Troubles in the Brasses (26 page)

“You’re in charge, Sheriff.” Madoc gave Mrs. Bassock one of his shyest and winsomest smiles. “I’m sure my parents will be willing to stay and supervise the cleanup crew. Come in and meet them.”

“Glad to. Say, Rick tells me your father’s Sir Emlyn Rhys. I’ve got a little bone I’ve been wanting to pick with that fellow. How come in
Judas Maccabaeus
when they sing ‘See the conquering hero comes,’ he always makes his chorus keep the volume down? Hell’s fire, if I ever saw a conquering hero coming, seems to me I’d be out there giving ’er the old fortissimo like a he-elk in rutting season.”

“I’m afraid I can’t help you on that one, Sheriff. You’ll have to take the matter up with the maestro, and here he is. Mother, this is Sheriff Bassock, who’s going to be handling the case from here on. And my father, Sir Emlyn Rhys. Tad, the sheriff wants to pick a bone with you.”

“That can wait,” said Sheriff Bassock briskly. “Business before pleasure, not that I’m not mighty proud to meet you, Sir Emlyn. I’m a big fan of yours, mostly. Howdy, Lady Rhys. Must be quite a treat for you, watching your son pinch the bad guy.”

“It’s been a revelation, I have to say,” Lady Rhys answered. “Would you like to see Madoc’s prisoner?”

It might have been her son’s butterfly collection she was offering to show, Madoc thought, not that he’d ever had one. Mildly entertained, he waited until the sheriff had fished around in the back of her wagon and extracted a pair of handcuffs from among a good many children’s toys, a picnic basket, a lap robe, a bag of groceries, and a roll of knitting that looked as if the family cat had been at it.

“Don’t suppose I’ll need my shootin’ iron, do you?” she asked him. “I hate toting the cussed thing. Always seems to me any woman worth her salt ought to be able to manage without it.”

“My mother would be the first to agree with you,” said Madoc. “She never carries one, either. Right, Mum?”

“Absolutely,” said Lady Rhys. “Mind that top step, Sheriff, it’s a trifle wobbly. On the whole, though, I must say we’ve found the accommodations quite satisfactory, considering the circumstances.”

“The Magsworths will be glad to know that,” Sheriff Bassock replied politely as she followed her hostess inside to the lobby and walked straight over to the woman Joe and Dave were guarding. “So this is your murderer, eh? Doesn’t surprise me any. She’s got a mean mouth. Okay, sister, upsy-daisy. You want to walk out to the wagon by yourself, or do I have to sling you over my shoulder?”

“We had to tie her feet,” Madoc apologized. “She was kicking everybody.”

“One of those, eh? I don’t mind the kickers so much as I do the biters. If there’s one thing I hate, it’s being gnawed by an outlaw. If you’re planning to keep those teeth in your mouth, lady, you’d better not try to use ’em on me. Here, let me get this scarf off your hands so I can handcuff you proper. And don’t try any funny business while I’m doing it. Like the poet says, the older I grow, the meaner I get.”

“I’m sure you do,” Lucy snapped back. “I just hope you’re prepared to lose a lawsuit for false arrest.”

“Oh, pooh! You needn’t try to con me, girlie. Inspector Rhys doesn’t make mistakes, and neither do I.” The sheriff whipped the scarf away and clamped on the handcuffs practically in one motion. “Now sit there and behave yourself till I get back, or you’ll be sorry you didn’t. That’s not a threat, that’s a promise. Where’s the victim, Inspector?”

“We had to put him out in the woodshed so we could get breakfast. Through here.”

“Hell, son, I know this place a damned sight better than you ever will. My grandma was a dance hall girl here. Married a traveling evangelist, settled down in the valley, and opened a wedding chapel with an undertaking parlor on the side. Yup, they got ’em coming and going, Grammy and the Reverend. I don’t suppose you’d remember that old song about when Mother played the organ and Daddy sang a hymn? That was them; they used to put on a real good show, whichever way the customer wanted it. Too bad they’re not still around, they could have given your friend in the woodshed a bang-up sendoff.”

“We don’t care,” David Gabriel told her. “He was no friend to anybody, as it turned out. More like what Lex Laramie would call an ornery varmint, if I employ the epithet correctly.”

“Shucks, I suppose that means his folks won’t want him back and the county’ll get stuck with the burying costs.”

“I’m sure the Wagstaffe Orchestra will stand the expense,” Sir Emlyn reassured the sheriff. “Rintoul was, after all, their first chair trombonist.”

This was probably the closest thing to a eulogy that Cedric Rintoul was going to get.

