Читать книгу Serpent's Tooth - Michael R. Collings - Страница 7

CHAPTER TWO

“Dead! Oh, Carver, no.” Victoria’s voice sounded as distressed as I felt.

She might have added, “Not again!” but she didn’t.

I didn’t know anything about Rick Johansson, had never even heard his name until that moment, so news of his death, while sad, didn’t touch me very deeply. But I knew Carver, and I knew from first-hand experience how he responded to death.

I even knew how he reacted when he was charged with causing a death.

I had seen him accused of murder.

He didn’t deserve to go through that again.

“Are you sure?” Victoria was asking.

Carver simply nodded, his eyes wide with...with what? Sorrow? Loss? Fear? Dread?

I couldn’t read him.

“Where is Greta?”

“Inside, with Mom,” Carver said, gesturing with his head over his shoulder. “Mom didn’t want her alone in their house with...with Rick’s...with Rick.”

Victoria squeezed Carver’s shoulder lightly and went on into the house. I heard her call out “Janet? Greta?” and then the door banged shut.

“I didn’t know what else to do,” Carver said, as if he had to explain himself to me. “It just seemed automatic to call Miz Sears. I figured she would know....”

“I’m sure that was exactly the right thing to do,” I said. My heart went out to him. “Was...uh, Rick, was it?”

Carver nodded again.

“Was Rick a close friend? Somebody you knew from school?”

He shook his head this time.

“I didn’t really know him that well. He’s only lived with Miz Johan...with his grandma for about a year. He was pretty much a loner. But sometimes we worked together on jobs.

“We were helping Mr. Nielson—Tom Nielson, that is—put up his grain yesterday. And he called me last night from Land’s End to come pick him up. Said he didn’t feel well.”

Carver seemed to shudder.

“Let’s go on in, shall we?”

He looked up and blinked, as if seeing me for the first time.

“Right. I should be in there to help Mom. And Miz Johansson .”

He led the way to through the door, which opened onto the kitchen. In the next room—probably the living room—I could hear the low murmur of women’s voices, the kind of sounds that warn of illness or death or other tragedy.

By the time we entered, Victoria had clearly taken charge. She was standing near a low sofa on which two women were sitting. One held a fragile tea cup that occasionally clinked against the saucer in her other hand. She looked to be about fifty. From the blond hair, blue eyes, and strong features, I could tell that this must be Janet Ellis, Carver’s mother.

The other woman was much older. She looked even older than Victoria, but that impression might have been wrong since, where Victoria even in her seventies was a fountain of energy and activity, this woman—Mrs. Johansson—looked washed out, drained, as fragile as the china tea cup and saucer sitting untouched on the low table in front of her. In fact, I think the tea cup would have survived a sharp blow more easily that this woman would have.

Her hair was wispy, almost like a halo-effect, and that odd yellow-white that sometimes happens with old people and that makes them look faded and ill even if they are in the best of health. Her eyes were red-rimmed and watery, and her lips, pursed and tight, nonetheless quivered with each thin breath she drew.

She was wearing a worn chenille robe that had to have been as old as I was. I wouldn’t even have begun to guess what color it might have started out life as, or if it had ever been printed with a bright, cheerful pattern. Her feet were thrust into shapeless scuffs that had likewise long since lost any hint of color.

Victoria had knelt beside her and laid her hand on the other woman’s knee.

“Can you talk now, Greta? Can you tell us anything?”

Greta Johansson put a lace-edged handkerchief to her eyes and dabbed before nodding.

“Victoria? Is that you?” The voice quavered and the hand that she laid over Victoria’s shook violently.

“Yes, dear, it’s me. Janet called me.”

“Janet?”

“I’m right here, too, Miz Johansson. We are going to take care of everything. Don’t you worry.” Janet Ellis leaned across and patted the old hand that lay atop Victoria’s. For an awful moment, I was reminded of Shawn and the rest of his little friends grasping the handle of a baseball bat to determine first ups, and found that I had to blink back a few tears of my own.

Shawn was my baby and he was dead. Almost two years dead. As was Terry. I could feel for this woman—a woman I had never seen before—in her grief and confusion and loss.

“Janet? Did Rick let you in? I didn’t hear you knock? Why didn’t I hear you knock?”

“No, Miz Johansson, Rick is....”

Victoria shook her head.

“Greta, dear,” she said, drawing the old woman’s attention to her and fixing Greta’s eyes with her own. “We are in Janet’s home. Carver brought you over here this morning. And Janet fixed you this nice cup of tea. Do you remember that?”

“Tea?” She reached irresolutely toward the cup, then drew back her hand. “Yes. That’s right. Janet made me tea. And Carver woke me up and told me that I was to come with him. He came into my bedroom and woke me up. He helped me put my robe on over my night dress.”

Now her hand rose to her throat and clutched at the robe’s lapels, pinning them closed.

