but my head forbade me. He deserved better, and I had to let him go.

  Someone was waving at me, and I saw with sinking heart it was Dennis. He was standing outside his office and waving me over to his side of the street. I shook my head and started up the library steps. Before my hand could reach for the door, I sensed someone running up the steps behind me.

  “Lyris, I need to talk to you. Can you come in to my office for a minute?” Not waiting for a possible refusal, Dennis took my arm to steer me back down the steps.

  I shook free. “Not today, Dennis. Sorry, I’m not up to it. I just want to get a book and go home.”

  “This will just take a minute. If you won’t come to my office, we can talk here.”

  I squinted up at him. My jeans were clinging damply to my thighs, and I felt sweat dribbling down my chest. Even my feet were sticky and swollen in my sandals.

  Dennis looked just as uncomfortable. He had forsaken his usual short-sleeved polo shirt and instead was wearing a dark denim shirt with long sleeves. His face was bright red and puffy, and the vein in his forehead was throbbing. Only the eye tic was missing, but give me time.

  Alarmed at his appearance, I said, “I’m not coming to your office, but I’ll spare you a few minutes over on that bench. At least it’s in the shade.”

  We made our way back down the library steps to the parkette in front of the building. A drooping tree overlooked a wooden bench and a flower bed filled with wilting impatiens. I was relieved to sit down again.

  “I was worried about you. You know, after the other day in your back garden. I heard you had to go the hospital.”

  “You caused me some soft tissue damage, but that’s not why I was in the hospital. In case you haven’t heard yet, I was assaulted on Saturday night and thrown down a flight of stairs. My body is one colossal, painful wound, but I’ll heal. It’s nice of you to be concerned. Unlike you, but nice.”

  He said stiffly, “Why wouldn’t I be concerned about you? We were married for a long time. I will always want you to be well and happy.”

  “And I, you,” I replied, not believing a word he said.

  I got up, steadying myself with one hand on the back of the bench. “Well, it’s too hot out here to linger, Dennis, so see you around.”

  Then he struck. “I have to ask you one more time, Lyris. I need money. Bad. And I mean it.” He cleared his throat, that irritating habit I had always detested.

  “We’ve been all over this, Dennis. Too many times.”

  “Listen to me, Lyris. I’m serious. Tracey found out about me and…someone. She wants to leave me, and she wants a monthly maintenance payment. For her and Amy and the twins.”

  He cleared his throat again, and I winced. “Not again. Your wife is hugely pregnant, you dope. You and who, Dennis? Is it Jody?”

  “It doesn’t matter, does it? The point is, I don’t have a dime. The house is remortgaged, my line of credit is maxed out, and so are all my credit cards.”

  “I believe you conveyed this information to me already. I don’t see how this is my problem.” Sweat dripped from my upper lip.

  “It’s partly your fault I’m in this situation. Just please give me back what you took during the settlement.”

  “Last time we talked, you wanted half back. Now you want it all? I’m not going to argue with you any more about this, Dennis. I don’t owe you anything. Your extramarital affairs are no longer my business. Now get out of my way.”

  “How can you do this to me, to Mitch…?”

  “Leave Mitch out of this. I’m paying all his university expenses and providing his living allowance. Do you think that’s easy on my salary? You w
ere supposed to supply half. You’re not, so don’t bring him into this. Your second family is not my responsibility. That’s the bottom line.”

  “I’m desperate, Lyris.” Indeed, he looked it. The tic under his left eye was now in evidence and pulsed with every heartbeat. The hand he held up to me had a marked tremor, but I had to harden my heart if I was ever to break free of this man and our shared past.

  “No, Dennis. Your problem. Your responsibility.” I managed to squeeze past him and make my way to the car, library book forgotten. I should have warned him to expect a visit from the Chief of Police about the flower bed incident, but part of me hoped Marc would let that slide.

  I thought I was going to pass out and leaned my head back against the seat. I was so afraid at that moment, afraid that Dennis’ desperation would cause him to do something irrevocable. I wondered how I would feel then, if Dennis took his own life. Would I feel guilty, responsible? I almost followed him back to his office to offer him everything I had.

