After more than a minute, she began tapping a finger against her chin.
“Well,” she said, “it’s just possible there’s another way.”
For the first time since flopping on the bed, I pulled myself upright.
“What? What is it?”
“Fiddlehead stew is a delicacy around here, very tasty indeed, especially with a few drops of malt vinegar. Of course, you have to be very careful not to cook it too late in the season or you risk bracken poisoning…”
Her eyes cut sideways at me, to see if I was following.
“But I suppose if the shoots were just a little bit iffy—maybe a week or two older than someone might usually use them, an inexperienced cook might decide they were still safe. And then somebody else might see the pot boiling, and—knowing that it was too late in the season to be cooking fiddleheads—come to the conclusion that someone was boiling up a batch of insecticide for the vegetable garden. And to be helpful, she might throw in a few rhubarb leaves.”
I blinked a few times.
“I don’t think I can do that,” I finally said.
“Do what?”
“Kill him,” I whispered.
“Heavens no,” Meg said sternly. “It would be an unfortunate case of kidney failure, a tragic misunderstanding.”
“Even if we make this…mistake,” I said in a strained voice, “Angus is still going to think I betrayed him. At least until I figure something out.”
“I don’t see how that’s to be avoided, since you won’t hear of being removed from the situation. If you won’t let him do anything to protect you, we certainly can’t tell him—if he thought for a moment you were being threatened, he’d take matters into his own hands, and then we’d have a body to dispose of, and not from anything nearly as neat and tidy as kidney failure. I can’t guarantee that he won’t take matters into his own hands anyway.”
“What if he stops loving me in the meantime?”
“I don’t imagine you have to worry about that,” Meg said. “But I also don’t see that you have much choice, since you won’t be talked out of doing nothing. Seeing you with your husband will crush him—that much I know.”
Chapter Forty
I could barely breathe when I descended the stairs that night, and as I crossed the small distance to the nook by the fire, I felt like I was climbing the platform to a guillotine. I wondered if Hank had filled Ellis in about our chat by the fire and my ill-advised accusations. I tried to convince myself that he wouldn’t say anything—he knew what was at stake. He couldn’t possibly hate me that much, even if it turned out he was flat-footed.
I tried to read Hank’s face as I approached the couch, but he was giving nothing away. Ellis patted the cushion next to him.
“Sit, darling! I was beginning to wonder if you’d show up.”
“I’m sorry about earlier,” I said, flashing him a quick, forced smile before taking my seat. “I’m sure that wasn’t the welcome you were hoping for.”
“Don’t be silly,” Ellis said. “I should have sent word that we were going to be staying away longer. Is your stomach any better?”
“A bit.”
My attempt at an about-face probably would have been more convincing if I’d asked him about the trip and what they’d discovered about the monster, but I knew enough about what else they’d been up to that the conversation would have required a level of artifice I couldn’t possibly sustain. For the moment, I was just going to have to blame my lack of curiosity on an upset stomach.
Angus was watching the three of us intently, his face an inscrutable mask. I couldn’t look directly at him—didn’t want to give Ellis any reason to notice him at all—but in my peripheral vision I saw the way he clunked glasses down on the bar, the way he grimly went about his business.
I couldn’t imagine what he thought. He must have known that things weren’t as they seemed, but he also must have wondered why I didn’t just tell him what was going on. I wanted to, desperately, but I was as good as shackled. Either he’d go to prison for life, or he’d kill Ellis and hang for it.
To a man, the locals were as stony and speechless as Angus, and when Willie the Postie came in, he took his seat without so much as a glance in our direction—it was as though Hank and Ellis had never been gone, and the last thirteen days hadn’t happened.
I was careful to avoid eye contact with the lumberjacks, who were clearly baffled at seeing me back in my old role as Mrs. Hyde. I sent up a silent prayer that none of them would let on that I’d been working behind the bar, because I knew with absolute certainty that if anything would send Ellis off to the phone booth, that was it.
Fortunately, the lumberjacks were much more concerned with Meg than with anything that was happening by the fire. Earlier in the afternoon, Dr. McLean had cleared her for work at the inn, although she could not yet return to the sawmill. She was painfully thin and moved carefully, but she’d made herself up and donned a bright dress, determined to carry on as usual. From the right, she was as gorgeous and perfect as ever. From the left—well, seeing her from the left made me want to cry.
