by Nic Saint
“That’s my guess, too,” I admitted. “That she’s sleeping off her drunken stupor in a ditch.” Though by the same token she could have hurt herself when she stumbled into that ditch, and in that case expediency was of the utmost importance. Which is why I didn’t understand Marigold’s reluctance to involve the police. Fifi and Rufus were doing their best, but they weren’t trained police dogs by any stretch of the imagination.
“So do you think Angel might have spent the night with a boyfriend, maybe?” asked Marcie.
“She would have called me if she had,” said Marigold.
“Not if she fell asleep, or if her phone ran out of battery—or maybe she switched it off before falling asleep.”
“Do you have kids, Marcie?” asked the woman now.
“Two girls.”
“And did anything bad ever happen to them, and you knew—you simply knew, even without anyone telling you?”
“Well, Mia did once have a flat, didn’t she, honey?” said Ted. “And she hadn’t taken her phone so she had to walk home all the way from the station. That was pretty scary, wasn’t it, hon?”
“I did know something was wrong,” said Marcie, nodding.
“Well, then you understand why I know she’s not with a boy, or she would have called or sent a message. Angel isn’t one for passing out drunk in other people’s beds, and she always calls when she can’t make it home on time.”
“I think we’ll find her in a ditch,” said Brutus, reiterating Dooley’s suggestion, “passed out cold and sleeping off her bender.”
“Let’s hope so,” said Harriet.
“So why is it, Max,” said Dooley, “that humans have so much trouble with their brains when they drink alcohol?”
“Yeah, I’ve been wondering about that,” said Brutus. “Is it a design flaw or what?”
“I’ve heard that alcohol shrinks the brain,” said Dooley. “Not sure if it’s true.”
“Oh, you saw a documentary about that, did you?” said Brutus.
“No, I didn’t,” said Dooley, “but it would be a very interesting topic.”
“So if you’re correct, then a person who drinks too much alcohol will have no brain left after a while?”
“Well, I think something will be left, but not much. Some brain dregs, maybe.”
“I think it has something to do with the water balance in the brain,” said Harriet. “Alcohol dehydrates, so it probably dries out the brain until it turns to powder.”
“Let’s hope we find Angel before her brain has completely shrunk to the size of a peanut,” said Brutus, “or has turned into angel dust.”
Suddenly there seemed to be some development at hand, as both Fifi and Rufus suddenly veered sharply off the road and into the woods.
“It’s a shortcut,” Marigold explained. “Angel always takes it. The dogs are on the right track.”
“Of course they are,” said Ted. “Rufus is a very smart dog.”
“And so is Fifi,” said Marcie.
I could tell that both Ted and Marcie had only one question on their minds: why Marigold wouldn’t call the police. But at this point they were afraid to press the woman. Finally Marcie couldn’t restrain himself. “So about Alec Lip…” she began.
“Okay, fine. I’ll tell you the story, but only if you promise not to tell anyone, okay?”
“Of course,” said Marcie, cutting a quick glance of excitement to her husband. They were finally going to find out the big secret.
“Okay, so twenty years ago I was already working for Francis as his housekeeper, and one day there’s a break-in at the church. Someone has gotten in during the night and has stolen several paintings, candlesticks and has raided the offering box. So Francis calls Alec, who was chief of police, even then, and he comes over to make an inventory of what the thieves took, and so he asks Francis a couple of standard routine questions—you know, like: ‘Where were you when this happened?’ So Francis says, ‘Well, home in bed, of course. Where else do you I think I was?’ And then suddenly Alec gives me this intense look and asks, in a sneering sort of way, ‘Your bed or hers?’” The woman’s face betrayed her extreme anger, even now, twenty years on, at the police chief’s sheer impertinence.
“So which bed was it?” asked Ted, who’d been following the story with rapt attention.
“Ted!” Marcie said sharply, even as Marigold’s mouth snapped shut, making a clicking sound when her teeth set.
