Ann-Marie MacDonald - Way the Crow Flies

“Answer your mother,” says Dad.

Madeleine swallows and says, “I wanted to find her other streamer.”

Maman says, “Whose?”

“Claire’s.” The word floats up like a tiny balloon.

Maman covers her face — she is crying, tears gush through her fingers, her red nails.

“I’m sorry, Maman.”

Mike stops eating and looks at his mother. He rises from his chair, hesitates, then pours some tea into her cup, “Tiens, maman.” Mimi looks up, sniffs and smiles at her son, wiping her nose with her serviette.

Her father says gently, “Did you go to Rock Bass, sweetie?”

Madeleine nods. Maman seizes her, pulls her onto her lap, jams Madeleine’s head against her shoulder and starts rocking.

Dad says, “Listen, old buddy, look me in the eye.” Maman stops rocking but still has her in a headlock. “You know it was wrong to lie to your teacher and to play hooky from school, don’t you?”

Madeleine nods.

“But do you know what’s a hundred times worse?”

Madeleine shakes her head.

“You going to a dangerous place like that. A little girl has been killed. Do you understand what that means?”

“Jack,” says Mimi softly.

“Yes,” says Madeleine clearly, so Maman won’t think that she too, like Mike, needs to be rescued from Dad.

“The worst thing you could do, to me and to Maman and to Mike, would be to put yourself in danger. How would you feel if Maman died?”

“Terrible,” she whispers.

“What if I died?”

“Awful.”

“Well, multiply that by a thousand and that’s how Maman and I would feel if we lost you. Now, I want you to promise me, in front of your family, not to leave the PMQs without one of us. Ever. Swear it on your honour.”

“I swear.”

Maman kisses her head fiercely, then sets her on her feet, gets up and reaches into her purse for her compact.

Madeleine says, “I didn’t go alone—” thinking that will make them all feel better, knowing in the next instant that it won’t, when she is forced to say, “I went with Colleen.”

Maman spanks her sharply — once, but it’s enough. Dad makes a calming gesture with his hand and she lights a cigarette. “Eat up now,” he says to Madeleine.

She returns to her soup. Maman turns on the radio. Soothing sounds of the Boston Pops mingle with the refreshing aroma of Cameo menthol.

After a decent interval, Madeleine says, “Dad, am I going to start riding lessons?”

Jack looks at his daughter.

“Auriel said you were going to take me for riding lessons. Like Lisa.”

Mimi looks at him and he shrugs.

“Did I wreck the surprise?” asks Madeleine.

Jack says, “No surprise about it. Would you like to start riding?”

“Sure.”

He would like to leave right now, get back to work; he can feel indigestion setting in. What is this junk he’s eating, anyhow? Damn Vic Boucher for a miserable busybody. What else has he told his wife, his kids? That Jack McCarthy was seen driving a blue Galaxy? He stirs his tea with his fork — no sign of a spoon on the table — and reflects that he ought not to blame Vic. After all, if it hadn’t been for the Boucher girl asking her mother if she could visit Madeleine, who was “home sick” yesterday afternoon, he and Mimi never would have known that their little girl was off hiking to the murder scene. Jack would like to punch Mr. Marks right in his foolish face. The idiot told Mimi over the phone that Madeleine had feigned a doctor’s appointment. What’s the good of teacher’s college if you can’t tell when a child is lying? Jack went over the miserable son of a bitch’s head and gave the principal a piece of his mind. Meanwhile his son is jabbering away in French. “In English, so the whole table can understand you.”

Mike reddens and says, “I just want to know why he doesn’t come forward.”

“Who?” says Jack.

“The air force guy. How come he won’t say he saw Rick on the road?”

“I’ve had just about enough of this subject, let’s talk about something nice for a change. What did you learn at school this morning?”

Back at work, Jack circulates a memo to his department heads, and by three o’clock six air force hats have been delivered to his office and overturned on his desk. He is reminded of his early days in accounts as he rapidly totals the bills. He has four hundred and seventy-two dollars to plunk into Henry Froelich’s hand. He adds another two hundred on Simon’s account. Froelich has hired the best lawyer in London, and the best costs money.

“The following little girls will remain after three.” Madeleine looks up. She is already taking her homework out of her desk, preparing to bolt with the rest of the class at the sound of the bell—

“Madeleine McCarthy …”

She freezes.

“Marjorie Nolan and Grace Novotny.”

Has she time-travelled back to October? If she looks outside, will the leaves be red and gold? No, because Claire McCarroll’s desk is empty. It’s still April. Mr. March has put Madeleine back into the exercise group and there is nothing she can do about it.

Auriel turns to her with a quizzical expression but Madeleine can’t move her muscles to return the look. Only her eyes can move.

The other kids leave forever, and Madeleine remains at her desk along with Marjorie and Grace. Mr. March is up at his desk, cleaning his glasses. A tap at the door. He answers it and the policeman comes in. The sight of his friendly uniform is a relief, but a second man follows him in. He wears a raincoat open over a civilian suit and he’s holding a hat. He has a sharp face. Madeleine fears she has seen him in a dream, but how is that possible? Are they going to run the exercise group now, with Mr. March?

Mr. March says, “The police want to ask you young ladies a few questions about your friend Claire.”

Madeleine feels her body return to life, like a leaf in water. Mr. March sends her out to wait in the corridor with Grace Novotny.

Marjorie puts the noose around his neck.

“Ricky asked me to go to Rock Bass.”

“He did?”

“Mm-hm.”

Inspector Bradley is seated beside the teacher’s desk, facing the little girl. He has positioned the teacher behind her so that she won’t look to him for cues. The man sits at one of the child-sized desks. Constable Lonergan stands by the door, taking notes.

“When?” asks Bradley.

“Um. On that day.”

“What day?”

“The day that — the day when she got lost.”

“Who? Claire?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Go on.”

Marjorie smiles and the serious man leans forward. Their knees are almost touching. “He was always asking me on picnics,” she says, breezy.

The inspector lifts one eyebrow slightly. Marjorie looks down, folds her hands in her lap and adds, “Well, not always, maybe just once or twice.”

“What did he say when he asked you?”

“He just said, ‘Hey Marjorie, would you like to come for a picnic at Rock Bass? I know where there is a nest.’”

“And what did you say?”

“I said my mother wouldn’t let me.”

“Did you ask your mother?”

“No, because I knew she wouldn’t let me.”

“Why wouldn’t she let you?”

“Well, for one thing,” says Marjorie, “my mother is sick and she needs me to look after her. And for another thing,” she adds gaily, “Ricky Froelich is way too old for me!” And she chuckles.

Inspector Bradley smiles and doesn’t take his eyes off her. Marjorie smooths her hair and smiles back. “Marjorie,” he says, resting his elbows on his knees, “has Ricky ever”—choosing his words—“behaved in such a way as to—”

The tiny desk chair creaks as the teacher shifts his weight.