Devil May Care (8 page)

"So the night specter couldn't have been Ted."

"No way. Anyhow, you don't think Ted would--"

"I no longer make didactic pronouncements about what people will or will not do. Given sufficient provocation, the mildest of men and women--"

"Soapbox yourself," Ellie said.

"No, no; I'm stating an essential truth. Motive is the last thing you look for in detective work. Means and opportunity--"

"But this isn't a detective story. It's a--" "Gothic novel," said Donald. His eyebrows went up, and his face became a caricature of enthusiastic surprise. "By God, that's just what it is. A beautiful young heroine in a strange old mansion, beleaguered by-"

"What do you know about Gothic novels? They're women's--"

"I spent six weeks in a place where there was nothing to do but read and very little choice of reading materials," said Donald. His face momentarily lost all traces of amusement. "What I am trying to say--"

"What do you mean, trying? You're the one who keeps interrupting me, and if ... "

Her voice trailed off into silence. Donald sat looking at her with an expression of polite patience, and after a moment she began to laugh.

"All right. No more interruptions on either side.

What I meant to say, before we wandered off into a morass of non sequiturs, was that you seem to

6O Elizabeth Peters assume that my experiences were deliberately produced by a material agency." "I don't believe in ghosts," said Donald.

"I don't either."

"Then what do you propose as a working hypothesis?"

"I haven't got a hypothesis, working or unemployed.

Not enough data."

"You have the rudiments of a logical mind," Donald said approvingly. "Tell you what; come to supper tonight and tell my dad your wild tale. He does have a logical mind. Maybe he can suggest something."

"I don't know ... "

"That's why I came, actually. To invite you." "I thought you came to mow the lawn," Ellie said pointedly.

"I can't mow today. The grass is too wet."

"Then shouldn't you be digging or something?"

"Is that a subtle hint?"

"Not subtle."

"True." Donald stood up, in a single economical movement. His bones and muscles stood out too sharply, but they seemed to be in excellent working order. "All right, I'll go dig. We'll expect you about six. Turn left when you get to the highway ... "

Ellie let him finish the directions, which were not complex; the house was only two miles away by road.

Then she said, "Are you sure your mother is expecting me? I mean, you didn't just cook this invitation up on the spur of the moment, did you?"

"My mother is dead," said Donald. "My father is expecting you."

He turned on his heel and walked away.

DEVIL-MAY-CARE 61

When Ellie left the house early that evening, the shadows of the trees and shrubs were elongated shapes of darkness across the sunlit lawn. It had been a golden afternoon, surprisingly cool for that time of year. The grounds had never looked lovelier.

The grass was a little long, but everything else was in perfect condition. Ellie had to admit that Donald seemed to be doing a good job. But it was a stupid way for a man of his age and background to spend his time.

The Golds' home was another eighteenth-century charmer, its red brick Georgian facade mellowed by centuries, its fine old lawns and trees golden green in the late-afternoon sunlight. But the house and grounds were not so well tended as Kate's; like the cobbler's shoeless children, the grass indicated that Donald exercised his gardening talents elsewhere.

The house appealed to Ellie at once. A little shabby, a little neglected, it suggested an elderly aristocrat who has allowed himself to spread out and slump comfortably.

There was another car parked in the drive when Ellie pulled up. It might have belonged to Donald or his father, but the long, sleek lines and prestigious emblem didn't go with the house, and Ellie was not surprised to learn that it belonged to a visitor. Donald, meeting her at the front door, had time for a hastily whispered warning before he led her into the parlor.

"Sorry, we've got company--we'll get rid of him as soon as we can. An old enemy of Kate's, maybe she told you ... " And then they were in the parlor; smoothly Donald raised his voice and went on, "Ellie, I don't know whether you've met Mr. Mcgrath, the head of the local schoolboard. And this is my father."

Ellie liked the note of pride in his voice, especially

82 Elizabeth Peters

since the man who had risen to greet her was not an imposing figure. Like the house, he had let himself spread out. He was as tall as his son, but his stomach hung comfortably over his belt and his shock of iron-gray hair needed trimming. Keen dark eyes inspected her with friendly approval and a big, warm hand closed firmly over hers.