“He shouldn’t have done that, you know. Come into a lady’s bedroom like that. If Eric knew what....”

For a moment there had been a flash of something like life in her eyes, but at the mention of her grandson’s name, the flash expired. She slumped.

“Is Eric dead? Victoria, is it true? Is my little Eric really dead?”

Victoria glanced at Carver, who nodded once then dropped his eyes to the floor.

“Yes, dear, I’m afraid he is.”

“What happened? Do you know what happened? He was fine yesterday at lunch. I didn’t see him afterward because he had to get to work but he was fine he ate a whole sandwich that wasn’t like him at all he’s usually such a finicky eater and I was so proud....”

She hid her head in her hands.

Victoria patted her shoulder in the time-honored “There, there” movement that only certain grandmothers and certain women who should have been grandmothers but never were can quite carry off.

Victoria could.

I could see the older woman’s shoulders relaxing under Victoria’s touch.

“No, dear. I don’t know anything yet. But I will find out. I promise you. We’ll see that everything is taken care of.”

“Victoria, is that you?” The querulous note was back. “Where am I?”

Victoria nodded to Janet Ellis, who slid across the sofa and put her arm around the older woman, drawing her in closer as if she were a small child that needed desperately to be consoled.

I could hear her whispering to Greta, not words really, but sounds of comfort that were apparently enough for the older woman.

Victoria turned to face Carver and me.

“Carver, what can you tell us?”

“Not much. I was supposed to get him up. We were scheduled to go by Mr. Nielson’s place this morning, to talk to him about Rick’s getting his job back because the accident really wasn’t his fault”—I wanted to interrupt to ask ‘What accident?’ but found that I couldn’t just then, and I figured that we would get all of the details in good time—“it just happened, I think, you know, and then after noon we...that is, I was going to....”

“Carver, focus, dear.”

“Yeah. Anyway I told him last night I would wake him up because he was...well, he was pretty drunk and, I don’t know, maybe wasted, I’m not sure.”

He caught a glance from Victoria and swallowed hard, visibly pulling himself back on track.

“So I went over this morning and the side door was unlocked like he said it would be, like it always is, you know, because out here we don’t usually have any trouble with.... The door was unlocked, and I didn’t knock because I knew that his grand...that Miz Johansson sometimes didn’t get to sleep until really late and wouldn’t want to be waked this early. So I went on in.

“He was still in bed. He was just sprawled there, no quilt, no sheet, just like he had been last night when I brought him home. He hadn’t even taken his clothes off. He was just there. And I could tell that he was...that he was dead.” The boy almost broke into tears. As it was he had to blink rapidly several times to clear his vision.

“So I went right downstairs and woke Miz Johansson and helped her get dressed...and I didn’t see anything I shouldn’t, you know I wouldn’t do anything like that, don’t you....” The overt plea for understanding on even this one small point was heart-breaking.

“Of course, Carver dear. But you must concentrate. You woke Eric’s grandmother and....”

“I woke her up and helped her dress and helped her get over here and by then Mom was up and I told her what had happened and she took Miz Johansson in with her and set her down on the couch and told me to call for help, so I called for you because I knew that you would know what we should do.”

“You did fine. That couldn’t have been easy for you.”

Carver nodded again, whether in agreement with the latter statement or gratitude for the former I couldn’t tell.

“What did Deputy Wroten say when you called the substation?”

“I didn’t call him.”

For the first time, Victoria’s sense of command faltered.

“He wasn’t at the substation? Was Deputy Allen there instead?”

Carver blanched even further at the mention of the younger deputy’s name; they did not get along well at all. Too much past history.

“I didn’t call him, either. I didn’t call the cops at all.”

Normally Victoria might have corrected Carver’s usage, since she herself insisted on deputy or police officer, but she let the smaller infraction slide and zeroed in on the larger.

“Carver, did you even call the substation?”

“No. I didn’t think of it at first, all I could think of was that Miz Victoria would know what to do, and then later, while I was waiting for you to get here, I...I didn’t want to call them. I didn’t want to talk to them.”

“I suppose you didn’t call the coroner’s office, either.” It was not a question.

Carver shook his head.

“Or Doc Anderson’s?”

Again, the silent answer.

“Good Lord,” Victoria murmured almost under her breath—it was as close as she would come to a profanity...and obscenities were utterly beneath her dignity.

“Well, it can’t be helped now. Carver, you come with me. And you too, Lynn dear, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure,” I said, not quite knowing what I was getting myself in for.

“Janet, while we’re gone, do you think you could call the substation and let them know? Someone should get out here as quickly as possible.”

Janet Ellis looked up from the couch. The older woman didn’t move. She seemed almost asleep.

“I’ll help Greta into the guest room and then call. Where will you be? Over there?”

“Yes.”

And then, for the first time, I had a clear inkling of what was going to happen.