Читать книгу Murder Fit for a King - Larry McCloskey - Страница 11

“Poisoned?” Dani repeated for the zillionth time.

King, Dani, and Caitlin were back in the tearoom, where the girls were enjoying another helping of pumpkin pie.

“Mr. King,” Dani said, “this stuff’s real interesting. I mean sad and kind of interesting. And I guess you know we like mysteries, but Councillor Owens is already dead, the vote for the sale of Windsor Park has already happened, and now you tell us a guy named Williams is dead, too, and that some land next to Kingsmere’s about to be gobbled up by townhouses. What the heck can we do about all of that?”

“We are only twelve, you know,” Caitlin added.

King nodded sagely. “What to do, yes. What can anyone do? No one to ask advice from, confide in all these years ...”

“It’s okay,” Caitlin said soothingly. “We can listen and you can confide in us.”

“We do have some detective experience, Mr. King,” Dani assured him. “And with your help, who knows, maybe we can be like the three musketeers and solve these murders.”

King wiped his moist eyes and cleared his throat. “Yes, that’s right, the three of us ... musketeers. Oh, girls, you have no idea how much that thought warms my cold heart.”

“Did you say musketeers or mouseketeers?” Caitlin asked.

Dani rolled her eyes. “Musketeers are from the old days, like when Mr. King was young.”

“Yes, well, indeed when I was young, I was best friends and shared living quarters with Bert Harper and Henry Burbidge, and together we fashioned ourselves as three musketeers, though not quite the original authentic version of that great French novelist Alexandre Dumas. But, oh, my, we were inseparable and it was a wonderful time. In fact, it was with Bert that I first discovered Kingsmere so long ago. Bert and I were young, full of ambition, and we saw ourselves as men of destiny but, alas, it didn’t last. I looked up to Bert, yes, even envied his confidence, his decisiveness. He seemed indestructible, and so it was an utter shock when we learned he had drowned.”

“Drowned?” the girls echoed.

“Yes,” King said quietly. “He drowned in the Ottawa River in 1901 selflessly trying to save Bessie Blair who had fallen through thin ice during a skating party. She was the daughter of the minister of railways and canals.”

“That’s terrible!” Caitlin said through a well-chewed braid.

King furiously rubbed his hands together as if he intended to start a fire in his palms. “Yes, my best true friend, my hero, acted without a thought for his own safety and tried to save Bessie’s life but, sadly, they both perished.” King looked across the room as if he could see all the way to the Ottawa River, then mumbled, “‘If I lose myself, I save myself.’”

“Huh?” both girls said. “I’m quoting from the inscription on dear Bert’s statue near Parliament Hill, attesting to his gallant courage in the face of adversity. His will to act was a quality that unfortunately I always lacked.”

“What do you mean, Mr. King?” Dani asked.

“I dithered and delayed and as such managed to become Canada’s longest-serving prime minister. I couldn’t lose myself and therefore didn’t save myself.”

“Until now,” Dani said decisively.

“Pardon me?” King asked, confused and blinking.

Caitlin spat out her braid and said with excitement, “Yeah, Mr. King, ’cause now you have us and together we’re three musketeers. Isn’t that right, Dani?”

“Absolutely.” Dani turned and nodded at her friend. “Together, somehow, we can all act.”

“The three musketeers,” Mr. King muttered. Then he straightened himself, rising to his full height, which wasn’t much. “My dear friends, would you do me the honour of calling me Rex?”

“Hey, Rex, just like a dog,” Caitlin burbled with excitement, then looked embarrassed.

“I should be so honoured to be compared to the noble dog, but I got the nickname in university,” King said, chuckling. “You see, rex is Latin for king.”

“It still sounds like a dog’s name to me,” Caitlin said. “What do you think, Pat?” She bent down to pet King’s phantom pooch.

As she stroked the air, a voice suddenly said, “Hey, Caitlin, what are you doing?”

Both girls jumped.

“I was practising petting Nicki,” Caitlin said hurriedly to John, Dani’s dad, who had appeared in the tearoom seemingly out of nowhere.

“‘Cause he likes to be petted in a certain way,” Dani added unconvincingly.

“Huh?” John said with true confusion. “You could pet Nicki with a ten-foot pole and he wouldn’t know the difference between that and a trained dog massage therapist.”

“Huh?” Dani and Caitlin said with even truer confusion.

“Doesn’t matter,” John said. “But what does matter is that I’ve found the old O’Neill Farm, our ancestral home. And guess what? It’s close to Mackenzie King Estate, just outside Gatineau Park. And it’s now owned by the National Capital Commission, too. Come on, I’ll show you.”

“I thought you were looking at cottages, Dad,” Dani said.

“I know, but before we came up here again I went to Library and Archives Canada on the Web to check on the whereabouts of the O’Neill Farm, something I’ve always meant to do. I knew it was somewhere around here, but just didn’t know exactly where. Now I’ve solved the mystery.”