The Grub-And-Stakers Pinch a Poke (16 page)

“I can believe there may be other reasons why Andrew McNaster might commit an assault upon the former partner of his skulduggerous machinations.”

“So can I,” Dittany had to admit. “But whatever else Andy McNaster may have been in the past and may still be for all we know, I’ve never heard anybody call him stupid. Besides, it’s not as if he were the only one clamoring for Carolus Bledsoe’s guts in a bucket. What about Leander Hellespont? What about Carolus’s exwife?

What about Wilhedra ThorbisherFreep, for that matter?

Though I’ll grant you it seems a bit premature for Wilhedra to try to kill Carolus when they’re not even married yet.”

“The point is well taken,” Sergeant MacVicar conceded with a nervous glance at his watch.

“And what about some stranger we don’t yet know anything about?” Dittany went on. “Carolus in his Charlie persona could still be pulling dirty tricks for other skulduggerers, couldn’t he? In fact I should think he’d pretty much have to if he expects to keep eating now that he’s lost Andy’s business.”

“All avenues shall be explored,” said the sergeant with his hand on the doorknob. “I’ll be back to interrogate yon Bledsoe once he’s recovered frae the trauma of being brought from the hospital and I hae succeeded in placating my leddy wife. In the meantime, lass keep mum an’ gae canny.”

Keep mum and go bonkers would be closer to the mark, Dittany thought as she watched Osbert help Roger Munson and his sons Ed and Dave juggle Carolus Bledsoe up her front stairs lashed to a stretcher. Everybody but Carolus appeared to be having a good time. He, on the other hand, was looking pretty much the way he’d looked last night when he’d caught sight of the hole in his boot.

“His bed’s all turned down,” she told the rescue squad. “Is he going to need pajamas and things?”

“No,” said Roger. “We stopped at his apartment and packed a bag. It’s all organized.”

Naturally it would be. “Then we girls will leave you to get him tucked in. Come on, Ethel, let’s put the kettle on. I expect everybody would like a cup of tea.”

“I’d like a stiff drink,” said Carolus through clenched teeth.

“Sorry,” Roger told him. “Not while you’re still on antibiotics.”

Dittany didn’t wait for the discussion, if there was going to be one. She went back to the kitchen, filled the kettle, let Ethel out for a run, and started wondering where the dishwashers had hidden the cream jug. In a couple of minutes, Osbert came down and kissed her on the back of the neck.

“That the best you can do?” she grumbled. “What’s happening upstairs?”

“Roger’s getting Carolus organized. Where’s Sergeant MacVicar?”

“Gone to church. He’s coming back to grill Carolus later on, assuming there’s anything left of the man by the time Roger gets through playing doctor. Osbert, there’s something I have to tell you.”

He seized her in fervent embrace. “Darling, you don’t mean-“

“Of course I don’t mean. Quit looking so happy. It’s Carolus. He’s Charlie.”

“What’s so awful about being Charlie? I’d be Charlie too if I were Carolus. That’s the trouble with Osbert, I’m darned if I’ll be Ozzie and we’ve already got a Bert. What I’d really like to be is a Luke. I wish I’d picked Luke Laramie instead of Lex for my writing name.

Luke means bringer of light.”

“But Osbert means divinely brilliant, which suits you much better.

Besides, Luke makes me think of lukewarm, and you’re certainly not that.”

“I am sometimes,” Osbert insisted. “I’m sort of lukewarm about having Carolus here now that the initial euphoria has died, if you really want to know. I wish we hadn’t said we’d take him.”

“Not to be contentious,” Dittany replied, “but I don’t recall that we did, if by we you mean to include me.”

“Of course I do, dear. There’s only one we for me, you know that.

I always think of us as two hearts that beat as one. Which ventricle would you rather be, right or left?”

“I honestly haven’t given it much thought. Listen, Osbert-“

“How’s the tea coming?” That was Roger, bustling into the kitchen, fairly radiating efficiency. “Carolus needs a stimulant.”

“Who doesn’t? Fix the tray since you burn to be helpful.” Dittany slapped loose tea into a small pot and peeked to see if the kettle was boiling yet. “What happened to the boys?”

“They’ve gone along home. They thought they might get in a few shots before Hazel calls us to dinner.” The Munson boys would soon be eligible for promotion from the Junior to the Senior Male Archers’

Target and Game Shooting Association and were naturally eager to hone their skills. “Where’s the little cloth that goes on the tray?”

