Grave Deeds (20 page)

“That's Mom's sweater.” Ryan said.

“She won't mind. Let's get that fire going.”

I huddled as close to the flames as I dared. It was long past noon. Will should be here any moment. I glanced at Ryan. His head was nodding, eyes closed.

“Let's sit on the sofa,” I suggested.

Still clutching the bear under his arm, he joined me there. He wasn't far from sleep, exhausted by the stress of his vigil on the dock. He stretched out, his head pillowed on my lap, face turned to the fire. In minutes, he was breathing deeply and evenly, fast asleep.

I edged out from under his head, placing a cushion there. He muttered and rolled over, but didn't wake. I waited a few minutes to make sure, then stoked up the fire. I needed a drink. There wasn't much left in Bonnie's scotch bottle, but I poured one hefty belt and downed it. It burned my throat, but finally stilled the trembling that had shaken me since I found
the toy bear in Hank's boat.

One of the kitchen cupboards held an assortment of household medications: bandaids, mercurochrome, aspirin, even a bottle of pink cough syrup. The sink counter was not too high. By balancing on one foot and leaning most of my weight on that hip, I could lift the other into the sink and rinse it off under the cold running water. My soles were such a mess of blood and dirt that I could barely look at them. The mercurochrome stung. I fit bandaids over the worst cuts and lined the insides of my socks with tissues. I was afraid that shoes would pinch my feet too much; in fact, the rubber soles cushioned them enough to make walking possible, if still a bit painful.

I would have to go and look at what was in that car. I didn't exactly doubt Ryan: his fright was too deep-seated not to have been triggered by something truly horrible. But he was only a child; perhaps he'd misinterpreted what he'd seen. Perhaps Marilyn was preparing some kind of exhibit that required a mannequin. That would make sense of the contents of the trunk under the bed as well: she'd need them to complete the display.

I limped down the trail. A blue jay flitted across the clearing in a flash of colour, squawking all the way. Two crows quarrelled from tree top to tree top, their harsh caws grating on my ear. I could hear, too, the faint buzz of a car coming along the lane, fading as it dipped between hills but definitely coming closer. Will was returning at last. At least I hoped it would be him.

He had been right about Marilyn having a sports car. It was an MG, hunter green with a hard top and North Carolina plates. The consulting business must pay well.

I leaned heavily on the roof. Ryan must have had quite a struggle pulling the tarp off; in fact it still covered the tiny trunk. I squinted against the glare of sun on glass, took a deep breath, and peered in.

Eyes met mine, eyes wide open, all whites, the pupils rolled back into the lolling head. Her long hair lay bunched against the pane, matted with something the flies had found and clearly loved. She'd been stuffed in quite roughly; her sweater had pulled up under her armpits, and her long pants were shoved
up to bare her shins. Her knees had been bent so that one bare foot was pressed against the windshield while the other was lodged under the dash.

She was clearly beyond help. I backed away and sat on the hood of the Ford. My legs wouldn't support me any longer.

Poor Ryan. Poor little boy. Poor me.

I put my head between my knees, breathing deeply. I was sure it must be Marilyn in the car. Who else could it be? I had found my cousin at last, too late. If only time could be set backwards to last night when Will and I had been down here together. If only I'd sent Bonnie and the kids home in the rain instead of letting them in. If only my aunt hadn't decided to heal the family wounds. If only … if only … if only …

A car pulled up beside the Ford. Doors slammed.

“What's wrong, Rosie? Are you all right?” Will called at the same time as Bonnie shouted,

“Where's Ryan? What have you done with Ryan?”

I pulled myself to my feet, my back to the MG and its terrible occupant. “Ryan's up at the house. Did you find Megan? Where's the police?”

“They're not coming,” Bonnie said. She raked her hand through her hair, pulling it back from her scalp so sharply that she winced. “I've got to see Ryan. I'll tell you everything in a minute.”

She ran up the hill to the house.

I looked at Will. “What's going on? Why aren't the police on the way? How come Bonnie's with you?”