“Shame about her face,” said Hank, lighting a cigarette. “She was a real looker.”
“Can’t say I noticed,” said Ellis. “But she’s definitely a wreck now.”
I wondered if the night he’d tried to break down my door ever crossed his mind, or if he had any idea what he’d planned to do if he’d succeeded.
When Meg set our plates in front of us, Ellis asked, “Is this beef?”
“Venison,” she replied.
Ellis shot Hank a gleeful look.
I hated him. Oh, how I hated him. It seethed inside my belly like a squirming snake.
—
A quarter of an hour later, an old man in a ragged uniform stumbled in and announced with drunken flourish that he’d just seen the monster.
Willie snorted. “Here we go again,” he said.
“Are you doubting me, then?” the man asked incredulously.
“Oh, heavens no. What possible reason would we have to doubt you?” said Ian Mackintosh. Chortles ran down the length of the bar.
“Well, if that’s how it’s going to be, I’ll just take my custom elsewhere.”
“You’ll be walking the two and a half miles to the Clansman, will you?” said another.
“Well, I’ll not be staying where I’m being insulted, that’s for certain!”
Willie’s orange eyebrows shot up. “You’ll be lucky to make it home, from the looks of it.”
The old man harrumphed and turned to leave, staggering toward the door.
Ellis and Hank exchanged glances. Ellis leapt up and rushed over.
“Excuse me, sir,” he said, touching the old man’s elbow, “I couldn’t help overhearing. Would you care to join us? We’d be delighted to hear about your experience.”
The man ran his rheumy eyes over Ellis, spent a moment concentrating and weaving, then poked him in the chest.
“I know you. You’re the…I know who you are,” he said, struggling to form the words. “I heard you were in town. Do you know, I met your old man. Nice chap. Very generous, if I recall.”
“Yes, that runs in the family,” Ellis said brightly. “Do come sit.” He swept an arm toward the fireplace, as though inviting the old man into our drawing room.
“Well, I don’t mind if I do,” said the man.
“Bartender?” Ellis said, snapping his fingers over his head. “Bring the gentleman whatever he wants.”
I cringed. I could only imagine Angus’s reaction, and it took every ounce of my self-control not to look.
Ellis took the old man’s arm and parked him in the chair beside Hank. After introducing the three of us, he took a seat and leaned forward, rubbing his hands together. “So, enough about us. Tell us about you.”
“The name’s Roddie McDonald,” he said. “And I should have known better than to say anything in a room full of skeptics.” He cast a disparaging look back at the bar, then leaned in to confide. “This isn’t the first time I’ve seen the monster, you know. I told your father about the other time. And very grateful, he was.” He nodded knowingly. “Your father…he was a colonel, wasn’t he? How is the old devil? He was in the Great War, like me…only now we’re supposed to call it World War One.” He looked down at himself. “This uniform…I wore it in the Battle of Liège, you know. It’s the Home Guard for me, this time around. Too old, they say…” He looked directly at me, cupped a hand around his mouth, and said in a loud, wet whisper, “Just shows what they know. I’m as much of a tiger as I ever was.”
He winked, and like a scene from a comédie grotesque, Hank and Ellis threw their heads back and howled. Roddie looked alarmed, then just confused, and then he joined in, exposing rotting teeth and the gaps between them. I shrank into my seat.
“I’ll just bet you are. Can’t keep a good man down!” said Hank. He stopped laughing and cleared his throat. “Now, start at the beginning and tell us everything.”
Although it was perfectly obvious that Roddie had come to the inn with financial gain in mind, I sensed immediately that something more was going on. He claimed to have seen the monster at the Water Gate, which should have upset Hank and Ellis since that was exactly where they’d been setting up shop, but they displayed not so much as a ripple of displeasure. Instead, they were attentive and encouraging, dazzling in their conviviality. I imagined them in tuxedos, holding court in some mansion on Rittenhouse Square.
Roddie clearly relished the audience, making wild expressions, inflecting dramatically, and illustrating with his hands. “Then, with no warning at all, the surface began to boil and churn, and suddenly the neck and head rose straight out of the water, not fifty yards away!” Roddie shook his head in wonder. “Oh, it was a sight to behold…”
“The neck was long and curved, was it not?” said Ellis.