No Mortal Reason (28 page)

He slanted a sideways glance at Diana. A lesser man would shift the blame to her. It all came back to Diana. Her family’s feuds. Her family’s greed. Her editor’s need for scandal to sell newspapers.

“What was Sebastian’s plan?” Diana asked abruptly. “To take over a hotel on the brink of bankruptcy?”

Guessing she’d caught part of Mercy’s explanation to Myron, Ben nodded.

“Not very clever of him.”

Greed, Ben thought, made people do strange things.

“I’ll send a telegram to my mother while you’re at the dentist’s office,” she continued, “and tell her to call off Ed Leeves.”

So, she’d heard that too. She could save him the trouble of contacting Leeves. Just as well. He was having difficulty thinking straight through the pain in his jaw. Composing a coherent telegram was probably out of the question.

They made the rest of the trip in silence, although Ben found reassuring the fact that Diana shot frequent worried glances his way. When they’d passed the depot, Diana guided Old Jessie down a steep hill and into the business district, turning left at the intersection. The directions Howd had given them led, as promised, straight to a small house with a large tooth painted on a sign by the side door.

They were shown into a tidy little waiting room furnished with several chairs and a selection of magazines. From the inner office came an ominous moan. If his jaw hadn’t been so swollen, Ben might have considered walking out. Instead he went to inspect the framed diploma displayed on one wall.

He was encouraged by the fact that the man had a proper dental education. There were far too many old-fashioned tooth-drawers around, quacks whose limited skills did more harm than good. He’d heard horror stories of men who’d lost large pieces of bone along with a tooth, or had their jaws broken during an extraction.

“Oh, my.” Diana, standing beside him, was looking not at the name of the medical college, but at the name of the dentist—Arthur P. Buckley. “You don’t suppose—”

“Dr. Northcote,” said the familiar voice of the coroner. “I understand you have a tooth that needs extracting.”

“Go send the telegram,” Ben lisped. It had to be pulled but he preferred not to chance disgracing himself in front of the woman he loved.

When both Buckley’s previous patient and Diana had left, Ben squared his shoulders and followed the dentist into his inner room. It was clean and well organized, with neatly arranged supplies of gutta percha, amalgam, gold foil, and porcelain on shelves and a collection of anesthetics that included nitrous oxide and cocaine as well as Letheon. Next to a drill with a treadle engine, given pride of place, was a pump-type hydraulic dental chair.

“Have a seat,” Buckley said, indicating the chair. “Let’s have a look.”

“It’s broken off too close to the gum to save,” Ben told him. He’d taken a look in the mirror before leaving the hotel. The stub would have to come out. When the hole healed, he’d see about being fitted with a porcelain tooth.

“Who’s the dentist here?” Buckley asked.

Reluctantly, Ben settled into the chair. He tensed when it was moved into a reclining position. He did not like feeling this vulnerable.

“Open up. Hmm. Well, you’re right. Extraction is the only option. Anesthetic?”

“No.” There was no way to judge how much gas to give and dangerous overdoses were far too common. Besides, he hated losing consciousness even more than he disliked enduring pain.

“This won’t take but a moment and I assure you you’ll feel much better when I’m done,” Buckley said. “I find the pelican the most useful tool for extractions because it takes out the tooth more promptly than the gum lancet or the punch, or the pinchers, or the lever. Hold still, now.”

There were times when medical training was not a blessing. Ben knew that the pelican was also the most dangerous of the instruments used in drawing teeth. True to his word, however, Buckley completed the task quickly. When Ben had finished washing the blood out of his mouth, the dentist presented him with a glass of whiskey.

“Antiseptic
and
good for pain.”

Ben had to agree. His jaw was still swollen, since he’d bitten the inside of his cheek and had the skin on the outside broken by Sebastian’s fist, but the pain was manageable now, reduced to a dull throb. The ache in his hand was greater.

Glancing down at his scraped knuckles, Ben recalled Diana cleaning him up and putting his clothing to rights before they’d left Lenape Springs. He’d been so fixated on his tooth that he’d paid no attention to the other cuts, scrapes, and bruises. When he got back to the hotel, he decided, he’d mix up a sleeping powder from his medical supplies. Rest was the best cure for all his injuries.