"Now I remember you," Ellie said, returning his smile. "The year I got measles. I was ten."

"It would be trite but true to say you've changed considerably," the doctor said. "And for the better."

It was trite, but it didn't sound trite, not in his deep, sincere voice. He didn't give her time to reply; still holding her hand he turned her toward the stranger.

"Mr. Mcgrath dropped in to discuss some of the issues we'll be voting on in November."

Mcgrath was dressed with a fussy neatness that contrasted with the rumpled clothes of the Golds; but then, Ellie thought involuntarily, his face needed all the help it could get. His hair was snow white and so was the moustache that bristled out on either side of his long, pointed nose. His chin had no chance at all against the nose. His eyes were a pale, washedout blue. And when he smiled, Ellie conjectured that his parents had not patronized orthodontists.

Reluctantly Ellie surrendered her hand into Megrath's; it was pinkly clean and a little damp.

"Goodness, yes, you have indeed changed," he exclaimed, squeezing her fingers. "I remember you as a little pig tailed charmer. But I daren't hope that you remember me. We met only briefly."

"You look very familiar," Ellie said truthfully. She did not mention that she had never in her life worn her hair in pigtails. "Are you running for reelection this fall, Mr. Mcgrath?"

"Let's not talk about politics," Donald said. "It's so dull. What'll you have, Ellie? Martini, gin and tonic, Scotch, sherry?"

DEVIL-MAY-CARE 63

Mr. Mcgrath gave her barely time to express her preference before he burst out.

"If I didn't know you were joking, Donald, I would scold you severely. What would we do without politics?

Why, they are the basis of our democratic system!

I am indeed running for reelection, dear child, and I hope I may count on your support."

Ellie saw the Golds, father and son, exchange glances of amused despair.

"But I'm not a resident," she protested. "I couldn't vote for you if I wanted to, Mr. Mcgrath."

"You wouldn't want to," said Donald, not quite sotto voce.

Mcgrath gave Donald a spiteful glance, but pretended not to hear.

"No, of course not, my dear; but you could influence your aunt's vote."

Ellie laughed. "I don't think anyone can influence my aunt, Mr. Mcgrath. Anyway, what does one vote matter?"

Mcgrath's eyes narrowed. Again Ellie was conscious of a sense of familiarity. Where had she seen that face before?

"For some unaccountable reason your aunt carries considerable weight in this county, Ellie. She is not even a member of one of the old families, and yet--"

"Oh, come, Roger," the doctor protested. "This isn't the eighteenth century; old families don't mean a curse these days, and I for one am glad of it."

"There were only six of them to begin with," Donald said, before Mcgrath could reply. He handed Ellie a tall glass, frosted with cold, as he continued smoothly, "Six Cavaliers, fleeing Cromwell--or was it Cumberland the Butcher?--who settled in this peaceful valley. I'm going to write a book about it someday. One of those decadent Southern novels that are all the rage. You know, miscegenation and incest and rape and other popular subjects."

64 Elizabeth Peters The doctor's smiling glance at Ellie was casual, but for some queer reason she already felt as if she could read his mind. He and Donald were trying to keep Mcgrath off the subject of politics; now it was her turn to contribute a distraction. Valiantly she plunged in.

"How interesting! You know, I found a book about the county in a secondhand bookstore. I brought it for Kate as a housegift."

"What book is that?" Mcgrath asked sharply.

Ellie told him.

"Oh, yes," Mcgrath said. "The local library has a copy. I believe it is quite a rare book."

"That's what Ted said." Ellie added, smiling, "He also said it was a pack of lies."

A spark of anger flared in Mcgrath's pale eyes; for an instant they looked red instead of blue, and once again Ellie was struck by that jab of familiarity.

Once again she failed to pin it down.

"Ted!" Mcgrath snorted. "He ought to know about lies. Perverted, sick, disgusting--"

"That's enough, Roger," the doctor said. His voice was quiet, but it held a note that stopped Mcgrath's tirade.

The man was quivering with genuine indignation.

Ellie could understand why he and Kate didn't get along. Kate could never resist the temptation to jab pins in pompous, inflated egos. Yes, Ellie thought, as she studied Mcgrath's twitching moustache--the temptation is almost irresistible.

