Mary Had a Little Scare

by Wendy Meadows

  “Please,” Mary urged Matthew in a voice that sounded very authentic. “This mansion is, well, fascinating. I would love to learn about its history and what you did…or still do,” Mary quickly added, “for a living. A man who owns this mansion certainly must be very interesting and not full of…dribble.”

  Matthew, being a prideful man all his life, saw an opportunity to flatter a beautiful young woman. The one thing Matthew could never refuse in his entire life was a pretty face—and Mary was very pretty. So for a few minutes he allowed his mind to walk down an arrogant path and forget the business at hand. “Well, if you insist,” he told Mary and took another sip of coffee.

  “I’m afraid I do,” Mary said and motioned around the kitchen. “It’s a dark and rainy night, Uncle Ralph. A few…delightful…stories would really calm my nerves.”

  “Oh, yes indeed,” Betty added and quickly sipped at her coffee, hoping she didn’t sound too eager.

  Matthew smiled his creepy smile. “Of course, my dears,” he said. He picked up his silver cane and set it down across the table. “A gentleman always carries his cane,” he began and motioned at it. “Ever since I was a small boy, I swore I would grow up to be a gentleman.” Matthew looked up at Mary. “Is your husband a gentleman, my dear?” he asked.

  “My husband is perfect,” Mary assured Matthew.

  “I see,” Matthew said and continued, displeased that Mary had placed her husband above him. Oh well, he thought, the beautiful can be very arrogant and ignorant of important facts—and the most important fact Matthew wanted to teach Mary was that her husband was not as perfect as he was. Matthew McCane was absolutely perfect. “I’ll walk us back through time to a poor warehouse holding a desperate young man captive.”

  “That young man is you,” Betty pointed out and then blushed.

  “Of course, my dear,” Matthew said to Betty, feeling a bit annoyed that he had been interrupted. “Many long years ago, I was a very poor young man, forced to work…slave labor…for wealthy men. I spent many long hours by the sea working in dim, cold rooms keeping books.” Ralph picked up his coffee and looked around the kitchen. “On a very cold and dreary night I was asked to help load spices onto a ship destined for the old country.” Matthew took a sip of coffee as his tongue spilled half truths and half lies. He walked back to a foggy seaside dock and spotted an angry young man lugging a spice bag over his shoulder, complaining to his twin brother that life was cruel and unfair. “On that faithful night I made a promise to myself that I would someday become the wealthiest man living on the East Coast.”

  “Golly,” Betty said, pretending to sound fascinated.

  “Indeed,” Matthew continued, watching the angry young man in his mind continue to complain to his brother—a brother who never said a sour word in his life and worked hard for his every penny; a brother who made wise investments instead of gambling his money in smelly, seaside back rooms filled with drunken sailors. “I went from being a poor slave to becoming very wealthy. How, you might ask?” Matthew paused for dramatic effect. “I saved my money and very wisely began purchasing my own warehouses and importing and exporting riches beyond imagination.”

  In reality it had been Ralph McCane who had saved his money and purchased a spice warehouse from an old man who thought well of him. In time Ralph began to acquire more warehouses and began importing priceless furniture, paintings, stones, fabric, spices, tobacco, flooring, nearly every item a person could dream of, and selling those items at intelligent prices. At the same time, Ralph began exporting tobacco, spices, and lumber that were rare in other parts of the world. By the time Ralph reached the age of forty he had become a vastly rich man who ended up selling off his entire livelihood and retiring to Maine. Once in Maine he began building a mansion for the woman he loved—a mansion that would dazzle the world, filled with every part of his life and heart. This, of course, angered Matthew, who was employed by Ralph. And even though Ralph paid his brother a handsome wage, Matthew despised his brother and wished him dead…and vowed someday he would steal Ralph’s wealth from him.

  Mary pretended to be listening but allowed her mind to run in a file room inside of her mind and begin searching through dusty filing cabinets. “McCane Shipping Company,” her voice spoke into the filing room, “McCane Shipping Company…that sounds very familiar to me.”

  As Mary searched her memory, Matthew continued. “In time I built a powerful empire and became a very powerful and wealthy man,” he said, allowing his soft and creepy voice to show a bit of power. “At times I was forced to fight deadly men who wanted to kill me.”

  “Golly,” Betty said again, listening to Matthew with bored eyes that she forced to show interest. “Deadly men…golly.”

