Читать книгу Murder Fit for a King - Larry McCloskey - Страница 10

“Your dad sure looked happy when you said you might be interested in looking at cottages in the Gatineau,” Caitlin said as she ate some pumpkin pie.

“I had to say I was interested,” Dani said, wolfing down her own pumpkin pie. “Otherwise how would we have gotten him to drop us off at Kingsmere while he looked at a few hundred more?” Dani frowned. “Caitlin, why are you pointing to your nose?”

“I’m trying to show you where the whipped cream is on your face.”

Dani swiped at her nose, managing to spread whipped cream across both nostrils. “We need to get information from Mr. King, especially about the murder he mentioned.” She placed both elbows on the table. “He wants us to help him solve a murder, but he hasn’t given us any of the facts.”

“And if we help him,” Caitlin said, pointing to her nose again, “maybe he can help us get rid of those land developers.”

“Exactly what I had in mind, Watson,” Dani said, ignoring Caitlin, who was still pointing at her nose.

“Thank you, Sherlock.”

Dani wrinkled her whipped-cream nose. “And I’d bet a crate of gelato that one of the murder victims is Councillor Owens, but who’s the other one?”

“Honestly, Dani, we don’t know what really happened to Councillor Owens. You can’t jump to conclusions like that.”

“You’ve got to admit it’s pretty suspicious, though.”

Caitlin furrowed her brow. “I suppose ...”

The girls were conducting their discussion of recent events in the Moorside Tearoom on Sunday morning. Tourists had lined up for tea and dessert after an excursion through October leaves. Joining the ghost tour not long before Halloween was an autumn ritual for many people.

“Dani, you’ve got whipped cream on your nose,” a ghostly voice commented.

Dani gulped down an unusually large mouthful of pie, and Caitlin sprayed the table with the remainder of her semi-chewed piece.

“Yes, quite. A waste of food, to be sure. But the pie here now doesn’t compare to the creations my housekeeper, Mrs. Lansdowne, used to make me for me when this tearoom was my cottage.” King had materialized in the chair next to the girls, which a moment earlier had been unoccupied. “Sorry, young ladies, I’ve been nearby all along and didn’t anticipate the effect my sudden appearance might have on you.”

Caitlin wiped pie from the contorted expression on her face and placed the napkin on her plate. “Mr. King, do you mean you always live at Kingsmere?”

A slight smile formed on the former prime minister’s lips. “Living isn’t what I do much of anymore. Actually, not at all. But if you’re asking if I reside here, then, yes, I do and have been doing so in these forests and meadows since I died over there of pneumonia at the Farm in 1950.”

Dani stroked her chin and smeared more pie there. “Why do you have to stay here, Mr. King? My dad says you were buried in Toronto.”

The former prime minister’s eyes nervously surveyed the bustling tearoom. Great bellows of laughter erupted from a distant table. Closer by, fragments of conversation could be overheard.

“A McDonald’s would speed things up here.”

“And it would be cheaper, too.”

“I wonder if anyone ever thought about putting a Tim Hortons in here?”

King puffed out his chest and fumbled with his pocket watch. “Nincompoops. Bigger crowds and modern food factories — original thought, indeed! My dear friends, if I may call you that, please join me for a stroll of Kingsmere so I can explain why I’m still here more than fifty years after my death.”

The girls carefully counted their change, paid quickly, and watched as their table was pounced on by waiting graduates of a recent ghost tour.

“My dear mother would be appalled at such atrocious manners,” King muttered, glaring at the table pouncers.

As the trio stepped outside, they were greeted by a cold October wind. The girls immediately zipped up their coats.

“Mr. King,” Caitlin said with concern, “if you don’t wear something warmer, you’ll catch a death of a cold.”

Dani rolled her eyes as King warmed to the girls. “It’s a pity I can’t catch a cold so that I could sneeze on some of those tourists. Sorry, girls, I find myself increasingly annoyed at such spectacles. Why if I was prime minister today, I’d ... I’d ...” King sighed. “I’d probably dither, delay, and do nothing.”

The girls arched their brows. “Huh?”

