The Hughes’ cat may have run off into the night, but its essence was everywhere in the family’s sitting room.
Though its style was Victorian to the hilt – satin pillows, deep red velvet curtains, barely-stuffed sofas – the odor of kitty litter permeated, made worse by the outside humidity.
“Well, dear boy, it’s been some time since we’ve seen you around here,” Charles said, moving a pillow and inviting me to sit. “I know it’s early, but we always liked our scotch together. Care for a bit?”
I held up my hand to stop him. “No, no … I’m working. It’s fine.”
Well, some things never change.
“Charles, you’re insane. Elyse, won’t you get the tea tray in the kitchen and bring it in? Mayor Granger, do you take cream or sugar?”
Charlotte fidgeted a bit as she sat down. All business, this woman. “No … no tea for me. No, let’s get started, if you don’t mind. We have a full day on the road and need to keep to our schedule.”
Charles nodded. “Yes, of course, go right ahead.”
Charlotte took a deep breath. “Well … as you know, we are raising money so we can build a monument to the great Mick Righteous, who sadly lost his life on our soil. We feel it’s the least we could do since it was here that the tragedy took place.”
Moira shook her head sternly. “Look, Madam Mayor, with all due respect and may he rest and all like that … I don’t think it’s our job to fund something like this. It’s just too … too something, Charles, what is it?”
“Sinister.”
“Yes, yes, that’s it darling … it’s too sinister.” Moira wrung her hands as she said the word. “Sinister, yes.”
Charles cleared his throat. “And dirty.”
“Yes, dirty, too,” Moira repeated.
Elyse, standing in the doorway, sipped her tea and looked on silently. The mayor looked in her direction.
“Elyse?”
She looked at me and smiled again, only this time her eyes narrowed. There was a wickedness in them I’d never witnessed.
“There is the off chance I may be able to help with the money.”
The mayor’s eyes widened. “Well, I know you’re … good friends with Carson, and he was certainly on our short list of potential donors.”
“He’ll do it if I tell him to do it,” Elyse said. And then she looked back at me. “I’m sure he’ll do it if there was a way to make his life a little easier in this town. You know how cliquey we all can be.”
Moira stood up.
“Bernie, you’ll write about Carson, yes? A nice profile in the Dispatch?”
Charles leaned forward in his seat. “Why, yes! What a great idea. We need more people like Carson in this town, ready to help and shape young lives.”
Mayor Granger stood and gathered her purse and umbrella. “Well, I can’t tell Bernie how to do his job. But all I’ll say is it would be a great service to all of Middle Valley.”
“I suppose there may be something in it from us, then,” Charles stood. “Will there be nameplates, engravings of some sort? Will we be acknowledged on the statue as a benefactor?”
Mayor Granger chucked. “Yes, Sir, your name would be on the statue.”
Moira clapped her hands together with glee. “Well then, it’s settled. Bernie, you’ll do the write-up on Carson. Charles, I’ll get the checkbook. How much do you think? Ten-thousand or twenty?”
I could feel my jaw slack. Elyse, still standing in the doorway, took a sip from her tea and smirked.
As the sound of a perforated check being torn from its book came from the sitting room, Elyse turned on her heel and walked back toward the kitchen.
What just happened?
Gunnar Olafsson