“What little cloth that goes on the tray, for Pete’s sake?” Dittany exploded. “Roger, this is not the Royal Hotel and I don’t give two hoots in heck whether Carolus Bledsoe likes the way I set a tray or not. Just take this tea up to him and tell him for me he’s darned lucky to get it.”

“Well, I just wondered. Hazel always puts on a little embroidered cloth.”

“Dittany never does,” said Osbert. “She maintains tray cloths are inefficient.”

“Bless my soul,” cried Roger. “So they are. And to think I never realized that myself! I must tell Hazel.”

“I hope she beans you with a tray if you do,” Dittany snarled.

“Scat, Roger.”

Roger picked up the clothless tray and scatted. Osbert turned to his somewhat distraught wife.

“Darling, why don’t you sit down in the rocking chair and let me bring you a cup of tea? Better still, why don’t we both curl up on the couch and have a nice little snuggle while you tell me all about Carolus being Charlie?”

“There, see? I said you were divinely brilliant,” Dittany replied.

“The only flaw I can see in your highly attractive scenario is that in about thirty seconds Roger’s going to come cavorting back to say Carolus wants a ham sandwich.”

“Why should Carolus want a ham sandwich?”

“As a hypothesis, because he’s hungry. Maybe it won’t be a ham sandwich, but it’ll be something. Want to bet?”

Actually it was almost a minute. They’d had the chance to get their own tea poured and were even set to drink it when Roger did indeed return. What he wanted was a little handbell that Carolus could ring whenever he needed attention.

“Carolus just had attention,” Osbert protested. “Is he asking for more already?”

“Well, he did say something about a ham sandwich,” Roger answered.

“Apparently the hospital breakfast was not to his liking.”

“There, see,” said Dittany, “what did I tell you?”

She checked the fridge and managed after considerable pawing around to locate all that was left of the ham. There was just about enough for one respectable sandwich. She might have sent Roger back up to find out which kind of bread Carolus preferred, but she felt just mean enough not to. He’d take white because that was the kind she and Osbert were least fond of, and if he didn’t like it he could darn well lump it.

Dittany did add lettuce and mustard pickle because after all one had one’s standards even if one didn’t go in for embroidered tray cloths. She also fixed Carolus a sauce dish full of leftover fruit cornpote that somebody had contributed to the breakfast. It had to be eaten up anyway because it wouldn’t keep, and the extra vitamins might help to speed the healing process.

Roger nodded approval. “That’s fine. Now the bell.”

THUNDER DA* PUBLiC LIBRARY

Dittany shook her head. “No bell.”

“You don’t have one? That’s all right, I can bring-“

“Don’t you dare, Roger Munson! Carolus Bledsoe is not getting a bell. Men are the world’s worst invalids. They get bored lying in bed and start pestering for attention. I’m not going to stand for being dingalinged at every two minutes by somebody I don’t even particularly care for, if you want the honest truth. Osbert or I will go up and check on Carolus at reasonable intervals, and we’ll decide for ourselves what’s reasonable so don’t bother to tell us. We’ll provide him with books, jigsaw puzzles, a radio, crayons and a coloring book, or whatever else will keep him amused. We’ll keep him warm and fed and-oh gosh, we won’t have to do baths and bedpans?”

“No,” Roger assured her. “He’s allowed to get up long enough to attend to his personal needs. He’ll need crutches or a cane and perhaps some assistance getting in and out of bed. A bell would-“

“No it wouldn’t. We have a pair of crutches Carolus can use. Mum bought them for Dad the time he broke his leg trying to learn the samba. If he needs help getting up he can holler down the stairs.

Why don’t you scoot along home to your dinner and let us take it from here? Since you have everything so well organized,” Dittany added, for she did like Roger Munson despite his perfectionistic tendencies.

“Yes, I’d better get cracking,” he agreed. “I mustn’t upset Hazel’s schedule. I’ll drop over again later on and bring that portable television set Dave won last year in the hockey club raffle. Nobody at our house ever watches it anyway.”

That stood to reason. Few Lobelia Falls residents ever did have much time to spend with the tube, not that they cared. Everyday life there was far too crammed with action and drama for the prepackaged variety to hold much attraction. Being from Scottsbeck, however, Carolus Bledsoe would no doubt welcome the diversion.