"Ted told me one strange story," she said innocently.

"You mean that was a lie? About his ancestor who ran off with the wife of some local dignitary, and they found the bodies the following spring?"

Donald gurgled into his glass and tried, unsuccessfully, to turn the sound into a cough. Mcgrath turned crimson.

"Is he spreading that outrageous story again? I DEWLM^y-CARE 65

told you, Doctor, he is out to destroy me. Such incredible malice--"

"Now how could that story harm you?" the doctor broke in. "True or not, it happened a century ago.

Really, Roger, nobody cares any longer."

"Of course they care!" Mcgrath's voice rose a full octave. "I tell you, Doctor, I shall sue if Ted continues this sort of thing. I won't have my family traduced, insulted--"

Donald rose to his feet with a cry of alarm. Even Mcgrath was silenced, and all eyes turned toward Donald.

"My casserole," Donald exclaimed, in a dreadfully accurate imitation of Mcgrath's squeak. "It will be ruined. I do hate to end this fascinating conversation, but I cannot see my beautiful casserole overdone --burned, perhaps! Roger, you will excuse us?"

Not even Mcgrath could ignore the directness of the hint. He rose to his feet; with a visible effort, he summoned up his most engaging smile and turned it on Ellie.

"My dear wife's dinner will be ready, too. I must go. We'll talk again, my dear. I am sure you don't share the calloused indifference of the younger generation toward the vital issues that concern this nation.

The old-fashioned virtues that are, alas, dying amid a morass of apathy, sex, drugs, violence. But they are not yet moribund--no! I have dedicated myself to the task of reviving them--"

"You'll have to meet my fiance," Ellie said, without thinking. Then she added quickly, "No, Mr. Mcgrath, sorry; he doesn't live here either, he's a lawyer in Washington."

"My casserole," groaned Donald. His father took Mcgrath by the arm and led him out, still talking.

Donald dropped into a chair.

"That was a mistake," he said. "No, don't get up, love; we have plenty of time for another drink, un88 Elizabeth Peters contaminated by the taste oi Mcgrath. I had to think of something to get him out of here."

"What was a mistake?" Ellie demanded.

"Mentioning that you have a fiance who is a Washington big shot. Oh, I know you didn't say that, but that's how Mcgrath will interpret it. How did you happen to get engaged to a pompous windbag?"

"How did you--I mean, what makes you think he's a pompous windbag?" Ellie demanded indignantly.

She had to raise her voice for the latter part of the sentence to be heard over Donald's laughter.

"Gave yourself away there, didn't you?" he said, between chuckles.

"I know Kate didn't like him, but she had no right to discuss him with you."

"Now, be reasonable. When did Kate have time to discuss him with me?"

Ellie was silenced. She really couldn't visualize Kate calling Donald in the middle of the night to gossip about Henry. Donald went on, "So Kate didn't like him. That's interesting." "Why?" Ellie demanded suspiciously.

Before Donald could answer, his father came back.

He was mopping his forehead.

"Hot out there," he explained ingenuously. Then, as he saw Ellie's flushed face, he demanded, "Another argument? Donald, how many times have I told you--"

"I don't know why everybody always assumes it's my fault," Donald complained. "Sit down and relax, Dad. You're too good-natured. You should tell that creepy character you've no intention of voting for him, then he'd stop coming."

"He wouldn't believe me." The doctor sat down, stretching out his long legs with an air of pleased relief. "The best way to stop his coming is to tell him he's convinced me. I can't quite bring myself to do it."

"What are his policies?" Ellie asked.

DEVIL-MAY-CARE 87

"Can't you guess?"

"Stricter discipline? Back to the basics, no frills, the three R's?"

"The trouble is, it sounds so reasonable," the doctor said mildly. "We're all in favor of discipline, and there is certainly some justification for the complaint that the children aren't being taught basic skills adequately. But Mcgrath and his crowd are primarily interested in cutting expenses and, consequently, taxes. They want to cancel all the extracurricular programs--music, art, driver training--"

"And censor the library/' Donald said. "That's where he and Kate came to blows, Ellie. Last year the schoolboard insisted that The Lottery be removed from the English curriculum. Mcgrath said they didn't want the children to read a book that showed kids stoning their mothers to death."