Sharyn McCrumb - Sick Of Shadows

“… which was just a little while ago, and then I came over to tell you. It was dark outside, and I was about halfway here when I suddenly realized that the murderer might still be around. I just panicked. When you opened the door-I was never so glad to see anybody in my whole life!”

But Alban was not listening anymore. He stared down at the rug as if she were no longer there.

“Alban?” said Elizabeth, touching his shoulder. “Alban!”

“How do they know?” he murmured.

“Know what?”

“That she was-that somebody put her in the boat. How do they know?”

“Oh.” He was looking at her again, but his attention was now on the events themselves, not on comforting her. Stifling a flicker of annoyance, Elizabeth answered, “The lab report said that she had been hit on the head. But they seem to think it was the snake that actually killed her. Do you think the killer knew that the snake was in the boat?”

Alban shook his head, uninterested in the question. “Poor Eileen. You know, every year, Miss Brunson from the high school brings her class up here when they’re studying Macbeth .”

Elizabeth nodded, wondering what this had to do with Eileen.

“I give them a tour of this place-even though it has nothing at all to do with Scotland. And well, she even talked me into reading the Tomorrow soliloquy for them this year.” He smiled, remembering himself at the top of the staircase quoting Shakespeare to thirty restless seniors. “I started with the line ‘She should have died hereafter.’ That’s what this made me think of. That line-‘She should have died hereafter.’ ”

“I know.”

“How are they taking it?” he asked.

Elizabeth frowned. “Oh, different ways, but they’re putting up a good front.”

“Is there anything I can do, do you think?”

“The sheriff will probably want to talk to you tomorrow. And you might try to keep Satisky occupied. He’s underfoot, nauseating everybody with quotes. In fact, when we found her body, he started spouting poetry. From The Lady of Shalott by Tennyson.”

“Oh, you recognized it?”

“No. Geoffrey told me later. But I thought it was very insensitive of him. Oh, another thing you might do, Alban, is to tell your mother about this…”

“Tell me what?” Louisa, bundled in a lavender bathrobe, stood smiling in the doorway. “Oh, tea! Splendid!”

Alban brought her another cup, and she poured tea for herself. “Now what is this all about?” she demanded.

“I’m afraid it’s bad news, Mother.”

“Well-are you going to tell me or not?”

They told her, in rambling and what they believed to be diplomatic terms. Louisa, however, immediately pressed for details.

“Who do you suppose did it?” asked Louisa with lively interest. “Are the migrant workers here yet?”

“Mother!”

“Well, who else could it have been? That nervous young man she’s engaged to? I don’t see why he’d do it. It wasn’t as if she had been unfaithful to him, like-”

“Mother, the sheriff will take care of the investigation!” said Alban sharply. “I think we should worry about what we can do to help Uncle Robert, don’t you?”

“Yes, Alban,” said Louisa in a more subdued tone. “It’s such a shame. Eileen did so want to be happy. I don’t think she would have been with that young man of hers, but I wish she had been given the chance anyway.” She walked to the desk and began to rearrange the roses in a crystal vase. “Why is it that every time Amanda and I plan a wedding, something terrible happens? How is Amanda, by the way?”

“She went up to her room and we haven’t seen her since,” said Elizabeth.

“Just like her. Oh dear, Alban, do you think the white roses are past their prime? Or should we just go with the red?”

Elizabeth stood up. “I’d really better be getting back,” she whispered to Alban.

“All right. I’ll walk you to the door,” said Alban, following her into the hall.

“Just to the door?”

“I’d better stay with Mother. Why? Are you so afraid?” Then he smiled and patted her shoulder. “Oh, you’ll be safe, Cousin Elizabeth. As long as you stay off of boats. Now, do you want me to walk you back?”

“No,” murmured Elizabeth. “I guess I don’t.”

With a hasty good night, she let herself out the front door, and hurried across the dark road.

By the time she remembered to worry about lurking murderers she had arrived at the front door of the Chandler house. The porch light had been left on for her, and the door was unlocked. She closed the front door as quietly as possible and tiptoed down the hall.

“Is that you, Elizabeth?” called a voice from the kitchen.

She peeped around the corner and saw that the kitchen light was on. “Geoffrey?” she called out in a stage whisper.

“No. It’s me. Charles. I found some cookies. Want some?”

He was sitting at the kitchen table with a plate of chocolate chip cookies and a glass of milk.

“Well, maybe just one,” said Elizabeth, taking the other chair. “Thank you for waiting up for me.”

“Nah. Had to get up to answer the phone anyway. Your brother’s roommate called. He said Bill wasn’t back yet, and since it was getting so late, he’d have him call first thing in the morning. Want a glass of milk?”

“I guess so,” sighed Elizabeth. If people keep comforting me with liquids, she thought, I’ll have to carry a bedpan around with me.

He took a plastic milk jug from the refrigerator and filled another glass. “There you are.”

“I guess everybody else has gone to bed.”

“Yep.”

“Couldn’t you sleep?”

“No.”

As conversations go, this one wasn’t going far. Elizabeth cast about for a new topic.

“So Charles, what do you know about anthropology?”

Charles peered at her over the rim of his glass, which he had been about to drink from. “Anthropology?”

“Yes. Well, really, archeology. You know: digging for lost cities and all.”

“Elizabeth, I’m a physicist.”

“Well, of course, I know that.” She coughed. “I-er-just thought that since it was science, you might know something about it.”

Charles was puzzled. “But why would you think that?”

“I don’t know. I just…”

His face lit up with mistaken comprehension. “I see! You mean because of the dating process!”

Elizabeth blushed. “Well, actually I haven’t even met him-”

“Carbon-fourteen dating! Of course! It’s practically indispensable in archeology. They use it to determine the age of their finds. Wonderful trick, really. Here, I’ll explain how it works.”

“But, Charles, I-”

“-heavy radioactive isotope of carbon, mass number fourteen, and-”

Elizabeth nodded politely through the explanation of half-life and radioactive traces. She reasoned that if she admitted her real interest in archeology-a misty image of herself and Milo discovering Atlantis together-she would sound much more foolish than she cared to. Sitting through Charles’s lecture seemed to be the easiest way out. After several minutes of animated explanation, Charles wound down. Noticing a glass coffee pot on the stove, Elizabeth asked: “Were you planning to make coffee? The water’s not on.”

“Good Lord! I’d forgotten all about it. Thanks for reminding me! I’d better move it before somebody tries to make tea with it.”

He moved the beaker of water from the stove to the countertop, in slow cautious movements.

Elizabeth watched him wide-eyed. “It won’t explode, will it?”

“What, this? It’s just salt and water.”

“It looks clear to me,” said Elizabeth. Like nitroglycerin.

“I supersaturated the water with salt while it was boiling. That’s why you can’t see it. That was hours ago. While we were waiting for the sheriff to call, and I didn’t have anything to do.”