Nancy Atherton - Aunt Dimity's Death

“Waders? At dawn? What have you gotten me into?”

“Keep your voice down.” I steered him over to sit on a low, burgundy plush couch at the opposite end of the room. “I have a feeling that Mrs. Hume’s hearing is excellent.”

He glared belligerently at the door, but lowered his voice. “Lori, I’ll make a fool of myself out there. I don’t know the first thing about fishing.”

“I have complete confidence in your ability to fake it,” I said cheerfully. “Playing fisherman can’t be all that much harder than playing chauffeur.”

“Are you still mad about that? Lori—”

“I’m not mad about anything. You’ll do fine. Just take your cues from Andrew and let Colin bait your hook. And while you’re out there, suggest a walk around the grounds, maybe a hike up to the falcons’ nest.”

“More hiking?” Bill groaned and buried his face in his hands. “I still have blisters from Pouter’s Hill.”

“Then put on an extra pair of socks,” I said sternly. “Listen, Bill, do whatever you can to keep Andrew and Colin away from the house tomorrow.”

“Don’t tell me.” Bill raised his head from his hands. “While I’m out there drowning, you’ll be in here searching for whatever it was that Bobby left to Dimity.”

“You saw what Andrew did with the letter,” I said. “Why would he destroy it if he was telling us the truth? It was an incredibly stupid thing to do, don’t you think? Like shouting ‘I’m innocent’ before we’d even accused him of anything. He must have known it would arouse our suspicions.”

“I don’t think MacLaren’s thinking very clearly,” said Bill. “That’s why I kept a certified copy.”

“What?”

“Keep your voice down,” said Bill, his good humor fully restored. “Remember Mrs. Hume.”

“You rat,” I whispered. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I wanted one of us to have an authentic reaction. I’m a lawyer, so he wouldn’t expect one from me, but—”

“But authentic reactions are my specialty. Thanks a lot.”

Bill stretched his legs out and tucked a fringed throw pillow behind his head. “I thought something might be up when I talked to him on the telephone. He wanted nothing to do with us at first, but as soon as I mentioned the letter, he couldn’t invite us up here fast enough. It seemed odd to me. There’s a photocopy machine in Miss Kingsley’s office, and Miss K counts among her many talents those of a commissioner for oaths. That’s a notary public, to you.”

“Then you agree with me? You think he’s hiding something?”

“I do. What’s more, I think it might be out in the open and he must think it’s something we’d recognize on sight. Otherwise, Mrs. Hume wouldn’t have dropped her leaden hint about staying in our rooms.”

I nodded slowly, then got up and walked over to the windows. Pulling the drapes aside, I looked into inky darkness. Not a glimmer of starlight reflected from the lapping waves of the loch. With a shiver, I turned back to Bill. “Why’d he invite you to go fishing, then? You’d think he’d want us out of here as soon as possible.”

“Who knows? Maybe he’s lonely. Maybe he’s tired of hiding. Or maybe he feels safe with the dragon lady to watch his back. How do you plan to get around her?”

“Mrs. Hume doesn’t know it yet, but she’s going to give me a tour of the hall.”

“Is she?”

I returned to the couch. “You heard the way Andrew talked about the place—he’s bound to want to show it off, and if you persuade him to take you on an excursion, he’ll have to deputize someone. My guess is that it’ll be Mrs. Hume. If she’s going to be breathing down my neck anyway, I might as well make use of her.”

“Thus, by a process of elimination…”

“Whatever she doesn’t show me tomorrow must be what we want to see. That’s why I need you to keep Andrew away as long as possible. This is a big place and I’m going to insist on seeing all of it.” I paused for a moment in silent thought, then asked, “What did you think of the chapel?”

Bill snuggled his head deeper into the pillow and shuddered. “Pouter’s Hill it most certainly is not.”

“No. No light, no warmth, no open space.” I frowned. “It doesn’t seem right, somehow, that Bobby’s only monument should be a plaque in the damp corner of a mausoleum in the middle of nowhere. I find it very hard to believe that Andrew can sense his presence down there. Everyone we’ve talked to—his brother included—remembers Bobby as bursting with life, vibrant.”

“Dancing, laughing, lighting up the room.”

“Exactly. Bobby’s name seems out of place in that cold hole. And did you notice that Andrew never once mentioned Dimity? Not once. Do you suppose he was jealous of her? Afraid she would steal Bobby away from him? Is that what this is all about?”

“I’ve got a better one for you. Why doesn’t Dimity take care of it herself?”

I looked at him blankly.

“Lori, if she can fix Reginald and write in journals and send Evan packing, why can’t she just swoop in here and get whatever it is Bobby meant for her to have? For that matter, why can’t she just fly straight into Bobby’s arms?”

“I—I don’t know.”

Bill tented his fingers and looked thoughtfully at the ceiling. “I think it’s because she loves you.”

“But she loved Bob—”

Bill’s hand shot up. “Hush. My theory, such as it is, requires patience.” Folding his arms, he went on. “Dimity loves you. You’re her spiritual daughter, so to speak. Every single manifestation of her supernatural power has been for your benefit, from lending a hand in the kitchen to helping Derek finish the cottage on time. This much we know for sure.”

“Yes, but—” Bill gave me a sidelong glare and I subsided.

“We also know that she loved Bobby, probably as much as she loves you, if the Pym sisters are to be believed. Regardless of that, her… spirit… is unable to connect with his. Why? If she loved both of you, why can she make contact with you but not Bobby?”

I shrugged.

“I think it’s because her bond of love with you was never broken.”

“But her bond with Bobby was?” I ventured.

“In a way that required forgiveness.” Bill took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “A theory. Only a theory. One step at a time, and I don’t know about you, but my next step is going to be toward the bed.” His head moved from the pillow to my shoulder. “Now, about the sleeping arrangements…”

“They will stay as they are.” I nudged his head back onto the pillow and got to my feet. “We don’t want to scandalize Mrs. Hume.”

“I think Mrs. Hume could use a nice juicy bit of scandal.”

“Be that as it may,” I said, heading for the door, “you need your rest. Your fishy friends will be waiting at the crack of dawn.” Halfway out the door, I said over my shoulder, “Besides, Bill, we’re hardly a pair of teenagers, are we?”

I ducked as the throw pillow sailed past me into the hall.

22

There was fresh salmon at breakfast, but Andrew and I had to start without Bill. He was up in his room, changing into dry clothes.

“I warned him to watch his step,” said Andrew, “but he became overexcited when he saw the falcons. I don’t suppose he sees many in America.”

“No, I suppose he doesn’t,” I said, accepting another cup of tea from Mrs. Hume. She hovered silently between us, filling cups, removing plates, and generally overseeing the meal.

The night’s sleep and the morning’s outing had done little to refresh my host. His eyes were shadowed, his face drawn, and his thoughts seemed to wander at times, yet he seemed oddly bent on helping us to enjoy the rest of our stay.