“It’s obvious you’ve been in a fight,” Buckley said. “Did it have anything to do with Mr. Saugus’s murder?”

“No. As it turns out, this matter was completely unrelated. A pity.”

“I agree. Mr. Howard Grant came to see me this morning. His deposition doesn’t clear his brother, but with nothing more to go on, I’ll not be ordering Myron’s arrest, either. Not yet, at any rate.”

“That’s good to hear, since he didn’t kill Saugus.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Instinct?”

Buckley frowned. “I’m not certain I agree with you, and certainly some of the villagers do not. If I were you, I’d think about cutting short your stay at the Hotel Grant. Things could get ugly out there.”

Ben thanked him for the warning, wishing he could follow the advice. He’d like nothing better than to take Diana and head for Maine.

A few minutes later, he heard the surrey pull up in front of the dentist’s office and went out.

“Better now?” she asked as he clambered onto the front seat beside her.

“Improving by the minute. Did you send the telegram?”

She nodded, but he could tell by the hesitation in her manner that something was bothering her.

“What’s the matter, Diana?” He caught her hand as she was about to lift the reins. They could sit here in front of the dentist’s office a few minutes longer. Even with a comfortable bed and a soporific waiting at the other end, he wasn’t anxious to begin the long, rough ride back to Lenape Springs.

“While I was at the telegraph office, the operator gave Scorcher a telegram to deliver here in Liberty. He said to take it to the place two doors past Old Man Torrence’s. Do you suppose I have family in town? My father’s relatives?”

Had he been in better shape, Ben supposed he might have tried to counterfeit a reaction in keeping with his supposed ignorance of such a possibility, but he was not at his best.

Diana noticed the lack of surprise in his expression and leapt to the obvious conclusion. “You already knew!”

Warily, he nodded.

“How could you keep something like this from me?”

“I intended to tell you.”

“When?”

Good question, he thought. “There hasn’t been much opportunity. We’ve been here less than a week and a great deal has happened.”

“But you
knew
I had Torrence kin here in town. Who are they? How are they related to me?

They were still sitting in the surrey in front of the dentist’s office. Ben glanced at the sky. The afternoon was on the wane, but there probably two hours of daylight left. A full moon had already risen and wouldn’t set until midnight. They wouldn’t have any difficulty making the drive back to Lenape Springs after dark.

“Isaac Torrence is your grandfather. He lives with his daughter, your aunt Janette, who is a widow. We can go see them now, if you like.”

“But . . . but I can’t just walk in on them.”

Time to confess all, Ben decided. “They want to meet you. Howd talked to them and—”

“
Howd
knows I’m his niece?”

“So does Mrs. Ellington. She overheard us talking that first night and told Howd. No one else knows, though, except Mr. Torrence and his daughter.”

“How could you keep this from me? You
can’t
claim it was for my own good. Not if they want to see me.” Then she frowned. “They don’t know about my father, do they? No, they couldn’t. Oh, Lord—how am I to tell them? Maybe this isn’t a good idea. I’ll meet them another day.”

The pulse in Ben’s forehead began to twitch. Why should he feel guilty for keeping secrets when Diana kept changing her mind? Asserting himself, he took the reins away from her and set Old Jessie in motion.

“I just don’t know what to do.” Diana scarcely seemed aware that they’d left Dr. Buckley’s office, nor did she notice when Ben turned down a side street.

“Yes, you do,” he said, bringing the surrey to a stop in front of a plain, white clapboard building. “We’re here. This is your grandfather’s house.”

* * * *

Diana stared in panic at the structure. An angular woman in faded pink calico was giving the wrap-around porch a vigorous sweeping. “I can’t. I’m not ready. I-I-I . . . .”

Her voice trailed off as the woman caught sight of them, read Castine’s sign on the side of the surrey, and abruptly abandoned her broom. A moment later, she was standing at Diana’s side. “You’re her, aren’t you? You’re my niece. Howd said you were staying in Lenape Springs.”

The intense emotions swamping Diana prevented speech, but she was able to nod. Then she couldn’t say a word because she was engulfed in a smothering embrace.