L
OADING THE TWO WAGONS
took some time. The wayfarers’ luggage had to be brought downstairs and stowed aboard. Delicia Fawn had to take a tempestuous farewell of Steve MacVittie, now a palsied wreck of his former stalwart self. He looked more relieved than bereft by the time Delicia had torn herself away and climbed in beside Rick. The ranger insisted Helene Dufresne join them in the front seat as chaperone, he being a married man with a growing family.

Corliss Blair, Ainsworth Kight, and the by now quite recklessly entwined Norma Bellini and Jacques-Marie Houdon made up the rest of Rick’s passenger quotient. Joe Ragovsky and David Gabriel were staying behind with the elder Rhyses and the two pilots to do what tidying they could before the ranger came back. Everybody was sorry that Steve and Ed were to be left alone, but it wouldn’t be for long. Rick had brought a message from Mr. Zlubert that new parts for the plane and a team of mechanics to install them would be arriving before dark and that they’d be bringing supper with them.

Despite the harrowing scene they’d just sat through, the crew in the ranger’s wagon were in fairly high spirits as they left Lodestone Flat. For those in the sheriff’s vehicle, the ride down to the ranger station was naturally a quiet one. Cedric Rintoul’s body lay stretched out in the back under one of the hotel’s rattier blankets. The manacled Lucy Shadd sat between Madoc and Carlos Pitney in the middle seat, none of them saying a word. Frieda Loye was up front with Jason Jasper and the sheriff, still sniffling now and then. Even the prisoner must have felt some relief when they were able to climb out and go into the house.

Ellen Rick had the kettle at the boil and a chocolate cake ready to cut. Better still, she had transcribed radio messages to hand out from some of the passengers’ kith and kin. Madoc read his from Janet at a glance, read it again, then stowed it with exquisite care in the secret inside pocket of his waistcoat. After this, Ellen’s chocolate cake would be an anticlimax.

Madoc ate a piece anyway, and found it good; then he taped his deposition. Rick would have liked to stay and listen, but he’d been told the rescue plane was less than an hour and a half away after a late takeoff and he’d promised to have the full complement of refugees at the ranger station by the time it arrived. The interval would be taken up by Sheriff Bassock recording other depositions, particularly those of Frieda Loye and Jason Jasper. Lucy Shadd probably wasn’t going to talk, but no matter.

Ace Bulligan’s comic
Moxie Mabel
was still cluttering up Rick’s landing field; she’d have to be got out of the way or the incoming plane wouldn’t have room to come in. Rick had said this would be a twenty-seater similar to the one that had dumped them on Lodestone Flat. Madoc spied the old flyboy across the field, chatting with Rick’s children. He strolled over to say hello.

“ ’Bout time you showed up, Mountie,” was Ace’s civil greeting. “I already brung down your murderer.”

“Did you?” said Madoc. “That was neighborly of you.”

“Yup, I sure did. Last night, me an’
Moxie Mabel.
Ugliest-lookin’ bugger you ever seen. Little black-haired runt with a mean mouth, just like you. Cussed an’ swore somethin’ awful all the way down. An’ he drunk up all my whiskey.”

“Good Lord! How could he do a thing like that?”

“Ah, he’d o’ done anything, you could tell to look at ’im. Rotten all the way through, clear down to ’is toenails. Tried to gimme a hard time, but I fixed ’im. Guv ’im that ol’ one-two punch. Like this, see. Hold up your dukes.”

Madoc sidestepped the flailing fists easily enough. “You’d better watch it, Mr. Bulligan, I could have you run in for assaulting an officer. Sheriff Bassock’s over in the house, you know.”

“Oh hell, her an’ me’s ol’ buddies. Any time I feel like havin’ myself a little vacation, I get pinched for disorderly conduct an’ Lettie beds me down in the lockup. Don’t cost me a cent an’ the grub ain’t bad, considerin’. Lettie’s awfully stingy with ’er whiskey, though. Don’t s’pose you got any you’d like to get rid of?”

“I’m afraid not, Mr. Bulligan. What I’d really like to get rid of is your plane. Could you just taxi down to the end of the field and park over behind Rick’s hangar? We have a big one coming in to pick us up and take us on to Vancouver, and you’re right in the way.”

“Hell, you ain’t leavin’ already? You just got here.” Ace Bulligan sniffed and rubbed his grimy knuckles into his bloodshot eyes. “Cripes, I’m goin’ to miss you.”

“The best of friends must part, Mr. Bulligan. When duty whispers low, ‘Thou must—’ ”

“Ever tried not listenin’?”

“Yes,” Madoc replied sadly, “but it never seems to work. You have gas in your tank, I believe.”