  “Indeed,” Matthew said, bypassing his annoyance for Betty. “When a man, my dear, decides to become a wealthy gentleman he must battle…the…rats, so to speak.” Matthew saw himself sitting in a damp seaside room playing cards with a table full of rats. And even though he had been nothing more than a rat himself, the young man sitting at the table appeared as a valiant knight in his corrupt eyes—a valiant knight being forced to battle his way through vicious lands in order to gain an extra penny; an extra penny his brother never had to concern himself over. “The world is a very hostile creature,” he continued and quickly took a sip of coffee. “A gentleman must know when to draw his sword and when to let his enemies act foolishly in battle. Nonetheless, a gentleman must always be prepared to fight.”

  Mary stared into Matthew’s cold eyes. “It’s obvious you fought well, Uncle Ralph,” she said, hoping to add fuel to Matthew’s ego.

  “Indeed,” Matthew assured Mary and set down his coffee. He motioned around the kitchen with his right arm. “This mansion is my voice, my dear…proof of my victory and an everlasting legacy that will forever complement my valiant nature.” Matthew lowered his arm and leered. The mansion had been built by his brother for a woman Matthew despised, but now the mansion was his, the money was his, and the life of Ralph McCane was his. Or so he believed.

  Mary nodded and faked a smile. “This is certainly an impressive mansion, Uncle Ralph. People will remember you for decades to come.” Mary kept her smile while her mind wandered around the file room in her mind. “A mansion like this certainly needs a queen.”

  “Oh yes,” Betty added, “Aunt Gennifer was very…blessed.”

  “Yes,” Mary continued, “she was. Uncle Ralph, if you don’t mind telling us, how did you meet Aunt Gennifer? After all, she lived in Tennessee and you lived in Maine. I’m sure there must be a wonderful story in your heart.”

  Matthew let out a sigh. Brenda’s mother was a burden he wanted to be rid of, and speaking of the woman upset his stomach. However, he felt it necessary to soothe a pretty face and quickly spoke the lines Ralph McCane had spoken to him years back. “My first wife had died,” he said in a sad voice. “She died before I could finish building my mansion. She died before she could see the age of fifty.” Matthew shook his head and looked down at his hands, imitating his brother’s remorse. “I spent many lonely years completing my mansion. I must admit, at times I felt as if I were going insane. I committed my entire life to my mansion…building, building…oh, the years passed, and the torment grew.”

  “How sad,” Betty said.

  “Indeed,” Matthew agreed. He looked up at Mary, deliberately ignoring Betty. “I added many rooms, hallways, and then would build over them, adding newer rooms, newer hallways…adding, building, tearing down…tormented by the loss of my first wife.” Matthew hoped to see sympathy arise in Mary’s eyes.

  “I’m very sorry for your loss,” Mary said, showing a fake sympathy that deceived Matthew.

  “As was I, my dear, as was I.” Matthew sighed and took a sip of coffee.

  “How did you meet Aunt Gennifer?” Betty asked Matthew. “I’m sorry if I sound a bit…dippy…but I don’t understand how a man building a mansion in Maine ended up meeting a woman living in Tennessee.”

 
Matthew walked his eyes over to Betty and held back a cruel, irritable tone. “My dear, a story must develop. Be patient.”

  “Patient…sure,” Betty said and looked around the kitchen. As she did, she saw the pantry door creep open just an inch. Her eyes grew wide, but she didn’t say a word. Instead, she looked at Mary, asked her for more coffee, and smiled at Matthew. “A bit more coffee before we continue if that’s okay.”

  “Of course, my dear,” Matthew said. He watched Mary stand up, walk to the wooden stove, pour coffee into Betty’s cup, and return to the table. All seemed normal in his eyes. But what Matthew didn’t see was the pantry door open just enough to allow a curious eye to see out into the kitchen. And what Matthew also didn’t see was that Mary, as she poured Betty’s coffee, spotted the pantry door open.

  “Here you are,” Mary told Betty, sitting back down at the table. “Okay, Uncle Ralph, we’re all set. Now, please, tell us how you met Aunt Gennifer.”

