Necessary Evil (17 page)

When the laughter
slowed – too quickly in my opinion – Aunt Susanna said, “No, he is not going to
like that one bit.”

“I know! I can’t
wait to tell him.”

“I’ll let you do
it – He’s going to be livid.”

“I don’t see why
he should be,” I protested. “It’d give his reputation a much needed boost,
don’t you think?”

“Sounds more like
false advertising to me,” she retorted. “Poor Leah and Che Che are going to be
expecting some broad-chested, rugged man with a torn shirt, instead of a fussy
sort of - Ooops, he’s coming. Talk to you later.”

She rung off and I
hung up, chuckling. When Che Che looked at me oddly, I had to come up with
something to explain to her, so I said, stumbling with the name a bit, “Vincent
just asked my Aunt to be a character in his book.”

Her wide-eyed
response set me off again.

I managed to avoid
Randall most of that first week. He was busy with his revisions and my lessons
ran late into the evening - and even when they didn’t, I found reasons to hang
out in the barn or in the stables. Aunt Susanna either didn’t realize what I
was doing or didn’t notice, for she never commented on my absence, except to
send me texts about dinner. She was growing restless, but there was little I or
anyone else could do about that.

 Jacob worked
a few mornings and a couple of afternoons during this week and for all appearances
was a model employee. He did his chores to Aunt Susanna’s satisfaction and my
own, filled in his time sheets properly, and only tracked manure into the
kitchen once that I noticed. As he was careless with small details, I suspected
that Aunt Susanna was cleaning up after him, but it didn’t matter. The stalls
were getting cleaned out, the supplies stacked properly, and he even
volunteered to clean up the indoor ring on Saturday.

“I told him I had
to talk to you first,” Aunt Susanna told me on Thursday night. She was at the
kitchen counter, hunched over some sheets of paper and beaten text books. We
were talking and moving softly, but I wasn’t sure if that was because of the
late hour or if it was out of respect for Professor Randall, who was in the
next room, working on his book.

It was half-past
nine and I had only just come in from the stables. My eyes were heavy and I
tripped over my own feet twice while putting together my dinner; but despite my
exhaustion, I was feeling jubilant. Joe had called and asked me out to dinner
on Saturday. Saying yes was easy – rescheduling the three afternoon lessons
required a deft bit of tact, but I managed it and I was already planning my
outfit.

“Jacob is coming
on Saturday?” I asked. I was surprised, then remembered that asking him for his
availability was among the many things I had forgotten to do. I would have to
rectify that the next time I saw him, which would probably be Saturday, if my
workload stayed the same.

Aunt Susanna
rifled through her volumes, nodding distractedly. “Yes, he can work for a
half-day then, but he can’t work tomorrow. I asked him to give me his available
schedule so that we could work out some consistency.” She looked up at me and
blinked through her glasses. “I thought that would make things easier for you.”

“Yeah, that does,
thanks,” I said. “But Jacob’s never allowed to use that tractor unless I’m
here.”

“Yes, I know. I
told him as much.”

I should have
known she would. The microwave pinged, letting me know my dinner was ready, and
I was happy to attend to it. “Thanks,” I said. “How’s he getting along with the
riders?”

“He hasn’t met
many, but they seem to like him. I know Lindsay will.”

“Lindsay?”

She turned then,
her eyes shining. “She called today, Maddie, sounding so much better. She was
hoping to talk to you, but you were out in the barn, so she said she’d text.
She’s coming out here for a visit soon.”

“She must be doing
much better then,” I smiled. The idea that Lindsay was up and well enough to
come around made my throat tighten with unexpressed emotion.

Aunt Susanna said,
“She’s not allowed to ride for a while yet, but she said she’s getting bored.
She’s missing the horses and her girls and you, of course. Her parents are
worried about her driving, so maybe Darlene and I will go and pick her up.” She
clasped her hands and beamed at me. “It’ll be so good seeing her up and about
again.”

I had to agree.
Even if she wasn’t completely healed yet, seeing Lindsay without her bandages
was sure to do my aunt – and me - some good. I felt as guilty about the
accident as if I had dug the hole myself; but I was angry as well. I wanted
find the people responsible for the digging, though what I would do when I met
them, I didn’t know.