“I met her on the road just this side of the highway. She was trying to run, but could barely keep on her feet. I couldn't get a word out of her the whole way in, other than that Megan was missing and she'd gone to telephone at the store. That's all she'd say.”

“We've got to get the police,” I said.

“What's happened?” Will caught me as I started to sink to the ground again.

“Look in there.” I gestured at my cousin's car.

Will's sharp intake of breath told me he'd seen the body.

“Who is it? Marilyn?”

“I guess so. She doesn't seem real to me. What I mean is that we never actually met and now we never will.” I laughed unsteadily.

Will tried the door handles. “Locked.”

“Just as well. Ryan found her first. At least he just caught a glimpse of her. If he'd opened the door and she'd fallen out on him…” I shivered. “As it is, the poor kid's in terrible shape. He was hysterical when I got back. He seems better now. He fell asleep and I came down to look.”

“Got back from where? Where did you go? I thought Bonnie's car had run out of gas.”

“It has. I took the canoe to the beach. I thought maybe the current might have carried Megan down river, if she'd fallen in.”

“You haven't been in a canoe in ages.”

I rubbed my sorest shoulder. “Tell me about it. I had to, though, there wasn't any choice. I found Hank's boat stranded on the beach with Megan's teddy bear in it.”

“And Megan?”

“Not there or at his camp in the woods. He must have taken her, though Ryan swears she wouldn't go with a stranger.”

“It couldn't have been Hank,” Will objected.

“What do you mean? It had to be his boat and his tent. Remember he said he was camping out close by? Who else could it have been?”

“It might have been his camp, but he wasn't there,” Will insisted. “I saw him when I left. There was a commotion going on at the store, so I stopped to see what was the matter. The old man had a heart attack and they were taking him to hospital by ambulance. I saw Hank get in with the stretcher.”

“Then who took Megan?”

Will couldn't answer. After a moment, he bent to tug at the tarp. “Let's cover this up again,” he suggested. “It seems indecent to leave her exposed like this.” He heaved it over the little car's roof.

“You don't think the same person …” I couldn't finish.

“Let's go talk to Bonnie.” Will pulled me to my feet and put his arm around my shoulders. “She'd better have a good reason for not calling the cops. We're in way over our heads here.”
He pulled me away towards the path to the back door.

I stopped suddenly. “I bet it's Roger Markham.”

“Markham? Why would he take her?”

“Gianelli said they were looking for him as well as for Marilyn. And Mr. Ross implied that he had suspicions about that survey and Marilyn wanting power-of-attorney. Bonnie told me that Markham spends a lot of money. What if he assumed Marilyn was going to inherit the property and made some kind of deal with her? Maybe then she decided to back out. She's an archaeologist, right? Maybe she found the relics and said the land couldn't be developed until the site was properly excavated and he got mad and killed her and…”

“Slow down, Rosie. You're getting carried away.”

“But it makes sense. Megan would go with him; he's her uncle.”

“But why would he take Megan in the first place? And how would he know where to find Hank's boat?”

I scuffed at a stone in the path with the toe of one shoe.

“Besides,” Will went on, “the property belongs to you. Even if Marilyn had found those relics and was going to turn the site over to the authorities, it's you Markham would have to negotiate with, not her.”

“But with her out of the way …” I paused and began more slowly, picking through the plot. “He could have killed her by accident. He came by boat, but was going to take her away in the car. Only he heard us coming down the road and had to take off. He could have known about Hank's boat because Marilyn took him to see the site in it. And he could have taken Megan to blackmail me into giving up the land.”

Will shook his head. “That's a lot of could haves and maybes.”

“Have you got a better explanation?”

“No.”

“Well, then?”

We went back up to the cottage. Ryan was awake, crying in his mother's arms, but softly now, not with those wild hiccuping sobs that had come with his first telling of the story.

Bonnie stared at us over the top of his head. Her eyes were nearly invisible between red swollen lids, face a clown's mask of blotchy circles and pallid skin, hair pasted to cheeks and neck
with tears and sweat. She must have tripped on the road in her hurry: the knees of her pink sweat suit were stained with grass and mud.