  Matthew settled his hands together. “It was a rainy night, similar to this very night, when I came across my wife’s diary. I wasn’t aware that my wife had been keeping a diary, which pained my heart. What was I to do? Was I to upset my wife’s privacy or place her diary back in the box it had been resting in?” Matthew shook his head. “Oh, I so wanted to know what words my wife had written,” he said, repeating Ralph McCane’s very words.

  “So you read the diary?” Betty asked. “Oh…sorry…patience, right?”

  Matthew nodded his head. “Correct, my dear,” he said and looked directly at Mary. “It pained me to read my wife’s diary but my heart so yearned for her words…her voice.”

  “I understand,” Mary promised.

  Matthew smiled. “Of course you do, dear,” he said. “I brought my wife’s diary down to this very kitchen, to this very table, and began reading her words. Oh, the words I read…so sweet and precious to my heart. But then,” Matthew became very serious, “I discovered a hidden secret.”

  “What…what?” Betty asked and then made a painful face. “Patience…got it.”

  Matthew nodded again. “While reading my wife’s diary I discovered she had a sister that no one was aware of.”

  “Golly, a sister,” Betty gasped.

  “A sister,” Mary helped Betty out. “My, how amazing.”

  Matthew let out a heavy sigh again. “I simply had to locate my wife’s sister and meet the woman. The desire to do so consumed my every thought. So I set out on a journey and found my wife’s sister living in Tennessee.”

  “Aunt Gennifer…he’s talking about Aunt Gennifer,” Betty exclaimed.

  Mary took Betty’s hand. “Patience.”

  “Oh…patience. I understand.”

  Matthew unfolded his hands, picked up his coffee, and took a sip. “I was a stranger to your Aunt Gennifer, my dear. But in time, because she reminded me so much of my first wife, I came to…love her.” Matthew put down his coffee. “And in time I asked your Aunt Gennifer to become my wife. When she accepted my offer, we married.” Matthew looked at Mary and then at Betty. “Your Aunt Gennifer was very fond of Tennessee and convinced me to relocate. I did so for a short while…but my heart yearned for Maine and in time I was forced to tell my new wife the truth.” Matthew walked away from Ralph McCane’s words and entered his own. “The poor woman was heartbroken but I…convinced her to relocate to Maine, assuring her that we would both be much happier.”

  Mary made a quick mental note and then stretched her arms. “What a sweet love story,” she said with a yawn, “but now I’m afraid my eyes are too weak to stay open, Uncle Ralph. Will you be so kind as to show us to our room?”

  The sudden change in Mary upset Matthew but he managed to contain his anger. “I suppose we can continue speaking at a later time,” he said and stood up. “I suppose the events you claimed transpired earlier can wait to be fully explained when the rain isn’t so heavy. However, I must insist that we have a second meeting first thing tomorrow morning and continue investigating our little mystery.” And with those words, Ralph pointed toward the kitchen door. “This way, my dears,” he said with a little smirk.

  “Come and play,” a shadowy figure hiding behind the pantry door whispered and then vanished.

  Mary walked into a lovely bedroom containing a large soft bed covered with a dark blue bedspread. The room was decorated with tender care—a touch only a woman could provide. A romantic vanity from the Victorian period sat under a large oval window being caressed by a light blue curtain that was somehow holding back the dark night. A bright chandelier with pink diamonds hung down from a vaulted ceiling, giving light to soft cream-colored walls and a dark white rug.

  “My, isn’t this a beautiful room?” Mary said to Betty, spotting her suitcase sitting at the foot of the bed.

  Betty closed and locked the bedroom door and studied the walls. “Look there,” she said in a quick voice and pointed to a portrait of a beautiful young woman hanging over a cold fireplace. The stone mantel connected to the fireplace was lined with strange and wonderful music boxes. Mary wanted to explore the music boxes but let her eyes examine the portrait instead. She studied the eyes of the beautiful young woman. The eyes were missing—replaced by two dark holes barely noticeable to the untrained eye. “I guess we’re going to be watched.”

  Betty felt a cold shiver run down her spine. “I can’t sleep knowing that a pair of eyes will appear in the dark.”

  Mary walked over to the bed and picked up her suitcase. “Betty, we convinced Matthew to let us say goodnight to Cousin Brenda. We know Brenda is in her room safe and sound. What we don’t know is where the person wearing the black cloak is. But for now, all we can do is stay in this room and rest our minds. I’m sure it won’t be long before we’ll start receiving visitors.” Mary pulled back the bedspread and set her suitcase down on an expensive white and blue hand-sewn quilt. “I think we should change into clothes that aren’t so weather worn.”