“If she needs a
ride, I might be able to pick her up, too,” I said.

“When would you
have time for that?” Aunt Susanna asked. She was over her papers again, her
pencil scratching furiously. She had always had a talent for drawing and art,
but I hadn’t seen her working at a picture in a long time. I wondered what she was
working on.

“You barely have
time to eat your dinner at night,” she continued, oblivious to my curiosity. “I
doubt you’ll have time to pick her up and bring her back. Besides, Darlene will
enjoy the drive.”

Of course, it
would have to be Darlene who did the driving, she of the many speeding
violations. Aunt Susanna’s surgery wouldn’t have affected her driving if she
drove an automatic, but her car was a stick shift and she claimed it was too
difficult to operate with a cane. Neither Darlene nor I bought the excuse, but
we didn’t see the point in disputing with her.

 “I wonder
what she’ll think about Jacob,” Aunt Susanna said.

I recognized the
matchmaking glint in her eyes – she had that same look before, like that time a
young man stopped by the farm to ask about lessons and pricing. He’d been tall,
good looking, friendly, and my age. It took all of ten minutes to scrap Aunt
Susanna’s daydream. He was a struggling actor looking to improve his profile,
which meant our rates were too steep for his budget, and he was engaged to a
nice young fellow from Portsmouth.

I chuckled and got
up to take care of my dishes. “Jacob. Nice, muscular, and available? I don’t
think there’s much doubt about what she’ll think. I’m more curious as to what
she’ll think of the great professor when she meets him – he’s much more of a
character.”

I nodded in the
direction of the office and was surprised to see the brief expression of
concern etch across my aunt’s face.

“Oh, I don’t think
they’ll have much to do with each other,” she said. “He’s been so busy, he’s
hardly had time to do anything more than pace and eat sandwiches when he comes
out.”

“Think he’ll ever
get around to the treasure?”

She arched an
eyebrow at me. “I thought you didn’t believe in the treasure.”

“I don’t, but I’m
going to hold him to it. Where did you put the mail?”

“On your desk.”

I stopped and
rubbed my neck. I really,
really
didn’t want to go into the office. I
didn’t want to see how he’d rearranged things, I didn’t want to be
interrogated, and I didn’t want to talk to Randall unless it was absolutely
necessary. But the bills needed to be paid.

Maybe I could put
it off another day. It was late after all…

“I think the mortgage
bill was in the pile today,” Aunt Susanna said. “And some checks. I sorted them
for you.”

So much for
putting it off. If there was one thing our account needed, it was an influx of
cash and we didn’t need another late-payment penalty. I sighed, poured myself
another cup of coffee. “I’ll take care of it. See you later.”

“I’m going to
bed,” she announced. “So I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I waved
distractedly and went into the hallway.

The office door
was shut and I paused for a moment, debating whether I should knock or not.
Then I remembered that this was my house and that he was the intruder, and I
opened the door with an air of authority.

Professor Randall
was sitting in the soft glow of the floor lamp in my uncle’s old soft chair, a
cup of cooling tea and a plate with the neglected remains of a sandwich on the
table at his elbow. He was frowning in concentration at the book that lay in
his lap and didn’t look up.

My dog Trusty was
laying on his feet. Her ears twitched at my arrival and she lifted her head to
acknowledge me before settling back down on her paws, looking like the devoted
best friend sitting at her master’s feet. It felt like a betrayal, and one that
I hadn’t been expecting.

The professor
didn’t look up until I shut the door behind me. The sound startled him, and he
blinked at me through his oversized glasses.

“Oh, you’re back,”
he sighed, and arched his back stiffly as he consulted his silver-plated watch.
“Is it that late already?”

“Don’t let me
interrupt your reading,” I said. “I’m just doing some deskwork.” I took a step
or two inside, then stopped. “If I can find the desk, that is.”