“No, but I don’t understand,” Ted confessed. “Which bed was it?” And when both women now gave him angry looks, he added, “Oh, I see. It’s a trick question, isn’t it?”
“Oh, Ted,” said Marcie, as Marigold shook her head at so much dimwittedness.
“I think it was her bed,” said Dooley. “Otherwise she wouldn’t have been so upset.”
“Dooley, it can’t have been her bed,” said Harriet, “since they’re not in a relationship.”
“Aren’t they? But I thought they were a couple.”
“No, they’re not a couple.”
“But they look like a couple.”
“But they’re not.”
“Yes, they are. And I’ve seen enough couples to know the difference.”
Now we all looked at Marigold, and I have to confess Dooley’s words made me wonder. Could it be? And since my brain wasn’t firing on all cylinders just then, it was actually Brutus who came to the next logical conclusion first.
“Okay, so Angel is nineteen?” the black cat asked.
“Uh-huh,” I said.
“Okay, so bear with me here, you guys, but if Marigold and Father Reilly are a couple, and they already were a couple twenty years ago, then Angel…” He dropped a pause pregnant with meaning, and wiggled his brow for good measure, too.
“… is Father Reilly’s daughter!” said Harriet.
“Can you please be quiet back there!” suddenly Fifi called out. “We’re trying to focus here!”
“Sorry, Fifi!” Harriet yelled. But then, quieter: “Oh, my God, you guys!”
“I can still hear you, Harriet!” Fifi snapped, then put her nose to the ground once more.
We were deep in the woods now, walking along a narrow path that the passage of time had made, though it would probably be more accurate to say the passage of people had created it—people like Angel who used it as a shortcut to Bickersfield, the new development that had sprung up on the other side of the Bickersfield woods.
Suddenly, and quite abruptly, both dogs halted in their tracks. And when we looked over, we saw that they were staring at a small pond.
“Here is where the trail stops,” Fifi announced.
“I concur,” said her colleague Rufus.
We glanced at that pond, and I think we all shared the same thought: surely Angel hadn’t decided to go for a swim in the middle of the night? I know the first thing I did was scan that pond for a body floating on the surface. Luckily there was none.
“What’s wrong, buddy?” asked Ted as he crouched down next to Rufus. “Where’s Angel?”
But Rufus sank down on his haunches, gazed into his human’s eyes and produced a soft woofle.
“This is where the trail stops,” Ted correctly interpreted his dog’s message.
Marigold muttered, “Oh, no…”
“I think it’s time we called the police,” Marcie said, and put her phone to her ear.
And it was a testament to Marigold’s distress that she merely offered a token protest this time.
10
Odelia had watched Abe Cornwall carefully inspect the bones they’d found, and now the coroner rose with some effort and a distinct cracking sound of both knees, and said, “I’m not entirely sure, but your theory might bear out, Alec.”
“So you think this might be Blake Carrington’s boy?” asked Uncle Alec.
“Well, like I said, I can’t be sure, but it certainly is a possibility.”
“When will you know for sure?”
“Dental records,” said the large man
with the perpetually frizzy hair. “I’ll try to get you an answer as soon as possible.” He peeled off his gloves, and then proceeded to instruct his people to carefully go over the immediate area with a fine-tooth comb, and move the mortal remains to the coroner’s office for closer inspection.
“You have to call Mr. Carrington, Uncle Alec,” said Odelia. “This is his land, and he needs to be informed.”
“Unless he already knows,” said Chase.
“You mean if he reinterred his boy and somehow his remains were dug up?” said the Chief.
Chase nodded. “Could be that Carrington not only decided to use this piece of land as a shrine to his son, but also as his final resting place.”
“Is it possible for a body to turn into a skeleton in ten years?”
“You’ll have to ask the expert,” said her uncle, and called out, “Abe!”
The coroner came walking over and Alec nodded to his niece.
“Is it possible for a body to look like that after only ten years?” she asked.