  If I did that, I would lose control of my life forever. I would have to take a chance that his life force was strong enough to prevent self-destruction. Hadn’t Aunt Clem told me not to follow my heart regarding finances? At this point I didn’t know which way my heart was leaning.

  After a few minutes, I felt able to start the car. I drove to the hospital where I found a parking spot in the shade of a spreading Russian olive tree. My luck must be changing, I thought without humour.

  Patsy was writing furiously on a pad of paper on her desk when I walked in. She looked up and a smile crossed her face. In spite of the air-conditioned office, her reddish hair had rolled up into loose curls, and she was dressed in a tank top and long cotton skirt.

  “So…how’s the Family Nut? I take it you survived Saturday night?”

  “Excuse me. I aspire to be known as the Family Character. When I’m eighty, I will be riding my bicycle down Main Street, wearing a purple hat and ringing a bell to make everyone jump out of my path. We’ll see who the Nut is then.”

  “Whatever you say. We create our own futures.”

  We looked at each other and broke into silly grins. Patsy got up from her chair and came around to the front of her desk. We hugged and at that moment, all was well between us. What was said on Saturday night was no longer important.

  “You’re dressed like you don’t give a damn about your job. You better watch out, or they’ll fire you.”

  “Hah. I’m gone in a month anyway, so I might as well be comfortable. If they don’t like how I dress, well, they can just lump it.”

  “My goodness. You seem very cheerful for a lady who will be out of a job in a few short weeks.” The irony had not escaped me. Patsy loved her job and was losing it. I had come to hate mine and got to keep it.

  “Yes, well, I have a few irons in the fire, as they say.”

  “What? Have you found another job?”

  “Not quite, but it’s coming together. Why aren’t you at work?”

  I related a bit of Amory’s proposal and my inability to cope with it after my week of unrelenting stress.

  There was a gleam in her eye. I didn’t like it.

  “Lyris, have you thought of taking the termination package?”

  I hooted. “And do what? I’m a little young for a pension, and after I spend the two years’ salary on, well, living, what do I do then?”

  “You might use the money to invest in a business.”

  “What business? I don’t know how to do anything else.”

  “You just might surprise yourself.”

  “Yeah, right. Anyway, I came to see if you want to go to lunch.” The thought of eating made me want to retch all over again, but I needed company and reassurance that the world beyond Hammersleigh House and the Hydro Commission was still revolving.

  “Sorry, I can’t. I have a lunch meeting with the board members about turning over to my replacement. Maybe tomorrow?”

  I still believed she was acting too happy for someone on the brink of the unemployment line. And that returned me to the thought of almost everyone I knew at work who would lose their jobs. Except me, I wasn’t losing mine.

  The thought was not comforting.

  CHAPTER 29

  I had another stop to make, then there would be no more reasons to avoid going home. I still felt uneasy, but couldn’t decide if it was some sort of premonition or just a reaction to the past few days of pain and terror. I almost laughed out loud at the choice.

  Cowbell Lane was dozing in the afternoon heat. The late nineteenth century houses were shuttered against the sun, and if their occupants were not indoors with air conditioners or fans, they were paying condolence calls at Hollyhock Cottage.

  I had to park half a block from Hollyhock Cottage’s steep front steps. Visitors were climbing up to the front porch and coming down, sometimes arm in arm with another middle-aged or elderly lady. Most wore flower-print dresses with beige hose and light-coloured pumps. There were even a few wide-brimmed hats and white gloves in the crowd. I felt underdressed and overheated in my jeans and long-sleeved shirt.

  At the front door, I slipped around a trio of octogenarians who were chatting on the porch and managed to get into the front hall without talking to anyone. Spotting Twyla Malinski emerging from the kitchen with a silver teapot, I stood motionless behind the cigar store aboriginal hoping she wouldn’t see me.

  As soon as she disappeared into the parlour, I hot-footed it to the end of the hall into Aunt Clem’s spirit room and closed the door. I figured it was the one room in the house where guests would not be welcome. I planned to watch through a crack in the door for Aunt Clem to wander by, and then nab her.

