Читать книгу A Killing Frost - Margaret Haffner - Страница 9

Catherine Edison took off her glasses, swept her shoulder-length chestnut hair out of her grey eyes, and rubbed a soiled hand across her damp forehead. ‘Enough is enough,’ she panted, flopping on to the bare mattress and letting the cleaning rag drop to the floor. She’d always hated moving. Not that there had been many things to move this time – it was a furnished house she’d rented, but it had been vacant almost a year and the grime had built up. She turned her head sideways and blew at the dust on top of the night table. It eddied in the hot glare of the sunlight, making her sneeze. Who am I trying to impress, she asked herself? I’ve never been a clean freak – dirt’s healthy and builds up the immune system.

She heard a clatter on the stairs and then a dimpled fifteen-year-old face appeared in the doorway. ‘Caught you in the act,’ the girl declared. ‘You’re lying down on the job.’

Catherine glanced up at her daughter. ‘Take a break. The dirt’s not going anywhere.’

‘Move over then.’ Morgan collapsed beside her mother and they lay in companionable silence. The house stood on a quiet street at the edge of town and only the faintest hum of traffic reached their ears. They listened to the dust settle.

Catherine looked at her daughter and smiled. Morgan didn’t have as much of a tan as she usually had at the end of August but the light golden colour suited her. She’d lost the unhealthy pallor her mother still displayed. Catherine mussed Morgan’s curly hair. ‘Well, honey? Do you like the place?’

‘It’s not what I pictured …’ Morgan answered diplomatically.

‘It’s exactly as I described it,’ her mother protested. ‘It’s brick, three-storey, a hundred years old and in a secluded area.’

‘This isn’t secluded, Mom. It’s nowhere. We’re beyond the fringes of civilization … where no man has gone before.’

Catherine smoothed down the curls she’d messed up. ‘We agreed we wanted to move to a small town.’

Morgan grimaced. ‘Small, yes. Microscopic, no.’

‘Come on, honey, there aren’t many jobs for me outside cities. This private agrochemical company seems ideal for a sabbatical.’ She rolled over to face her daughter. ‘Do you really hate it here?’

Morgan propped herself on her elbow and shook her head. ‘It’ll be OK. Anything’s better than Kingsport for the moment.’ She chewed her already short fingernails. ‘Are you sure they’ll have forgotten about us when we get back?’

‘I’m sure.’ Catherine sighed. ‘Something else will happen to take the spotlight away from us.’

As Morgan turned away to hide the tears in her blue eyes, anger burned again in the pit of Catherine’s stomach. Damn them to hell. How could people be so cruel? Catherine hugged her daughter and stroked her shining hair. How many gallons of tears had the two of them shed in the past five months? No one in this village of Atawan knew anything about them. Maybe here they’d have the chance to heal. Nothing horrible could happen in this dull, rural countryside.

Morgan blew her nose noisily. ‘How about spaghetti for dinner, Mom?’ She bounced up and pasted a determined smile on her lips. ‘I know how you love my famous spaghetti.’

Catherine returned her smile. ‘I think there’s a can of sauce in the pantry. While you heat it, I’ll make up our beds.’

When Morgan had disappeared, Catherine struggled to a sitting position. She looked at her surroundings. Except for the air of neglect, the house wasn’t bad and although old, it hadn’t fallen into decay. But why had a four-bedroom, well-furnished house rented so cheaply? She fluffed the dust out of her hair. Maybe way out here in the agricultural belt real estate prices were depressed.

She rummaged in a box for sheets and surfaced with a striped set she had brought from Kingsport. Flapping the sheet over the bed, she raised more dust and doubled over in a paroxysm of sneezing. When finally her fit ceased, Catherine leaned on the doorframe. She’d have to find the vacuum cleaner as soon as possible, she decided, sniffing and wiping her streaming eyes. The dust wouldn’t wait after all.

‘Tomorrow, we’ll go over to the high school and register you,’ Catherine said as they ate dinner. ‘We have an appointment with the vice-principal at nine-thirty.’ Noticing the frown on Morgan’s face, she reached out a comforting hand. ‘I know it’s tough to start at a new school, but at least it’s the beginning of the year. There’ll be lots of new kids.’

‘In Atawan? They were probably all born here. Who would move to a place like this?’

‘We would. And so would the other staff at Agromics … and their families. I’m sure Atawan is more dynamic than it looks.’

‘That wouldn’t be hard.’ Morgan got up and started clearing the table. ‘Are you going to work tomorrow?’

‘Just for the afternoon. You can go for a walk or something.’ She pointed out of the kitchen window. ‘There’s a belt of trees behind the house that looks worth investigating.’

After their gourmet dinner, Catherine decided to look for the vacuum cleaner while Morgan washed the dishes. The only part of the house she hadn’t yet been in was the basement. At the top of the steep stairway she flicked the light switch. Nothing. ‘Damn,’ she hissed in exasperation. She hated dark, musty places. Where had she seen a flashlight?

Carrying both a flashlight and a new light bulb, Catherine carefully negotiated the open staircase. She directed the wavering circle of light towards the ceiling, illuminating the open rafters and cobwebs and then at last a naked light bulb hanging from a frayed cord.

She stood on a rickety chair and stretched to twist in the new bulb with her right hand. She leaned her weak left arm, injured in a car accident two years before, against the back of the chair for an illusion of security. When the bulb blazed into life she squinted and turned away. Even with the light, most of the basement still lurked in shadow. When she had agreed to rent the house, Catherine hadn’t bothered examining the cellar – furnaces and plumbing were unknown territories for her. Now, as she looked around, she wished she’d taken the time. The age of the house showed all too clearly down here.

By the stairs, a relatively new washer and dryer were paired with the laundry sink and the hot-water tank. The rest of the space between the bare rock walls was dotted with the accumulated detritus of years past. Catherine skirted an old baby carriage and the cannibalized corpse of a bicycle to examine the deep shelves on the far wall. They were lined with preserving jars – a few of them looked full. She ran her fingers over the dusty labels. Strawberry jam. Peach chutney. Chilli sauce. Lifting one jar she examined the seal. It looked intact. ‘I wonder if I should use this stuff?’ she murmured. She turned the jar in her fingers. ‘How old is it?’ She shrugged and put it back as another container caught her eye. It looked like a jar of grey dirt. Picking it up, she peered at it in the dim light. It resembled the samples she took to collect certain species of soil fungi. The handwritten label said: ‘Sample sent to Colton Laboratories, October 7’. The next line gave what looked like a lot and concession number. As Catherine returned the jar to the shelf she couldn’t help wondering about the previous inhabitant of the house. Another scientist?

Turning away from the shelves, she noticed the small window above her head. Outside, the dusk had deepened to night and presented a dark backdrop to her pale reflection. She reached up and felt the window frame. It was soft and rotted. She shivered. She didn’t need any visitors sneaking into her house – she’d had enough unpleasant surprises in the past year to last a lifetime. She’d have to have her landlord secure the opening as soon as possible.

On the far side of the furnace, she at last found the vacuum cleaner. It looked old and heavy but the agent had insisted all the appliances worked. She lugged it upstairs, plugged it in and got to work, forgetting all about the window.