The traces of family resemblance she’d sought in vain in the Grants were found with a vengeance in the Torrences. Diana’s aunt, who introduced herself as Janette Farquhar, had William Torrence’s eyes and chin. Or rather, Diana corrected herself when she was taken inside the house and got her first look at her grandfather, both of Isaac Torrence’s children looked eerily like him. If her father had lived to the same age as her grandfather, Diana realized, his face would have taken on all the same planes and angles.

Isaac Torrence’s shoulders stooped. His hands were gnarled and liver spots disfigured his skin. But he carried himself with pride, and his Torrence eyes went misty at his first sight of his only grandchild. “Diana. At last,” he said, and wrapped his arms around her in a hug every bit as welcoming as his daughter’s.

“You’ll stay and have supper with us,” Aunt Janette called over her shoulder as she headed for the kitchen.

“We don’t want to impose. I didn’t realize it was so close to supper time. I—”

But her aunt was already gone and her grandfather’s choked voice drew her attention back to him. “Let me look at you.” He stood her at a little distance and studied first her face, then the simple blue costume she wore.

Diana flushed. She hadn’t taken time to change her clothes before rushing Ben to the dentist, only fetched her hat and gloves and a shawl. The plain dress with its small bustle was appropriate for visiting a sheriff and interviewing a murderer, but she’d have put on something with a bit more flair if she’d known she was going to be meeting her father’s kin. 

Seizing her hand, Isaac Torrence led her to a sofa and sat beside her. He couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her. “Family’s important,” he said. “The older you get, the more you realize that.”

“Yes, it is,” she agreed, and stopped worrying about what she was wearing.

Belatedly, he turned his attention upon Ben. “Dr. Northcote, I presume.” Then he frowned, taking note of Ben’s bruised and swollen jaw. “Are you all right?”

“Better now,” Ben told him. “And pleased to meet you, sir. But I’m sure you have more important matters to discuss with Diana than the condition of my face.”

Instead of the smile Diana expected, Ben’s comment made her grandfather look indescribably sad. Again he took her hands in his. When she looked into his sorrowful eyes, she knew what an effort it took for him to get his next words out.

“Is your father still alive?” he asked.

“No, sir.”

He didn’t try to stop the tears that leaked from his eyes. “A man shouldn’t have to outlive his children.”

Ben stepped forward to offer his handkerchief, then faded into the woodwork once more. Diana patted Isaac Torrence’s blue-veined hand. After a moment, recovering himself, her grandfather blew his nose with a loud honk and tucked the handkerchief into a pocket.

“I’ve so many questions. About Will. About you.” He gave raspy laugh. “About what’s been going on out in Lenape Springs. Howd didn’t seem to know much when he came to tell me about you.”

Diana wasn’t sure if he meant Uncle Howd hadn’t known much about her or hadn’t known much about Elly’s murder, but it didn’t matter. She would do her best to answer all her grandfather’s questions . . . within reason. She saw no point in disillusioning the old man.

For the next few hours, she told story after story of her childhood. There had been many good years with her father, things she willingly shared with his father and sister. She had no qualms, either, about admitting that she’d made a bad mistake in eloping with an actor, and expressed her regret that she’d been estranged from her parents afterwards.

“I was reconciled with my mother only recently,” she said, “but by then, Father had already passed on to his reward.”

The euphemism made her wince inwardly, but she was determined that her grandfather should not know what a thoroughgoing villain his son had become.

“I told Will he was no son of mine if he put going off adventuring ahead of taking his rightful place at home. I had a nice little carpentry business until my hands got too bad to hold my tools. Anyway, he took me at my word. Up and left and never a word from him afterward. I should have known he had a head full of stories about the Forty-Niners and wouldn’t be content without trying to make a fortune on his own.”

“He did succeed, though not in California. He was one of the Fifty-Niners in Colorado and eventually struck silver.”

“Yet he didn’t care enough to let me know.”

“Maybe he meant to.”

“He never told you about me, did he? Or any of your family?”

“Only one story of a long ago ancestor who was an expert on the uses of herbs.”

“Probably figured I was dead. I’m ninety-two, you know.” He preened when she assured him he didn’t look it. “Howd said you didn’t tell him who you were. Do the rest of them know yet?”

“No, and I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t say anything. I keep hoping to find the right time to tell Uncle Myron and Mercy, but as you’ve no doubt heard, things have been a bit hectic at the hotel since we arrived.”