  A few candles glowing in a far corner created enough light for me to make out the shapes of table and chairs. I waited for my eyes to adjust to the shadowy gloom.

  The hair stood up on the back of my neck. A figure was lying on a couch pushed up against one wall. I thought Aunt Wisty would be laid out at the funeral home, not there at her sister’s house. I sensed the body looking at me and yelped.

  The body on the couch sat up. Before I could rush out of the room, it spoke.

  “Lyris Pembrooke, is that you?”

  My first impulse was to deny it. “Maybe.”

  “Turn on the light. The switch is beside the door.”

  I obeyed, and sighed with relief.

  Aunt Clem pushed her hair back into shape and adjusted her turquoise shift. She picked up a matching bolero jacket and draped it around her shoulders.

  “I came in here to have a little rest. I’m beginning to find all this company very tiresome. Visitors have been arriving all morning, and I finally left Twyla to manage alone. I don’t know what I’m going to do without her once I turn Hollyhock Cottage over to David, but I suppose I’ll have to get used to looking after myself.”

  “Where are you going, Aunt Clem? Can’t Twyla go with you?”

  She turned evasive. “Oh, now, that’s not quite settled yet. Early days, my dear.”

  She moved over to a chair near the table. A pack of tarot cards was scattered across the navy tablecloth and she gathered them up. As she shuffled the deck, I moved closer to the door. I didn’t think I was up to another reading or a visit from Luke and Florence.

  “What brings you here today, Lyris?”

  “Well, I wanted to pay a condolence call.”

  “Is that all? Are you sure?”

  “Pretty sure. What other reason could there be?”

  “Well, let me see. You’re dressed for raking the lawn, for one thing. For another, you look ill. Come and sit down.”

  Against my better judgment, I did so. I sat on the edge of the second chair. “I got pushed down the stairs Saturday night and I’m a little sore, I guess.”

  “I heard about that incident, but I think it’s a little more than that. When did you eat last?”

  “Yesterday lunch.” That morning’s coffee and doughnut didn’t count since they didn’t stay with me long. “And
I’m not hungry anyway.”

  “Wait here.” Aunt Clem left the room and I took the opportunity to take a quick glance at the cards on the table. Not that I knew anything about tarot, but I wanted to make sure the hanged man on a rope wasn’t on top. It wasn’t.

  Aunt Clem returned with a tray laden with tiny sandwiches on a plate and a glass of milk. “Eat up, Lyris. You look half-starved. I swear you’ve lost weight this summer.”

  I thought I might manage some milk and picked up the glass. The cold liquid felt good going down my dry throat. Then I selected a sandwich and bit into it. The filling was tasty so I finished it and picked up another.

  Aunt Clem watched me eat. “I think, Lyris, that you have experienced something that has changed you.”

  “You might say that. I’ve had quite a few exciting experiences lately.”

  “Have you allowed your spirit guide to speak?”

  “I couldn’t stop him. His name is Leander as you said, and I don’t care for his attitude. Do you think I can turn him in for another one?”

  “No, he’s yours for good,” she said absently. I was pretty sure she was making a mental note to ask Florence and Luke to brief Leander on my quirks and shortcomings.

  I jammed another sandwich in my mouth and chewed. “At least the smell in the upstairs hall has gone. I know what it is anyway.”

  I explained how I discovered by smelling my new niece that the scent was baby powder and believed it was Tommy’s way of telling me to make sure the truth of his death was uncovered.

  “There’s something I don’t understand, though, Aunt Clem.”

  “And what is that, dear.”

  “Several things, as a matter of fact. First of all, why doesn’t Leander just tell me exactly what happened to Tommy? He must know, and it would have saved me a lot of work. Yet all I get are nudges and the odd hint although, since the words are just sort of in my head, I can’t say I really hear him. Still, he can be very pushy.”

  “Lyris, Leander is not always with you. He has other duties and needs time for himself, for his studies and recreational pursuits. And except for an emergency, if he happens to be nearby, it isn’t his role to tell you what you don’t ask.”