Sharyn McCrumb - Sick Of Shadows

“It’s okay. Bill told me about your relatives. He was expecting melodrama, but I don’t think he would have predicted this. Are you all right?”

“Yes, of course. I just wanted to talk to somebody. Where’s Bill?” Much as she needed to talk, she didn’t feel like beginning at the beginning with even as kind a stranger as this. With Milo, she would only be reciting facts; with Bill she could progress to feelings.

“I’ll have him call you as soon as he comes in, of course, but I haven’t seen him since last night. I think he pulled an all-nighter with some other law students, something about a case…”

“Law or beer?” snapped Elizabeth.

“I just got home myself. My class is doing site work at some Indian mounds near here, and-well, don’t get me started about that… Bill should turn up soon. If you give me your phone number, I’ll have him call as soon as he comes in.”

Elizabeth supplied the number, and a brief account of the situation. She thanked Milo and assured him that some other time she would very much like to hear about Indian mounds, and then she hung up, unreasonably annoyed with Bill for not being in. She reluctantly admitted to herself that she felt better. Milo was all right. Idly she wondered if he had brought home any more bones for the kitchen table. With a weary sigh, she prepared to join the mourners in the library.

To her relief, she found that only Captain Grandfather remained downstairs. He was sitting at the table, making sketches on a notepad.

“The others have gone to bed,” he told her. “I have so much trouble sleeping that I have abandoned even the pretense tonight.”

“Is there anything I can get you?” asked Elizabeth.

“No. More coffee will only make the improbable impossible. Have you eaten anything?”

“That’s what I-no. I guess I will.” She sat on the couch with a napkin in her lap, and helped herself to sandwiches.

“The sheriff called Robert a little while ago. Says they got the results of the autopsy.”

“Oh? What was it? Heart failure?”

“They claim that Eileen was hit on the head, then thrown into that boat. It doesn’t seem possible, does it? It isn’t as if she were a stranger.”

Elizabeth considered this. “I know what you mean,” she said at last. “I always think of violent death as something that happens to people I don’t know. How is-everybody?”

“I can’t say that I took the trouble to find out. I let Robert handle them. He’s a doctor; he’s used to it.”

“And Dr. Shepherd?”

“He went up to his room hours ago. The boys are all right. It’s just Amanda.”

Elizabeth nodded. It would be. “Is there anything I can do?” she asked.

“Not that I-oh yes, there is one thing. I promised Amanda hours ago that I’d let them know across the street.” He inclined his head toward the castle. “It completely slipped my mind.”

“Would you like me to tell them? I could go in a few minutes.”

“Please. They’re back now. Been to some flower show all day. You tell Alban that it’s a murder case, and that the sheriff will be back in the morning questioning all of us.”

Elizabeth nodded. “Captain Grandfather, do you think Eileen’s fiancé killed her?”

Captain Grandfather snorted. “Him! It would surprise me if he had the guts to shuck an oyster, missy. And there’s going to be enough turmoil in this house without you taking up detection as a hobby. Just stick to making sandwiches, that’s my girl.”

Elizabeth bristled. Make sandwiches, indeed! “I’ll have you know I finished college,” she snapped. “I wasn’t the one who was planning to get married and be a housewife!”

Captain Grandfather eyed her speculatively. “No? Well, what are you planning to do?”

“I’m going to have a career, of course.”

“I see. Well, as soon as you know what it is, let us all in on the secret.”

“I already know!” said Elizabeth with great dignity. “I am going to be an archeologist!”

She tossed her napkin on the silver tray and left the room.

The night air was chilly, and Elizabeth wished she had brought a shawl or a sweater. Still, it wasn’t far-just down the wide lawn and across the road. The quarter moon cast a gray light on the long grass and the live oaks lining the drive. Elizabeth was nearly halfway across the yard-silent, except for the sound of her feet in the grass-when she realized that there might be a murderer loose somewhere on the grounds. She should have waited for someone to come with her, she thought with sudden panic; or at least, she might have called to let Alban know she was coming. She found herself watching the shadows among the trees, looking for shapes that moved. It was too quiet.

The lights on the first floor of the castle twinkled from between the folds of heavy curtains. Safety was a hundred yards away. With a sob of terror, Elizabeth fixed her eyes on the steep front steps and began to run. As her feet pounded against the asphalt of the road, she imagined dark shapes gliding across the lawn in pursuit. At last she reached the great double doors, her breath coming in heaves, and her mind reeling with the sinister figures she had conjured from the darkness. There didn’t seem to be a bell, and she took no time to search for one, pounding on the door as hard as she could.

After a few moments, the door opened to the dimly lit hallway, and there stood Alban, incongruous but safe-looking in his red sweatshirt and faded jeans.

“Elizabeth, what a pleasant-What’s wrong? Are you crying?”

Without waiting for an answer, he shepherded her into his study and settled her onto the velvet loveseat. “Now, you just sit right there and take deep breaths,” he advised her. “Don’t talk!” He went to the sideboard, took out a cup and saucer, and began to arrange spoons and napkins on a tray.

“No coffee, please!” she called to him. “I’ve been drinking it all day!” Her voice broke as she finished.

“I am fixing you tea,” said Alban, pouring water into a small china teapot. “You cannot drink and cry at the same time. Scientific fact. So you’re going to drink. And then you’ll tell me what this is all about.”

He brought the tray over, and set it down on the marble-top table beside the loveseat.

Elizabeth took a few tentative sips of the tea. She settled back against the cushions and concentrated on untensing her muscles. Somewhat to her surprise, Alban was not hovering. Instead he poured himself some tea, then walked to his desk and returned his attention to the checkbook and bank statement in front of him. Elizabeth watched as he worked.

There was very little family resemblance among the Chandler cousins. The Chandler genes must be recessive, she thought. Their looks ranged from the tall, sandy blondness of Bill MacPherson to the Scotch-Irish look of Alban: a short, trim Celt, with dark hair against too-white skin and cold blue eyes. Eileen had been the middle ground: mousy. Elizabeth decided that she looked more like Alban and Geoffrey-the dark Celts of the family. The Highlanders of Clan MacPherson would approve, she thought to herself, and she smiled for the first time in several hours. Alban looked up just then and returned her smile. “Feeling any better, fair lady?”

“As much as I’m going to,” Elizabeth replied. “I have some bad news, Alban.”

He heard the urgency in her tone and stopped smiling. “Tell me. What’s wrong?”

“Eileen is dead! They think it was murder, and the sheriff was here, and-”

“Stop. Right there. You’re going off again. Take another sip of tea.”

Elizabeth picked up her cup, and gulped a swallow of tea. After taking a deep breath to compose herself, she recounted the day’s events, ending with Captain Grandfather’s news of the sheriff’s call to say that Eileen had been murdered.