Bishop's Road (11 page)

“Judy will have to find them in the cookbook. I never made any before.”

“They don't have to be edible so don't be getting all fancy on us. It's not like anyone will ever eat them. They're just for show.”

Judy volunteers to go with Ginny Mustard to pick out a freezer. “We should go now and maybe we can have it delivered this afternoon.”

Eve is still upset. “He should be buried. This isn't right.”

“Well Eve. How about we just dig up the backyard and shove him in? What part of your precious garden do you want to contribute for his grave? How about your roses or those beans you've got growing? And what's to stop a dog from hauling him up once we plant him? It's not like we can call up the undertaker and order a fucking coffin, is it now? He's got to be frozen and unless there's a power outage one of these days, we're in the clear and that fool Ginny Mustard won't have to go to jail for the rest of her silly life. God, woman, think.”

And Eve relents. Knows that Ruth is right. The thought of Ginny Mustard behind bars is terrible, and just when she found out she can cook so well, too.

“Ginny Mustard,” says Ruth. “While you're gone for the freezer, you might consider a carpet as well. That one he's bleeding all over is ruined. I always thought blue would be nice in that room. Something with a pattern if you can find it.”

Mr. Miflin was laid to rest in the new freezer, covered with enough casseroles to feed a high school as well as some rainbow trout that Eve found on sale and couldn't pass up. And then a giant-sized carton of popsicles with summer here and it's so warm out, and what the hell, a rump roast and a few chickens. Shopping is fun and all but it takes a lot of time from Eve's gardening chores. Now that the blue rug is down in the sitting room it seems only natural to put a fresh coat of paint on the walls and buy slip-covers. Judy decides that the old fireplace will work and sets about removing boards that the frugal Mrs. Miflin jammed in there to cut heat loss. Ginny Mustard has added a microwave oven to her list of recent acquisitions and a new television set with a built-in video tape recorder. She watches cooking shows when she's not preparing meals. Wanders farther afield than usual shopping for ingredients she has never heard tell of before.

She hasn't returned to the big house since the music man gave her the little disc player. She remembers him sometimes, thinks about the puppy. The puppy thinks about her as well. Ever since their first meeting he has been annoying the neighbourhood with his incessant yowling. When he goes to the garden he lies under the rhododendron and it's all Howard James can do to get him back in the house. He wants Ginny Mustard and he doesn't like his owner. He has dug up most of the flowers near the fence in his attempt to escape.

When the report of Judy's drinking finally makes it to the top of the stack on Patrick Fahey's desk, Mrs. Miflin has forgotten all about her nasty phone call that morning when Mister
showed up and had himself killed. No one but the odd delivery man has come to the door since then. Not expecting anyone, they all freeze momentarily before Eve answers the loud knocking. They were not aware that each had been fearing discovery of the secret in the basement. They had not spoken of Mr. Miflin since they covered him with casseroles. The official look about the man who enters the house keeps them all on edge until he tells them why he's here.

He wants to see Judy. There has been a report that she was drinking one night back in June and being underage as well as on probation, she is in a lot of trouble. It's been a good three weeks since anyone has heard from her. He is a police officer, one who has had the dubious pleasure of having arrested Judy on a number of occasions.

“Well, Sergeant Fahey,” says Ruth. “Why don't you come in and have a seat and Judy can explain everything. Ginny Mustard, why don't you get a cup of tea for Sergeant Fahey and set another place at the table. We're just about ready to have our supper and we'd be pleased if you can join us. Judy, tell Sergeant Fahey about that night. Remember how Mrs. Miflin was really sick? Remember how she was delirious from the drugs the doctor gave her for the pain in her leg? She was seeing things all over the place. She's okay now but she got it in her head that you were drinking beer in the kitchen. She even accused us of ordering pizza, which we would never do since she doesn't approve of take-out food. It's not good for us, you know and Mrs. Miflin is very concerned about our health. She's like a mother to us. Tell him, Judy, about how Mrs. Miflin thought you were drinking. You probably don't recall what happened, Mrs. Miflin, since you were pretty much out of it. You tell him Judy.”

“Yeah. That's what happened Sergeant Fahey. Just like Ruth said. Mrs. Miflin is fucking crazy sometimes. Friggin'. I meant friggin' crazy. But she really looks after us good and we
dearly love her.”

The landlady is a pitiful heap on the sofa and doesn't have much to say. Ruth forgot to tell Eve that she had given the poor woman her painkillers already and Eve helped her to a second dose an hour ago. Mrs. Miflin is fading to dreamland.

Patrick Fahey knows they are all lying and doing a pretty pathetic job of it too. He's tired, though. He spends twelve hours a day tracking down, calming down, holding down unlucky people who don't have a clue what's wrong and what's right, too stunned to figure it out on their own and nobody bothered to teach them. Patrick Fahey was on his way home to beer and a pizza himself after he made this last stop. But that Ruth woman did invite him to stay for supper and the aroma from the kitchen is interesting. His duty to Queen and country can wait. There's no way he wants to be bothered with Judy right now. And he can't prove a thing either. Everyone in the house has heard Ruth's story and he'll bet dollars to doughnuts they'd repeat it word for word if he were to question them. And this Ruth is not bad looking either. Smart. He could do worse than to sit down with her and have a bite to eat.