I hadn’t been in
the room since the morning of Jacob’s arrival, nearly a week ago. The place
seemed awash in papers, files, and books. The professor’s desk was buried under
and behind piles of books, files, and boxes. Uncle Michael’s shelves had been
ransacked and rearranged, the genealogical books piled on their sides rather
than in neat lines. Sticky notes in scrawling pen were scattered around, and
charts were draped over filing cabinets or tacked to cork boards leaning
against the shelves. His computer sat next to a small, sleek printer, loaded
down with printed pages.

My desk, as
promised, had been left untouched. I had to step around piles to get to it, but
the surface was free from Randall’s research, and the two small piles of mail
sat in the tray. As much as I didn’t like paperwork in principle, I was glad to
do something that was organized, quiet, and routine. Some of that comfort was
taken away by the knowledge that I’d be working under the professor’s scrutiny.

It wasn’t until he
sighed again and rubbed his eyes that I realized that I’d actually awakened
him. The glasses had disguised the fact that he’d been sleeping, which
explained Trusty’s calm demeanor.

“Sorry I woke
you,” I lied, smirking as I started up the computer. Then I thought,
What
are you trying to do, start a conversation?

 “Not to
worry,” he said, getting up slowly. “I should be packing up anyway. Time for
bed.”

I grunted and
focused on my computer screen and the small, but intimidating, stack of bills
piled up by my keyboard. I studiously avoided watching him move about quietly,
but I kept my dog in the corner of my eye.

Trusty jumped up
at his movement, stretched, and watched him with a cocked head. She glanced at
me, glanced at him, and took a moment to consider before trotting over to lay
down on her bed next to my chair. When she’d settled in, she looked up at me
with an adoring expression.

“Traitor,” I
whispered, and bent down to scratch her behind the ears. She leaned into my
hand and licked my arm as I withdrew it, and the little kindness was like a
balm.

My computer up and
running, I started going through the bills and checks, working as fast as I
could without looking like I was rushing. The repetitive nature of the work
soothed me, even if the bills were still terrifyingly large. I printed and
emailed invoices, applied payments, and worked through about half of the load
before I realized that the professor hadn’t left yet.

I looked up and
saw that he was sitting behind his desk, frowning as he turned the aged pages
of a little book. It took me a second to recognize it as the diary I’d given
him earlier.

He caught my
stare, then gestured to the book. “Hard to tear myself away.”

I nodded and
suddenly Trusty jumped up and yapped. I gasped, my heart pounding, and turned
to find the dog was standing at the window, with her tail low and her ears up
and twitching. Gone was her sleepy, comfortable nightly nature: she was rigid,
her expression alert. It was so unlike her that it took me a second before I
went and looked out the window myself.

The office is in
the back of the house, looking over the “new” stables – new being a relative
term, as they were built in 1968 – and the trail that runs along the perimeter
of our land. The house sits at the farthest western edge of the property, next
to the wooded lands that belongs to our neighbor. It’s a pretty spot, with
frequent late night and early morning visits by raccoons, moose, or deer, but
Trusty knew these scents and rarely reacted like this. In any case, there was
nothing to see there now.

“What’s your
problem?” I asked her softly.

The dog looked at
me, then out the window again. Her tail started moving slowly, so I turned,
shaking my head, to see Professor Randall leaning back in his chair. His arms
were folded as he studied the two of us.

“She’s done that a
few times before,” he said.

“She did?” I
lowered myself into the chair, biting my lip. “That’s not like her. Must be a
coyote or something.”

Then Trusty
relaxed and turned away from the window with a yawn. She settled herself into
the pile of blankets with a contented expression, and I couldn’t help but
stroke her head affectionately again.

“Dumb dog,” I
mumbled, and she looked up at me with an innocent expression. “Was there a cat
out back?”

“There was a
flashlight last night,” Randall said, and when I looked up at him, he
continued. “I guess it wasn’t you, then?”

“No,” I said, as
steadily as I could with a heart that threatened to pound through my chest.
“No, it wasn’t me. You saw a flashlight in the back? Where? When?”

“Along the trail,
last night around ten. I thought it had to be you or one of the riders.”

“It wasn’t,” I
stated firmly. “We have a strict curfew – no horses out after nine-thirty. I
wish you had told me, professor. I need to know when we have prowlers.”