“How the hell would you know?”

“It’s my business to know things, Mr. Bulligan. Would you like me to twirl your propeller for you?”

“What the hell kind o’ talk is that to use in front of innocent kids? Stand aside, you sneaky little bugger. I don’t need no help from nobody.”

Bulligan went over and gave
Moxie Mabel’s
propeller a few heaves, raced to the cockpit and fiddled with the controls, raced forward and heaved again. The engine started to pop and sputter. He raced back and climbed into his seat, pulled his goggles over his eyes, fastened the flaps of his helmet, flipped the long ends of his dirty white scarf back over his left shoulder, and gave her the gun. He circled the field once, taxied straight down the middle, pulled back on the stick, and took off.

The children waved, Madoc waved.
Moxie Mabel
tipped her fragile wings in farewell and headed for the ridge. Presumably Ace knew what he was doing. Madoc got involved in a game of ball with the children and was still at it when Rick came back with the elder Rhyses, David Gabriel, and Joe Ragovsky.

“What’s happening, Madoc?” was Rick’s greeting.

“Ace Bulligan just left. I’d asked him to move his plane down to the end of the field, but I gather he was so pleasantly surprised to get the contraption started that he chose not to stop.”

“Yes, Ace is like that. I filled his tank while I was waiting for Ellen to cook your spaghetti, so I expect he’ll make it home all right. Here, Sir Emlyn, don’t you bother about those suitcases. It isn’t every day I get to play porter for guests as distinguished as you. Hey, kids, come over here. I want you to meet a real live knight and his lady.”

The younger Ricks were polite enough, but unimpressed. “Where’s his armor?” demanded Brian.

“And where’s her crown?” said Annie.

“Oh, silly me,” cried Lady Rhys. “I forgot to pack Sir Emlyn’s armor. He doesn’t like it much, you know. It creaks a lot, and it has no pockets.”

“And if I get wet, I rust,” added Sir Emlyn. “Then I stiffen up and Lady Rhys has to oil me. But she does have her court jewels with her. Why don’t you put them on for the children, Sillie?”

“Oh, Emlyn, really!”

“Please?” begged Annie.

Lady Rhys wilted. After all, the Ricks had been more than kind to them. “Very well, then. I’ll need the gray bag, and a place to change.”

Naturally the arrival of the elder Rhyses sent the household into a tizzy. Sir Emlyn was appropriated by the sheriff. Lady Rhys vanished into a tiny bedroom full of stuffed animals and doll furniture. Ellen hurried to get the used dishes out of sight and find some real cloth napkins.

Lady Rhys, used to quick changes, emerged in less than ten minutes wearing her black satin gown and all her diamonds. She’d even managed to fasten one of her bracelets in her hair. It wasn’t much of a crown, but Annie was ecstatic. Even Brian was impressed. Admittedly, Lady Rhys was a trifle overdressed to be sitting at the Ricks’ kitchen table eating chocolate cake with a stainless steel fork off a plate that had teddy bears dancing around the rim. However, she was having such fun that the rescue plane’s landing took her unawares.

“Good heavens, I must change!”

“I’m sorry, Sillie,” Sir Emlyn told her. “They’re running late and they want us on board at once.”

“Emmy, not like this.”

“Why not? It’s the way you came in.”

“So it is. Oh, well.”

Lady Rhys allowed Sir Emlyn to slip her tweed coat over her elegance, kissed Annie, shook hands with Brian, thanked the Ricks for their kindness, and sailed out to where the plane was sitting with its engine still running. As Madoc and Sir Emlyn paused to let her go up the steps first, she hesitated.

“Madoc, I’ve been wanting to ask, did you hear from Janet?”

“Yes, a short message. She’s glad we’re all right and sends her love to the grandparents.”

“To the—Madoc! Is she really? Emmy, did you hear?”

“I heard, Sillie. Madoc, I cannot tell you how much your mother and I appreciate what you’ve done. We’d love to keep you with us as long as possible. In the circumstances, however, we think you should go straight home to Jenny. It will mean your missing the Fraser River Festival, I’m afraid.”

Sir Emlyn smiled his shyest smile. Madoc smiled back.

“That’s quite all right, Tad. Fun’s fun but we family men have to put our responsibilities first.”

T
HE WAGSTAFFE SYMPHONY ORCHESTRA
does not exist in fact, nor has it been patterned after any other orchestra, Canadian or otherwise. Though every attempt has been made to create an authentic atmosphere, no actual person or place has been used as a model. Even Ace Bulligan is a figment of the author’s sometimes overstrained imagination, though we rather wish he weren’t.