“Oh, yes, today I feel within myself the desire, the wherewithal, if not the courage, to act, but then I —”

Dani bent to pick up a fallen pinecone. “That’s all very interesting, sir, but what does it have to do with murder?”

King ignored Dani’s question. He walked with a worried expression, his hands clasped behind his back. “I’ve been here in spirit all these many years because I couldn’t act decisively as prime minister or in my private life.”

“How come?” Caitlin asked.

As the trio arrived at the edge of the lake, steps below Kingswood Cottage, King continued speaking without replying to Caitlin’s question. “I’ve spent countless hours gazing across the water from this spot, and the view has never ceased to move me.” Suddenly, King turned to the girls, agitated and half mumbling. “Oh, yes, I was prime minister longer than anyone else in Canada or in the Commonwealth — a good twenty-two years. I led our people through the Great Depression, the Second World War — a war we very nearly lost. I helped found the United Nations, set up our first national unemployment insurance, laid the groundwork for Newfoundland and Labrador to join Confederation, and made Canada truly independent of Britain. When I left office, this nation was on the threshold of its greatest period of prosperity. But, alas, I was still a failure.”

“Mr. King, sir, I’m afraid you’re not making much sense,” Dani said. “If you did all those things, how could you be a failure? And besides, my dad says you’re on the fifty-dollar bill.”

The former prime minister glowered. “And how often do you see a fifty-dollar bill, Dani?”

“I’ve never seen one.”

“Me, neither,” Caitlin piped up.

“Exactly my point! You see, girls, people in this country keep me out of sight and out of mind. I was the master of obfuscation and obstruction, never doing things by half if I could manage by quarters. Governing as such served my purpose.”

“What purpose was that?” Caitlin asked.

“To keep my political opponents off balance so I could evade issues and retain power. In my private life I was equally indecisive. I once loved, and might have again, but my mother advised both in life and in death that I remain unattached. I didn’t want to displease Mother, but, oh, how I regret taking her counsel in the affairs of the heart.”

“So why did you?” Caitlin prodded.

“Because my mother insisted there wasn’t a woman on this earth who was good enough for me, who could replace her ...”

Dani fiddled with her pinecone. “Mr. King, you promised to tell us about the murder, and now it’s real important ’cause we think another murder might have already happened. Yesterday Gertrude Owens, an Ottawa city councillor, died, and she was going to vote against selling Windsor Park in Ottawa.”

King’s eyes lit up. “Ah, strange, especially that we should be talking here at the very place where the first murder was committed.” He poked a pile of leaves with his walking stick. “Two deaths, seemingly unrelated, except that both victims had the deciding vote concerning the sale of land to developers. To some these two deaths might seem coincidental, but we in the spirit world know that such apparent coincidences often mask a design or purpose far from coincidental.”

“Both of the murdered people had deciding votes on the sale of land?” Dani cried.

“Yes, indeed,” King said, a little annoyed at the interruption. “The man murdered at Kingsmere that I spoke of earlier was a fellow named Guy Williams, who was on the National Capital Commission’s board of directors. He intended to vote against selling a large parcel of land adjacent to Kingsmere and just outside Gatineau Park.”

“More townhouses!” Caitlin yelped.

King scowled, then let a slight smile curl his lips. “Indubitably. No foul play has been suspected in either death. But, mark my words, both were murdered by the same despicable hand — a hand that offered a cup of tea last Friday evening to Mr. Williams, the better to enjoy the wondrous late-night air of this estate. Each victim, I am certain, was killed by a slow-acting poison concealed in an offered refreshment. To the unwary, a heart attack would seem to be the culprit.”

“But who was the killer?” Dani asked, her eyes wide.

King sighed. “Alas, I never got a good look at the villain.” Caitlin frowned. “But how did you know who the murdered man was?”

“I recognized his face in the newspaper the next day when it was reported that Mr. Guy Williams died of an apparent heart attack while driving his automobile late Friday night.”

The girls looked across the water, half expecting to glimpse an unsettling image or two, then glanced away, afraid to see or hear anything more. A sudden wind carried a swirl of blood-coloured leaves from the spot of the murder up and away across Kingsmere Lake.

King broke the long silence as the girls shivered. “This view of my beloved lake, like those who accepted death disguised in a drink, has been poisoned forever.”