Ruth's sentiments are similar. There's something about Patrick Fahey that appeals to her. He's easy on the eyes. Broad shouldered. Thin but strong looking and tall. A woman could lean on him if she ever felt the need and Ruth has been feeling the need lately. He hasn't smiled since he came through the front door but the lines around his eyes indicate that he knows how. He has nice teeth and a good mouth. Ruth is not all that surprised at the direction her thoughts have taken. Very few of the goings-on around here come as a shock these days and if she's attracted to Sergeant Patrick Fahey, well, so what?

“Ginny Mustard is on a Thai kick this week, Sergeant Fahey. So God only knows what she's got cooked up for us. We've all been practicing with chop sticks but you can have a fork if you
like. Maggie there has got the hang of it but the rest of us make a bit of a mess still. Are you staying for supper, or what?”

What the hell. Patrick Fahey has had beer and pizza enough to last a lifetime. Against his better judgement he says, “Yes. I can file my report in the morning. Judy, there is still the matter of your not seeing your probation officer regularly. Last chance girl. You get over there tomorrow or we take you away for good this time.” With his tie loose and jacket off he looks less threatening but the women are still a little nervous, all except Ruth, who has decided she likes this man very much.

They eat in silence for a while. Judy is not pleased that the law decided to stick around. He's got his eye on Ruth that's for sure - it's almost funny to see the way she keeps looking over at him and being all weird when he notices. Looking away. You'd think she never saw a fellow before the way she's turning all pink in the cheeks. Wouldn't figure Ruth to be nervous like that. He's watching her too. Judy finds the whole thing a bit gross but it might be good for a laugh later on.

Eve makes chit chat and they learn that Patrick Fahey is not married, has a house over on Morris Street and an old dog, visits his mother in the nursing home three times a week. She has Alzheimer's disease and doesn't know him any more but he goes anyway. His father died a few years ago. He has two sisters, three nephews and a niece and spends holidays with them, Christmas and Easter mostly. When his mother wasn't so far gone they used to celebrate with her but one year when she forgot to cook the turkey they gave it up. Soon after that she stopped bathing and when they found her wandering around Water Street in her night-gown they knew she was beyond their help and put her in the home.

Maggie pipes up. “That's where I was. A home. I was bad so my mother put me in a home.”

“Interesting,” says Ruth. “Patrick - I hope you don't mind
if I call you Patrick while you're off duty - Maggie hasn't spoken to any of us. Ever. And now here you mention home and she opens her mouth. We heard her scream once. And she laughs now and then.” She directs her attention to Maggie. “What kind of home? How long were you there?”

“I don't know anything else. Just that there was a home and my mother. I guess she was my mother.” Maggie's throat hurts all of a sudden. She puts her hand to her neck and makes little hacking noises, as though she's choking on something sharp. Judy smacks her across the back and Maggie resumes eating, gracefully, with her chopsticks.

“Well now,” says Eve. “That was a good start, Maggie. You just rest your voice and if you ever want to talk again you go right ahead.” Maggie smiles and nods.

Judy says, “I think that it's time to take a look at those old letters you got there, Maggie. I bet there's all kinds of stuff in them that'll tell us where you've been, even if you can't remember it yourself. And if you read them you won't have to carry them around all over the place. Maggie has letters in her box, Sergeant Fahey. Can I call you Patrick too?” Seeing his frown, “I guess not. That's okay. You can call me Ms Hagen. I can be just as uppity as the rest of you friggers. Never mind. I don't want to talk to you either. Come on Maggs. Let's go for a swing. Leave the old folks alone.” Maggie smiles. Lifts her plate to her mouth and licks it, shocking Eve. Takes her shoe box and follows Judy to the play-ground, giggling.

“They think they're so friggin' smart. Old bats. Good move with the plate, Maggs. I thought I was going to piss my pants with the look on their faces. And did you check out the way old Ruth was looking at buddy? I could've gagged on it.” And they laugh all the way up into the trees.

“At the station we call her the mouth,” says Patrick, comfortable in the sitting room, his long legs stretched out in front of
him, kittens climbing all over them. When they installed the freezer, Ruth had discovered a cache of ancient wine. Fifty or more bottles of wonderful red. They have been sipping it ever since with supper. Just a glass each. Tonight being special, Ruth cracks another bottle. Brings a clean glass to Patrick and pours. Thinks wicked thoughts. Patrick Fahey can see them in her eyes. He wants this woman. He hasn't wanted anyone in a very long time but he wants this woman. It's all he can do to keep from reaching out and touching her thick curls. None of this is making sense to him. He is not the kind of man who shirks his duty and before he entered this house, no one could have convinced him that he would sit around with someone he was investigating and actually have a meal. Wine. And let the little snip go traipsing out the door saucy as she was without saying anything. Patrick Fahey is a cop's cop. But when Ruth started throwing her lies all around the place that sad thing that eats away at the pit of his stomach just kind of up and disappeared. He felt it leave. And noted its absence. And realizes that now, when it comes back, it will be so much harder to ignore. He asks Ruth if she would like to go out sometime. Maybe dinner and a movie. She answers, “Yes. But I have to warn you, I'm a bit of a bitch.”

True, he thinks. And you tell lies. And I don't care. Aloud he says, “How about tomorrow night. Are you free?”

“Patrick Fahey, I've been free for about a month now. Why don't you pick me up at seven?”