“Ryan's told you?” Will asked.

Bonnie nodded. “I should have taken him with me.” She nuzzled him with her chin.

“Why didn't you call the police?” I demanded. “Aren't you worried about Megan?”

“Megan's all right,” Bonnie said.

“All right?” The three of us spoke together, Ryan raising his head to look at his mother. Will continued, “How do you know?”

“I spoke to her. On the phone.” She caressed her son's hair, gently wiping the tears from his cheek with her palm. She spoke directly to him. “She's fine, really. She'll be back here this afternoon. In just a little while.”

“But how…” I started.

“The cops …” Will interjected.

Bonnie held up her hand. “We can't call the cops. He said if there was any sign of police, he wouldn't bring her back.”

“Who said?” I asked. “Was it Roger Markham?”

“Why would Uncle Roger take Megan away?” Ryan asked. “He doesn't even like her.”

“That's not nice,” Bonnie reproved him. “What am I saying?” She rubbed her eyes. “No, I don't think it was Roger. Though he has a car phone and I could hear traffic in the background.”

“What does he want?” Will asked.

“I talked to Megan first. She sounded fine, only worried that she's lost T. Bear.” Bonnie tried a little laugh. It didn't sound amused.

“I've got him,” Ryan displayed the toy proudly. “Rosie brought him home.”

Bonnie looked at me.

“It was in Hank's boat. I found his camp too, but it's empty.” I limped over to one of the easy chairs and sank into it.

“What's wrong with your feet?” Will asked, following me. He sat down on the wide arm.

“A long story,” I shrugged. “Come on, Bonnie, get on with it. And what do you mean you talked to her on the phone?”
“Just that. There was a message for me at the store to call a number if I wanted to speak to Megan, so I called and I did. She's fine, really.”

“Who gave you the message?” Will asked. “I saw Mr. Cook being taken away in an ambulance and Hank was with him.”

“It was some woman. Smith I think she said her name was. Meryl Smith.” She tossed her head. “What difference does it make?”

“What was she doing there?” I asked.

“What is this, an interrogation?”

“We just want to know what happened,” I snapped. “I've been worried sick about Megan.”

“Okay, okay.” Bonnie sighed dramatically. “The pay phone was out of order. I went inside to ask if I could use their private phone. Some woman was there, tending the store. She said the old man was sick and she was filling in, as a favour, until Hank got back. Anyway, she had a note for me.”

“Who from?” I blurted, just as Will asked, “How did she know the note was for you?”

“She asked me right away if I was Bonnie Hazlitt. I guess they don't get too many strangers coming into the store at this time of year. When I said I was, she gave me a note and told me I could use the phone in the kitchen.”

“Where's the note?” Will stretched out his hand. “Let's see it.”

“I don't have it.”

“What?”

“I shredded it, okay?

I was so upset, I didn't know what I was doing.

I just wanted to get back here in time.”

“In time for what?”

It was my turn to question her.

“Before he arrived.”

“Who?” I practically screamed.

“The man who's got Megan. And no, I don't know who it is.”

“Calm down, both of you,” Will said. “What did this Meryl Smith woman say about the person who left the note?”

“I didn't think to ask her.”

“You didn't think?” I demanded.

“I was upset, okay? I wasn't thinking straight at all.” She glanced down at Ryan. He wasn't paying any attention to her,
but was busy fooling with the bear, tying the red ribbon around its neck into a series of elaborate knots.

Will sighed. “I guess you don't remember the phone number? There'll be no way for the police to trace the caller?”

“We're not involving the police,” Bonnie snapped.

“When we have Megan back,” I soothed. “Then they can look for him.”

“You know I can't have the police around.” Bonnie hugged Ryan.

“I want to go home,” he said. “Really home. I don't like any of this.”

“Don't I have enough to deal with, without getting into this again?” Bonnie whined. “Everything I do is for you, you know that.”