“Well, it all depends where and how the body was buried,” said Abe. “If the body wasn’t buried in a coffin to protect it from its immediate surroundings, then yes, it certainly is possible. In a coffin the body would obviously be much better preserved, which is why I wonder if this really could be Steven Carrington. I remember the kid’s funeral, and he was buried in a very ornate, very expensive wooden coffin. And in that case it would be quite impossible for a body to decay to this extent.”
“Of course we don’t know whether he really was in that coffin all this time,” said Chase. “Could be that they buried just the coffin, and that the body was buried here.”
“Only Carrington himself could have arranged that,” said Alec.
“Well, I’m off,” said Abe. “For some reason this has been my busiest week this year. Must be the weather or something. Or maybe there’s something in the water.”
And then the big man walked off with unsteady gait.
“Sciatica,” said Uncle Alec before Odelia could voice the question. He smiled at his niece, happy to satisfy her natural curiosity. Then he glanced down. “You know, I had a feeling something was missing. Where are your cats?”
“I have absolutely no idea. Usually they like to stick around for this kind of thing, only now they’ve all decided something else was a better use of their time, apparently.”
No doubt they’d be at the house, having a nap and a bite to eat, and would be back soon, to be brought up to date on the latest news from the frontline, which this time was very close to home indeed.
She shivered slightly, and Chase said, “What’s wrong?”
“No, I was just thinking—the way it now looks Carrington buried his boy out here and he’s been lying here ever since, directly behind our houses, and none of us ever knew.”
“And probably we’d never have known, if somehow the body hadn’t been dug up.”
It was a disconcerting thought for sure, and one she didn’t like to entertain. Death was part of life, but she still didn’t enjoy it when death came this close to her home and family.
“I think I better make that call now,” said Uncle Alec, and took out his phone.
“Carrington?” asked Chase, and her uncle nodded, then placed his phone to his ear.
It took a moment for the call to connect, and then he said, “Blake? Alec Lip. We need to talk.”
Just then, Chase’s phone chirped. “Dolores,” he murmured as he checked the display. “Yeah, Dolores. What’s the emergency?” He listened for a moment, then turned to Odelia with a frown. “Can you arrange for a diver? Thanks. Yeah, we’ll head out there now.” And when he disconnected the call, he said, “I think I know where your cats are, babe.”
Meanwhile Alec had finished his call, and said, “I better handle this personally. Blake is an old friend.” He dragged the back of his hand across his brow. “I hate this. Having to tell a man that he has to bury his kid a second time.” He turned to Chase. “What did Dolores want?”
“She just got a call from Marcie Trapper. She’s with Marigold Church. Her daughter Angel went missing last night and they think she might have drunkenly stumbled into a pond in Bickersfield woods. They’re asking to send a diver to dredge the pond.”
“Marigold Church, huh?” said Uncle Alec. “Did she make the call?”
“No, Marcie did. But Marigold is with her, and so is Ted, along with two dogs and five cats. Apparently she felt it was important to relay this information when she called 911.”
“Two dogs and five cats? That sounds like the setup for a joke.”
“You sounded surprised when Chase mentioned Marigold Church,” said Odelia.
“Oh, Marigold and I go back a long way,” said the Chief. “Only she hasn’t spoken to me for, what, twenty years now? She swore a solemn oath never to contact the police as long as I was in charge. So this thing with Angel must be serious.”
“But why hasn’t she spoken to you?”
“It’s a long story,” said her uncle evasively. He started to walk away. “Keep me informed, will you?”
“Will do, Chief,” said Odelia’s husband. “So let’s see what’s going on with this Angel Church,” said Chase. “And what your cats have been up to!”
11
Vesta had been playing online Scrabble again, which was one of her favorite pastimes when seated at her desk at the doctor’s office, when suddenly a very distressed-looking Francis Reilly walked in, and made a beeline for her. He quickly glanced at the waiting patients, then lowered his voice and said, “Vesta, I need to talk to you.”