  Betty looked down at her dress. “I’m grateful that I was able to wash my face,” she said, “but I’m afraid my dress is ruined.” Betty made a sad face as she walked to the vanity and sat down. “I wish I were pretty like you, Mary,” she said.

  “Oh, you’re beautiful.”

  “No, I’m not,” Betty objected. “I’m tall, scrawny, and I look like a scarecrow.” Betty studied her thin face in the vanity mirror. “When that awful man was talking to us down in the kitchen his eyes barely left your pretty face. When he looked at me…oh, his eyes became…dull and annoyed.”

  “I don’t care what that creepy old barn owl thinks of you or me,” Mary said. She walked over to Betty and pushed her bangs away from her eye. “You’re beautiful in heart and face.”

  Betty stared at herself and then looked up at Mary. “I’m not as beautiful as you…and Cousin Brenda isn’t as beautiful as me. I suppose I know I have some beauty…somewhere,” Betty said and made a sad, silly face. “But Cousin Brenda…oh, she looks like a…a bat. She’s…well, Mary, she’s—”

  “A not very attractive woman,” Mary finished for Betty. “Are those the words you’re trying to voice?”

  Betty shamefully nodded. “I can’t imagine what she sees when she looks into the mirror…the loneliness she feels…and now that Aunt Gennifer is close to the grave…what will her life become?”

  Mary shook her head. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “But what I do know is that I’m glad we’re going to be able to help her…somehow.” Mary walked back to the bed and began exploring the dresses she packed. “Cousin Brenda is being kept alive because she knows the truth,” she told Betty. “My gut is telling me that Cousin Brenda knows Matthew is pretending to be Ralph. But she’s terrified to admit the truth so she’s pretending to walk in a dark shadow in order to appease Matthew.” Mary put down a yellow and white dress. “The woman is scared for her life, but she can’t show her fear. If she does, Matthew might pounce on her.” Mary turned to Betty. “This is what my gut is speaking to me. I could be wrong, but I don’t th
ink I am.”

  “I think you’re right,” Betty told Mary in a sincere voice. “Poor Cousin Brenda is captured in a vicious spider’s web and she’s afraid to move because if she does, her movement might attract the spider.”

  “I agree.”

  Betty stood up and made her way across the bedroom. “I still can’t figure out why someone called me and pretended that Aunt Gennifer had died. I can’t understand what role I’m supposed to be playing, Mary. It’s all so confusing.”

  Mary glanced up at the portrait and then walked over to the fireplace and carefully removed Ralph McCane’s birth certificate from her dress pocket. “I think this birth certificate holds all the answers we’re seeking,” she told Betty. “The question is…how do we make this piece of paper talk?”

  Betty crawled up onto the soft bed and rested her chin on her elbows. She grew silent and listened to the heavy rain soak the dark night. “I think Aunt Gennifer left Tennessee when Matthew took over playing the part of Ralph,” she finally spoke. “But I don’t think Ralph was dead when Matthew began portraying him to Aunt Gennifer and Cousin Brenda.”

  Mary leaned against the fireplace and looked down at a fire iron. She had left her faithful fire iron sitting in the kitchen. “I’m all ears.”

  Betty looked down at the bed. “Mary, I’ve been doing some thinking, about the way Ralph was murdered. He was stabbed in the back…and his body was found in the foyer. I can’t help but to wonder if Ralph was trying to escape when he was stabbed. I know I’m not very smart when it comes to figuring out clues, but…well, I can’t help but to think otherwise.” Betty raised her head. “I don’t think Matthew wanted to kill his brother. It’s very clear to me that Matthew hated his brother, and maybe even wanted to kill him, but couldn’t bring himself to carry out the gruesome act…not until Ralph tried to escape.”

  “Matthew doesn’t know we’re aware of Ralph,” Mary pointed out. “He doesn’t know where we hid his brother’s body.” Mary replaced the birth certificate into her dress pocket and walked over to the bed. “We have to make Matthew confess…but we also have to figure out who the mystery figure is.” Mary crawled up onto the bed and lay down next to Betty. “I think you’re right on track, and I also think you’re a very brilliant woman. So don’t criticize yourself so harshly, okay? You’re too wonderful to throw a rock at your face.”