Roger didn’t really have to bring his set over as the Monks had a perfectly good one of their own that they didn’t watch often, either, but they said it was very nice of him and handed him the tray to take up. He came back downstairs a few minutes later with a list of commissions from the invalid, explained at some length what he was going to do about them, and finally, to the Monks’ ineffable relief, went home.

“Okay, pardner, now what about Charlie?” Osbert asked when he’d got Dittany arranged to their mutual satisfaction.

Dittany repeated what she’d told Sergeant Mac Vicar. Osbert understood perfectly.

“That was positively noble of you, darling. And how could you possibly have anticipated what happened? After all, whoever had it in for Carolus could just as easily have got at him before the performance.

Easier, I should think, and nothing happened then. As it is, we’ll be able to keep him under guard until his toe heals and by then we ought to have found out who switched those cartridges. I just wish Sergeant MacVicar would get back here. He didn’t say when he was coming?”

“No, but three o’clock probably wouldn’t be far off the mark, unless Nancy comes with some more eggs.”

Sunday dinnertime for Lobelia Falls was from half past one to half past two, allowing half an hour’s leeway in either direction for getting the kids’ hands washed, making the gravy, organizing the dishwashing, and taking postprandial snoozes. This was not a municipal ordinance, merely a way of causing the smallest number of persons the least amount of inconvenience in scheduling archery meets, rehearsals of the madrigal society, family visits, and the myriad other activities in which all the townsfolk got involved to a greater or lesser degree. Dittany supposed she ought to be thinking about their own dinner, although she and Osbert were the neighborhood iconoclasts when it came to keeping on schedule.

She’d as soon not bother, herself, but what about Archie and Daniel? Was Andy planning to bring them back here in time for the meal he might assume she was cooking when in fact she wasn’t, or would he keep up his angel of mercy act long enough to feed them someplace else? She asked Osbert, but he didn’t know.

“Couldn’t we just make some ham sandwiches?” was his suggestion.

“No we couldn’t,” Dittany said. “Carolus got the last bit of ham.”

“Then an omelet?”

“The eggs are all gone. We’re still pretty well fixed for doughnuts, jelly, and dog food.”

“Well then, not to worry. Ethel won’t mind sharing in a pinch.

Will you, faithful friend?”

It need hardly be said that Ethel had joined them on the couch.

Rather, roughly half of her had joined them. The half there wasn’t room for remained sprawled on the floor or suspended in between.

She seemed comfortable enough. The interlude was a pleasant one and they’d all three have been happier if the doorbell hadn’t put an end to it.

“Oh gosh,” Dittany groaned, “don’t tell me they’re back already.

What the heck did they go to the front door for? Arethusa knows we’re always in the kitchen.”

“That’s not Aunt Arethusa,” said Osbert. “She’d be thumping and hollering by now. I’ll go, dear. You stay here and rest yourself.”

“Hah! As if anybody in this dad-dratted town was going to let me.” She wiggled off the couch and straightened her blouse. “No, let us both be up and doing with a heart for any fate. You can be the right ventricle this time. Come on, Ethel, why should we break up the party?”

Their expedition proved to be not only over-manned but also over-womanned and over-dogged. Nobody was at the door. However, a long white box from the Scottsbeck florist lay on the doormat.

“Oh how lovely,” Dittany cried. “Mum and Bert must have ordered flowers by phone.”

“Nope,” said Osbert, who had eyes like an eagle’s but more amiable.

“The card says they’re for Carolus. Here, let me-Ethel, get out of the way.”

The dog had leaped in front of him and straddled the box, baring her teeth. As Osbert tried to get it out from under her, she actually growled at him.

“Ethel, what’s got into you?” Dittany scolded. “You know better than that. Osbert, stop her!”

But there was no stopping Ethel. She caught up the box by its cord, leaped over the veranda railing, and raced off to Cat Alley with Carolus’s present clutched in her jaws like a giant bone.

“She’s gone plumb loco,” yelled Osbert. He was over the railing, too, racing after her. “Ethel, you mutt, come back here.”

“She’ll ruin those flowers.”

Dittany ran down the steps and joined in the race, though she wasn’t much of a runner herself. Osbert was fast, but Ethel easily outdistanced him. Before he could get anywhere near her, she braked and started ripping at the box like a hunger-maddened malamute. Growling, snapping, pawing, she had it apart in no time.

But no broken blossoms appeared. Instead, something long, thin, and brown slithered out of the wreckage, reared about a third of its length upright, spread an ugly hood of skin over its head, and hissed.