“I know. That’s what you said on the phone, remember?”
“Not here,” he practically whispered, and she frowned.
“Look, if you want to confess you need to make an appointment,” she said jokingly.
“Vesta, please!” he implored. For the first time she looked up from her computer and saw that the priest looked extremely perturbed. In fact it wasn’t too much to say that he was suffering from a crisis of conscience.
“All right,” she said, “follow me.” She took the door that led to the kitchen and the aged priest followed, carefully closing the door so those nosy parkers in the waiting room wouldn’t overhear them. Once in the kitchen, Vesta poured herself a cup of coffee and said, “Spill. What’s got you in a tizzy all of a sudden?”
“The thing is… Angel’s missing,” said Francis, who was pacing the floor, hands behind his back. Then abruptly he stopped and looked up with a look of anguish. “And it’s my fault!”
Vesta frowned. “Angel as in the daughter of your Marigold Angel?”
Francis nodded. “She went out last night and never arrived home. Marigold is frantic with worry, and is organizing a search party as we speak.”
“Gee, Francis, that’s terrible.”
“They traced her to a pond in Bickersfield woods, and a diver has come out to dredge the pond.”
“They actually think she might have…”
“Stumbled in and drowned, yes.”
“And you think this was your fault?”
The white-haired priest closed his eyes as if to direct a little prayer to the Lord above and give him strength. “Angel and I got into a terrible fight yesterday afternoon. I won’t bore you with the details, but it was horrible. She actually…” He choked for a moment, then collected himself. “She threatened to run away from home and never come back.”
“So you think she might have run away, huh?”
“That’s actually what I thought had happened when Marigold told me she couldn’t reach her, but now it would appear she took a wrong turn in the woods and accidentally stumbled into that pond and drowned.” He clasped his hands to his face. “Oh, Vesta, if she’s dead I’ll never forgive myself.”
“Now, look, Francis,” said Vesta, placing a comforting hand on the priest’s arm. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here, all right? We don’t know for sure that she’s in that pond. It’s entirely possib
le that she did run away. Where’s Marigold?”
“Out there, leading the search party. And I know I should be there with her, only…”
“Only you’re afraid you’ll show your true feelings and you can’t have that.”
Francis gave her a look of despair. “This is terrible news, Vesta. If she’s dead the last words I spoke to her was that she should wash out her mouth with soap.”
“Well, that’s not so terrible. There are a lot worse things you could have told her.”
“I think it’s bad enough, considering…”
She nodded. She knew exactly what he meant. “Look, I’ve told you this before, Francis, and I’ll say it again: I think it’s time for you to come clean, and do the right thing by Marigold and Angel both.”
“Don’t you think I know?!” he howled, raising his hands heavenward. “But how can I leave my position? How will I face my parishioners?”
“I think you’ll find that your parishioners are a lot more understanding and a lot more forgiving than you think. And besides, maybe it’s time you retired, and left your position to some young whippersnapper fresh out of the seminary.”
“You think so?” asked Francis. He looked distraught, and it wasn’t hard to see why.
She affectionately patted him on the broad back. “Let’s wait and see what’s going on with Angel first. Maybe she simply decided to stay with a friend—or even a boy. And if it turns out she’s fine, I’ll sit down with the two of you to thresh this thing out.”
“And if she’s in that pond?”
“Then I think you owe it to Marigold to finally make an honest woman of her and get yourself a license to marry, Father Reilly,” she said sternly. “God knows you should have done this twenty years ago, when you first started dating her.”
He gave her a weak smile. “You know that you’re actually the only one who knows about us, Vesta?”
She made a scoffing noise. “That’s what you think.”
His eyebrows rose in surprise. “You mean…”
“I think by now the whole town knows about you and Marigold. The only one who doesn’t have a clue is Angel, so let’s hope she’s all right, and you can finally set the record straight. And now you better get out there, and give Marigold the support she needs.”